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

Chapter 15: First Blood

London, Diagon Alley, January 28th, 1996

Horace Slughorn tensed when he heard the charm on his fireplace go off, alerting him that a visitor desired entry. “Yes?”

“Horace? May I come through?”

That was Albus. Right on time. “Of course, Albus,” he said, with far more warmth than he felt.

A moment later, Albus stepped into his living room. “Good evening, Horace! You are looking well.”

Horace inclined his head. “Thank you. You haven’t changed either.” Which was, unfortunately, true - Albus looked like he was as fit and healthy as ever. For a wizard his age.

“Oh, I am not getting any younger - but then, that is true for all of us.” Albus smiled at him.

Horace gestured at the couch. “Let’s sit down. Our old bones deserve some comfort.”

“Whisky?” he asked once he and his guest had taken their seats.

“Thank you,” replied Albus. “You always had the most discerning taste for drinks.”

Horace summoned his second-best bottle - Albus didn’t deserve his best, not after he had forced him into retirement - and two glasses. He pretended not to notice how Albus subtly checked his glass for any potions or poisons before taking a sip. The man did have enemies, after all, even if it was a slight against him as the host.

“Cheers!”

He smiled genuinely when he felt the whisky burn in his throat. “Ogden's Special Selection,” he said. “Only one hundred bottles were made.” Ten of them were a gift to him, for introducing Zacharia’s future daughter-in-law to the brewer’s son and heir.

Albus nodded in appreciation. “A fine brand.”

Horace took a few more sips, then put his glass down on his antique side table - bought in Magical Constantinople during his last trip to the Ottoman Empire, but originally from Italy - and leaned forward. “So, why are you paying me a visit? Did Snape finally cross a line you can’t ignore, and you need a Potions Master who doesn’t hate his students?”

Albus frowned for a moment before his face settled once again into a polite smile. “His manners have improved as he has matured.”

Horace chuckled. “And yet you had to dress him down after he let his bigots run rampant during the Granger affair.”

Albus’s smile didn’t waver. “An unfortunate lapse in judgement.”

“His or yours?” Horace pushed. It wasn’t as if he had anything to lose - he was already cut off from recruiting more gifted students for his Slug Club. His network would grow old with him, wither and die, and it was all Albus’s fault.

“Still holding a grudge, Horace?” Albus asked instead of answering.

“You force me into retirement because a few of my acquaintances joined the Dark Lord during the war without me realising it, and then you recruit an actual Death Eater as my replacement, and you think I would just forget it?” He scoffed. “You’re a hypocrite, Albus.”

“I had my reasons. And while I cannot claim that I treated you entirely fairly, I stand by my decision.” Albus inclined his head in that patronising manner of his that Horace hated.

“The man is a gifted potioneer, but a miserable excuse for a human being, with all the charm of a basilisk. People like him should never be teachers.” He snorted. “And while I don’t like him, I know him well enough to know that he never wanted to be a teacher in the first place, so this wasn’t a reward for whatever he did for you during the war. You simply wanted him where you could keep him under control.”

“As I said, I had my reasons.” Albus smiled again. “As I have a reason to visit you.”

“Ah.” Horace matched the man’s smile. “What do you want from me, Albus?” He grinned. “And why do you think I will help you?”

“Let me answer your second question first,” Albus said. “In private, of course.” He cast a privacy charm and lowered his voice. “Because your greatest mistake was not killed in 1981. He is back.”

Horace froze. That couldn’t be true. He had heard rumours, of course - but they had been just that, rumours. He shook his head. “But… that’s impossible.”

“You are well aware that evading death, at least for a time, isn’t impossible for a dedicated dark wizard, are you not?”

Horace pressed his lips together. His studies had been entirely theoretical; he had never actually done anything. And no one but Riddle and himself knew about that fateful talk they had had, decades ago. “If that were true then the wizards of ancient Egypt would still be around. No matter what he might have done to anchor himself to life, there are ways around it.”

“In theory,” Albus said, with a faint smile. “Unless you are aware of one that was put into practice?”

He took a deep breath. He didn’t know what she might have told Albus. “I do not know of any such attempt.” She had been looking into many applications of her idea, after all.

Albus’s smile didn’t waver as he leaned forward. “But you suspect, do you not? You talked a lot with Lily prior to that fateful day.”

Albus knew! Or he knew enough to suspect. Horace felt as if someone had turned his spine to ice.

“Tell me what you discussed with Lily, Horace, and I will protect you from Riddle.” Albus was staring at him with an expression few ever saw on the man’s face. And even fewer lived to tell of it.

Horace gulped. “I do not know if she actually did anything - we were just discussing theory.”

“I already know that Lily used questionable means to create the ritual that defeated Voldemort. And I do not care, Horace. We’re at war. And this could be the key to winning it before it devastates our country again while we have yet to recover from the last war. If you value your life you will tell me what you and Lily discussed before Tom grows too powerful to be stopped.”

Horace didn’t know if Albus meant that Riddle would kill him if he refused - or that Albus would. He started talking.

*****​

Hogsmeade, January 28th, 1996

Harry Potter threw himself over Ginny an instant before the attacker sent their spell at him. He saw a green flash, then the ground next to him blew up. His Shield Charm weathered the pelting fragments of frozen earth and stones though he felt Ginny’s shield shatter underneath him. But they were now in the middle of a cloud of snow and steam that had been thrown up by the explosion, and so had a few seconds of concealment.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her up as he stood himself, then summoned his broom - only to notice when he tried to mount it that it had been broken by the blast. Cursing, he let it drop, then froze - his father’s Cloak! “Accio Invisibility Cloak!” he whispered and felt the fabric land in his hand. He pulled Ginny closer and covered both of them with the Cloak, hoping it hadn’t been damaged as well.

He had been just in time - the cloud of steam and snow settled, revealing their position. He heard Ginny hiss - in pain or anger, he couldn’t tell - but his attention was on the floating wizard.

The man was weaving back and forth, avoiding, with seemingly effortless grace, the barrage of curses Remus was sending against him. Harry saw several curses splash against the man’s shield without any effect. He raised his own wand to join Remus’s attack, then hesitated. Remus had told him to get Ginny to Hogwarts. If he attacked the floating, no, flying wizard he would endanger her.

Clenching his teeth and hating himself, he whispered: “Let’s move while he’s distracted!” They were a few hundred yards, at most, from the wardline. They could do this.

But two people moving under a cloak meant for one wasn’t as easy as Harry remembered from his first and second year. Especially over a snowy path. They hadn’t covered more than twenty yards when Ginny stumbled. He caught her with his left hand before she fell, but she cried out in pain. “Ginny!” he gasped when he realised that she was hurt.

She cursed and straightened, then started hobbling forward. Harry was about to swoop her up and carry her - or try to - when Remus’s yell made him whip his head round.

“Harry! Watch out!”

Harry saw the man flying towards them, wand moving. How had he… their tracks! They were leaving tracks in the snow, even on the path!

Harry put himself in front of Ginny as he jabbed his wand at the ground between them and their attacker.

“Bombarda!”

The earth and snow of the field next to the path blew up in a much bigger explosion than the first, right in the path of the flying wizard. Harry saw another green spell - the Killing Curse? - speed out of the cloud and hit the ground ten yards to his right in another explosion.

He was already ducking, slipping out from under his Cloak. “Stay hidden!” he yelled at Ginny, then threw himself forward and to the right. He rolled over his shoulder, as Sirius had drilled into him, and came up leading with his wand just as the man cleared the cloud.

Harry flicked his wand and sent a Cutting Curse at him, trying to anticipate his enemy’s movement. The wizard must have spotted him, though, since he was already changing course by the time Harry finished his spell, and his curse missed by yards.

The man turned towards him, grinning widely, even laughing, but before he could send another curse at Harry, a volley of spells from Remus hit his shield, shattering it. The wizard howled as another spell cut into him, then swooped around to face Remus.

For a moment, Harry felt elation fill him. They had the wizard in a crossfire. He might be able to fly better than most Seekers, but he couldn’t evade all of their curses; not while he was trying to fight them.

Then he glanced at Remus and noticed that the werewolf was staggering, blood covering his robes. His entire face seemed to be bleeding! And yet, Remus was still casting, snarling as he moved towards their foe, spells flying without pause from his wand.

Harry clenched his teeth and kept casting himself. They had to defeat this wizard before Remus collapsed. He was losing far too much blood as it was, Harry thought, and hoped his teacher had taken a Blood-Replenishing Potion.

Then spells flew at the wizard from a third direction. Reinforcements! No, Harry saw, it was Ginny. The witch had thrown off the Cloak and was casting, even while holding her side with her left hand. He cursed, but focused on fighting - he couldn’t do anything for her or Remus while the flying wizard was trying to kill them.

No, he was trying to kill him, Harry realised when the wizard stopped jinking and sent a blood-red curse at him, ignoring the many spells flying towards him.

Harry had been moving and casting, as he had trained to with Sirius, but he couldn’t move as fast or as far in the deep snow, and the man had aimed well. The curse hit Harry’s Shield Charm, shattering it, and then Harry felt as if every part of his body was being ripped apart.

He collapsed, his scream drowned in the blood gushing from his mouth. He caught a glimpse of the man being struck by several spells, spinning around and falling, before the blood dripping from his eyes blinded him. He heard Remus and Ginny cry out, but their yells were dampened, as if his ears had been plugged.

He pointed his wand at his own face, trying to yell ‘Episkey’ through his mouth full of blood. He tried to move, to stand up, to grab a potion from his enchanted pocket, but he couldn’t see anything, couldn’t breathe, was choking on blood, and it hurt so much to move...

When everything went dark and he stopped feeling anything he was relieved.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 29th, 1996

When Harry Potter opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a blurry ceiling that looked familiar. And the smell… he was in the Hogwarts infirmary. He hadn’t died, then. And he wasn’t hurting any more, either.

“Harry!”

He turned his head at the yell and winced. He corrected himself - he wasn’t hurting as much as before he had lost consciousness, but moving was still painful. “Sirius?” he managed to say. His godfather sounded rather upset.

“I was so worried. We were so worried.”

“What happened?” Harry said, then coughed - his throat felt raw. And his chest hurt when he coughed.

“You got cursed,” Sirius said tersely.

“I know that.” Harry squinted. “Where are my glasses?”

“Oh! Here!” Sirius held them out to him.

Harry sighed as the world came into focus again. And he winced when he saw just how terrible his godfather looked: rumpled robes, pale face, hair messier than Harry’s, bags under his eyes.

“I know that I was cursed,” he said. “It hurt too much to miss that.” He tried to smile at his feeble joke, but Sirius didn’t look amused or relieved. “I bled all over myself.” He blinked. “Remus got cursed as well, didn’t he?”

Sirius nodded.

Harry stiffened and looked at the curtains providing him with a little privacy. “He is alright, isn’t he? And Ginny?”

Sirius hesitated for a moment, and Harry gasped. His godfather quickly held up his hand. “Ginny wasn’t hurt. Not seriously - she’s already out of the infirmary. Remus is alive. Pomfrey and Dumbledore managed to stop the bleeding.”

“But?” Harry pressed. If all were well, Sirius wouldn’t be so… serious. And he hadn’t hugged him..

His godfather took a deep breath, then sighed through clenched teeth.

This looked worse and worse, Harry thought. He reached out and grabbed Sirius’s hand, trying not to wince at the pain this caused. “Please, I want to know.”

“The bleeding was stopped. But they couldn’t end the curse.”

Harry looked at his chest. No blood. He touched his face, his ears. No blood. He even licked his lips. “I’m not bleeding,” he said.

“Yes. Remus managed to get a Blood-Replenishing Potion into you in time to save your life, then flew you both to the infirmary before he collapsed. Pomfrey kept pouring potions into you two to keep you alive while Dumbledore and Snape worked on a counter to the curse. They didn’t quite manage that, but they’ve found potions that will hold the curse at bay until a more permanent cure is found.”

“Potions?” Harry asked, more to keep from thinking about the fact that he was still cursed, could still bleed to death in pain like… He clenched his teeth.

“I’m no alchemist, but it’s apparently a mix of Blood-Replenishing and Clotting Potions which Dumbledore and Snape created. You and Remus will need to drink one vial per day until Dumbledore finds a counter-curse. But Pomfrey said you should heal up just fine from the damage the curse did.”

That… well, it still sounded very bad, but not as bad as Harry had feared. But to owe his life to a potion… He shook his head. “Does that mean that I owe Snape my life?”

“No!” Sirius blurted. “It was Dumbledore’s work. He’s the alchemist. Snape just helped.”

Owing anything to Snape was still bad enough, Harry thought. The bastard would lord it over him and complain about it at the same time. “Did we get the wizard who attacked us?” he asked. He had seen him fall. At least he thought so.

“You did.” Sirius nodded. “Cursed him good, too - he won’t attack anyone else.”

He had killed someone, then. Or helped kill someone. Harry briefly remembered the attack at the Cup, when Sirius had killed that witch. He closed his eyes. “Who was it?”

“We’re not certain, yet,” Sirius said. “But it was a vampire.”

“A vampire?” Harry blinked, despite the slight pain that caused him. Why would a vampire attack him? “Was he a Death Eater?”

“There was no mark on his arm.” Sirius shrugged. “But Remus said that he wanted to kill you, and only you - badly enough to let himself get killed just to hit you.”

Harry drew a breath through clenched teeth as he remembered the battle. “Do you think he was forced?” Like the witch who had attacked him.

“Perhaps,” Sirius said. “The Aurors are still investigating.” He was sneering slightly - he didn’t expect much from them, Harry knew.

He nodded. “So.” He looked at his godfather. “When can I leave this place?”

For the first time since Harry had woken up, Sirius laughed. Somehow, Harry didn’t think that was a good sign.

*****​

“It was a very near thing, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “If Remus hadn’t carried enough Blood-Replenishing potions, if Poppy had been a minute or two later…” He sighed.

The Headmaster looked tired, too, Harry Potter noticed. “I see.” Sirius hadn’t told him that. But he didn’t doubt it - he had thought he was dead, for a moment at least. “I owe you my life.”

“I only did what anyone would have done in my place.” Dumbledore smiled at him. “And I did not do anything alone. Remus, Poppy, Severus, Miss Weasley - everyone helped. And I would wager that you saved both Miss Weasley and Remus in that fight, too.”

Harry knew that few would have been able to do what Dumbledore had done, but he was too tired to argue. And there were more important matters to discuss. “Was it blood magic, sir?”

Dumbledore slowly nodded. “Yes. I first thought that it was simply a dark curse that affected your blood, like the Blood-Boiling Curse. But it’s blood magic.” He must have noticed Harry’s reaction since he smiled reassuringly. “That is not necessarily a bad thing, Harry. For while finding a counter-curse will require quite a lot of effort, the curse’s effects can be dealt with more easily.”

Harry wasn’t certain that having to drink a potion each day or else bleed to death was that easy, but compared to other curses it was probably not as bad as it could have been. “Do you think Voldemort will try to kill me again?”

“He certainly wants you dead, but I am not certain that your death was the real goal of this attack. Oh,” Dumbledore said before Harry could protest, “he would certainly be pleased had you been killed, no doubt about that. But I do not think that he expected it. I would even go as far as to say that he probably didn’t even expect to come so close. I will certainly have to go over our security to avoid a repeat of this.” He leaned back in the armchair he had conjured next to Harry’s bed after Sirius had left to check on Remus. “But I think he did this in an attempt at misdirection - he hopes to lure both the Ministry and myself on to a false trail by framing the vampires for the attack.”

“Wasn’t he attacking them? Or was he recruiting them?” Harry asked, freezing for a moment. If Voldemort had all those missing vampires among his ranks...

“Vampires as a rule do not make good followers - they are loners by nature, and chafe at following anyone’s orders. Even the Dark Lord would have to resort to the Dark Arts to keep them under control. But if the vampires blame the Ministry or myself for the attacks on them, then they might strike at us in turn. Some of them even might ally themselves with him - not knowing that, by doing so, they expose themselves to the wizard responsible for the very attacks that drove them into hiding.”

“But… if we tell them that the vampire had been under the Imperius Curse…” Harry started.

Dumbledore shook his head. “I don’t think that he used that particular curse to drive the vampire to attack you.”

“What can we do, then?” They couldn’t let Voldemort get away away with this!

“I will do my best to keep the Ministry and the Prophet from overreacting. That should lessen the impact of this attack.”

“Better silence Skeeter then,” Harry muttered.

“I believe Rita will see reason if I explain the situation to her.”

“What?” Harry stared at the old man.

“Oh, I do not intend to tell her about the Dark Lord’s involvement. Just about the consequences she might suffer, should she plan to blame all vampires for the deeds of one.”

Dumbledore hadn’t lost his smile, but it didn’t look very friendly right then, Harry thought.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 30th, 1996

“And what did you after you were hit with that curse, Mr Potter?” Auror Dawlish leaned forward in his chair.

“I passed out, as I told you already.” Harry Potter didn’t bother to hide how he annoyed he was; both with the questioning and the Auror. He didn’t like repeating himself - nor remembering that fight. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Dawlish frowned. “If you want us to catch the ones responsible for this attack you need to cooperate with us.”

“Did you catch whoever was behind the attack at the World Cup?” Harry asked. “Or behind the attack on me at Hogwarts?”

The man’s frown deepened. “Those incidents are still under investigation.”

And would remain so for the foreseeable future, Harry thought. He wasn’t being fair - the Aurors didn’t know that Voldemort was back and behind those incidents - but he doubted that the same people who had prosecuted both Sirius and Hermione despite them being innocent would achieve anything even if they had that knowledge. Sirius had been rather vocal about their incompetence and corruption, and Hermione’s opinion was not any better, although she had worded it more politely.

And he was rather annoyed that his first visitors after Pomfrey had cleared him - apparently, Sirius and Dumbledore didn’t count - were Dawlish and his partner instead of Harry’s friends. He took a deep breath, half-expecting to cough up blood again, and said: “I’ve told you everything I know. Asking me again and again will not help my memory.”

“Witnesses usually know more than they think,” Dawlish replied. “Repeated questioning can jog their memory.”

Harry shrugged. “Not in my case, then. Did you find out the name of the vampire?”

“Who told you that it was a vampire?” Dawlish asked with narrowed eyes.

“Dumbledore did,” Harry said. “Shouldn’t he have done that?” he asked as innocently as he could. Let Dawlish try bothering the Headmaster - and Chief Warlock!

“Such information is very useful to check testimonies,” Dawlish’s partner - Avery, Harry remembered - added. “You wouldn’t believe what people make up to feel important.”

He was correct - Harry didn’t believe that. He shrugged. “I don’t want to feel important. I just want these attacks stopped.”

Dawlish and his partner exchanged a glance. “Do you know anyone who might want to see you dead?” Dawlish asked.

Harry shrugged again. “Apart from the Death Eaters and their children? Malfoy tried to poison me in our second year.” Had poisoned him, even. “And they framed my best friend,” he added with bared teeth.

Avery scowled, but Dawlish didn’t react to that dig. “Speaking of Miss Granger,” the Auror asked, “what’s your relationship with her?”

“She’s my best friend. My best female friend,” Harry said. “Why are you asking about her?”

Dawlish ignored his question. “She’s your godfather’s secretary, isn’t she?”

“Yes.” Harry glared at him.

“And she handles most of his correspondence, doesn’t she?”

Harry frowned. How did the man know that? He tried not to show his reaction and shrugged. “I don’t care much about paperwork.”

“You should,” Dawlish said.

“I still don’t understand what you think she has to do with this attack.” Although Harry had a suspicion. A nasty one. ”Do you think Hermione is behind this attack? Are you crazy?”

Dawlish glared right back at him. “She’s a convicted criminal. A thief. And she’s handling the affairs of one of the richest men in Britain. She’s in a perfect position to steal from you and your godfather. And given Black’s well-known issues with his memory…”

“He’s getting better!” Harry interjected. Sirius wasn’t nearly as bad as he had been two years ago.

“...the only one able to uncover her crime would be you,” Dawlish continued, seemingly unfazed. “People have killed for far less.”

“You’re crazy! She’s my best friend. Sirius paid her debts. She would never do anything like that!” Harry scoffed, then rubbed his chest when he felt a twinge.

Dawlish once again ignored him. “And recently, Mr Black’s been seen with a new girlfriend. Miss Granger might have feared for her position.”

“Do you honestly believe that Hermione is behind this attack? That she somehow forced a vampire to attack me?” The man was crazy, Harry thought. Utterly bonkers, as Ron would say.

“She might be a simple accomplice, and not the driving power behind this,” Dawlish said. “She wouldn’t be the first teenage criminal to be recruited by a more experienced dark wizard after their expulsion from Hogwarts.”

“Get out!” Harry snarled. “I’m not going to sit here and let you slander my best friend!”

“This is an interrogation, Mr Potter,” Dawlish started to say, “You cannot…”

Harry cut him off by drawing his wand and casting a privacy spell on himself, then pulled on the rope next to his bed to summon Pomfrey.

He was through listening to this paranoid bigot.

*****​

Harry Potter was still upset an hour later, when he finally was allowed to receive real visitors. “And then the stupid idiot accused Hermione of wanting to kill me so she could steal from Sirius!” he snarled through clenched teeth.

“That’s bonkers!” Ron shook his head. “Hermione wouldn’t steal anything, least of all from you or Sirius! The git is probably a Death Eater trying to frame her.”

Ginny, who was sitting on Harry’s bed with her hand in his, nodded. “Yes. It’s probably Malfoy’s work. Dad and Percy said he’s bribing people left and right in the Ministry.”

“Fudge first among them,” Harry muttered, remembering Sirius’s comments about the Minister. He hoped Dumbledore would be able to counter Malfoy’s efforts. If the Aurors framed Hermione…

“I doubt that,” Luna said, pausing in her efforts to stick a bunch of weird knick-knacks she called a ‘dreamcatcher’ to the ceiling above Harry’s bed while balancing on its frame. “Fudge wants you to think he’s Malfoy’s stooge so people won’t suspect him. He’s probably the head of the Rotfang Conspiracy.”

“The what?” Harry asked.

“A secret organisation within the Ministry. They use Dark Magic and enchanted sweets in their attempts to bring down the Ministry. Why do you think the Headmaster is such an aficionado of sweets of all kinds? He had to become an expert to foil them!” Luna nodded emphatically at her own words, and Harry feared for a moment that she’d lose her balance and fall - right on his head.

“Ah.” Harry glanced at Ginny, who was subtly shaking her head. Better not pursue that topic, then. “In any case,” he continued, “it’s clear that the Aurors are useless. At least the ones assigned to this case,” he amended, thinking of Tonks.

“We’re not relying on them anyway,” Ginny said. “Professor Lupin saved us, not any of the Aurors.” She sniffed, but Harry saw that she was holding her side with her free hand. He gently squeezed her hand.

“We can’t rely entirely on the teachers either.” He bit his lower lip - he had almost mentioned the Order in front of Luna.

“We certainly can’t rely on Snape!” Ron said.

Harry coughed. “Speaking of Snape…”

“What about him?” Ron frowned at Harry.

He winced. “He helped save my life.”

“WHAT?” “What?” “Really?”

Harry sighed. He had expected that reaction.

*****​

Hogsmeade, January 30th, 1996

She was finally allowed to visit Harry, and that dumb dog hadn’t told her at once! Hermione Granger was fuming when she stepped out of the fireplace in the Hog’s Head Inn, barely remembering to greet the innkeeper - he wasn’t at fault, after all - before rushing out, mounting her broom and flying towards Hogwarts.

She should have sneaked into the school instead of waiting until she was told that Harry was fit to receive visitors! She didn’t think that the wards would keep her out, expulsion or not. And even if they did she could sneak inside as a cat. And Pomfrey’s spells wouldn’t stop her. Next time, she promised herself, she wouldn’t wait.

She guided her broom down when she reached Hogwarts’ wardline. Just in case - she didn’t fancy splattering herself against the ward like a bug against a windshield. When she saw the red-robed figure in the snow, she pulled up, though. An Auror, here?

Her eyes widened. They must be investigating the incident, which meant that it had taken place here! She wanted to investigate the place herself, but with the Auror down there… She hadn’t done anything wrong, but it was never a good idea to attract the Aurors’ attention. Especially not as a - falsely or not - convicted thief.

But they didn’t seem to have spotted her, so she flew over the lake to approach Hogwarts from the other side. She landed and walked towards, then through, the wardline. The Headmaster didn’t want to bar her entry. Or, she thought with a snort, it was Hogwarts’ doing - Dumbledore certainly had talked about the school as if it had a will of its own. At least she could imagine him using that as an excuse.

But she pushed those fanciful thoughts away when she reached the castle proper. Harry was there, languishing in the infirmary! Or, she added to herself with a scowl, trying to sneak out despite being hurt.

Not on her watch, though!

She disillusioned herself and took a route through the castle that avoided the commonly used corridors - even though, at this time of the day, the students would be in their afternoon classes - and reached the infirmary a few minutes later. She almost went through the spells on the door - which were even worse than she had feared; didn’t they care about Harry’s security? - before forcing herself to knock and wait for someone to open it.

It was the dog who opened the door to the infirmary. “Ah, Hermione. Come in.”

“Mr Black.” She glared at him, but he ignored it. He wouldn’t ignore her claws, but she couldn’t change here.

And, she realised, Mr Black didn’t look well. He was smiling, but it wasn’t genuine - she could tell. “How is he?” she asked in a whisper.

“Fine,” he answered. “According to him.”

She sighed. “And how is he really?”

He told her, and she had to press her hands against her mouth to avoid crying out in horror.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 30th, 1996

“Hello, Harry.”

“Hermione!” Harry Potter smiled at his friend, then noticed that she was shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and biting her lower lip. She was upset. He craned his neck to look behind his friend. There was Sirius. “You told her,” Harry said.

“Yes.” Sirius nodded. “I didn’t want her mad at me for both forgetting to call her at once and not telling her how you’re really doing,” he added with a forced grin.

Harry sighed. “I’ll live.”

“As long as you take a potion each day.” Hermione moved to his bed and looked at him. He saw her hand twitch, as if she wanted to draw her wand.

“Go ahead and check my health,” he said with a chuckle.

She drew her wand faster than Sirius in a duel, Harry noticed. She also cast a few spells he hadn’t seen before. Her tutor must have been better than he had thought. “So, what’s the verdict, Doctor Granger?”

She glared at him instead of laughing. “You’re still sore, but I couldn’t spot any permanent damage to your body. Which doesn’t mean that there isn’t - I’m no Healer.”

Harry shrugged and carefully didn’t react to the slight jolt of pain that that caused. “Pomfrey and the Healer she called didn’t find anything either.” He smiled. “So, do I get a hug?”

She embraced him, but not as hard as usual, or so he thought.

“I’m not going to break.”

Hermione snorted at that. “You’d say that even if you were,” she said, then released him and sat down on the chair next to his bed while Sirius remained standing at its foot.

“What happened?” she asked.

Harry took a deep breath. He didn’t really want to tell his story yet again, but Hermione was his best friend - his best female friend. “Well, Ginny and I were walking back from Hogsmeade in the evening, along the shores of the Black Lake…”

*****​

“...and I woke up in the infirmary here, and have been prodded and interrogated ever since.”

Hermione Granger flushed with embarrassment - she had just done the same. Both the prodding and the interrogating. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“Don’t be. At least you mean well,” Harry said. “Unlike the damn Aurors! They suspect you!”

“What?” She stared at him.

He nodded. “Yes. One of them, Dawlish was his name, thinks you’re stealing from Sirius and me, and wanted to kill me so I wouldn’t discover it.”

“That… that…” she clenched her teeth. It was one thing to be thought a thief - she had become a thief, after all, even though she had been framed first - but a murderer? Dawlish was either an incredibly stupid bigot, or paid by Malfoy. Probably both, she thought.

“Well, I told him off,” Harry said. “Stupid git.”

She nodded, even though she doubted that Dawlish would change his views. “So, Dumbledore stopped the bleeding,” she said to change the topic - they shouldn’t talk about her troubles when Harry had almost died! And she already knew that, given the slightest opportunity, Mr Black would make a lewd remark about her role as his secretary, which she could do without.

“With Snape’s assistance.” Harry laughed. “He must have hated helping me!”

“Oh, yes,” Mr Black agreed.

She didn’t comment on that. She didn’t like Snape - she still remembered how he had let his students sneer at her when she had left Hogwarts - but if he had helped save Harry’s life he couldn’t be entirely bad. There were more important things to worry about, anyway, other than a bad teacher. “What’s being done about the curse?” She was proud that she could talk about this with a steady voice. If she had such a curse on her, one missed potion away from a brutal, painful death… she shuddered.

“Dumbledore’s working on it,” Harry said. “But it’s blood magic; he has to do some research.”

“Blood magic?” She glanced at Mr Black. There hadn’t been many books covering that subject in his library. But she remembered a few. And why she had looked them up - the ritual murders last year. “It was Voldemort then. He tried to have you killed.” She was certain of it.

Harry nodded. “It might have just been a distraction, but he certainly wouldn’t have minded if the vampire had been successful.”

She clenched her teeth. First the incident with his scar, and now this. Voldemort had to be stopped at any cost before he murdered Harry. If he wasn’t even safe at Hogwarts… She drew a hissing breath. He wasn’t safe - one sabotaged potion would be enough. “Do the other students know about the curse not having been dealt with?”

Harry shrugged - he was certainly not taking this seriously enough, Hermione thought - and said: “Dumbledore said they’ll keep it a secret. I haven’t told anyone but you, Ginny, Ron and Luna.”

“Luna?” She stared at him. She liked the girl, but if ‘flighty’ fit any witch, then it was Luna. The Ravenclaw was not only lost in her own world half the time, but seemed to actively try and double that time.

“She’s a good friend,” he said, frowning at her. “Ginny’s first and best friend, actually. She spent almost every day with us at The Burrow over the holidays.”

That didn’t make her a trustworthy person, Hermione thought. Even if she intended to keep the secret, there were ways to get around that, and she doubted that Luna knew how to protect herself. “But if people know that she’s so close to you, they might go after her.”

She saw him wince, and felt guilty. But it was for his own good. Then he put on a mulish expression. “I think they’d rather go after Pomfrey who does know for sure what happened instead of a student who only might know about it. Besides, Dumbledore knows about this.”

She opened her mouth to retort that that didn’t change anything, and that Luna was both in danger, and a danger to Harry, but caught herself in time. Harry had narrowly escaped being killed. He was suffering from a deadly curse only held at bay by potions, and had spent the last two days in the infirmary. What kind of friend was she, berating him for a mistake he made under those conditions?

A really bad one, she answered herself.

So she nodded and tried to smile. “Alright.” She sighed. “I’m sorry for acting like this. I’m just so worried for you.”

Harry smiled, if a little weakly. He probably knew he had made a mistake, too. “It’s OK.”

It wasn’t. But they could pretend that it was. For a while at least.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 30th, 1996

“Good evening, Miss Granger. Please have a seat.”

“Good evening, Headmaster.” Hermione Granger nodded rather curtly, then forced herself to relax. Dumbledore wasn’t her enemy. He had saved Harry’s life. She sat down with her back straight and met his eyes.

He raised an eyebrow at the sight, then briefly chuckled. “You have changed a lot since you had to leave this school.”

“I was a lot younger then,” she pointed out.

“Ah, one of the follies of old age - what is a long time for youth feels like but a moment for one as aged as me.” He folded his hands with his elbows on the desk. “I am glad you asked to talk to me; it saves me a trip to your home.”

“Oh?” She didn’t blink, but she couldn’t hide her surprise.

“Indeed. The attack on Harry, which almost succeeded but for his and his friends’ skill and a not inconsiderable amount of luck, has left me in a situation where I need your help. Yours and Mundungus’s.”

She understood what he meant almost immediately. “For Harry’s cure.”

He nodded. “As you may already know, blood magic is highly illegal. But unlike other questionable magic, where it is its use that is illegal, stiff penalties are imposed upon those caught merely possessing information about blood magic. This means that those who do have tomes covering that subject are loathe to tell anyone about them, much less loan them.”

“You want us to steal such books.”

He inclined his head. “And find them in the first place.”

She bit her lower lip. Of course she’d do it - she’d do anything to save Harry - but could she do it? “Finding them will be difficult.” She was confident that Mr Fletcher and she could break into any house they needed to, but how were they supposed to find out who owned such books? Break into every pureblood manor in Britain? That would be satisfying, but hardly practicable. “Unless you know where they might be found.”

“I have my suspicions - often well-founded - but a certain amount of guesswork and luck will be needed, as with most ventures in this conflict.”

They had their work cut out for them, then. She nodded, her lips pressed together. For Harry.

“I will, of course, talk to Mundungus as well,” Dumbledore said.

“If he refuses, I’ll do it myself,” she said at once. She didn’t think Mr Fletcher would refuse, though - this was important, after all. More important than bugging the homes of some thugs.

“I know, Miss Granger. And so does Mundungus, I believe. Your loyalty to your friends does you credit.”

“Thank you, sir.” She cleared her throat. “Speaking of friends…”

“Yes?” He tipped his head slightly to the side.

“Harry told Ron, Ginny and Luna about his curse.” She didn’t frown as she said this.

“I am aware of that.”

“While I do not doubt their loyalty and bravery, I think this knowledge endangers them.” She stared at him. “The Death Eaters or their children at Hogwarts might go after them to find out what happened.”

He nodded. “Steps have been taken to prevent that.” He smiled. “Such measures would have to be implemented even if Harry hadn’t told them; our enemies wouldn’t know that, after all. And all of his friends are already in danger just because they are close to him.”

She knew that very well. “Shouldn’t they be taught Occlumency as well?”

He sighed. “Legilimency is not as common as you might fear; few are proficient in its use, and fewer still are able to use it reliably without being obvious. And those who do usually have alternatives at hand when faced with someone trained in Occlumency.”

Like torture. Hermione shuddered. “It wouldn’t hurt, though, would it?”

“It might, actually - learning Occlumency is not like learning a spell. There’s a reason few master it.” He smiled. “Although I have noticed that you haven’t asked for that training yourself, so I assume you have taken a different way to safeguard your mind against intrusion.”

She clenched her teeth. To make such an obvious mistake grated. Then she sighed, nodding. “Yes.”

He smiled as if he had already known long ago. Which, she had to admit, he probably had. At least she could trust him not to betray her secret.

He needed his thieves, after all. And so did Harry.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 2nd, 1996

“Cheers!” Harry Potter said with as much sarcasm as he could and raised the vial in a mocking toast to Remus, who returned the gesture with a sickly grin.

Harry grimaced and held his breath as he moved the vial to his lips. The potion that kept his curse in check smelled horrible and tasted worse. He swallowed the entire contents of the vial in one go. It didn’t make it taste any less horrible, but it was over more quickly.

Taking deep breaths through his mouth, he reached for the cola Sirius had provided. A few mouthfuls took care of the horrible aftertaste, and he started breathing normally again. “I’m convinced this is Snape’s doing,” he muttered, “he must have chosen the taste to hurt me.”

Remus laughed at that, then started to cough, covering his mouth with his hand. He stopped after a few seconds, but Harry thought that he caught a glimpse of red on the man’s fingers before Remus wiped his hand on a handkerchief.

He didn’t say anything, though. Remus had been cursed earlier than Harry, and the curse had done more damage to his body before it had been stopped. And it had all been because of Harry. If not for him there wouldn’t have been an attack, and Remus wouldn’t have lost so much time saving him.

“I’m alright,” Remus said. He must have noticed Harry’s reaction. “I’m just taking a little longer to recover completely.”

Harry nodded, trying not to let his doubts show. You didn’t completely recover from dark curses - he had been taught that by Remus himself. “Thank you.” He didn’t have to say what for.

Remus nodded. “Any time, Harry.”

He wasn’t lying, Harry knew. He didn’t want to dwell on that, though. He took a deep sigh and kept his tone light for his next words. “Well, they’re finally releasing us from this place, so I guess we’re in no danger of dying any time soon. Though we might wish we were, if they don’t improve the taste of this potion.”

“Sirius offered to fill in as Defence teacher for me,” Remus said, matching his tone. “I would have gone back to teaching even if I were dying, to spare my students that.”

They laughed, briefly, at their own jokes, even if they weren’t really funny. But it helped dealing with the fact that they were now dependent on a potion. Although, Harry thought, then felt ashamed for it, Remus was used to depending on a potion already, wasn’t he?

*****​

Hogwarts, February 3rd, 1996

Harry Potter had barely closed the door to the unused classroom behind them when Ginny jumped him and hugged him harder than Hermione usually did. Since he didn’t collapse, Harry guessed that that meant he really had recovered much better than Remus. He rubbed her back but avoided touching her side, where she had been cut by a rock shard.

He heard her snort, then she pulled back and frowned at him. “I’m not the one who got cursed,” she said, a little testily, he thought.

“I know, it’s just…” He shrugged. He had seen her bleed. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“I don’t like seeing you hurt either,” she shot back.

“I’ll do my best to avoid it,” he said, “but Voldemort has it in for me.”

“Well, he can’t get you at Hogwarts.” She stepped back to sit down on the teacher’s desk and let her legs dangle.

“I can’t hide here forever.” He tapped his scar. “I’m the Boy-Who-Lived, after all.” And the scar tied him to the Dark Lord.

“Not forever, but the next year or two.” She threw her hair back. “And Dumbledore might get him in the meantime.”

“He didn’t get him in the last war.”

Ginny stared at him. “You sound as if you plan to fight him.”

“I’m not. But I’m preparing. Just in case.” He wasn’t really planning. He knew that he wasn’t supposed to risk himself. And Dumbledore was still trying to find out what exactly Harry’s mum had done to protect him and defeat Voldemort. But with the curse on Harry, the Headmaster wouldn’t be able to focus on that - finding a cure was more important. And they knew that his mother’s protection wouldn’t last past his seventeenth birthday - he would have to fight Voldemort before it ended. “I’ll train harder, too.” He had to. He couldn’t let anyone else get hurt because of him.

“You’re already spending half your evenings with Sirius or Dumbledore,” Ginny said.

He nodded. It was needed, after all.

“And there’s Quidditch,” she added.

“I can drop that if it gets too much,” Harry said. He would hate it, but defeating Voldemort - and surviving the fight - took priority.

“You can’t just train all the time. You need to relax too,” she said.

“I’ve got you for that,” he said, grinning. He stepped up to her and leaned forward.

She slowly leaned back, not breaking eye contact. He pressed on until he was on top of her, then kissed her.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 4th, 1996

Sitting in Mr Black’s study, waiting, Hermione Granger rolled her eyes. Mr Black was late. He should have been here already - he knew she had arrived. But the dog was late. She wouldn’t mind if he was visiting Harry, who needed his godfather more than ever now, but according to Kreacher, Mr Black was ‘entertaining’ his guest. Which meant Jeanne. How could he think that dallying - or whatever it was that he was doing - with his French girlfriend was more important than meeting with her? They had important things to discuss!

She noticed the door opening and quickly picked up the parchment in front of her - it might be Jeanne, after all, who would expect a very busy and very focused secretary. Not an impatient thief.

Mr Black peeked in, then pulled back. “Ah, she’s here already! I’m sorry, chérie, but apparently I have important business matters to discuss,” she heard him say. To Jeanne, judging by the sounds of kissing that followed. And went on.

She was clenching her teeth and glaring at the dog when he finally entered and closed the door behind him. And he had the gall to smile at her!

“So, what do you need to talk about?” he asked, sitting down on his new swivel chair. If he started to spin around on it she’d hex him. Or claw him. This was serious.

She glanced at the door to check that it was closed.

“Jeanne won’t hear a word,” he assured her. “And she’s off to Diagon Alley anyway.”

She nodded curtly. He hadn’t lost all sense over the witch, then. She raised her chin and met his eyes. “I need to tell Mr Fletcher about our secret.”

His wide and slightly mocking smile disappeared. “We’ve gone over this before,” he said. “I don’t trust him.”

“Dumbledore trusts him. I trust him,” she retorted, then bit her lower lip. She couldn’t rehash arguments that had failed to convince him in the past. “But that’s not the point. The situation has changed. This isn’t about spying on Death Eaters any more. This is about finding a cure for Harry.” He drew a hissing breath through clenched teeth. She went on: “Dumbledore needs information about blood magic. That means we’ll have to break into the lairs of vampires. And manors of Old Families hiding such magic. Both are extremely dangerous. If Mr Fletcher doesn’t know what I can do, he will not be able to make the best plans.”

He glared at her. “But you know what you can do. And you’re a good planner.”

She refrained from nodding, even though she was - briefly - pleased at the recognition. “I lack his experience.” And he wouldn’t follow a plan of hers, not when she couldn’t tell him what exactly she was planning. “You have to trust your partner in such matters.” And she had been hiding this far too long from her tutor already.

“I don’t trust him,” he spat.

“Would you rather risk your secret or Harry’s cure?” She kept looking directly into his eyes until he scowled and looked away.

“That’s unfair.”

“So?” She didn’t care how fair it was if it was about saving Harry.

He closed his eyes and seemed to slide down a few inches in his seat. After a few moments, he sighed. “Alright.” Then he sat up and smiled at her - rather evilly, she noticed. “But I’ll tell him myself.”

He was planning something, Hermione knew him well enough to tell. But as long as she could finally show Mr Fletcher what she could do, she wouldn’t complain.

“Good.”

*****​

“Get offa me, you mangy cur!”

“Woof!”

“Stop lickin’ my face! I’ll curse you… give me back my wand!”

Hermione Granger closed her eyes and sighed. She really should have known better than to to think Mr Black would be able to show off his animagus form without acting like the stupid dog he was.

“Hermione! Get him off me!” Mr Fletcher yelled from where the dog had pinned him to the floor - next to the vase that had been broken during the tussle.

She hesitated a moment, then changed herself.

Time to teach the dog some manners with her claws. Again.

*****​

 

Chapter 16: A Bloody Business

Wiltshire, Malfoy Manor, Britain, February 6th, 1996

“I grow tired of your excuses, Lucius.”

Lucius Malfoy fought not to tremble as his guest sighed and shook his head. He hadn’t raised his voice, but that didn’t mean anything; Lucius knew just how suddenly the Dark Lord could inflict his cruelties.

The far too young-looking man - Lucius didn’t know how that had been achieved, but it had to be the result of the darkest magic - shifted on his seat in Lucius’s study and frowned at him. “If not for your intervention, Pettigrew - a loyal, if craven, follower - would be in Azkaban, ready to be freed together with the other faithful.”

“Milord, he was beyond help. If I hadn’t spoken up, then Black would have,” Lucius said in as steady a voice as he could manage. “Black would never have let him live. I chose to have Pettigrew’s death serve a purpose, at least, by improving my standing in the Wizengamot, where I can do your work.”

The Dark Lord scoffed. “So you claimed before. And yet, for all your vaunted standing and influence, the Ministry is still not mine.”

“Milord, such things cannot be rushed, or your enemies will notice what I’m doing, and prepare to counter me.”

He clenched his teeth when he saw the other sneer at him. “Do you think that my greatest foe is stupid? Dumbledore already knows what you are doing - you’ve been bribing your way into power for fifteen years.”

“He hasn’t managed to stop me, though,” Lucius protested. “He couldn’t even save Potter’s mudblood from being expelled.” That had been a beautiful plot. Not only had he managed to remove that uppity mudblood from the school before she embarrassed the real wizards and witches further with her skill, but since Parkinson, Greengrass, Davis and Bulstrode had been so greedy, he had leverage over them as well. And Draco had - finally - learned how to deal with his enemies. He wouldn’t repeat the mistake that he had made with the Malaclaw venom.

“Do you expect me to be impressed by the fact that you managed to get a mudblood child expelled? A single mudblood gone from Hogwarts is nothing! Dozens of them still pollute those sacred halls with their presence!” The Dark Lord flicked his wand, and Lucius hissed when his Dark Mark started to burn his arm.

“Milord… she was one of Potter’s closest friends. My son told me how much he depended on her. Your foe is weakened.” Lucius spoke quickly, shivering as the pain in his arm grew stronger.

“She is an ignorant child, nothing more. Dumbledore is the enemy, and Potter is his tool. Mudbloods don’t matter as long as those two live!”

Lucius drew a hissing breath as he clutched his left arm. “Milord, please…” he managed to say as he sagged in his seat.

The Dark Lord scoffed, but with a swish of his wand, the pain stopped. “You have grown soft, Lucius. Expelling mudbloods? You used to kill them, remember?”

He did. He had been young, and foolish. But he nodded. “Yes, milord. But as you said - the time is not yet ripe for such acts. We have to move cautiously.”

“Cautiously, yes - but not cowardly! I expect results, Lucius. You killed Pettigrew to increase your influence; you promised me the Ministry - but you have not delivered.”

Lucius drew deep breaths as he recovered from the Dark Lord’s torture. “Milord, I’m close. The Minister considers me his best friend. I lead the biggest faction in the Wizengamot. I have promoted your staunchest followers in the Ministry. I only need a little more time.”

“And yet you have failed to rid the Ministry of Weasley. You could not even manage to get his son fired. Black still controls his huge fortune despite your best efforts. When will you demonstrate this much vaunted influence of yours?”

“Milord, Dumbledore needed to call in favours to save Weasley - and that wasn’t the only time he has had to. The more he struggles to oppose me, the weaker he grows. Already people are asking if he can fulfill his duties as both the Chief Warlock and the Headmaster of Hogwarts. And they notice how much he favours his allies. Protecting Black has cost him, too - and thanks to me, he spent a small fortune to pay the mudblood’s debt.” Lucius leaned forward, placing his hands on his desk. “We are making progress, milord, on multiple fronts. Victory is but a question of time.”

“You’ve said that before. My patience is growing thin, Lucius,” the Dark Lord snarled. “I know your ambitions. Do not fail me.”

“I live to serve you, Master,” Lucius said, bowing his head.

“You live as long as you serve me. Don’t forget it.” Another flick of the Dark Lord’s wand made Lucius’s Dark Mark burn again, but only for an instant, before the Dark Lord left him.

But it had been enough to leave him trembling with fear and pain. Shivering, he rubbed his arm as he leaned back in his seat. He hit the bell on his desk, and, half a minute later, he heard the concealed door in the wall at his back open.

He didn’t turn his head. “Dobby, fetch me the bottle!”

“Yes, Master Lucius.”

A minute later, the elf had come and left again, and Lucius had recovered enough not to spill the whisky as he filled his glass. This could not go on. The Dark Lord was too impatient. If the Dark Lord treated him like this, when he was one of his most influential and richest followers, how would he fare once the Dark Lord had won?

He took a sip from his glass, shuddering as the liquid burned his throat. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. All he had wanted, back in the beginning, was to teach the mudbloods their place. Those filthy animals couldn’t be allowed to hold any power in Wizarding Britain. The damage they would do to society…

He sighed and rubbed his arm. If had he known the price of following the Dark Lord… If he had not sacrificed Pettigrew to remove any lingering suspicion… He wouldn’t have done it had he been aware that the Dark Lord was still alive. And now it didn’t look as if the Dark Lord would ever let him forget that lapse.

If he managed to deliver the Ministry to the Dark Lord, perhaps… No. Lucius shook his head. He knew that he wasn’t the only Death Eater working to take over the Ministry. He had rivals ready to tear him down and take his place. Rivals who would claim they had done it. And the Dark Lord would listen to them - or pretend to listen to them, if only to punish Lucius for his supposed failures. Or his family.

The thought of Narcissa or Draco suffering the Dark Lord’s wrath, writhing under his Torture Curse… He downed the entire glass and refilled it. He couldn’t let that happen. But he couldn’t do anything. Not alone and with the Dark Mark burning on his arm.

But he didn’t have any allies. He didn’t know who else was working for the Dark Lord and in a similar situation - although he had his suspicions, of course. But, even if he knew, he couldn’t trust them not to betray him - willingly or not.

No, there was but one wizard who could help him. One wizard able to stand against the Dark Lord. A wizard he had opposed and fought for two decades now. But, Lucius thought, a wizard who would know the value of his influence. And, he added, remembering a diary resting in his hidden vault, he could offer something else in exchange for help against the Dark Lord.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 7th, 1996

“If you try to lick my face again, I’ll curse your tongue off.” Mr Fletcher raised his wand and glared at Mr Black.

“Don’t worry about that - I won’t do it again. I needed half a bottle of Ogden’s Finest to burn the taste off my tongue. That aftershave...” Mr Black stuck his tongue out and made exaggerated gagging noises.

“It’s not meant to be appreciated by animals,” Mr Fletcher shot back.

“Let me tell you from personal experience: It doesn’t taste any better to humans either. I bet it drives witches away!” Mr Black sneered.

“I haven’t heard any complaints from Hermione.”

Hermione Granger opened her mouth to remind the two wizards that they had gathered in the basement of Grimmauld Place to plan a heist, not to exchange barbs with each other, but Mr Black spoke up before she could: “Well, her nose must be defective. Or she’s simply too polite to mention that your aftershave reeks.” He sighed. “She usually has better taste in men, too.”

“My nose works perfectly well!” Hermione glared at him.

Her employer sniffed at her. “As a Grim, I’m the expert on smells here.”

“You’re a dog, not a Grim,” she corrected him, barely managing to avoid adding ‘stupid’, “and given that dogs tend to stick their noses into every disgusting thing they find, I don’t think you’re an authority on aftershave.”

“Well, your friend - and your student, ‘Mr Smith’ - would disagree. The lovely Jeanne loves my aftershave.” Mr Black smirked.

“Or she’s simply too polite to criticise it,” Mr Fletcher retorted. “After all, I taught her manners.”

“You also taught Miss Granger manners, didn’t you? And yet she often behaves like an animal around me - and not in the sexy way.” The dog rubbed his recently healed nose for emphasis.

“It’s the only language you seem to understand,” Hermione said with a sweet smile.

Her tutor laughed. “You could try a rolled-up newspaper too.”

In response, Mr Black changed forms, for a moment only - he was smirking at Mr Fletcher, who had jumped up from his chair and aimed his wand at the dog. “A little twitchy, are we? Or afraid?” Mr Black asked in a mocking tone. “Do you hex every friendly dog you happen across?”

“You’re anything but friendly, Black,” Mr Fletcher snarled.

“I’m very friendly! Just ask my friends!” Mr Black said, giving the other man a toothy smile.

“The ones you paid or the ones you blackmailed?” Hermione’s tutor shot back.

This was getting too serious, Hermione thought. “Please!” she spoke up, “We’re here to plan the next heist, not to exchange insults.” She saw the dog opening his mouth and quickly added: “If you say ‘He started it!’ I’ll hex you. This is about Harry, not about who’s had more success with witches.” She glared at both of them for good measure. They were worse than Harry and Ron had been in first year during their disagreement over which Quidditch team was best - Puddlemere United or Chudley Cannons. Both were wrong, anyway - the Holyhead Harpies were clearly the best team.

“Do you let your student talk to you in that manner?” Mr Black complained.

“Only when she’s correct,” Mr Fletcher said. He sat down again and pulled out a roll of parchment from his pocket.

The dog grumbled something and sat down as well. Hermione sighed.

“Alright. Our acquaintance gave me a list of places to look into,” her tutor started the briefing.

“You mean Dumbledore,” Mr Black said, “and by ‘looking’ you mean ‘breaking into’.” Hermione scratched the tabletop with her nails, and he shrugged. “Just clarifying things.”

Mr Fletcher ignored him. “These are suspected vampire lairs and manors of families who might own tomes covering blood magic.”

“That’s an awful lot of assumptions. And a lot of locations.” Mr Black simply couldn’t keep quiet and let someone else talk, Hermione thought.

“You wanted to be involved in this kind of work, Black.” Mr Fletcher scoffed. “If it’s too much for you then you can go back to your girlfriend and let us work.”

“As Miss Granger has pointed out, this is for Harry. Not for gold.” Mr Black looked rather grim.

“We’re not doing this for gold either.” And so did Mr Fletcher.

Hermione wanted to hex them both. “Which location will we hit first?” she asked instead, a little louder than she usually would.

They got the message. Her tutor tapped the first name on the list. “This house in Swansea. Up until 1915, a branch of the Tripe family lived there. Officially, the house has been vacant since then, but it’s been kept in good repair - even after the last heir of the Tripe family was killed in Grindelwald’s War.”

“Magenta Tripe married into the Black family,” Mr Black added. “But I don’t think we have a claim - my mother would have pressed it, and she would have known, obsessed as she was with our ancestry.”

“Someone’s been living there. And according to my source…”

“Dumbledore,” the dog cut in again.

“...Maximilian Tripe was declared dead in 1905, but persistent rumours claimed that he was actually turned into a vampire,” Mr Fletcher said. “He was a scholar during his life, and known for his controversial views on the Dark Arts.”

“You’re going to break into the suspected lair of a vampire who is over a hundred and fifty years old, and was a dark wizard when he was alive?” Mr Black sounded surprised.

“Of course,” Mr Fletcher answered. “It’s what we do.” Hermione smiled widely at hearing him include her. He trusted her!

Mr Black, though, turned his head to stare at her. His meaning was clear. She raised her chin and met his eyes. “For Harry,” she said.

The dog swallowed what he had been about to say.

*****​

Swansea, West Glamorgan, Britain, February 8th, 1996

There was the garden! Hermione ducked down and slowly approached the iron fence. She could just make out the slightly blurry form of the building behind it, but the fence was the important part, anyway. It was tall and massive, but the bars were far enough apart that a lithe cat like herself could squeeze through easily.

Unlike a big, stupid dog, she thought with amusement. It was so like him to vent his frustration by marking the fence post - the dog must have forgotten that they weren’t here to stay and claim the territory, but rather to scope out the building for a quick raid.

She reached the fence and sniffed the air. She didn’t smell any decaying carcasses, nor any blood. Which meant that the wards defending the place - the fence was also the wardline - wouldn’t harm her or any other animal. She carefully and cautiously put her paws on the concrete base of the fence and peered through the bars. From here she could see the building clearly. The green bricks - no, she reminded herself, they were red, actually. Not that it mattered, anyway - were partially covered with ivy that reached up to the gable roof. Perfect for climbing - if you were a slender, agile cat. Dogs, of course, couldn’t climb, even if the plants were able to hold their weight.

But all the windows were shuttered, she noted. And through the slits she could spot curtains. She wouldn’t be able to peer inside even if she climbed the walls. She sniffed the air - the plants in their pots at each side of the entrance had been freshly watered. And there was a newspaper on the stairs.

Someone was living there. Someone who didn’t like the sun. She narrowed her eyes and flattened her ears in disdain - while the night was perfect for prowling, as all the humans were unable to spot a cat, being blind in the darkness, only an utter fool would not want to take naps in the sun.

She ducked her head and slowly moved it until her whiskers touched the bars. Enough space for her head. Satisfied, she pushed through, her slender body barely touching the metal, until she landed gracefully in the garden.

It was a well kept garden, too - the grass was cut so short that no prey could hide in it. No sign of any rivals. More importantly, no sign of a dog - how people could keep those stupid animals in their homes when they could invite a cat instead, she couldn’t fathom. Quick as lightning, she dashed over to the building proper, hiding behind a flower pot.

No one came out to feed her or scare her away. Which meant that she hadn’t been seen. She eyed the front door - no window there, but a massive knocker - and the ivy - grown enough to support her weight, as she had known - then made a circuit of the building. There was a door at the back. Those usually led to the kitchen, or close, but she couldn’t smell any food, nor those spices humans were fond of. But… her nostrils flared. The scent was faint, but clear. Blood. Fresh, too. The owner must have successfully hunted last night. Or used some method to preserve the blood.

The door itself was sturdy, but there was a window - although with a curtain blocking the sunlight. And she saw dead bugs on the threshold. She didn’t smell poison, so they had probably been killed by magic.

It wasn’t bad, though - she wouldn’t have been able to break through the door with her claws anyway. And she could deal with such spells when she had hands and her wand. She continued her tour. On the right side of the house there was a coal chute. Lots of dead bugs there. And someone had filled the space below with concrete. She hissed in annoyance - she might have been able to squeeze through the gap between the lid and the stone, otherwise. She couldn’t smell anything, either. Not even dust. Unnatural.

She finished her tour, but didn’t find anything else of interest. That left the roof. She could climb up and see if the attic was sealed as well. It would be easy for such a good climber as herself. The work of a few minutes, at most.

She flattened her ears. Her tutor had forbidden it. But he was no cat; he didn’t know what cats could do. On the other hand, he knew magic. And she was a smart cat, not a stupid dog who didn’t listen.

She glanced up at the roof one more time. It would be so easy to climb up! But instead she left, slipping through the fence at the exact same spot she had entered - she smelled her fur on the bars. Mission accomplished, she thought, her tail held high, as she started towards the building where her tutor - and probably the stupid dog, too - was waiting.

She had almost reached the street she had to cross when, suddenly, a rival cat crossed her path. A tomcat. A big one. Smaller than Crookshanks, though. And not nearly as smart - he was hissing at her.

She flattened her ears and hissed back. She had fought the stupid dog several times and he was as massive as a human; a mere tomcat didn’t impress her. Most of his bulk was fat, anyway.

He stood his ground as she approached, growling now. She still wasn’t impressed. She was on a mission, an important mission. No tomcat could be allowed to interfere. When he ignored her last warning, she struck. Right on the nose!

*****​

“Was that you I heard hissing and screaming, or was that another cat?” Mr Black asked as soon as Hermione Granger entered the room they had rented - under a fake name, and in disguise, of course.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Aren’t you curious about what I found out?”

He shrugged. “You’ll tell us that anyway - and in great detail - as soon as Fletcher is here. I’d rather hear it once. Hard enough to stay awake.” He ignored her scowl - she was thorough, not boring! - and peered at her. “You don’t look hurt.”

“Of course not.” She scoffed - she had healed the scratches the other cat had left on her before entering.

“But you haven’t answered the question,” he said, grinning.

She rolled her eyes. She could lie, but they were on a heist, and lies caused trouble in a team. “I had to persuade a cat that he better avoid us.” She didn’t want to deal with a rival cat in the middle of the actual heist. And the tomcat had to learn not to annoy his betters.

“I hope you were more gentle with him than you are with me,” Mr Black said. “You didn’t kill the poor thing, did you?”

“I haven’t killed you, have I?” she shot back. As if she’d kill a fellow cat! Did he think she was a monster?

“Well, I’m an experienced - and handsome - wizard who is far harder to kill than a simple cat,” he retorted. “But it certainly felt as if you tried your best to kill me.”

She sighed. He was such a dog.

Fortunately, Mr Fletcher returned before she was honestly tempted to teach the dog a lesson too. Not that she thought he’d ever learn it.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 10th, 1996

“So, you lot wanna learn how to fight for real? No more playing around with hexes and jinxes?” The scarred old Auror walked back and forth in front of Harry Potter and his friends, his peg leg punctuating each word with a dull noise.

“Yes!” Harry answered together with Ron and Ginny. They hadn’t been playing around, not for a long time, but Remus and Sirius had told him that it was a bad idea to try and correct Mad-Eye Moody.

“Shouting won’t make it true,” the old wizard scoffed. “We’re not in a muggle movie.” He narrowed his good eye - the artificial one kept spinning wildly in its socket - at them. “I’ll tell you straight away: I’m not gonna coddle you. I’m not a school teacher; I’m a Senior Auror. I’ve made Auror trainees and even rookie Aurors break down in tears,” he added with a smile that was turned into a sneer by the scars marring his face.

Harry bit his lip to keep from giving the man lip. Sirius had warned him against that, too. Even if he wanted to say that he had faced Voldemort and a vampire and was no rookie any more.

“Heard you had a little tussle with a blood sucker, Potter,” Moody continued as if he had read Harry’s thoughts - which he hadn’t, Harry knew. The Auror stopped in front of him. “You and the little girl there.”

“I’m not a little girl!” Ginny spat. “I fought that vampire too, even wounded!”

“Hah!” Moody turned to her. “I’ve read the reports. I’ve seen the body. You sent a few spells at the vampire, that was it. You didn’t even rate a curse in return; you were wounded by an explosion aimed at Potter here.”

Ginny gasped in outrage, but Moody had already turned back to Harry. “And you, Potter! You were supposedly trained for exactly that situation! And what did you do? Break your broom, lose your Cloak, and get cursed!”

“I didn’t lose my Cloak - I gave it to Ginny!” Harry snapped. “And we bloody well got that vampire!”

“Three versus one, and he hit two of you. If he had been using another dark curse, a faster one, you’d be dead.” Moody shook his head. “Sloppy of Lupin, really.”

“Remus did his best!” Harry protested. Remus had been cursed, and still fought on - and had beaten the vampire!

“And it wasn’t good enough.” Moody turned to Ron. “And you! You weren’t even in the fight. The only thing you’ve done so far is play around in training - you’ve got even less experience than these two here. Whatcha gonna do, serve as a distraction?”

Harry glanced at Ron. His friend was glaring at the old Auror and clenching his teeth. “I’ve heard better insults from my brothers,” Ron spat. “I’ll do whatever is needed. And it’s your job to teach us that, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Harry joined in. “How about we start?”

They’d show Moody what they could do. Sirius and Remus had trained them well, after all.

*****​

“Get him!” Harry Potter yelled, flicking his wand and sending two Stunners at Moody. But the Auror had already vanished behind a conjured wall. “We just have to hit him once!”

“I’m trying!” Ron, at his side, yelled back, vanishing the wall.

Harry had been waiting for that. His next Stunner flew through the space the wall had been in - and vanished in a cloud of fog or smoke.

“Ginny! Flank him!” There was no response. “Ginny?” He glanced to his side. The witch was on the ground, knocked out.

“Harry!”

He whirled around, just in time to catch a Stunner that shattered his Shield Charm. He was already dropping to the ground, but another hit him before he even touched the stone floor.

*****​

“You’re worse than I hoped, but you’re not entirely hopeless.” Moody was once again pacing - if you could call his limping gait that - in front of them. Harry Potter knew that it was an act, though - the old Auror hadn’t been limping at all during their ‘lesson’. The wooden leg was probably enchanted too, and better than a natural one, Harry thought.

Ron mumbled something under his breath, rubbing his arm. Harry didn’t catch it, but Moody chuckled. He probably also had a spell to enhance his hearing. Ginny didn’t say anything. The witch just glared at Moody.

“So, we’ll do this twice a week, until you’re better than the curse-fodder I usually train. Until then you’re not to leave the school unless Albus or I are escorting you,” Moody went on. “Mind you, that’ll probably take the rest of the year, so no more Hogsmeade weekends for you.”

Ginny gasped, but Harry and Ron nodded. No matter how brutal Moody was - and Harry was certain he had broken a few ribs during their training; he knew the feeling even when they had been numbed - a real fight was far worse. And Harry didn’t intend to get cursed again. Or see Ginny get hurt again.

Moody squinted at them with his good eye. “And remember: Constant Vigilance! Don’t trust anyone - not a student, not a teacher, not even a friend! Voldemort’s after you, and you know what he can do. If he catches you off-guard, you better hope he kills you, because I’ll make you wish that he had!”

Harry winced. He didn’t think that the Auror was entirely serious, but… best not to risk it. Which, he realised, was probably why Moody had said that. “Yes, sir,” he spat out.

Moody stared at him, then nodded curtly. “Get to the infirmary and let Poppy check you out.” With that, he left.

“Merlin’s balls!” Ron sighed and sat down as soon as the door had closed behind the Auror. “I thought Sirius and Remus were brutal!”

“They warned us about him, remember?” Harry said. He touched his chest. His ribs were still numbed.

“Yeah. Didn’t think they were that serious. You know them.” Ron’s laugh turned into a cough and a groan. He had been hit in the chest too, Harry recalled.

“Let’s head to Pomfrey,” he said. If they hurried a little they would be back in time for dinner. He turned to look at Ginny, who had been uncharacteristically silent so far. She was staring at the door. “Ginny?”

She whipped her head round to look at him, and he flinched at her expression. “Who does he think he is? No more Hogsmeade?”

“Well, I reckon he’s right,” Ron said. “Wouldn’t want to risk another attack until we’re ready, and Harry’s curse has been fixed.”

“We weren’t attacked in Hogsmeade,” Ginny retorted, “but outside of it, when we were alone.”

“I wouldn’t put it past Voldemort to attack us in Hogsmeade,” Harry said. “And that could hurt a lot of people.” Voldemort wanted to keep his actions secret, as far as he knew, but the Dark Lord might very well decide that killing Harry was worth exposing himself. Or he might simply count on blaming the attack on others.

Ginny scowled. “Still…”

“Don’t fret about it,” Ron said, chuckling. “You didn’t really think Mum would let you visit Hogsmeade again until you’ve graduated anyway, did you?”

Harry didn’t think Molly would approve of Ginny’s answer to that either.

*****​

Swansea, West Glamorgan, Britain, February 11th, 1996

Standing at the window of their rented flat, Hermione Granger tapped the side of her mask with her left hand twice and slid her finger forward. In response, the building at which she was looking grew larger in her field of vision. The new spell on her equally new mask wasn’t quite as good as Omnioculars, but it was far easier to use. And it was good enough to study the house from afar - and in true-colour; adjusting to the colour spectrum cats’ eyes saw had been a bit of a challenge. Only hags were supposed to have green skin.

“The whiskers look cute, but the mask as a whole looks kind of… faceless.”

She ignored the dog’s comment - her mask looked perfect, anyway, with its smooth black finish and painted whiskers - as she looked for any sign of the building’s inhabitants.

“And where are the ears? Every cat mask I’ve ever seen has had ears. And eyes that glow in the dark. And a tail.”

Sighing, she withdrew her finger, which restored her normal vision - she would have to modify the enchantment so she could also tap the mask twice to stay zoomed in, she noted - and looked at Mr Black.

He flinched slightly. “That’s a really creepy stare, you know.”

“You can’t see my face,” she answered.

“That’s my point.” He frowned. “That aside, how can we give you a potion if we have to with you wearing the mask?”

She was surprised that the dog had thought ahead, then she remembered what had happened to Harry. Of course his godfather would worry about such a situation. “You open it like this.” She pushed on the latch behind her ear, letting the mask swing upward like a visor.

“You’re wearing another mask under your mask?” He stared at her face.

She nodded. “There are spells that can see through clothes, and I haven’t found a good spell to block them. This half-mask, however, is thin enough that the most common spells will have trouble focusing on my actual face.” Which would be tanned too, to change its tone from her natural one. He still looked surprised. She frowned. “Did you think I chose my outfit just because I liked the look?”

“Of course not,” he protested - but he didn’t sound sincere.

“You did.” She sighed - a common occurrence when talking with the dog. “I’m not wearing this suit to show off my body, but because the leather protects me and will not snag on things - nor let an enemy easily get a grip on it. Besides, it’s a classic muggle cat burglar's outfit.” That it also showed off her body was a welcome side-effect, of course.

He closed his mouth, then frowned. “Is that a subtle hint that I should change my robes?”

“You’re not coming with us,” she said. No sane thief would take an untrained dog into a vampire’s lair.

“But I might have to, to save you if you run into trouble,” he retorted. “So I should look the part.” He drew his wand before she could tell him how unlikely it was that she and Mr Fletcher would need him to save them. “There! How does that look?”

Hermione blinked at the sight, then clenched her teeth. “You’re not copying my suit!” A dog had no business wearing a catsuit!

“I’m not - it would be much too tight in the groin, you know?”

She didn’t need nor want to know. “Use a different design. This one is mine.”

“You can’t own a look!”

“Of course I can! Have you never heard of copyright?”

She should have known that he hadn’t.

*****​

Mr Fletcher shouldn’t have found the whole affair amusing, Hermione Granger thought an hour later. At least she had managed to get the dog to change his ‘thief look’ to something that wouldn’t make people who saw both of them think they were a couple. Or father and daughter - Hermione didn’t know which would be worse.

“Alright, we’re ready. The sun’s been up for a while, so the vampire should be asleep by now. Or dead to the world, if you prefer,” her tutor said. “We’re going in through the back door - the hedges in the back will hide us from muggle eyes.”

“You’re not going to disillusion yourselves?” Mr Black asked.

“Of course we will,” Mr Fletcher answered. “But a door opening by itself would look mighty strange to a muggle, wouldn’t it?”

Hermione bit her lip to refrain from pointing out that muggles had doors that opened automatically, though generally not back doors, and not in such buildings. She took a sip from the potion that would hide her scent - vampires had a very good sense of smell according to her sources.

To her surprise, Mr Black simply nodded. “Alright. I’ll be sitting here, and keeping an eye on the building, ready to rush in and save you if you run into the vampire.”

“You do that,” her tutor said, glancing at Hermione. It was obvious that he didn’t expect to need the dog’s help either. But Mr Black had insisted on helping - it was for Harry, after all, which Hermione had to respect. And he already knew too much about them anyway.

And, in a pinch, a bungling dog barging in might make for a decent diversion, she added to herself as she cast a Disillusionment Charm and went out the window after Mr Fletcher.

*****​

Hermione Granger would have preferred to enter through the roof, but since they were doing this during the day, the back door was the best option as it was hidden from the neighbour’s view. Even though its defences would be stronger than those on the attic window. At least Hermione thought so. She glanced upwards again as Mr Fletcher worked on the wards - since he wasn’t an animagus, he couldn’t slip through them unhindered.

She didn’t like this. Not only were they standing in the open - although disillusioned and in the backyard of the neighbouring house - but she still wouldn’t get to work on the wards herself. How could she gain the experience she needed without actually doing her part of the work? Not all wards would let animals through.

But Mr Fletcher was the one in charge, and he had made the plan. And he had the experience - with the exception that her tutor hadn’t worked with animagi before. Not that the dog would be able to add much - he couldn’t climb and he wasn’t trained in Curse-Breaking either.

She glanced at the house. The heavy curtains behind the windows didn’t reveal any signs of movement within. But still… she wanted to change and pass through the wards. Check up close if the vampire had actually gone to sleep.

“Don’t fret,” Mr Fletcher’s voice coming from the back part of her mask interrupted her. “We’ll do this like we trained - the middle of a heist is no time for experiments.” He knew her well, she realised - with both of them disillusioned, he couldn’t actually have seen her fret.

“Yes, sir.” It made sense, but she couldn’t help feeling that this was a mistake. But perhaps she was simply far more nervous, knowing that they were about to break into the lair of a very old and experienced vampire. Who was now probably paranoid due to the string of disappearances of other vampires.

If she could ever tell Harry about this, he’d better appreciate what they were doing for him!

“Got it. I’ll go over the fence. Wait until I tell you before following me.” Mr Fletcher sounded slightly tired, but that might just be her imagination, Hermione thought.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered, the enchantment on her mask picking up her voice.

When his marker moved up and over the fence she saw a faint blur underneath it and, a second later, she spotted the grass being flattened where he landed in the garden. Ten seconds later, she heard his whispered voice again. “I’m in the garden. Come!”

She was tempted to change and slip through the bars, despite what Mr Fletcher had told her. But he trusted her. And he’d notice when the marker above her head disappeared. So she stepped forward, put a foot on the concrete base of the fence, grabbed the spiked tips at its top, and heaved herself up. Her boot found purchase on the middle ornament of the wrought iron bar and a quick vault later she landed in a crouch on the lawn. She drew her wand and fixed the grass she and her tutor had flattened as she made her way towards his position at the back door.

“Lethal vermin ward,” he whispered, “among other spells.”

“Would it affect a cat?” she asked. Cats weren’t vermin, after all. Dogs might qualify, though.

“Maybe. Hard to tell. Definitely stronger than the usual anti-bug spell. Not good enough to stop us, of course,” he added, and she knew he was smiling lopsidedly. A moment later the door swung open and she saw his marker move inside.

She followed. As expected from the age of the building, they were in a narrow hallway next to the kitchen - she could spot a very old-fashioned stove through the open door ahead. She closed the door behind her, then ended the Disillusionment Charm. Mr Fletcher did the same. Even with the thick curtains blocking all of the windows, there was enough ambient light to not need a light source of their own.

He nodded at her, then moved towards the kitchen door. She followed him, but waited in the doorway while he searched the place. A glance told her that the kitchen was even more outdated than she had thought - all the appliances seemed to date back to before the Great War. She could see no sockets, nor a fridge - but there was a large ice box. Everything was sparkling clean, though.

Mr Fletcher opened the ice box. “Definitely a vampire,” he whispered. “It’s full of blood. Stasis spell, too.”

She swallowed and focused her attention on the hallway. Somewhere in the house - probably in the basement - was a vampire. She shuddered, then forced herself to calm down. They were trained, experienced thieves. Tripe - if he was the vampire living here - wouldn’t even notice their presence.

“Nothing in the kitchen,” Mr Fletcher whispered.

Hermione nodded. That meant they would search the ground floor next. She moved ahead to the next door. That should be the dining room, according to the usual layout for such houses which she had memorised. Close to the kitchen so the food wouldn’t get cold while being served - not that vampires or wizards would worry about that.

This time she went in while Mr Fletcher kept watch. The room held, as expected, a large but narrow dining table and seats for ten people. A fireplace too, but without a Floo powder cup. A quick check with a few spells showed that there were no secret doors hidden in the room either. “Nothing,” she reported in a whisper as she left the room again.

“Alright,” Mr Fletcher said as he turned towards the next room.

Hermione followed him, covering the hallway and the door to the street ahead of them - and the stairs next to it - with her wand. The whole house was very clean, she noted. Not a speck of dust in sight - despite the thick carpet on the floor and the heavy curtains.

Mr Fletcher had just bent down to check the door for traps when she caught a shadow moving up ahead, near the stairs. But before she could react the entire carpet was swept up and she found herself thrown into the air with enough force to brush against the ceiling before crashing to the ground. She rolled with the fall, as she had trained to, and rose in a crouch, her wand out. The carpet was still moving, though - racing towards her as if it were a giant snake trying to constrict her. She stabbed her wand at it a moment before it reached her.

“Finite!”

The carpet fell down in a tangled heap and she jumped over it. Mr Fletcher was casting spells at the shadow - which was a wizard in dark robes, she realised - but as she aimed her wand, his shield shattered under a barrage of curses, and he went down.

Stunner, she thought - the red spells were quite distinctive - and sent one herself at the shadow, followed by a Banishing Charm. Both were stopped by the man’s shield. No, the vampire’s shield - she could see the red eyes. She was about to cast a Piercing Curse to shatter the shield but he was faster, and only a quick drop to the floor saved her from getting hit by three more spells. She rolled to the side, right to the door to the dining room. If she could dodge inside, reach the windows, just vanish the curtains...

Then she felt the carpet beneath her move again, and this time she wasn’t quick enough to dispel the spell animating it before it wrapped itself around her, crushing her arms against her sides. She was lifted up as she tried to move her wand - but it was held fast by the fabric. She managed to reach her suit’s enchanted pocket with her other hand, though, searching for the mirror inside, as she was turned around until she was staring straight at the vampire.

He sneered and she shivered when saw his fangs in the dim light filtering through the thick curtains. The tip of her finger reached the mirror, and she frantically tried to rub it.

“You thought I was defenceless during the day?” He scoffed as he walked - stalked - closer until he was standing in front of her, in the middle of the doorway.

She felt the mirror vibrate in her pocket. “How did you notice us?” she asked. She had to stall the vampire.

“I smelled you.” His sneer deepened as he cocked his head sideways. “What a silly mask.”

She clenched her teeth. It wasn’t silly. “We took potions. There was no scent.”

He laughed, though it sounded rough, almost alien. “I smelled the blood.”

The ice box! She could have hexed herself for that mistake.

His nostrils widened. “Your blood too,” he added, licking his lips.

The fall had hurt, but was she bleeding? When his hand rose towards her head she first tried to pull her head away - then realised that that exposed her throat. But… though she couldn’t move it, she still held her wand, technically. She didn’t know any spells that would directly affect the vampire - a mere Lumos certainly wouldn’t hurt him as daylight would - but they were right in the doorway, opposite a large window. The shutters had slits in them. And the sun would be…

“Accio curtains!” she yelled, and felt the spell work.

But the curtains didn’t even move.

“Did you think I would not have taken measures to prevent such an obvious ploy?” The vampire threw his head back and cackled. Then he flipped his head down again and stared at her without moving a muscle. Unnaturally still, she thought with a shiver. “Did you think I wouldn’t expect you, after the disappearances? That I wouldn’t be prepared?”

She shook her head. “That wasn’t us.” How much longer could she stall him?

He laughed again. “I’ll find out the truth.” His smile stretched until he was baring his fangs at her. One hand gripped her hair - dyed blonde and straightened for the heist - and pulled her head back, exposing her throat. He touched her collar with his wand and cast a spell, cutting it open.

He was going to bite her. Kill her.

Then the back door was thrown open and the vampire released her, throwing up his arms to shield himself against the sudden bright light filling the hallway.

A second later, a massive black dog pounced on him. The vampire’s shield held, but the impact threw him back and away from Hermione. Before the vampire could recover, the dog changed into a wizard, his wand already moving, and once more spells filled the narrow hallway.

The vampire’s Shield Charm absorbed several spells before shattering, but his own curses missed their mark - Mr Black had stepped to the side, pushing Hermione into the dining room with his shoulder as he kept casting.

On the ground, unable to see the vampire any more, and still held helplessly by the carpet, she tried to free herself as Mr Black traded curses with Tripe.

“Finite! Finite! Finite!”

Third time lucky, as the saying went, and she felt the carpet slacken around her.

“Evanesco!”

With the carpet gone, she rushed to the door - but Mr Black was already lowering his wand. “Are you alright?”

She didn’t answer as she pushed past him to peer around the doorway, then recoiled, her free hand hitting her mask as she tried to cover her mouth.

Mr Black sounded unconcerned. “That was a spell of my great-great-uncle’s. He apparently had a little feud with a vampire. Very messy, but very effective.”

Messy was an understatement, Hermione thought. The hallway was covered in blood and there was nothing left of the vampire but shredded, soaked robes.

“Are you alright?” Mr Black repeated his question.

She stared at him. How could he be so… Then her eyes widened.

Mr Fletcher!

*****​

Her tutor was covered in blood - soaked in it, actually - and unconscious, but he was alive. And he didn’t seem to have been cursed or seriously hurt, either, Hermione Granger found after a few frantic spells - or rather, she corrected herself, no curse that those spells could detect.

“Ennervate!”

He opened his eyes with a groan, then tensed, his hand grasping for the wand he had lost. He didn’t relax much, if at all, even after he recognised her. “What?”

Hermione handed him his wand and was about to explain what happened when Mr Black cut in: “You were beaten by the resident vampire and I had to save you. Seems I was correct in my prediction.”

She glared at him, and discovered a drawback of her mask - he couldn’t see her face behind it. But, she had to admit, Mr Black was correct. Even if he shouldn’t have been so blunt and smug about.

“He must have smelled the blood in the ice box when we opened it,” Hermione said to her tutor. She nodded at the other wizard. “Thank you. You saved our lives.”

“So much for ‘vampires sleep like the dead during the day’,” Mr Fletcher muttered. “Should have known not to trust Kettleburn’s lessons. He lost too many limbs to know what he was doing.” He stood, wincing as he put weight on his left leg. “Did you secure the house?” he asked as he flicked his wand, fixing his leg.

Hermione grimaced. “We treated you first.”

“You’re safe with me at your side,” Black added with a condescending grin. He could back his boasts up, though, Hermione thought - at least in her limited experience. Too limited, she added - she needed to learn how to fight better.

But first they needed to search the house for the books of blood magic Dumbledore needed to cure Harry. And, she added with a slight grin, any other books that looked valuable. Or anything else - it wasn’t, she thought, grimacing again when she looked at the remains of Tripe, as if their owner had any further need for them. And, she added, he didn’t have any heirs left anyway.

She wondered if her enchanted pocket could hold everything she wanted to take.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 12th, 1996

“You know, if I didn’t know that your inner animal is a cat I’d assume it were a locust.”

Hermione Granger did her best to ignore Mr Black’s comment as she pulled another book out of her pocket. A copy of the ‘Transfiguration Almanach’ from 1799 - very valuable due to its rarity, but lacking about two hundred years’ worth of spell research in the field. But it was a first edition!

She put it on the ‘historical’ pile, with the other outdated but gorgeous books she had found. Next was a banned tome about ritual magic. She had skimmed that one in the Black family library already a few months ago, but it never hurt to have a copy of her own. Unless it was cursed, of course. Which it wasn’t - she and Mr Fletcher had dealt with the curses before removing the books. That went on the ‘useful’ pile.

“I forgot to check - did you take the shingles on the roof as well? You took everything else, including the pots from the kitchen.” Mr Black was shaking his head at them.

Those would fetch a good price from antique collectors, Hermione knew. And if she were wrong they could be sold for scrap. Waste not, want not.

“I might need to cast another Extension Charm,” Mr Black continued, looking around the newest room in his basement.

She snorted at the hyperbole. While her and her tutor’s enchanted pockets could hold a lot of loot, their contents couldn’t fill an entire room. Not unless they unshrunk the furniture.

“Wasn’t the plan to only steal the books needed? Or, if possible, copy them?”

“That was before you killed Tripe, Black,” Mr Fletcher spoke up. “With him dead there was no longer any need to limit ourselves to a quick grab.” Her tutor didn’t sound entirely happy about that, Hermione thought. She wasn’t entirely happy either. About the killing, of course.

Black must have noticed too, since he frowned. “Even though it would be absurd, I cannot help but suspect that you do not approve of my daring rescue of you two.”

“I approve of being saved from a nasty fate,” Mr Fletcher grumbled. “And you have my thanks for that. Which I already told you.”

“While you were busy breaking into Tripe’s vault,” Mr Black shot back. “Truly, a more heartfelt display of gratitude has never been observed.”

Her tutor could have handled his rescue with a little more grace, Hermione thought - Mr Black had saved their lives, after all. If he hadn’t been there… she rubbed her throat. The leather of her suit had parted far too easily when the vampire had used his wand. “We’re very grateful for your timely intervention, Mr Black,” she said.

“Then call me Sirius.”

“What?” She stared at him.

He grinned widely. “If you’re really feeling grateful, then I demand that henceforth you refer to me as ‘Sirius’!”

“Like hell, Black!” Mr Fletcher spat.

“I wasn’t talking to you, but to her,” Mr Black shot back. “I don’t expect much gratitude from the likes of you.”

“‘The likes of me’?” Mr Fletcher snarled. “I’m not the one who used a dark curse to kill on a heist!”

“Should I have let him kill her?” Mr Black scoffed. “He was a vampire, a hundred and fifty years old, and a damn good duellist. I couldn’t have stunned or otherwise incapacitated him.”

“You looked that spell up in advance.”

“Of course I did!” Black shook his head. “We’re not doing this for fun, or gold. We’re fighting a war.”

“We’re in a war with Death Eaters, not with vampires hiding from Death Eaters.” Mr Fletcher was standing now, facing Mr Black.

The other wizard shrugged. “If they’re trying to kill me I’ll do my best to kill them right back. Same for my friends. Or friends of Harry’s.”

“That’s a fast way to make the Aurors get serious about killing you too,” Mr Fletcher retorted. Hermione saw that he was glancing at her.

Mr Black must have caught it as well since he sighed. “I’m not going to kill just anyone. But the kind of people who have books about blood magic and the Dark Arts in their basement? I won’t take any risks with them. And the Aurors won’t bother about their deaths either when they see what they’ve been up to.” He blinked. “Well, that might be a little difficult in this case, since you cleaned out the basement more thoroughly than a Niffler does a purse.”

Hermione winced. Maybe they had gone overboard a little. But it felt wrong to leave books if she could take them instead.

“Alright.” Mr Fletcher sounded as if pained him to agree, Hermione thought. “But I’ll be watching you, Black. We’re thieves, not killers.”

And once more, Mr Black grinned widely. He turned to her with an expectant smile. “And…?”

Hermione blinked, and suddenly knew just how her tutor felt. But they did owe the man their lives, even if he was entirely too smug about it. “Alright... Sirius.”

He beamed at her. “Yes! Now say it with a smile!”

She bared her teeth at the dog instead.

*****​

 

Chapter 17: Cats and Wizards

Hogwarts, February 22nd, 1996

Remus Lupin stared at the vial in his hand. It smelled as vile as it tasted, but the potion was the only thing between him and a painful, brutal death. One sip and the blood curse on him would be kept at bay - for another day. It was like the Wolfsbane Potion in a warped way - that, too, kept the beast at bay, but only for another month.

On the other hand, he just had to throw the vial away, and in a few hours - he hadn’t tested just how long the grace period Dumbledore had mentioned was - he would be dead. No longer would he be a danger each month to everyone around him. No longer would he be a failure.

He had failed Sirius, believing the slander instead of trusting his only remaining friend. He hadn’t even had the courage to confront Sirius, which would have brought forth the truth. No, instead he had hidden, and Sirius had suffered for over a decade.

And he had failed Harry. The boy had been cursed on his watch. Remus had failed to stop the assassin in time. If the vampire had used a different, quicker curse, Harry would have died. It was only thanks to Dumbledore - and Snape - that the boy had survived Remus’s blunder.

He scoffed. A danger and a failure. He had been given a chance to redeem himself, to help Sirius protect Harry, and he had failed. He didn’t deserve to live - he would only make another blunder. Get someone killed. If he wasn’t around, Sirius could find someone dependable to protect Harry. And Dumbledore and Snape wouldn’t have to care about the effects of a possible cure on someone also suffering from lycanthropy, or about the effects of their new potion when taken in conjunction with the Wolfsbane Potion.

All he had to do was the throw the vial away and then take a little Sleeping Draught. Perhaps the Draught of Living Death; he knew where to buy it. He wouldn’t feel a thing, he wouldn’t wake up, not even when the curse struck. It would be messy, of course, but he could prepare for that.

“What are you waiting for?”

The sudden question startled him and he almost dropped the vial. He whirled, and saw Tonks leaning against the doorframe. Had he missed her knocking? “What?”

She was frowning at him. “Why are you staring at the vial instead of drinking it? It won’t taste any better no matter how long you air it. It’s not wine.”

“I was simply lost in thought,” he answered. He wasn’t lying, not really.

She stepped fully inside his quarters and closed the door behind her. She was wearing her Auror robes, he noticed. Not the student robes she sometimes wore ‘to fit in’, as she claimed. Even if - in his opinion - they didn’t fit her any more. “Berating yourself for the attack?” she asked.

He started at her. Had he been that obvious?

She shook her head. “You weren’t exactly subtle.”

So, yes, he had been that obvious. Did Sirius know? His friend wasn’t the most observant, hadn’t been even before Azkaban, and he was focused on helping Harry, so he had probably missed it. It wasn’t as if Remus had spent that much time with him lately. He noticed that she was frowning at him - she had a very expressive face, no doubt a result of her special talent. “I failed to protect Harry.”

“Really? I heard you saved his life. Took down the bloodsucker and carried Harry to the infirmary in time for treatment - while suffering from the same curse. That kind of failure would be called success by most people.”

“If the vampire had used another curse, Harry would be dead,” he retorted.

“As would you.” She sighed theatrically and he pointedly didn’t look at her heaving chest. “But the point is that you two are alive and the bloodsucker’s dead - and by all accounts, he was a right nasty bugger. An old, experienced one. He would have given any Auror trouble. You did well.”

He should have stepped in and told Harry to take the carriages back to Hogwarts, avoiding the whole attack. But he had let the couple have their moonlight walk. “Miss Weasley was hurt as well,” he pointed out.

She made a dismissive gesture that reminded him of Sirius. “A scratch. Didn’t even need Pomfrey for that, a simple spell was enough.”

He should have taught her that spell, Remus thought. It wasn’t on the syllabus until their fifth year, but that was no excuse. Knowing that spell could save lives - more lives than knowing how to cast a Stunner.

“Are you still brooding about this, even though I’ve told you not to?” She was leaning forward, peering at him with narrowed eyes. In any other situation, it would have been funny. Cute, too. But not in this one.

“It’s nothing.”

She snorted. “‘Nothing’ my arse!”

“It doesn’t concern you.” This wasn’t any of her business. And not any business of the Aurors either. Just his personal failure.

“Are you certain?” She had that challenging look in her eyes again. And that flirty smile. He had seen similar smiles on some of the older students. He knew what it meant. Tonks wasn’t a seventh year with a crush on their teacher, but she was almost their age. And he was a dark creature, far too old and now twice cursed. And a failure.

She frowned at him again. “You’re far too depressed. It’s not the full moon, not even close.”

He gasped. How did she…

She sighed. “Please. That was obvious, too. I’m an Auror, not a dumb kid. Putting clues together is what I was trained to do, and our bodyguarding schedule made it rather obvious.” With a grin, she added. “And it helped that I had to track a werewolf in my first case, of course.”

He closed his eyes. She had known for some time, then. And had still flirted with him. Well, she was a Black - they had a streak of rather dark and sometimes cruel humour. On the other hand, she hadn’t displayed any such tendencies with others, as far as he knew.

“I’m not gonna vanish just because you closed your eyes. That’s not how it works, you know.”

He knew, without needing to look, that she was grinning now. Widely. She could be just as annoying as Sirius was in his teenage years. And as blunt. Well, he could be blunt too. “I’m a dark creature. Not something fanciable.”

She snorted. “You’re a wizard with a curse. Two curses, actually.”

“A dark curse that turns me into a raging monster under the full moon. If I don’t take my potion I would try to slaughter the entire school.” She had to see that. Especially since she had ignored his second sentence.

“You’d have to get out of your cage first.”

“Did you break into my quarters?” He gaped at her - but he didn’t keep the cage around, he conjured it when needed. That would mean…

She shrugged with a familiar insufferable grin. “Well… I had to check my theory. You look cute when you’re all furry and curled up like a dog. Though you might also need better locks and spells on your door.”

He had the best spells - he couldn’t risk anyone getting in. Anyone but… “Sirius helped you.”

She pouted. “I could have broken in. He just made it a little easier.”

And Sirius didn’t tell him. Remus would have words with his friend.

“See? You’re not brooding any more. We’ve made progress.”

“You took a huge risk.” He was a werewolf, not a dog like Sirius.

She snorted. “I’m a trained Auror. If you forget to take your potion then you lose your mind. And as Mad-Eye taught me: If you stop thinking you’ve already lost.” She blinked. “Well, he also told me that I needed to develop the correct instincts so I didn’t have to think about everything I was doing, but you get my point.”

But she didn’t get his. “When I… change… I become a monster. A monster who likes to kill and maim people.” He spoke in the most serious tone he could manage. She had to understand this. “Even with the potion, I know exactly how good it would feel to tear someone apart and bathe in their blood.”

“So?” She shrugged and picked up from his desk a globe showing a Grindylow, fiddling with it. “That’s not any different from the victim of an Imperius Curse.” She put the globe down again. “Have you ever been under that curse?”

He shook his head. He had dodged that particular spell so far.

“Well, I have.” She noticed his expression, and quickly went on: “Not like that. Mad-Eye cast it on us during training, so we would know how it feels. And let me tell you, under that curse, you feel very happy to do anything you’re ordered to. Everything’s fine, no matter what humiliating or embarrassing order you’re obeying.” Now she was frowning, and he heard her mutter: “I still haven’t gotten back at him for that.” Louder, she continued: “Anyway, the thing is, you’re not any different from the victim of an Imperius Curse. And you wouldn’t blame them for what they did while under someone else’s control, would you? I mean, real victims, of course, not Malfoy and his ilk.”

“Well, no, but that’s different.”

“Different how? Because they don’t grow fur?”

“They’re not dark creatures,” he shot back.

She rolled her eyes. “That’s a Ministry definition, nothing more. The Scandinavians don’t consider werewolves dark creatures.”

“That’s because of their traditions.” And because using werewolves in war made for a very powerful deterrent.

She shrugged. “Either way, it shows that you’re a curse victim, not a monster. Now drink your potion like a good wizard and stop brooding!”

“Will you leave me in peace if I do?” He almost blinked at his own tone. Not serious enough by far.

“Nope.” She grinned and crossed her arms under her chest, leaning back against his desk. “But I might let you go back to whatever you were doing before you got lost in brooding, for tonight at least.”

It was as good as any other reason to drink the potion, Remus supposed.

“Good boy!”

She still had an insufferable grin. And he still needed to have words with his friend. But he was feeling better, he realised.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 23rd, 1996

“What’s the verdict?” Harry Potter asked as soon as he saw the Headmaster put his wand down. “Sir,” he added belatedly. He didn’t want to be rude, but he had been examined daily for weeks now by Dumbledore and Pomfrey - and once even by Snape - and he was very much sick of it. It was also rather boring.

“As far as I can tell, the curse is being held completely in check - as planned,” Dumbledore said with a smile.

That had been the result of every examination so far. “No change then.”

“Not for the worse,” the Headmaster said.

“Not for the better either,” Harry said, then pressed his lips together. Dumbledore had saved his life and was working hard to cure him.

“That would have been an unexpected development, seeing as the potion you are taking has been created to stop the curse, not counter it.” The old wizard leaned back in his seat. “Although I have been pursuing a promising lead.”

“Did you refine the distilled phoenix tears?” Harry asked, looking at Fawkes. It hadn’t ended the curse, but it had helped Remus recover from the lingering damage he had suffered from it.

“No.” Dumbledore shook his head. When the phoenix trilled and stuck his head under his wing, apparently angry, the Headmaster petted the bird. “As I said after we tried it, the tears worked perfectly - but they heal; they do not break a curse, which is the crux of the issue.”

That was a rather flippant way to talk about a deadly curse, Harry thought. Especially to one of its victim. “Ron said his brother is a great Curse-Breaker.”

Dumbledore chuckled, briefly. “Young William is indeed talented, and, by now, experienced, indeed - but not with the kind of curse with which we are dealing here. As with so many problems in life, we need to understand the curse first, before we can find the correct means of ending it.”

“You’re studying blood magic.” Harry stared at him. He was no Hermione, but he had looked up blood magic after getting cursed.

“The study of that art has been banned.”

That wasn’t a denial. Harry nodded.

Dumbledore sighed. “But enough of that. How are your lessons with Alastor progressing?”

Harry scowled. “We’re ‘not entirely hopeless any more’. Just ‘mostly useless’.”

The Headmaster laughed. “That is high praise from him. Have you asked young Nymphadora about her training under him?” Harry shook his head. “You should,” Dumbledore said.

Harry shrugged. Since he wasn’t allowed to visit Hogsmeade any more, he no longer saw Tonks very often.

“Speaking of your distant relatives,” the Headmaster went on, “has Mr Malfoy been giving you any trouble lately?”

Harry frowned. “No, he hasn’t. Do you expect him to try something? Against my friends?” If Malfoy was trying to go after Ginny...

Dumbledore shook his head. “No, no. I was simply checking that he has not had a relapse, you might say. But it seems then that he has truly learned his lesson?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. The git had been staying clear of Harry and his friends since their second year.

“Have you felt anything from Voldemort?”

“No. I would have told you at once,” Harry added, feeling a little indignant. As if he’d keep that to himself! “Does that mean he hasn’t murdered anyone else?”

The Headmaster sighed. “Unfortunately, all it means - and even this is a mere assumption on my part - is that he has not used another blood magic ritual. Yet. But ordinary murders? I do not think those would have an effect on your scar.”

“What’s so special about rituals?” Harry asked.

“Before the invention of wands, rituals were how wizards cast the most difficult spells. Staves, which wizards used to cast spells back then, were crude and not well suited for the precision needed for casting more advanced spells. Rituals made them more manageable - at the cost of increasing the time needed to cast the spell, among other requirements.”

“Voldemort’s not using a staff,” Harry pointed out.

“Indeed. Staves were rendered obsolete when Roman wizards discovered how to make wands. The advantages offered by wands were so great that the Romans managed to conquer most of Europe before the secret spread to their neighbours. And almost two thousand years later, wands were the key to the Spanish conquest of the New World. Nothing has shaped the magical world as much as the invention of wands.”

Harry had already learned that when revising for History of Magic. “Were rituals rendered obsolete as well?” he asked before the Headmaster could go off on a tangent.

“Most rituals were. Why spend an hour, or even longer, casting a spell, if you could do it in but a moment with a wand?” Dumbledore shook his head. “But there was one area where wands could not replace rituals.” He sighed. “Sacrificial magic.”

“Is that blood magic?”

“There is a great deal of overlap, but there are many sacrificial rituals that are not blood magic, and blood magic is not limited to sacrificial magic.” Dumbledore looked rather serious.

“How does that work?” When he saw the Headmaster frown, Harry quickly added: “You said that to solve a problem we have to understand it first.”

Dumbledore laughed for a moment, though he didn’t look as if he was amused. “I did, did I not?” He sighed. “Some will claim that sacrificial magic uses blood to empower a spell. The fact that the blood of magical creatures has magical properties which have many uses, both beneficial and not, might seem to support this. But it is not the blood that lends its power to a ritual, it is the potential that is sacrificed by cutting a life short.” He must have noticed that Harry didn’t follow, and added: “A life is a very precious thing. Think of all that we can accomplish during our lifetime. How many people we affect and influence - sometimes merely by existing. The right idea can change the world - imagine if the wizard who invented the wand had died of Dragon Pox before learning magic.”

“There wouldn’t be any wands around,” Harry said.

“I would not go that far. But their invention would have been delayed. History would have changed. Would Rome still have conquered its empire? Or would another realm have replaced them?” Dumbledore took a deep breath. “That is an extreme example, of course. But every human, muggle or wizard, has the potential to change the world. And now imagine this potential for change, this power, channeled into a spell. That is what makes sacrificial magic so powerful. And why it has been banned in all civilised countries.”

“And that’s what Voldemort is doing.” Harry hadn’t felt that sick since the curse on him had been stopped.

Dumbledore inclined his head. “Unless we stop him. Which we will.”

Harry hoped that the Headmaster was correct.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 24th, 1996

“Stupefy!”

A red spell flew at Harry Potter, but he was already moving before his opponent had finished casting, and the spell went wide over his head. His own stunner - cast silently - connected, and Ginny went down. He stood and pointed his wand at her.

“Rennervate!”

She opened her eyes, blinked, then scowled at him. Harry smiled at her. “You almost got me that time.”

“You said that the last time too,” she retorted as she got up as well, though a little slower.

“And the two times before that,” Ron, who was sitting on the bench, added. Ginny didn’t just scowl at him, though, but flicked her wand at him. Her Bat-Bogey Hex splashed harmlessly against his Shield Charm, though.

Ron shook his head. “That didn’t work the last time either. Remember what Moody said about repeating what didn’t work?”

“He also said that if you keep at it it’ll stick sooner or later.”

Ron snorted. “He meant training, not tactics.” He shook his head. “But you don’t need to be so angry - you’re a year behind in school, and in training too. It would be weird if you were as good as us.”

Judging by Ginny’s expression, she didn’t share that opinion, Harry thought. But Ron was right. “Yes,” he chimed in. “But you’ll catch up soon enough.”

“Not soon enough,” Ginny mumbled, scowling. “It’s a Hogsmeade weekend, and we’re at Hogwarts.”

“Yeah, but Hermione’s coming to visit us here in the afternoon, and Luna’s fetching us sweets from Honeydukes,” Ron said. “She took the first carriage out, too, getting up early on a Saturday for us.”

Ginny rolled her eyes at her brother, shaking her head. “We got up early for this training,” she said.

“We did.” Ron shrugged. “But then, we’re the ones Voldemort wants to see dead.”

Harry nodded. “And with all the others gone, and just the first and second years left, it’s almost as if we’ve got the whole castle to ourselves.”

“We’ll probably have to pry Hermione out of the library, though,” Ron added with a grin. “At some point at least.”

Harry laughed - he could see that happening. “We can go play Quidditch, too.”

“Unless Mad-Eye thinks that’s too dangerous. Or tries to turn it into a training session,” Ginny muttered.

Harry reached out and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll also have the tower to ourselves,” he whispered.

That, at least, cheered her up.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 24th, 1996

There they were. Harry, Ron, Ginny and Luna, standing at the side gate to the greenhouses. Hermione Granger was tempted to sneak up on them while disillusioned. She wanted to see if Harry’s vaunted ‘special training’ was any good; she doubted that the dog could teach him much about detecting sneaky cats, it wasn’t as if he was doing well at that himself. But she couldn’t reveal her own special training like that. Even if she wanted to.

She could sneak up on them as a cat of course… but that wouldn’t be the same. Sighing, she turned back around the corner and ended her Disillusionment Charm. Time to act the frumpy bookworm again. Although… she might use the opportunity to visit the Hogwarts library today; there were a few books she could use for her studying - O.W.L.s. were just a few months away, after all - and which she hadn’t yet found in a shop.

“Hermione!” Harry yelled and she barely managed to return the greeting before she found herself being hugged in a rather ironic reversal of their usual roles.

“Hey! How are you doing?” Ron waved at her.

“Hi.” Ginny’s greeting was rather curt.

“Hello, Hermione. Have you found any Nargles hiding in muggle Britain yet?” Luna asked.

“I’m doing well,” Hermione answered Ron as her friend replaced Harry, lifting her off her feet as he embraced her - when had Ron grown so tall? She nodded at Ginny and Luna. “No, I’m sorry, but I haven’t encountered any Nargles so far. They probably hide from muggles as well.” And from vampires, or she might have found some.

“Aw.” Luna pouted. “I had hoped for some advice about likely locations for our next expedition.” She brightened up instantly, though. “I guess we’ll have to search out the locations with the most confused muggles, then. Nargles are bound to be attracted to those spots.”

“Try Westminster then,” Hermione joked.

“Will do!” Luna chirped, pulling out a sheet of parchment to make a note.

Hermione winced. The Lovegoods trying to search Parliament… “Actually, if there are no Nargles in the Wizengamot, they won’t be found in Westminster either,” she quickly tried to correct her lapse.

“Oh, we haven’t discounted the Ministry as a breeding spot for Nargles yet. Maybe they are migratory? Moving from muggle Britain to Wizarding Britain and back according to the seasons of the moon?”

“Something that requires further study,” Ron cut in. “But maybe not today. Let’s get inside the castle, shall we?”

To Hermione’s surprise, Luna agreed at once.

*****​

“So, you’ve been training hard?” Hermione Granger asked later as they were leaving the library.

“Harder,” Harry corrected her. “We weren’t slacking off before. But Moody’s in a different league than Sirius and Remus.”

“Like the Harpies compared to the Cannons?” she asked with a grin and a glance at Ron.

“Oi!” her friend protested. “They’ve had a few bad seasons, but at their core, they’re a team with potential.”

Luna nodded. “Ron’s got a few strategies worked out that would improve their game plays considerably.”

Ginny, who was hanging on Harry’s arm, just as she had for the whole afternoon so far - the attack must have really shaken her, Hermione thought - snickered. “Well, they certainly can’t do any worse even if they tried.”

“Oi!” Ron glared at his sister, who sniffed at him.

“They’d still be the worst team in the history of Britain even if they won the championship for the next five years straight,” Hermione said. Which the team never would, new tactics or not.

Ron huffed but Harry chuckled. “So, where do we go now? Swing by the kitchen and have the elves prepare tea?” her friend asked.

“Oh, yes,” Luna chimed in. “We’ve remodelled this unused classroom on the third floor - it’s almost as cozy as The Burrow.”

That sounded interesting, Hermione thought. “Alright. But I will need to see the Headmaster first.” She patted the pocket with the notes she had taken in the library. “The O.W.L.s are coming up and I’ve got a few questions for him.” It wasn’t technically a lie, she told herself. Just some misdirection.

“OK,” Ginny said. “Then let’s split up and meet here in… half an hour?”

Hermione nodded at her. That would be enough to get the details of the next heist.

Ginny smiled. “Good. Ron and Luna can get everything from the kitchen and Harry and I will make sure that the room is ready.”

“Didn’t you finish the room this morning?” Ron asked, frowning. “Maybe you two should brush up your Transfiguration and cleaning charms.”

Ginny scowled at him. “No, we didn’t. There wasn’t enough time after training. And no, we don’t need to,” she said in a tone that brooked no dissent, then dragged Harry off.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Luna chided Ron, who had started to grin as soon as the couple had turned the corner.

He shrugged. “Maybe she’ll be a little more subtle next time.”

“Like a Slytherin?” Luna asked.

Ron gaped at her, then narrowed his eyes. “That wasn’t very nice!”

Luna giggled, and skipped off towards the kitchen.

Ron sighed. “See what I have to deal with?” he said, though he was smiling, before he followed the blonde witch.

Hermione sighed as well, once Ron was out of earshot. She was happy for her friends, but she couldn’t help feeling jealous. Of them having fun at Hogwarts, of course.

*****​

Norfolk, Outskirts of Norwich, February 25th, 1996

“That looks like a rather large house,” Hermione said, “for such a distant member of an Old Family.” It wasn’t quite a manor, but it was old, dating back to the Regency era.

“Not so distant, actually - dear Quentin is supposedly the bastard son of Aloysius Selwyn, according to my lovely grand-aunt,” Mr Black - Sirius, she reminded herself - commented. “Aunt Nysa was quite vocal about how unseemly it was to pass off a bastard as a distant relative. Even if everyone knew it and no one said anything. Although I think she was mostly annoyed because she had hoped to inherit this house herself, through her husband.”

“Ah.” While Hermione would never scorn additional information, she doubted that this particular piece of family gossip be useful. She didn’t bother looking at the dog, focusing on the house instead.

“I don’t care about the family history,” Mr Fletcher said, “but about the fact that Albus thinks we might find tomes about blood magic in there. Those are old wards, lethal ones, and I bet that there are worse curses inside.”

“Or vampires,” Sirius said, and Hermione didn’t have to watch him to know that he was grinning in that infuriating manner of his. At least he wasn’t wearing a copy of her suit - he had copied Mr Fletcher’s clothes, although in black.

“No sign of vampires,” Hermione commented. All the windows were unshuttered, and she couldn’t see thick curtains either.

“Could be a trap,” Harry’s godfather said. “Are you certain that we should break in at night?”

“Getting cold feet, Black?” Mr Fletcher chuckled.

“Hardly,” the dog shot back. “I have the utmost confidence that I can handle any vampire. But if Hermione should get hurt because you leave me behind, or stumble into a trap, then Harry might blame me instead of you.”

“If I should get hurt,” Hermione said in a slightly louder tone before Mr Fletcher could retort, “then I’ll get treated without Harry even knowing about it. And if that’s not possible, we’ll pass it off as an accident with an old book I found in Knockturn Alley. So, Harry won’t be blaming either of you.”

Sirius scoffed. “Wishful thinking. He’ll blame me for not checking the book for curses, and him for not teaching you better.”

Hermione grinned in response.

Sirius frowned. “I hope that you won’t also loot this house to the bedrock. I can’t extend the basement forever.” After a few moments of silence, he added: “This is the part where you reassure me that you’re not going to do that again.”

This time Hermione turned towards him. “Would you really want me to lie to you?” she asked with the sweetest smile she could manage. “If we can remain undetected, we obviously won’t steal anything but the knowledge we need. But if we are seen…” She shrugged.

Sirius sighed, but Mr Fletcher chuckled. “We’re thieves, Black. It’s what we do.”

Hermione nodded. “Besides, every Galleon we steal is one less Galleon going into the Dark Lord’s coffers.” And the last two houses they had broken into had been abandoned, anyway.

“I understand stealing the Galleons. I even understand stealing the books. But the furniture?”

She shrugged. “Waste not, want not.”

The dog had been born rich, and had never been poor. He might not understand her situation. And he might not be aware just how valuable antiques were in muggle Britain.

Not to mention that she wasn’t in the habit of leaving a task half-done.

*****​

She might not have said anything, and she knew that everything pointed at Quentin Selwyn being an old wizard, not a vampire, but Hermione Granger couldn’t help feeling anxious when they approached the building. She remembered how the vampire had grabbed her, how he had been about to bite her, and barely refrained from rubbing her throat.

She forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Once again, she was the lookout while Mr Fletcher worked on the wards. She was loathe to admit it, but Sirius’s presence helped, too - her mask granted her night vision, but that wouldn’t let her spot a disillusioned wizard outside the range of her Human-presence-revealing Spell. The dog’s nose might, though - not many wizards thought of masking their scent.

And, she added, sneaking a glance at the dog making his rounds nearby, she could understood how some might mistake him for a Grim. With his size, black fur, and gleaming teeth he certainly looked the part.

Once again, she was glad that the spell on her mask meant she could see the dog clearly even in the shadows - the moon wasn’t very bright, and the sky was cloudy too. If a cat could see a dog, she could evade him easily.

Mr Fletcher was taking his time, she thought - much longer than at the last house. And he was sweating, too. If only she could help… Or, rather, if only he would let her help. But he wouldn’t.

After what felt like hours, but hadn’t actually taken that long, he finally sighed. “All done. These are some really nasty wards. Standard spells, but backed by lethal curses.”

That had been banned since the middle of the last century, Hermione knew, but in typical fashion, the Ministry had never outlawed existing wards - those of the Old Families. She pressed her lips together.

Mr Fletcher was looking rather tired, but he stood anyway. “Let’s go then - the way to the wall’s clear.”

Hermione had been waiting for that. She was already changing before he had finished, and a short jump later she was sprinting over the lawn as fast as her four legs could carry her. Much faster than the dog, of course. A shadow in the night, gone in the blink of an eye.

She reached the wall and sniffed the air. No blood. No animals either. Behind her, the dog arrived, panting of course. And making more noise than a dozen cats together. She sniffed in disdain and raised her head. She could reach the roof, too. There was no ivy on the walls, but there was an old tree whose branches had grown so much, they were almost touching the roof.

On the other hand, that was an obvious route - even for a human. She changed back and tapped her mask, then hissed.

The branches growing towards the house glowed with spells - and she’d bet half her library that those were curses.

*****​

“Definitely dark curses,” Mr Fletcher confirmed a few minutes later, after having checked the tree out. “No warnings, either - if you trigger those spells, you’ll get hit with a full Body-Bind Curse and a Blood-boiling Curse for starters. You’ll die slowly without being able to move or even scream.” He was whispering, but the enchantment on her mask that had replaced her earring let Hermione Granger hear him clearly.

“That makes it more likely that Selwyn has banned tomes in his library,” she responded, back in human form and disillusioned again.

“Doesn’t mean they’ll be the ones we need,” Sirius cut in, putting a damper on her hopes. “It just means he has something to hide.”

“Something for which he’s willing to kill,” her tutor added. “Which means it’s dangerous, valuable or both.”

“Yes.” Hermione smiled slightly.

Sirius groaned. “Most sane people would be warned off, not attracted, by lethal traps.”

Her smile widened. “Are you a Gryffindor or not?”

He glared at her. “I never said I wouldn’t go, did I?”

She knew what he meant, and raised her chin. “I’m a better thief than you.” Much better - dogs were rubbish at sneaking. “If anyone is at risk from falling into traps, it’s you.” She had spotted the curses on the tree, after all.

He scoffed. “I grew up in a house full of curses.”

She thought that the curses in Grimmauld Place had mostly been added in the last years of his mother’s life, long after Sirius had been sent to Azkaban, but this wasn’t the time to check if his memory was acting up again. “Let’s proceed, then.”

“Yes,” Mr Fletcher agreed. “But with a slight change of plans. We’ll go through a first-storey window.”

“Ah! They will not expect that, not with the trapped tree,” Sirius said.

“That might be the case,” Hermione corrected him, “but even if it’s not, glass windows are easier to break through than sturdy back doors.” She conjured a transparent pane of plexiglass, thick enough to carry their weight, and levitated it. “Don’t fall off!” she cautioned him - it wouldn’t do to lose the dog to his own clumsiness.

A few minutes later, they were floating in front of the second window from the east - a reading room, as far as Hermione could tell - and Mr Fletcher was working on getting through its defences. She still wasn’t allowed to help him - someone had to keep the pane they were standing on steady, and she wouldn’t trust the easily bored dog with that - but this time she could watch him work through her mask.

The window was covered with spells, which looked impressive at first sight. But as Hermione studied the arrangement further, and watched Mr Fletcher deal with it, she noticed that the spells were not ideally placed. Or not any more - they looked rather old, and while wards grew more powerful as they grew older, they did also need maintenance. Which this window hadn’t had in a few years, at least.

The owner probably trusted his trap and the main wards, and couldn’t be bothered to maintain every little spell, Hermione thought. Which would turn out to be a fatal mistake. At least for his wealth. Her tutor had already found a weakness - the spell allowing the window to be opened from the inside without triggering the defences wasn’t properly anchored.

“Done,” Mr Fletcher whispered ten minutes later. Hermione could hear his ragged breathing - he had pushed himself.

“About time,” the dog commented in a whisper. “I was getting bored.” He had the gall to even yawn, fake as it sounded.

She wanted to hex the dog - this was a serious heist - but they were on a mission. She could swat his nose later. She tapped her ear. “I’m going in,” she whispered.

She heard Mr Fletcher draw a sharp breath, but he didn’t contradict her - he had to know as well as she did that he was too exhausted to take point. She reached out towards the windowsill, then used her wand and a quick spell to push the window open. She couldn’t see any spells on the ground inside, and the room looked to be empty. She took a deep breath, then jumped through the window, landing in a crouch on a thick, old carpet.

No dust was thrown up by her landing - the room was regularly used, or at least regularly cleaned. It wasn’t a real library, though - too few shelves, and the books on them… she shook her head. Literature, not magic, a quick glance told her. And no spells on them either. Unless… She narrowed her eyes and summoned a few books at random.

“I don’t think he’s keeping his highly illegal tomes in his reading room,” Sirius whispered. “Or are you starting the looting already?”

She ignored the dog and checked the books. The content matched the covers - Selwyn wasn’t hiding his magic tomes in plain sight. A flick of her wand sent the books back to their original places. “I just checked the books in case they were a cover.”

Sirius snorted, but Mr Fletcher was already at the door. “No spells on it,” he reported.

“So, Quentin’s not as insane as my dear mother,” the dog had to comment. “Let’s go downstairs - they always hide the best stuff in the basement; the odds of it surviving a fire are greater there.”

Mr Fletcher pulled the door open until he could peer through the gap. “No one outside, and the hallway’s dark.”

They had seen that from the outside already. Selwyn was probably asleep - or in the basement, doing whatever it was that he had to hide from everyone. She wasn’t certain which she preferred.

“I’m checking the stairs,” she whispered. “Wait here.” She dropped her Disillusionment Charm and changed before Mr Fletcher could protest. A moment later, she pushed her lithe form through the gap in front of him.

It made perfect sense, she thought. As a cat, she could sneak around much better, and no one would spot or hear her. And no Human-presence-revealing Spell would detect her. And Mr Fletcher could rest a little.

She padded down the hallway until she reached the top of the stairs from where she peered down at the entrance hall, her sharp eyes easily piercing the darkness. It was empty and dark. She didn’t smell any wizards either, nor any blood. Everything was as it should be.

Hermione was about to descend when she heard the faint sound of human voices. She quickly pressed herself against the floor and inched back. If they came this way… but would they? Below her, a door was opened, and light shone into the entrance hall. She crept forward a little, just enough to see what was going on.

“Do not disappoint me, Quentin.” The voice sounded cool and arrogant. She felt her fur raise on her back. Who was this man? He obviously wasn’t Selwyn.

“I won’t, milord. I promise: I will find the tome for you.”

Hermione froze. There was only one man a wizard such as Selwyn would address in that manner, and with so much fear and subservience.

Voldemort.

Hermione remained frozen, unable to move while her heart raced in her chest and her fur stood on end. The Dark Lord was there. Just a few yards from her. She should flee - withdraw - before he spotted her. Warn the others. They had to get away. But she couldn’t stop staring at the monster.

“See that you do, and quickly,” Voldemort said. “My patience is not unlimited - and neither is my generosity.” He looked younger than she had expected, Hermione thought while she tried to breathe again.

“I will, milord. I will not rest until I have fulfilled my task!”

“I expect nothing less.” Voldemort inclined his head as the other wizard shuddered. The Dark Lord turned towards the door, then stopped. His head moved - and he stared directly at her, his eyes boring into hers.

Hermione trembled, her claws digging into the carpet. She had to get away - but that would make him chase her. If she stayed still, though…

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, then shook his head and addressed Selwyn again. “You’re a Slytherin, my dear Quentin. You should get a snake as a familiar. A large one which feeds on cats.”

“Of course, milord! I will acquire one tomorrow!”

“And feed it,” the monster added with a cruel smile.

“Of course, milord!”

Chuckling, Voldemort glanced once again at Hermione, then left through the front door.

As soon as the door had closed behind the Dark Lord, Selwyn seemed to sag and almost collapsed against it, trembling fiercely. “A snake. A large snake… And cats to feed it.”

As the wizard was stammering to himself, Hermione finally managed to withdraw, inching back on her belly until she couldn’t see him anymore. Then she whirled around and sprinted back to the reading room. She had to tell the others!

*****​

“... and then he told Selwyn to get a large snake as a familiar before left,” Hermione Granger finished her whispered report. A snake large enough to feed on cats, the monster had said! Cats were not food!

“We did well to obliviate the other snake, then,” Mr Fletcher said. “He obviously uses them to control his Death Eaters.”

“We need to know which tome the Dark Lord is seeking,” Sirius said.

Hermione nodded - that was so obvious, even a dog could see it. “And we need to keep it out of his hands.” By stealing it beforehand, of course.

“We’ll have to interrogate Selwyn then,” the dog said.

“‘Interrogate’?” Mr Fletcher narrowed his eyes at Sirius.

“I’ll fetch Veritaserum once we have captured him.” The other wizard smiled. “Much more efficient and dependable than whatever you are considering.”

“I wasn’t considering it,” Mr Fletcher snarled.

“First we have to capture Selwyn,” Hermione reminded them. “He’s an experienced wizard and a Death Eater.”

“Who’s currently shaking in his boots and trying to decide which snake to buy that would both satisfy his master yet not be able to kill him on command.” Sirius shrugged. “You two would probably be able to capture him without me.”

“Yes we would,” Mr Fletcher said, and for a moment, Hermione expected him to send the dog away to fetch Veritaserum and let the thieves handle this. He didn’t, though, and turned to her instead. “Alright. Check if Selwyn is still in the entrance hall.”

She nodded and changed. A moment later, she was stalking the hallway again.

Selwyn had recovered by the time she reached the entrance hall again and he was walking, albeit slowly, towards the stairs. His bedroom was probably on the first floor, Hermione realised as she whirled around and hid behind a flower pot in which a large fern grew.

The man passed her without looking down - or looking at anything, she thought as she caught a glimpse of his expression through the fern’s foliage. Had this been the first time he had realised just what kind of monster he was serving?, Hermione wondered.

He walked down the hallway, passing the first set of doors. That left the reading room, and the room across from it. Hermione hesitated a moment, then shook her head and changed again.

Her silent Stunner caught the man right between his shoulder blades and he dropped to the floor. She cast a full Body-Bind Curse for good measure before calling the others.

*****​

“That wasn’t the plan.” Mr Fletcher glared at her.

“I saw an opportunity and took it,” Hermione Granger defended herself. Apparently, her tutor didn’t share her own assessment of her chosen course of action. Sirius hadn’t been happy either, but since he had to fetch the Veritaserum from Dumbledore, the dog hadn’t been able to scold her.

“You should have returned to us when you saw him coming up the stairs.” Her tutor shook her head. “We make plans for a reason:”

“But then he would have been in another room, and we would have had to charge through the door. He hadn’t seen me. He wasn’t even aware of me, nor did he notice me until my spell hit him. I had to adapt to the situation.” He had taught her that, too, after all.

He didn’t seem to like hearing his own words thrown back at him. “And if he had seen you? You think he wouldn’t have realised at once that you were no normal cat but an intruder?”

“I was behind the flower pot - that fern there. He couldn’t have spotted me in the dark even if he had been looking.” Her lithe form could hide completely behind the flower pot. Unlike a huge clumsy dog.

“So you think.”

“Well, it worked,” she shot back. “And it was safer than breaking down the door to his bedroom and hoping to catch him by surprise.” That was far more dangerous, in her opinion. She saw his expression and bit her lip. Doing that would have been more dangerous - but it would have been Mr Fletcher or the dog who would have been taking the biggest risk. Not her. He didn’t agree with her; she could tell. But before he could say anything further, Sirius arrived with the Veritaserum.

But she knew that the discussion wasn’t finished.

*****​

“And did the Dark Lord order you to do anything else for him?” Sirius asked half an hour later.

“Yes.” Selwyn answered in the now familiar dull tone of a man under the effect of Veritaserum,

“What did he order you to do?” Sirius leaned forward.

“He ordered me to buy a snake and feed cats to it.”

Hermione Granger, who had been poised to note down the man’s next answer, cringed slightly when both her tutor and Sirius turned to stare at her.

“You didn’t mention that,” Sirius said, his eyes narrowing.

“It wasn’t important,” she answered.

“Why would the Dark Lord mention cats?” Sirius asked. “Because he saw you,” he answered his own question.

“He saw a cat. He had no idea that I was a witch,” she retorted.

“And if he had suspected? You’d have been dead!” Sirius snarled at her.

“He didn’t.” That was what counted. “And now we know what he looks like.” Unless that had been a disguise.

“You were lucky. You won’t be lucky forever.” He shook his head.

“I wouldn’t call stumbling on the Dark Lord during a heist ‘being lucky’,” her tutor cut in.

“See?” Sirius, of course, interpreted that as agreement.

“If I hadn’t sneaked up on them, we wouldn’t have known about this ‘Tome of Blood’ that the Dark Lord is seeking,” Hermione pointed out. And wasn’t that a rather pretentious name? “No one expected this to be safe.”

“No one expected you to encounter the Dark Lord!” Sirius shot back.

“So, it’s me meeting him that’s the problem?” Hermione glared at him. “It would have been fine if he had seen you and thought you were a simple dog?” Before he could answer, she went on: “You’d have boasted about the encounter, and how clever you would have been for fooling the Dark Lord!”

“That’s different!” He didn’t deny it, at least.

“How so? Because I’m too young?” She stood, hands on her hips. “I don’t have Mr Fletcher’s experience, but I’m a skilled thief. And I pulled this off - I fooled the Dark Lord, and I captured Selwyn!” She ignored her tutor’s “against the plan” and went on: “My age doesn’t matter as long as I can do what’s needed!”

“It shouldn’t be needed,” Sirius spat out.

“And Harry shouldn’t have been cursed.” Hermione scoffed. “But he was - and I’m needed.” ‘For Harry’ remained unsaid, but he understood. Even if he didn’t like it.

“We’re still going to have words about sticking to the plan and informing your partners,” Mr Fletcher cut in and his glare made Hermione cringe slightly, “but we can do that elsewhere. Now we need to deal with Selwyn.”

Hermione glanced at the wizard. He hadn’t reacted to his name being mentioned and kept staring at the floor, still in the grip of the Veritaserum.

The dog shrugged. “We’ll obliviate him of this and make him think he went to bed as planned.”

How naive! Hermione sighed and looked at her tutor. He nodded at her and they shared a grin.

The dog narrowed his eyes at them. “What are you planning now?”

*****​

“At least you didn’t loot the whole house this time,” Sirius said an hour later, back in the basement of Grimmauld Place, shaking his head.

Hermione Granger paused in putting the Galleons they had taken from Selwyn into Sirius’s vault and grinned at him. “I thought about it - but while we could easily make him think that he had less gold in his strongbox, I think we couldn’t have done that with the furniture and artwork. At least, the Dark Lord might have noticed during his next visit.”

The dog pointed at the books she had stacked next to her. “And those?”

She shrugged. “You were already messing with his mind to ensure he’d fail the Dark Lord’s mission” - and she didn’t want to think about what that would mean for Selwyn once he had to explain it to the Dark Lord - “so adjusting his memory to cover up the disappearance of a few choice books was easy.” And only a fool wouldn’t have copied the other rare books in the man’s library.

Sirius sighed. “I really will need a bigger basement if you continue like this.”

“Yes, you will.” She smiled sweetly at him as he gaped at her.

Did the dog really think that she would stop? She was just starting!

*****​

Hogwarts, March 1st, 1996

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Ronniekins! Happy birthday to you!”

Harry Potter grinned at the cacophony - that had been, he remembered, Hermione’s term for it in second year - into which Ron’s brothers were mangling the simple melody. His friend scowled at the twins, but that was normal for a Weasley party, even one held in a ‘repurposed’ classroom in Hogwarts.

Ron cut the cake his mum had sent with a few Cutting Charms while Luna distributed the slices. It was, Harry discovered shortly afterwards, simply delicious. Not even Hermione would have complained about the sugar it contained.

Harry wasn’t alone in his opinion - the room was filled with appreciative noises, usually semi-muffled by mouthfuls of cake. Such as Ginny’s moaning next to him.

“Oh… I miss Mum’s cooking,” she added after swallowing.

“Easter holidays begin in a month,” Harry said.

To his surprise, she scowled. “They’ll have us stay at Hogwarts for our safety.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “I heard it from Bill. He wrote me,” she explained after she must have noticed his own surprise, “that they have him going over The Burrow’s wards. Again. By the time he’s done, The Burrow’ll be safer than Gringotts.”

“I don’t think so,” Harry said. “Gringotts is mostly underground - that’s a much more defensible location than a mostly wooden building above ground. If the wards are broken the building won’t last long.” Moody had been clear on that. He smiled at her. “You might want to expand the basement and move down there.” The Weasleys’ home was already called The Burrow, after all.

She laughed. “Don’t tell Mum that. She might do it.”

“She should.” Harry nodded at his girlfriend. “Things are getting worse in Britain.” Sirius hadn’t told him any details, but Harry knew that his godfather was fighting for Dumbledore. And for him, he added to himself.

“Well, this is a party, even if it’s one for Ron, so let’s not talk about that, OK?” Ginny said with a smile.

“OK,” Harry answered. He wrapped his left arm - always leave your wand arm free, Moody had taught them - around her waist. Maybe they could take a detour to the Astronomy Tower later.

Ron interrupted his pleasant thoughts. “Mate! Thank you for your gift!”

“What did you get him, Harry?” Ginny asked.

Ron answered before Harry could. “This enchanted pocket! Sticks to your robe - or to your skin - and has an extended interior.” He held up the slim piece of cloth Harry had had Sirius buy.

“Nice,” Ginny said. “That’ll be useful.”

Ron nodded. “Oh, yes! I’ll be able to carry everything I need in a fight with me!”

Ginny was scowling again, Harry noticed. Perhaps he should have bought her one as well?

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, March 30th, 1996

Harry Potter was still recovering his balance after stumbling out of the fireplace into his home when he spotted movement beneath the window across from him. He reacted as Moody had taught him and aimed his wand at it at once.

‘It’ was a cat, he realised a moment later. A cat that seemed frozen to the spot, staring at him with wide eyes. He frowned. Sirius hadn’t told him anything about a new pet. And judging by the way the cat had reacted to him, it knew what a wand was. That was very suspicious.

“Ah, I see you’ve met the stray,” Sirius, who had followed him through the Floo Network, interrupted him before he could stun the creature.

Harry blinked. “The stray?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the cat. It looked like a stray - too fuzzy to be a well-kept pet. Probably a mongrel, too.

“A stray cat which has been prowling around the neighbourhood. Hunting vermin, scaring poor dogs - the usual, you know.” Sirius passed him and walked towards the cat. “Hermione fed her a few times and now she occasionally visits. Probably fell asleep in the sun, the lazy thing, and forgot the time.” He crouched down. “Ungrateful too,” he added when the cat hissed at him. “You know how cats are.”

Harry nodded. He knew Mrs Figgs’s cats. And that monster Hermione insisted was a cat. Of course his friend would care for a stray cat as well. He didn’t lower his wand, though. “Be careful. She sounds angry.”

“Oh, she’s harmless - I checked. As long as you’re not a dog, you’re safe.” Sirius grinned at the cat and picked her up. She didn’t look happy, in Harry’s opinion.

“If she’s a stray she probably has fleas,” he pointed out to his godfather. The cat didn’t sound happy, either, he noticed.

“Don’t worry, Hermione made sure that she’s clean,” Sirius said. “Here, hold her!”

Harry found himself with his arms full of a squirming cat. With a very bushy tail, as he discovered when the thing slapped his face. He moved her to his shoulder so he had his wand arm free. “Pretty heavy,” he commented, then winced when the cat dug her claws in. He petted her back slightly awkwardly with the knuckles of his right hand, not dropping his wand, which seemed to calm her down. “Where’s Hermione?” he asked. It wasn’t as if he expected his best friend to wait for his arrival in the entrance hall, but… well, she usually did, and she knew that he was arriving today, to spend the the Easter holidays at home.

“She’s probably in the library and forgot the time,” Sirius said. “Put the furball down before you head there, though - can’t trust the fleabag in the library.”

Harry nodded. Hermione would probably hex the thing if it damaged a book. He set the cat down and she sped off towards the kitchen at once.

“Are you certain that Hermione is feeding her enough?” he asked his godfather.

Sirius blinked at his question, then started laughing.

*****​

Hermione Granger was livid. At herself for falling asleep in the sun and missing Harry’s arrival, and at the dog for embarrassing her like that! Treating her as a stray cat! And insinuating that she would attack a dog without just cause! And handing her to Harry to be petted!

Which, she had to admit, had been rather nice. Even if her friend didn’t really know how to hold a cat. Or pet her. And had said she might have fleas!

But this wasn’t the time to dwell on that. She raced into the kitchen - that was far enough from the entrance hall - and changed back. A moment later, she apparated to the library. A quick flick of her wand later there were several open books on her usual table, next to a notepad.

Just in time, too, since Harry entered the library a moment later. “Hermione! There you are!”

“Harry? You’re here already?” She blinked, trying to sound surprised.

“Yes. Fell asleep over a book?” he asked, grinning.

She didn’t have to fake her blush, but he simply laughed and gathered her in his arms.

He knew how to hug a girl.

She would still make him regret saying she had fleas, though.

*****​