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

Chapter 18: Love trouble

Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, April 2nd, 1996

Bill Weasley - the only ones who called him ‘William Weasley’ were Aunt Muriel and Albus Dumbledore - closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t strain yourself, son. Take a break.”

He sighed and looked at his father, who was standing on the porch. “I’m not tired. Really,” he added when he saw the doubting expression on his dad’s face. “I’m just a little…” Frustrated. “...challenged here.”

His father sighed as well and sat down on the lawn next to him. “You don’t need to mince words with me. I know that you already strengthened The Burrow’s wards to the best of your ability last year. Your mother knows it as well, but…” He shrugged.

Bill nodded. He knew what his dad meant. “I’ve learned a few new tricks since last Summer,” he said. “It’s just a little tricky to implement them.”

Judging by the way his dad winced, he also knew what Bill meant. “Don’t endanger yourself, Bill.”

“This is very safe compared to some of my work,” Bill said, then clenched his teeth. That was the kind of line you gave to a pretty and impressionable witch, not to your worrying parents.

“Don’t let Molly hear that. You know what she thinks about your job.”

He certainly knew what his mum thought about his work. And his other life choices - she wasn’t exactly subtle. Bill shook his head. “I won’t. But this is an opportunity to show her that I can help the family with more than gold. That’s why I took the job, after all.” Part of the reason, at least, if he was honest. It paid far more than a Ministry post, but it was also far more exciting than pushing parchment around at the Ministry.

“You have already helped the family a lot, Bill. The matter with Percy could have been far worse, if not for your support. And the wards have never been stronger than after you improved them last year.”

“I can improve them further, though,” Bill retorted.

“You’re not doing anything…” His dad glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “...illegal, are you?”

Bill shook his head. “No. I’m not adding any illegal spells.” He wasn’t lying - the spells he planned to add weren’t banned in Britain. And not just because they weren’t known in Britain, either. “Just a few of the more obscure curses Egyptian priests used to protect their graves. Not the dark ones,” he added, “but spells others won’t know, and therefore won’t know how to deal with.”

“Unless they’re Curse-Breakers like you who do that regularly.”

Bill scoffed. “They would need to be very good Curse-Breakers - and we’re a rare breed.”

“Because you’re dealing with unknown curses regularly.”

Dad’s tone was mild, but Bill clenched his teeth. “We take far more time to break through wards in my job than anyone attacking The Burrow would have.” He wasn’t going to quit his job because of a little risk.

“So… how are you doing?” Dad asked after a short pause. “Apart from this, I mean.”

Bill didn’t know if he meant the wards, or the war that was brewing. “I’m doing fine. Gringotts wasn’t that happy with me taking a vacation, but what can they do?” He grinned. The goblins wouldn’t be able to easily replace him so they didn’t have any leverage. That was why they had approved his transfer to Gringotts in Britain, too - he had flat-out told them that he’d quit otherwise.

“A whole lot if they’re feeling cheated, according to Dirk Cresswell.”

Bill shrugged. “They would have to go against Dumbledore too.” And while the goblins were not cowards, they certainly weren’t suicidal either. His father didn’t look convinced, though, Bill noticed. “How are things at the Ministry?”

“Not as well as they should be, not as bad as they could be.”

Bill rolled his eyes at the answer. “Malfoy still giving you trouble?”

“Yes.”

“Someone should do something about that man,” Bill said. Sometimes a little blood had to be spilled to solve a problem - something he had learned at Gringotts.

“Dumbledore said the matter was in hand, and that rash action would be detrimental to his plans.”

Bill snorted. “I hope he does something before Malfoy goes after Percy again.”

“That was a nasty affair, but we weathered it well, considering the circumstances.”

“Could have been worse, should have been better?”

His dad laughed at his own words being turned back at him. “That about sums it up.” After a moment, he added: “Are you going to Hogwarts after dinner?”

“Yes. Dumbledore has a few questions about Egypt.”

His dad knew that there was more to it, that Bill was a member of Dumbledore’s Order of the Phoenix - the same as himself. But he didn’t pry; both knew better than to share sensitive information. And Bill didn’t want anyone to know that he had been removing dark curses from highly illegal books about blood magic for the Headmaster since he had returned to Britain. Least of all his parents.

“Now, Molly’s been wondering if you’ve met a nice witch yet.”

Bill rolled his eyes again. “My kind of nice witch, or hers?”

“I think as the years pass without you settling down, she is settling for ‘any kind of nice’,” his dad said. “So... have you?”

Bill shook his head. He hadn’t been looking, either, but he didn’t say that. Curse-Breaking wasn’t a profession for a family man, as his old mentor had taught him. And Bill wasn’t about to quit to settle down.

Not when being a Curse-Breaker so often did impress the right kind of witches.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 3rd, 1996

Moody’s training hadn’t been entirely positive, Harry Potter thought as he finished his breakfast in Grimmauld Place’s kitchen. The combat training was great, but what Moody called - loudly - ‘Constant Vigilance’ was a mixed blessing. Harry understood the need to be cautious - he was all too aware that Voldemort wanted him dead and that the Dark Lord had many supporters to do his bidding, even at Hogwarts, and that there were ways to impersonate or control people. But it was sometimes hard to tell where the line between being cautions and being paranoid was.

Especially when it came to Sirius’s girlfriend, whose steps he heard in the hallway outside the kitchen.

“Good morning, Harry.” There she was, smiling widely - too widely - at him.

“Good morning, Jeanne.” Harry forced himself to return the smile. He’d still be calling the witch ‘Miss Dubois’ if not for Sirius. His godfather was in love with the witch. Whose English was far too perfect for a woman raised in France, in Harry’s opinion. She had the same tutor as Miss Merriweather, who hadn’t lost her obvious American accent despite having been tutored for longer. “Croissants?” He held out the basket to her. Breakfast had acquired a slightly French taste because of her, but he wasn’t yet certain if that was a bad thing.

Just as he wasn’t yet certain whether or not the witch was good for Sirius. His godfather was happy with her, as far as Harry could tell - and it wasn’t the result of potions or a charm; he had checked. But if she was just after Sirius’s money, it would break his heart. Or worse - Harry had heard the rumours about Zabini’s mother and her seven late husbands.

“Is your girlfriend visiting today?” Jeanne asked as she buttered up her croissant. “I’m not going to tell on her,” she added with a smile. “I know how it is to be young and in love.”

Harry didn’t doubt that - she was young, and Sirius was in love. He shrugged. “My home’s almost as safe as Hogwarts.” Safer, even - there were no Slytherins around. “Molly’s just upset that we didn’t ask her before Ginny visited.”

“She might also fear that the two of you would be a little too forward with each other.”

Harry snorted. “Molly’s been to Hogwarts too.” And he knew from Sirius’s tales that it hadn’t been any harder to find a private spot in the past compared to today. “Hasn’t Sirius told you about his romances at school?” he asked in a casual tone as he spread honey over his toast. He glanced at her to see her reaction, though, and noticed her flinching slightly.

She recovered quickly, though. “No, he hasn’t. It would have been poor form too, talking about past lovers with your paramour. You didn’t tell Ginny everything you did with your other girlfriends, did you?”

“Of course not!” Harry blurted out - he knew better than that.

The French witch nodded in apparent satisfaction.

Harry hid his frown behind his cup of tea. He really didn’t like Jeanne.

*****​

“Hello, Hermione!”

Hermione Granger had barely stepped inside Grimmauld Place when she was greeted by her best friend. Which was rather suspicious, she thought. “Hello, Harry.” She hugged him, of course, but as soon as they pulled apart again, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you wait in the entrance hall for me to arrive?”

“What if I did?” He smiled at her so nicely, she almost dropped her inquiry.

She didn’t, though - she knew better. “It usually means that you need something from me.”

He glanced over his shoulder as he chuckled. “You’re right.”

Of course she was - she knew him better than probably anyone else. Sirius and Ginny certainly were not objective when it came to Harry, and Ron was also usually too biased. “So, what do you need? You didn’t insult another poor cat, did you?” she added with a glare.

He rolled his eyes. “Please let it rest, Hermione. It’s not as if the cat understood me.”

She huffed. Call her fat and claim she had fleas, would he? A tail like a bottle brush? The nerve of him! The dog was obviously a bad influence. “Cats are smarter than you think they are.”

He shrugged. “They’re also meaner than you think.”

What? She glared at him. “You shouldn’t believe everything Sirius tells you.” She needed to swat the dog on the nose again.

“Crookshank shredded my shoes when I visited you.”

“Easily fixed with a charm.” Obviously, the poor thing had just wanted to tell her that he needed new toys.

“That’s not the point,” Harry said with a frown. “And your stray clawed my leg.”

Only very lightly. “You probably held her wrong,” she said, shrugging. That should have taught him to insult a perfectly fine and elegant cat.

He sighed. “Let’s drop it. I need to talk to you about something else. Something more important.”

“Alright.” She nodded at him. “Your room or mine?”

He winced and glanced over his shoulder again. “Good thing Sirius didn’t hear that; he would have teased us for hours.”

She nodded - that would be typical for the dog. “So?”

“My room.”

*****​

Harry Potter took a deep breath and faced Hermione, who was sitting on his bed. “You know Sirius’s girlfriend, ‘Jeanne’.”

“Of course I know her - I’m Sirius’s secretary and have probably spent more time in this house than you have so far,” she responded.

He rolled his eyes. Did she have to be like that? “Please, I asked you to drop it. This isn’t about your cat - this is important.”

“My cat is important,” she retorted. “And she’s not my cat.” He stared at her with his mouth open and she flushed slightly. “I mean, I don’t own her.”

“Whatever.” He took another deep breath. “Does ‘Jeanne’ act suspiciously friendly towards you too?”

“‘Suspiciously friendly’?”

“You know, like: ‘Please call me Jeanne.’ ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’ ‘You’re so brave.’,” he said, trying his best to imitate her voice.

“Not exactly like that,” Hermione answered. “But she does try to be friendly, yes.”

“Ah!” He knew it!

“Which is perfectly normal in this situation,” Hermione went on. “She wants to be on good terms with the family - and the staff, in my case - of her lover.”

“You’re not part of the staff,” he said, “you’re my best friend. Part of the family. Like Remus.” She had even stopped calling Sirius ‘Mr Black’. “But the point is, she’s also acting exactly like a gold-digger would when trying to earn our trust before she betrays Sirius or steals his gold.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “That sounds exactly like what that twit Dawlish accused me of doing.”

“He’s an idiot. You’re my best friend, and you’re no gold-digger - you’re pretty much the opposite of a gold-digger!” Harry said.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked - in a rather tense way, he noticed.

“I mean, you’re certainly not trying to seduce Sirius. Or me,” he explained. That was obvious by the way she dressed - casual muggle wear, or loose robes. Nothing like the tight, short robes Jeanne seemed to favour. Which would look fine on Ginny, too, now that he thought about it.

“Of course not!” she exclaimed. “I’d rather hex Sirius than seduce him! That… that man is insufferable!”

That was a little too vehement for Harry’s taste. “He’s still suffering from Azkaban.”

“Without a doubt. But he also acts as if he never grew up.” Hermione huffed. “Honestly, most of the time, you act more mature than he does!”

Harry wasn’t certain if that was a compliment. For a moment, he wanted to ask if she considered him as similarly unattractive. But he decided against it. Some things men weren’t meant to know, as Sirius would say. “Anyway. As you mentioned, I’m not at home very often...”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, wincing.

“It’s true,” he said and sat down on his new swivel chair - one of Sirius’s Christmas gifts. Leaning forward, he met her eyes. “But you’re here each day. And you have access to Sirius whenever you want. You can observe her discreetly and find out what exactly she’s planning.” It was the obvious solution to the problem.

She blinked, apparently surprised. “You want me to spy on her for you?” She looked incredulous.

Maybe it hadn’t been obvious to her, since she hadn’t been trained by Moody, Harry thought. He nodded. “Yes. We can’t be certain whether she’s a gold-digger or not without more information.”

“Have you ever thought that, perhaps, you might just be jealous of her close relationship with Sirius?”

He frowned at his friend. “Of course I considered that. But I’m not jealous of your own close relationship with Sirius, am I?”

“I don’t have a ‘close relationship’ with that… man.” Hermione almost seem to hiss the last word.

“I don’t mean that kind of ‘close relationship’,” he hastened to explain. “But you see him each day, you work together, you have a room here - you know what I mean?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“And you know that Sirius is head over heels about her. If she’s a gold-digger - or, worse, a spy - he might not notice.” The Dark Lord was after Harry and his godfather, after all. And he had a lot of followers to spy for him.

“Have you spoken to Sirius about this?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t want to ruin this for him. Not unless she is a threat.” He couldn’t do that to his godfather.

Hermione slowly shook her head. “Of course. But as I told you - she’s friendly with me as well. If she actually is a gold-digger, she won’t drop her facade in front of me. I don’t think I can find out much by observing her.”

“Just do your best, OK?” Harry sighed. “I wish I could ask her friend, Miss Merriweather. But she ‘returned to the New World’, as Jeanne put it, soon after Sirius started going out with Jeanne. Which is rather suspicious, too,” he added. Then he smiled as he had a thought. “Her tutor! You could ask him for a few lessons, and see if he knows anything about Jeanne!”

“Lessons?” Hermione had that incredulous expression again.

“Yes,” Harry nodded. “I know you’ve already got a tutor for the school stuff, but you could take a few lessons in etiquette and fashion, or something.” It would be the perfect cover, too, he added to himself with a glance at her rather shapeless muggle clothes.

Then he noticed that she was glaring at him. And holding her wand.

*****​

“Sirius! Do you have a moment?” Harry Potter asked without opening the door to his godfather’s study completely. He’d rather not walk in on Sirius and Jeanne.

“Of course, Harry. I’ve always time for you. Come in!”

Harry smiled and entered. Sirius was alone, too - Hermione was in her own ‘office’.

“What do you need?” Sirius asked as he stood and walked over to the couch and armchair in the corner. “Sit down. Want a Butterbeer?”

“No, thanks,” Harry Potter said, sitting down. How best to explain...

“Girl trouble?” Sirius asked.

“What? No. Ginny’s fine.” They hadn’t gone to the Astronomy Tower as often as they had during term, but they saw each other every day.

Sirius nodded. “So, tell me what ails you.”

Harry briefly rolled his eyes at his godfather’s antics. “I’m worried about Hermione.”

“Hermione? Why? What happened?”

“Well…” He couldn’t tell Sirius everything, Harry knew. “I asked her if she would like to get a a few wizarding etiquette and fashion lessons, and she looked as if she wanted to hex me.”

Sirius chuckled. “You’re very lucky to be alive - not many wizards can say that to a witch and escape uncursed.”

“It’s not funny, Sirius. I’m worried. Hermione cares more about her cats than anyone else - and she’s also never had a boyfriend. She doesn’t go out either. If she doesn’t change, she’ll become a crazy cat lady.” Like Mrs Figgs, only younger.

Sirius started to laugh as if Harry had just told him the funniest joke ever. His godfather obviously still hadn’t fully recovered from Azkaban.

*****​

London, Greenwich, April 4th, 1996

Hermione Granger finished her Charms homework - if you could call it homework when she was basically working next to her tutor - and glanced at Mr Fletcher. He was studying the notes he had received from Dumbledore, trying to find out where their next target was. But he had been doing that for hours, so she didn’t feel awkward about interrupting him. She cleared her throat. “Mr Fletcher?”

He looked up. “You know, it sounds kind of odd, at least a little, that you call me ‘Mr Fletcher’ and Black ‘Sirius’. We’re all in this together.”

“You’re my tutor,” she responded.

“And he’s your employer.”

“And he pretty much blackmailed me into calling him by his first name.” It wasn’t technically blackmail - more like calling in a favour. But it sounded better to call it blackmail.

Mr Fletcher shrugged. “Anyway, what do you need?”

She sighed. “Harry is concerned about Jeanne’s intentions towards his godfather. He asked me to spy on her.”

“He’s getting concerned about his future stepmother taking Mrs Zabini as a role model?”

She nodded. “Or that she’s a Death Eater spy. Or a gold-digger.”

He rubbed his chin. “Well, we both know that she has the skills to charm a man. And pretty much everyone among the Old Families knows that Elias Selwyn wants his daughter to marry rich.”

And Sirius was very rich. “Mr Selwyn is not fond of Sirius, though,” she said. Nor was Sirius fond of the bigot. “They haven’t met once since Sirius started dating her. No invitations. They haven’t even talked to each other in passing at events that they both attended.”

“And what did Jeanne say about this?”

“That her father didn’t control her,” Hermione answered. Or so Sirius had claimed, when she had touched on the subject once in private. “Which may not be entirely accurate, seeing as he pays her a generous allowance.” But Sirius had certainly liked that line, as far as she could tell.

“Which she wouldn’t need any more, should Sirius decide to keep her.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “So, either she is honestly in love with Sirius, or she’s doing very well at acting like she is.”

“And Potter wants you find out which is correct.”

She scoffed. “He mentioned that I could approach you under the guise of needing lessons in etiquette and fashion!”

Mr Fletcher laughed at that, despite her glaring at him.

She sniffed. “Obviously my acting has him completely fooled if he thinks that I need such lessons.” It still stung - she hadn’t dressed down that much.

“Obviously.” He had stopped laughing, but was still smiling. “So, what did you tell him?”

“I told him that I didn’t need his or anyone else’s help in that matter,” Hermione responded primly.

“The lessons, or the spying?”

“I left that open.” She sighed. “But he is correct that Jeanne might be trying to con Sirius. Or worse.”

Mr Fletcher frowned. “I don’t think that she is a spy for the Dark Lord. She would have acted differently - more sympathetic to muggleborns - if she was meant to spy on Black and others.”

Hermione nodded. “Yes.” Jeanne had pretty much ignored that topic, as far as she could remember. “But while she joked about her father’s wishes for her, she didn’t seem that opposed to them either.”

Mr Fletcher shrugged. “Being rich never hurt a wizard’s chances with the witches.”

“So, what can we do? ‘Miss Merriweather’ has returned to America and is therefore not available to subtly question Jeanne,” Hermione said. “And contrary to Harry’s expectations, ‘Mr Smith’ doesn’t know Jeanna that well either.”

“There’s not much that we can do.” He shrugged. “Even if she’s not after Black’s gold, she might tell her father that just to have him support her. We could dose her with Veritaserum and obliviate her afterwards, but that might be a little much.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. But if needed, that plan certainly would solve the issue. As long as Jeanne didn’t remember it and Sirius never knew. “I guess I’ll have to simply keep an eye on her and see if she slips up.”

“And hope she doesn’t recognise you.”

“I’ll keep my distance.” Which wouldn’t help with the observation. She sighed and changed the topic. “Did you make any progress?” she asked nodding at his notes.

“Not much,” he answered. “These are muggle police reports of missing persons - all of them last seen leaving a pub or party with a beautiful, pale woman no one knew.”

“The ‘Pale Lady Abductions’?” Hermione asked - that had been a major news story a few weeks ago. “I thought vampires didn’t have to kill their victims.” Hermione had studied them quite extensively, especially since her close encounter with Tripe. “Attracting attention like that doesn’t seem a smart idea.”

“They don’t need to. But they might want to - for a variety of reasons.” Mr Fletcher grimaced.

“Like dark rituals,” Hermione said. “Or blood magic.”

“Exactly.” He nodded with a smile, and, for a moment, she felt like a normal student again, answering her teacher’s question correctly. “This vampire might have the tomes we seek.”

She looked at the notes. She wondered how the Headmaster had managed to get the police reports on the disappearances. “These are spread almost all over Merseyside and North Wales,” she noted after quickly perusing them.

“Yes. And while vampires are very prone to falling into patterns - the source of the muggle stories about them being forced to count rice grains dropped on the floor - I haven’t found any yet.” Mr Fletcher shook his head. “This vampire is being rather smart about it.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Let me take a look. Please,” she added a moment later.

“Be my guest.” He flicked his wand and duplicated the notes.

She smiled. This was far more important than spying on Jeanne.

And far more difficult too, as she discovered quite quickly.

*****​

Hogwarts, April 5th, 1996

Harry Potter stumbled out of the fireplace in Remus’s quarters, but didn’t even come close to falling down - he was making progress.

“Hi, Harry!” His girlfriend was giggling, though, so he still had a way to go.

“Ginny!” He took her in his arms and lifted her up until her feet left the ground and her giggles turned to gasps.

“Put me down!”

He did - and stifled further protests with a kiss.

“You’ve been waiting for me, hm?” he asked a minute or so later.

“Well, the alternative was watching Ron play chess against a portrait or serving as a tester for Fred and George’s latest invention.” She shrugged, but she was grinning as well.

He nodded with a serious expression. “I see. That must have been a hard decision to make.”

“Oh, yes. Spending time with you narrowly won out.” She narrowed her eyes and mockingly glared at him. “I can still go and watch Ron play, though, if you turn out to be a let-down.”

He beamed at her - that was a perfect opening - and slung his arm around her waist. “Have I ever let you down? We’ve got an hour before Moody arrives - and the whole school to ourselves…” There was this cozy little room that had apparently served as a music room before a renovation. He felt her grow tense under his hand and frowned.

“I’d rather take our brooms out. The weather’s fine, and we haven’t done that in a while.”

Unlike other things. In private. But she had a point, Harry thought. “Good idea. We can use the training too. Perhaps we should call Ron and the twins, so we can train dodging multiple spells.” That should be a blast, he thought.

Ginny didn’t look happy with that idea, though. “I was thinking more like just the two of us,” she said. “Without anyone else. Maybe a Seeker duel.”

He grinned. “Oh, of course. But if I win, I demand a kiss as a reward. While we’re flying.”

That got her blushing.

*****​

Harry Potter won, of course - even if it was a closer race than usual. And he got his kiss, with the two of them hovering near the Astronomy Tower. If only they had more time… but Moody would be arriving soon.

“Let’s land,” he said. “We don’t want to be late.” Moody was harsh enough when you were on time; Harry didn’t want to find out how the old Auror would react to him being late.

Ginny sighed. “Another two hours of getting hexed and cursed.”

“And smashed into walls,” Harry added with a chuckle. “Ceilings and floors too.”

“It’s not funny,” she said, glaring at him.

He shrugged. “It’s necessary, though.” The Dark Lord was after him, after all.

“But lately, all we’ve been doing together is training with Moody, and snogging,” Ginny said. “You can overdo the training, you know.”

“For snogging?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner as he grinned at her.

She didn’t laugh. She didn’t even chuckle. “I’m serious. You’ve spent most of the holiday so far training with Moody or with Dumbledore. You need to relax, too. And we need to do more than just snog and train together.”

“Snogging’s pretty relaxing,” he pointed out. As was sex.

“But not if it’s all we do together.” She shook her head, her ponytail whipping back and forth.

“Well, we just had a Seeker duel.” Which had been fun, too.

“Because I asked you to. And you wanted to use the opportunity to train in dodging curses.”

“I might need that training the next time a Death Eater catches me - or us.” Harry shrugged and stared at the Quidditch shed. They really needed to land now. He looked at his girlfriend. “You’ve been there. You know how it is.”

“Yes. But I’m just saying, you shouldn’t overdo it. That’s not healthy. And we should do more together than just snog, too.” She must have seen his expression, since she added: “Or have sex.”

“I can do that once Voldemort’s dead,” Harry said. He certainly wouldn’t be able to do anything if he got killed because he hadn’t trained enough.

She looked at him, then shook her head again. “Let’s land.”

“Alright,” he said. But it wasn’t. And they were late.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 6th, 1996

Harry Potter knocked on the door to Sirius’s study. “Sirius? Are you up yet?” He thought he heard someone mutter inside, but couldn’t catch the words. Then the door was opened, and Sirius was standing there. “Morning, Harry!”

Harry saw Jeanne stowing her wand behind him. Her clothes looked impeccable. Which probably meant that they had been anything but when he had knocked. He wasn’t sorry. Much. “Morning,” he said.

“Good morning, Harry,” Jeanne said with a wide, too wide, smile.

“Ah, to be a teenager again, sleeping in during the holidays, instead of working in the morning…” Sirius sighed.

“I’ve been up training at Hogwarts until midnight,” Harry muttered. Tonks hadn’t lied - Moody really didn’t like it if you were late to his lessons.

“And you’ve been sleeping until… what time is it?” Sirius asked, glancing over his shoulder at his girlfriend.

“Ten in the morning, chéri.”

“I didn’t sleep until ten; I already had breakfast,” Harry said. “Anyway, do you have a minute? I need to talk to you.”

“Of course, Harry! Always!”

“I’ll see you later, Harry, chéri.” Jeanne waved at them as she passed on her way out of the room.

“So, what do you need to talk about?” Sirius asked once the door was closed.

“Girls,” Harry answered.

“Didn’t we have that talk already?” Sirius frowned. “I distinctly remember that. I think I do, at least.”

For a moment, Harry wasn’t certain if his godfather was joking. Then he saw the man’s grin and rolled his eyes. “Not that talk. But I need some advice about girls. Two specific girls.”

“Two girls?” Sirius’s grin widened even as he raised his eyebrows.

“Not that kind of… whatever.” Harry sighed. “It’s about Ginny and Hermione.”

To his mild surprise, Sirius stopped grinning. “Oh? What happened with them?”

“Nothing. I’m worried about two unrelated things. At least I don’t think they’re related.” He sighed again. “Ginny’s been acting… weird lately. She doesn’t like that I’m training so hard. And she wanted to spend time with me - not like that,” he added when he saw the grin reappear on Sirius’s face. “We had a Seeker duel. And she didn’t want me to ask her brothers to join us for a Quidditch session.” He bit his lips. “I wonder if she’s starting to act like Parvati. She always wanted me to spend time with her, and only her.”

“Well, witches don’t like it if you just snog and have sex when you’re together. I told you that, didn’t I?” Sirius frowned.

“Yes, you did. But it’s not like that.” Not entirely, at least. “I have to train so I can survive whatever Voldemort tries next. I’m not spending all of my time hanging out with my friends and only going to her for a quick snog.”

“Or a quick shag,” Sirius added. “Later at least.”

Harry rolled his eyes at his godfather again. That wasn’t the point. “I am spending most of my free time with her. A lot, at least. But I don’t want to neglect my friends either.” Which is why it would have been nice if they had been able to play together with Ron and the twins.

Sirius rubbed his goatee. “Well, she should understand that saving your life takes priority over romantic strolls along the lakeside.”

Harry frowned at him. “We’re not doing that again.” Not until Voldemort was dealt with.

“I was speaking figuratively.” Sirius waved his hand. “But I think you’ll have to tell her that she can’t completely monopolise your free time.”

“I don’t want her to monopolise my free time at all,” Harry said. That reminded him too much of Parvati’s attitude. When he saw Sirius’s expression, he quickly added: “I mean apart from snogging.”

Sirius actually laughed at that. “Harry, listen to your experienced godfather: You can’t expect a witch to just be there for you when you want to… snog her. I mean, you shouldn’t neglect your friends, but your girlfriend deserves time as well. Romantic times.”

Harry groaned. “I guess this is one of the times when being honest isn’t a good idea?”

“You’re right, Harry. Now, you mentioned Hermione as well?”

Harry took a moment to answer. “Yes. She’s been very distant this week. Leaves early, doesn’t spend much time with me… I asked her if something was wrong, and she said that she wasn’t angry at me, but simply busy. But I think she’s angry with me, even if I haven’t done anything to her. I even apologised for ‘insulting’ her cat. ”

“Well, maybe that’s the problem?” Sirius cocked his head sideways.

“The cat?” If Hermione took that so seriously, then she already was a crazy cat lady. Besides, he had just been honest.

“No, the not doing anything to her,” Sirius clarified.

“Huh?” Harry blinked, then rolled his eyes. His godfather needed to stop thinking that everything was about sex. “She’s not interested in me like that. If she were, she’d have said something. And she would have dressed up a bit.” Like Ginny had done when they had come together.

Sirius shrugged. “She might think she’s too ugly to have a chance.”

“She isn’t ugly,” Harry said. “But she really could use some fashion lessons. And a new hairstyle. And some makeup.”

“My godson, the expert on witches!” Sirius chuckled a little too loudly for Harry’s taste.

“You can’t exactly remain ignorant of such things when you have a girlfriend,” he retorted. At least not a girlfriend like Parvati. “But yes, if I didn’t know better I’d suspect that she’s deliberately dressing like that.”

“Why would she be doing that?”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe she doesn’t want the Prophet to call her a gold-digger? I don’t know. But I want to know why she’s angry with me.”

“Well… you rejected my theory that she fancies you. That leaves us with the most obvious explanation.” Sirius grinned at Harry.

“Which is?” Harry asked through clenched teeth when his godfather didn’t go on.

“Well, she’s studying for her O.W.L.s.”

Harry stared at him, then sighed. “I’m an idiot!” Of course Hermione would be studying hard already! It was just two months until the O.W.L.s.! Then he frowned. “But she hasn’t badgered me or Ron about studying.”

“She knows that you two have more important things to worry about.”

“Right.”

Harry was both relieved and disappointed. It was good that Hermione wasn’t mad at him. But he would have liked to spend some time with her over the holidays.

*****​

London, Greenwich, April 10th, 1996

There had to be a pattern, Hermione Granger told herself, not for the first time. Vampires fell into patterns. The police hadn’t picked it up, which meant it had to be of a magical nature. Something muggles wouldn’t think of. And it wasn’t simple or logical, or she would have solved the problem days ago.

It was a logical deduction, but it didn’t change the fact that she was stumped. She sighed and pushed the notes on the table away so she could rest her head on her arms.

“Taking a break from studying?” Mr Fletcher asked from where he was reading muggle newspapers.

“That was my break,” Hermione said, with her face buried in her arms.

“Ah.”

She glanced up. He wasn’t looking at her. Pointedly not. She frowned. “I’m going to find that pattern,” she spat.

“Alright.” He nodded.

“I mean it,” she said, scowling.

“I believe you.” He did not, she was certain. But she couldn’t call him out for that.

She sighed again. “I’m certain that the pattern is related to magic. But I haven’t found anything. The disappearances aren’t linked to moon phases, nor to constellations.” And checking that had been a pain. If only she hadn’t dropped Astronomy two years ago… She glared at Mr Fletcher. He didn’t react, other than a slight twitch of his lips. “I suspect that it is linked to blood magic - if she’s sacrificing people for a blood magic ritual, then she would pick them due to their blood. But I haven’t been able to find a pattern based on the blood type of the victims, not from the limited information in the police records - they don’t have the full blood group classifications.” If she knew more about blood magic… “But even if there were a pattern based on blood that doesn’t mean that we’d find her next victim in time to catch her. It’s not as if people publish their blood types…” She trailed off. “But if she can find her victims...”

“...then she has to have a way to search for them,” Mr Fletcher finished for her with a rather feral-looking grin.

“Blood banks. She has to have a connection to a blood bank. We need to check if the victims have donated blood, and where.” Hermione stood and smiled widely. This was it! They’d find the vampire!

*****​

Liverpool, Britain, April 12th, 1996

“Breaking into muggle offices… this feels like barely a step above duelling a baby.” The dog was still complaining, Hermione Granger thought as she searched the records of the NHS blood processing centre for the names of the missing persons.

“You insisted on coming along, Black.” Mr Fletcher wasn’t much of a help, splitting his attention between watching for the night guard returning, and sniping at Sirius.

“I had to. Imagine if you stumble upon the vampire and I’m not here to save you from her - that’d be a bloody mess.” Black sighed theatrically.

“We can handle a bloodsucker, Black,” Mr Fletcher shot back.

“In your dreams. If she’s a practitioner of blood magic, she’ll deal with you easily.”

“So only your dark curses will be able to deal with her?” Mr Fletcher scoffed.

“Well… who killed Tripe and saved you two?” The dog sounded so smug right then, Hermione had trouble focusing on her task instead of hexing him. But someone had to take this seriously, even if it had been child’s play to break into the facility’s offices with magic.

“Emphasis on ‘killed’, Black.”

“I’m not going to spare a vampire when I’m saving Hermione. Or you,” Sirius said. “Unless you insist on it.” He even sounded hopeful!

Mr Fletcher snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“Is that a yes?”

“No.” Mr Fletcher spat.

“Hah! So much for your precious morals!” The dog’s loud triumph would have alerted the night guard if not for the spells on the door.

Hermione had had enough. “We’re on a mission!” she admonished the two bickering wizards.

Mr Fletcher looked contrite, but Sirius showed no remorse. “Haven’t you finished yet? Jeanne’s going to be wondering where I am if we take too long.”

Hermione was about to set the dog straight with a few choice remarks, but just at that moment she finally found what she was looking for. “Hah! Everyone who’s missing donated blood in the last few years. And now we have their complete records!” She turned to look at the two wizards, beaming. Her theory had just been proved!

“That’s great! Can we go now?”

Hermione glared at the dog. “Certainly not! Unless you want to copy the entire database - which we can’t do,” she quickly said when he raised his wand with an expectant look in his eyes, “since it’s in electronic form, and not printed out - we have to check for common traits in the data here.”

“What are we checking, anyway?”

“There are almost three dozen blood group systems,” she said, her attention once again focused on the screen. “This could take a while.”

“What? Three dozen blood group systems? What’s a blood group system, anyway?”

Hermione let her tutor field that question as she started another search.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 13th, 1996

“And all the victims’ blood matched this profile.” Hermione Granger pointed at the printout on the table - formerly owned by Tripe - in Sirius’s basement.

“Ah.” Sirius peered at the sheet and nodded, but Hermione doubted that the dog understood anything about muggle classifications of human blood groups. Wizards didn’t need to, being able to simply replenish blood with a cheap potion.

“So, I ran a search, and, since the last disappearance, one new donor has been recorded with the same profile.” She put another printout down. “Rupert Hornsby, from London. Donated on a trip, apparently.”

“So, he’s our vampire’s next victim,” Sirius said, grinning.

“That’s going to be tricky,” Mr Fletcher cut in. “We need to find the vampire’s lair, which means we need to track her there. But if we foil her kidnapping attempt, she might be too cautious to head directly to her lair, and if we let her kidnap the man, we might not be able to break into her lair quickly enough to save him. Or she might take him to a ritual site, not her lair.”

“If she’s planning a ritual then she might still take her tomes with her for referencing,” Hermione pointed out. She would certainly do so.

Her tutor looked doubtful even as he nodded slowly. “It’s possible, but even so - we can’t risk the muggle’s life on such a possibility.”

“We don’t have to,” Sirius said. He was smiling and shaking his head. “You’re thinking like thieves.”

“We are thieves,” Mr Fletcher retorted.

“Yes, you are.” Sirius made a point of looking at the furniture in the room.

Hermione exchanged a grin with her tutor. Tripe had had good taste, in her opinion, and it would have been a waste not to use perfectly good furniture until you could fence it without risk.

Sirius sighed. “Anyway. This is not a mission for thieves. We don’t need to track the vampire if we can catch the vampire instead, and find out where her lair is that way.”

That made sense, Hermione thought. She nodded. “You’re right.” She’d have to check whether Veritaserum worked on vampires.

“It won’t be that easy, though,” her tutor said. “We’ll have to shadow the muggle around the clock, and we’ll have to be ready to step in at a moment’s notice. Cut off her escape and capture her. And worst case, she’s an old, experienced vampire who knows blood magic - not an easy target to capture alive, as Black is fond of pointing out.”

The dog was grinning again. “That doesn’t really matter since you won’t be the ones capturing her.”

“What?” Hermione stared at him.

“As I said, it’s not a mission for thieves.” The dog grinned. “You can leave it to people trained for that sort of thing.”

“Dumbledore’s pet Aurors.” Mr Fletcher said, sneering.

Sirius shrugged. “Perhaps, perhaps not - Dumbledore’s playing his cards much closer to his chest this time around. Which is a good thing.”

Hermione had to agree with that, even though it felt like a let-down to be excluded from the capture after having done all the legwork needed to find the vampire in the first place. And she was really curious about who the Headmaster would send on this mission. Perhaps she could…

“Whatever you’re thinking right now, Hermione, the answer is no,” Mr Fletcher interrupted her thoughts.

She made a mental note to work on her poker face, too. And, she added, as Sirius laughed at her, to teach the dog another lesson.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 13th, 1996

“Sirius? I’m off to Hogwarts for the afternoon…” Harry Potter trailed off when he saw his godfather rubbing his nose while holding his wand. “Did you hurt your nose?”

“Just a scratch,” Sirius answered. “Cats can’t take jokes without getting violent.”

Harry was about to ask what cat Sirius was talking about when he heard a hiss and spotted Hermione’s stray hiding behind the desk. He shook his head. “Did you try to prank the cat?”

“No!” Sirius protested. “It was just a little joke.”

“She’s a cat, Sirius. They don’t understand jokes. Or much of anything else,” Harry said, shaking his head.

“I fully agree!” Sirius beamed at him. He was acting rather weird, Harry thought. And he had been doing so well lately.

Harry sighed and bent down. The cat was staring at him and ducked her head. “What’s she doing here anyway? And where’s Hermione?”

“Probably looking for the cat,” Sirius said, shrugging.

Harry stared at him. “And you didn’t tell her that you found her?” His friend wouldn’t be happy.

“I was about to chase her down when the beast scratched my nose.”

A grown wizard, bested by a cat… Harry shook his head. “Whatever. Can you tell Hermione that I’m off to Hogwarts?” He didn’t want to be late to Moody’s lesson again.

“I’ll tell her, don’t worry. Although she’s probably already aware - you know how she is.”

“Yes.” Harry smiled. “Good luck with the cat.”

Before Sirius could answer, the cat suddenly darted out of his study at a dead run. He beamed at Harry. “Another problem solved!”

Harry shook his head at his godfather’s antics again and left. He had a training session to attend.

He met Hermione in the entrance hall. “Harry! Don’t you need to be at Hogwarts?” she asked.

“I’m about to leave,” he said. “Are you looking for your cat?”

“She’s not my cat,” Hermione replied. “Have you seen her?”

He hesitated just a moment. “I saw her running out of Sirius’s study at top speed. I don’t know what exactly happened. You’ll have to ask him.”

“I most certainly will!” she announced, before hugging him goodbye.

That should stop his godfather’s plans to prank cats.

*****​

Hogwarts, April 13th, 1996

“I think that is all, Harry.”

“Huh?” Harry Potter blinked. He must have dozed off in the Headmaster’s office, he realised - Moody had pressed him and his friends hard that afternoon. “I’m sorry,” he added.

“Do not be,” the Headmaster said with a smile. “I am not so old that I have forgotten how boring it can feel to a young wizard to sit still and do nothing.”

“Ah, yes.” Harry didn’t point out that the Headmaster was about the oldest person he knew. “So, what’s the verdict?”

“I think I understand now what your mother did to protect you. In principle, at least.”

“So you can duplicate it?” Harry perked up. That would mean the war was just about won.

Dumbledore’s expression told him the answer even before the old wizard had finished talking. “I am afraid duplicating her feat is currently still beyond my ability. Lily was truly an exceptional witch. And oh so brave,” he added. “But I am certain that I will not take too much longer to sort this out.”

Harry nodded. He had heard that before, though. “And what about the curse on Remus and me?”

“I should soon acquire more resources to help with that goal.”

Harry sighed. “So, there’s been no progress.”

Dumbledore inclined his head. “There have been no tangible results yet, but progress has been made.”

Harry snorted. “At least training is going well. Moody’s pushing us hard, but we can see the results.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Speaking of training, I wanted to remind you that you should not focus on training to the exclusion of everything else. Some rest and recreation are needed, or even the most dedicated efforts will suffer.”

“I’ll suffer even more if I’m caught unprepared,” Harry shot back.

“That is true, but you can overdo it. I think Mister Wood’s training schedules suffered from that fault, did they not? You cannot do your best if you are exhausted - physically, mentally or both.”

Harry frowned. “I can take it.” He could.

“Most people tend to think so - until they find out, often to their great detriment, that they overestimated themselves.” The Headmaster slowly shook his head. “You should take care to let your body and mind recover and relax. It will benefit your training more in the long run - especially given the approaching O.W.L. exams.”

The O.W.L.s were the last thing - or almost the last thing - Harry was worried about. But if the Headmaster wanted him to relax, he should probably heed his advice. Especially since Dumbledore might tell Moody to take a break otherwise. “Alright, sir, I will relax more.” Some, he thought. At least Ginny would be happy; his girlfriend had told him the same several times... Harry narrowed his eyes.

“Very well, Harry. Is there anything else?”

“No, sir.” Nothing he wanted to tell the Headmaster, at least.

*****​

Ginny was waiting for him in the hallway when he left the Headmaster’s office. “Hey,” she greeted him - more shyly than usual, he realised. Both her presence and manner confirmed his suspicion.

“Did you tell Dumbledore that I was training too much?” he snapped, clenching his teeth.

She looked shocked for a moment, staring at him with wide eyes and her mouth half-open. Then she narrowed her eyes and raised her chin. “And what if I did? He thinks you’re overdoing it as well.”

“He didn’t mind until you told him,” Harry spat. How could she go and complain about their relationship to the Headmaster?

“He didn’t know what you were doing until I told him!” She put her hands on her hips. “Should I have simply let you continue? Until you hurt yourself?”

“I wouldn’t have hurt myself.”

She scoffed. “So you think. Dumbledore would know better, though. And he agreed when I told him how much time you spent training!”

“What?” He stared at her. “Did you tell him everything I, we did?”

She blushed slightly, then pressed her lips together. “Only how much you were training.”

He scoffed. “Well, he told me to train less. Are you happy now?”

“Will you stop running yourself ragged then?” she shot back.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Harry snorted and shook his head. “Did you decide what I’ll be doing to relax as well?”

She bit her lower lip, like Hermione, then took a deep breath. “I was just worried about you. You’ve changed since the attack,” she said in a softer voice.

“With good reason. I almost got killed. We both almost died.” If only he had been training more before that.

“But don’t you see? You were hurting yourself with all the training. You could barely walk after today’s session.”

“Moody didn’t say anything.”

“He wouldn’t say anything if you were half-dead! That man’s crazy!” She shook her head wildly, sending her long hair flying.

“But he knows his stuff,” Harry retorted. “I need his training. You need it too.” She was improving, but she was still behind Ron and himself.

“But I need more than that.” She swallowed. “I want to do more with you than train and then snog in a cupboard before you go off again, to Dumbledore or wherever.”

“We do more than that.”

“Not that much more.” She stepped closer and put her hand on his arm. “Please…”

He sighed. “I want to do more, too.” And more than snogging, but this wasn’t the time to mention that. “But with Voldemort, and the O.W.L.s, and the curse…” He shrugged, lightly so her hand wouldn’t slide off his arm. “I can only do so much.” Why couldn’t she see that?

“Can you at least try?”

He sighed again, but nodded. Then he opened his arms, and they embraced each other.

He opened his mouth to apologise for snapping at her, but closed it again without saying anything. She hadn’t apologised for going to Dumbledore behind his back, either.

*****​

 

Chapter 19: Separations

London, Havering, April 19th, 1996

Hornsby was a very boring man, even for a muggle, Emmeline Vance thought as she watched his flat through her Omnioculars. She’d trailed him for a week now - together with Hestia, and Kingsley when he could spare the time - and, as far as she could tell, Hornsby was always either at work or at home, watching the telly. And doting on his cat. Although it made protecting him easy if, as Dumbledore expected, the man was the target of a vampire. Which Emmeline privately doubted - unless the vampire suffered from insomnia; as Tonks had said when they changed shifts, the man’s blood must have absorbed so much boredom, it would likely put a vampire to sleep.

Chuckling at the weak joke, she took another bite out of the sandwich she had brought with her and tried to get comfortable - a Ford Anglia’s seats weren’t exactly armchairs. On the other hand, sitting in a disillusioned floating muggle car beat standing at a corner when it came to stakeouts. Emmeline hadn’t been an Auror in over ten years, but she certainly remembered how annoying and tiresome that had been. And ten yards in the air, she wasn’t at risk of getting run over by a car while disillusioned, either. According to Kingsley, that had actually happened to an Auror on a stakeout five years ago.

She shuddered at the thought and took another bite, then winced when she saw Hornsby get up and head to the bathroom. No matter how often Kingsley said that the enchantment on the Omnioculars was to ensure they could keep an eye on the muggle all the time, some things she didn’t want to watch. No, wait - he was taking a shower. At… she checked her watch… seven pm? Was the man actually going out this evening?

She quickly looked over the neighbourhood. There was no sign of a stalking vampire. That didn’t have to mean anything, of course - the vampire could be watching from a spot far outside the range of her Vampire-revealing Spell. And she might have changed her modus operandi anyway, what with even the muggles cottoning on to the fact that a woman was making men disappear.

On the other hand, vampires were not known to be very flexible when it came to their habits - that was why there were so few criminal bloodsuckers around; sooner or later their compulsive habits caught up with them. Emmeline was certain that the vampire would be approaching the man in his favourite pub.

Which, she realised, she didn’t know. “Getting sloppy in your old age”, she muttered to herself as she started the car and got ready to follow Hornsby. Who, as she saw, was dressing up in a suit again - as if he was going to work. Definitely the most boring man she knew. At least he had left the tie off… no, he was picking up a bowtie.

Emmeline wasn’t a muggleborn, but she had spent enough time in muggle London as an Auror to know that such garments had been out of fashion among muggles even fifteen years ago. At least when it came to clubbing. Not that she thought that a leather jacket would fit the man anyway.

There he was. And he was taking his car. That meant he wasn’t planning to drink. Or not much - muggles weren’t allowed to drive drunk and couldn’t sober up with a potion either. So what was he up to?

Thirty minutes later, she had her answer: Hornsby was entering a dance hall. A sign outside read ‘Latin night’. Judging by the way the porter greeted him, he was a regular here, too.

For a moment, Emmeline thought of simply staying in the car and keeping an eye on the muggle with her Omnioculars. But there were too many people inside - it would be too easy to miss the vampire. Sighing, she left the car hovering next to a streetlight so she would find it again and apparated down to the street. A glance at the dresses the muggles were wearing and a quick transfiguration later, she was on her way, using her enchanted mirror to tell Dumbledore where she was. Just in case.

*****​

Hornsby could dance, she had to admit half an hour later. He wasn’t sweeping anyone off their feet - not figuratively - but he knew what he was doing. And he was popular too, Emmeline noticed - he didn’t lack partners. And yet, something was off, though she couldn’t tell what it was. Perhaps...

“Miss? Would you care for this dance?”

Emmeline forced herself to smile at the fifth man in half an hour asking her to dance. “Sorry, I’m not yet feeling up to it.”

“Alright.” The man nodded at her and went to ask the next woman.

She sighed and turned her attention back to Hornsby. Perhaps she should have gone disillusioned and risked a muggle stumbling into her. At least she wouldn’t get distracted all the time.

She watched Hornsby bow to his partner after the song ended, and then turn towards the small bar. He was finally taking a break, Emmeline noted as she shifted around a little so she could keep an eye on the man. Who was ordering a mineral water. She sighed.

Then her eyes widened. A very beautiful, very pale and very slinkily dressed woman had just taken up the spot next to him at the bar. She couldn’t hear what the woman was saying, but the way she was leaning towards Hornsby would let him look down her dress to her navel. Or her toes. If he were looking - which he wasn’t, Emmeline noted. He was barely reacting to the woman.

In fact, when she put her hand on his arm, he even pried it off. She didn’t like that, at all - for a moment, her face contorted with anger. Emmeline was moving closer, one hand on her mirror. She could call Dumbledore - but she wasn’t entirely certain that the woman was the vampire they were hunting.

And then the woman flicked a wand around, almost too fast for Emmeline to spot, and Hornsby’s polite smile turned into a dim-witted one.

Emmeline was already moving towards the doors before Hornsby had offered the vampire his arm. She pulled out her mirror. “She’s here,” she whispered as soon as it lit up.

“Very well. Please ensure she cannot apparate or use a Portkey. I shall be there momentarily,” Dumbledore replied in a voice as if he were discussing the weather and not about attacking a dangerous vampire.

But then, he was Dumbledore.

*****​

Emmeline, disillusioned again, caught the moment the vampire tried to apparate with the muggle on her arm, and failed. The woman blinked, then snarled and even hissed, showing her fangs. The confunded muggle didn’t notice, of course. He kept smiling dumbly while the vampire looked around, her wand waving.

But Emmeline was outside the range of the Human-presence-revealing Spell the vampire had just cast. Not outside the range of a Stunner, though she couldn’t be certain that she would be able to hit the vampire from so far away.

And then a spell hit the vampire, who collapsed on the ground. Emmeline blinked. What had… there was Dumbledore, slipping out of an Invisibility Cloak. How had he managed to get so close? The vampire should have noticed… but it was Dumbledore.

She shook her head, ended her own Disillusionment Charm, and headed towards him.

“...a lovely night indeed. Too bad your companion left you,” she heard him say.

“Oh, it’s not a bother. I wasn’t interested in her, and would have had to let her down gently,” Hornsby said, still smiling in that manner typical of the victim of a Confundus Charm.

“It is easier this way, is it not?” Dumbledore was smiling as he stashed his wand.

The muggle nodded, and then started to walk back towards the dance hall’s entrance. Dumbledore turned to her. “Ah, Emmeline. Good work - I believe she is the woman we seek.”

“How did you manage to sneak up on her?” she blurted out.

“Very carefully,” Dumbledore said. “I jest. I borrowed a friend’s Invisibility Cloak.”

Emmeline was tempted to point out that Invisibility Cloaks didn’t hid their wearers from Human-presence-revealing Spells, but he knew that as well. Obviously, he didn’t think she needed to know. Which stung a little - but he was Dumbledore. She probably wouldn’t be able to duplicate his feat anyway.

“Let us gather our captive and be off, then.” A flick of his wand later, the vampire had been transfigured into a small puppet, which he pocketed. “If you would be so kind as to remove your jinxes?”

Emmeline nodded, annoyed that she hadn’t foreseen that request. Half a minute later, they disappeared from the parking lot.

*****​

Silloth-on-Solway, Cumbria, Britain, April 20th, 1996

“A vampire living in a Victorian seaside resort,” Hermione Granger muttered as she approached the impressive - and Victorian, of course - house. “How much more cliché can you be?”

Sirius, prancing around, masquerading as a normal animal, barked in what was probably amusement. Her tutor, disillusioned like herself, chuckled. “According to our source,” he said, “Cecilia Payton moved into the town as it was being built in the 19th century. I gather that she found the workers from Carlisle visiting the resort easy pickings, so to speak - back then, no one would have batted an eye at a drunk man ending up in the sea.”

Hermione wondered if that was pure speculation, or also something Dumbledore had found out during the interrogation of the vampire. But this wasn’t the time to ask. They were here to break into the vampire’s lair, loot her library and other belongings, and free her captives. And, also important, Hermione would be the one to break through the wards! It wasn’t the same as breaking into the manor of an Old Family, but it was a significant step up from practice. The wards she would be facing had been placed using banned rituals.

They passed into a side alley, the dog sniffing around before barking once. They were clear, then. Hermione took a deep breath and tapped her mask, activating her spell. Then she winced - the wards looked even more impressive than she had expected. But she raised her chin - she was a trained thief. She could do this. She would do this. And Mr Fletcher would see that she was perfectly able to assist him.

She took a step closer to the fence and crouched down. The spells forming the wards were layered, but she could see where they overlapped each other as well - similar triggers and effects. It looked like Payton had simply added spells over the decades, without restructuring the whole layout. Sloppy, she thought. Maybe another result of the vampire’s compulsive tendencies.

She raised her wand, looking for a weak spot among the layers. There - two different Muggle-Repelling Charms covering the same spot, but both using the same anchor, which weakened them. If the other spells were suffering from the same mistake…

She grinned as she spotted similar, if not as obvious, weaknesses in the Anti-vermin Charms. Now if only… Her grin vanished. The core of the wards was different. Whoever had anchored those spells had been very careful. The spells were laid in a pattern where they reinforced each other, and triggering one triggered all.

For a moment, she wavered. If she made a mistake she would suffer a very powerful, possibly lethal, backlash. Then she clenched her teeth. She wouldn’t make a mistake. Those were old spells, powerful and illegal ones. But she knew how to deal with them - all she had to do was to put the theory into practice.

Taking a deep breath, she started to slowly and very carefully detach the first anchor, realigning the spells so the remaining anchors took the strain. Sweat started to run down her face, tasting salty on her tongue when she licked her lips - she should add a small enchantment to her mask to deal with perspiration. One more spell to realign. She had to steady her wand hand before continuing. If she slipped… She didn’t.

Panting, she leaned back, sitting down on the pavement.

“Hermione?”

“I’m alright,” she answered her tutor. “I opened a hole.” A flick of her wand marked the area. “We should…”

Before she could finish her sentence, the dog jumped over the fence into the small garden.

“Black, you damned fool!” she heard Mr Fletcher spit. She wholly agreed with the sentiment. “Bloody Gryffindor!”

That she didn’t agree with, of course. “Well, it seems we don’t need to test my work,” she said.

Mr Fletcher snorted. And the dog was already sniffing at the back door. At least they knew, thanks to Dumbledore, that it wasn’t trapped.

*****​

“That was reckless, Black,” Mr Fletcher admonished the dog as soon as all of them were inside the house.

“Don’t you trust her?” he shot back, grinning.

Hermione Granger scowled. That was not a fair argument. “Let’s get on with this,” she said. “We have books to loot and captives to free.”

“Sometimes I wonder at your priorities,” Sirius said.

She glared at him. “That wasn’t a ranking!”

“Of course it wasn’t,” he said with that infuriating grin.

“I’ve opened the stairs to the basement,” Mr Fletcher interrupted their brewing spat. “Let’s get on with this.”

Hermione was tense as they descended into the basement - the dungeon, literally in this case, as they knew. According to Dumbledore, there were no traps or curses awaiting them, and she trusted the Headmaster’s information. But she couldn’t help worrying anyway. The stairs would make an excellent spot for a trap - dark, narrow and winding.

But they reached the bottom of the stairs without incident, and the door there didn’t stop them either.

Sirius whistled at the sight that greeted them - a room straight out of a vampire novel. A cheap vampire novel: black wood paneling on the walls, dark red curtains hanging from the ceiling and a polished stone floor, with a ritual circle etched into it.

And a door leading to the dungeon, where half a dozen men were sleeping in cells under the effects of the Draught of the Living Death. As Dumbledore had told them to expect. Hermione shivered when she looked at them - they looked dead to her. And they would have been dead as soon as Payton had caught the seventh victim she had needed for her planned ritual.

“Alright,” Mr Fletcher said. “Black, inform Dumbledore that we’re inside. Hermione, let’s get started on the books.” He swished his wand, and the red curtains were drawn back, revealing shelves upon shelves of books.

Hermione smiled widely as she drew her own wand.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 21st, 1996

“The victims overpowered the kidnapper when the drugs she had dosed them with ran out, and managed to escape to the street, seeking help. The kidnapper died in a fire, which the police suspect she set when she realised that she couldn’t escape?” Sirius asked as he lowered the newspaper Hermione Granger had brought with her.

She nodded and pointed at the headline - ‘Pale Lady Kidnapper Dies in Fire, Victims Safe’ - which was placed right above a picture of Payton’s burning house. “That’s what happened as far as the police know.” With a slight grin, she added: “So, now you know why we had to take everything even hinting at magic from there.” Letting all those books burn would have been a crime! And they had even replaced the furniture they had taken with duplicated copies, so the muggles wouldn’t wonder why the house had been empty.

“I really need a new basement,” the dog muttered, but she ignored him.

*****​

London, Greenwich, April 24th, 1996

Hermione Granger let her new bracelet dangle from her fingers as she studied it. It was a simple design: a fine golden chain, from which small coins dangled - a Knut, shrunk and gold-plated, for every heist she had been on. There weren’t that many, yet. But that would change, she promised herself. And she already had decided on the spots where the Knuts from the manors of the Greengrasses, Parkinsons, Davises and Bulstrodes would go. And the place of honour for the coin from Malfoy. She grinned, imagining her revenge.

Then she sighed. She wanted to go and rob those lying bigots blind, but Harry was still cursed and needed her help. Not to mention that Mr Fletcher was still claiming that she wasn’t ready to deal with an actual manor of an Old Family. Not yet. If the worst should happen, her plans would have to wait until after Voldemort was dealt with.

Which wouldn’t be a bad thing, of course - the Dark Lord was a lethal threat for her family, her friends and herself, as well as every other muggleborn and so-called blood traitor. It made sense that Dumbledore wanted her to focus on defeating the Dark Lord, even if she was certain that robbing those pureblooded liars would also harm Voldemort’s plans.

But it grated on her nerves anyway, thinking that those bigots were enjoying the gold Sirius had paid for her debts. That they were profiting from their crimes and lies, safe and smug behind their old wards. She wanted to teach them a lesson. Repay them for what they had done to her.

She sighed again.

“Something the matter?” Mr Fletcher asked. “Trouble with the Charms test?”

She shook her head, feeling her messy ponytail flap around. “No. Just thinking.”

“About what? Must be important if you’re skipping studying for it.” He was grinning, but even that joking rebuke stung her.

She didn’t want to admit that she had been dwelling on her revenge plans again. So she didn’t. “I was wondering why more wizards don’t steal from muggles. It would be very easy, after all.” Even easier than making muggle money honestly with a few choice spells.

He grinned. “What makes you think they don't?” She frowned at him - he could be as bad with his teasing as the dog - and he held up a hand. “Don’t hex me! There are a few reasons for the apparent dearth of wizards stealing from muggles.” He sighed. “First, muggles don’t have much that we would want to steal. Gringotts and the Ministry keep a tight grip on the money supply. They know what would happen to the economy if Galleons weren’t a controlled currency. It’s a real pain to launder muggle loot, too - there’s not much demand for it, not even for precious metal since the goblins control the mint. Art would be different, but the Ministry keeps an eye on that after an incident involving the Mona Lisa.”

“They had no trouble robbing my family of all our money,” Hermione said with a scowl.

“Of course not - but that’s a drop in the bucket. You weren’t exactly rich compared to the Old Families.”

Hermione pressed her lips together. At least her family had earned their money. “But if you stayed mostly in the muggle world, you wouldn’t have to launder muggle goods into wizard money,” she pointed out. She refrained from pointedly looking around her tutor’s muggle flat, but he got her meaning.

“But then you have to launder your money muggle-style. And deal with their taxes and paper trails.”

“That wouldn’t be too hard.” She had thought about how to do that. Just in case.

“No, but it would be easier to simply conjure and transfigure what you want.” He shrugged.

“Not everyone can do that,” she retorted.

“Then they’re not good enough to last as thieves anyway.” He chuckled. “The Ministry keeps an eye out for ‘impossible thefts’. Claim they’re a threat to the Statute of Secrecy. Mostly hogwash, but it means the punishment for such thefts is much harsher than for normal theft, which scares a number of thieves off. Coupled with the work needed to keep the muggle authorities from bothering you, it’s usually not worth the hassle.”

“Usually?” She tilted her head slightly.

He shrugged. “I’m certain that there are a number of wizards living the high life as muggles. But they’re not that many. Most who have the skill for that have far greater ambitions.” He smirked at her.

She huffed. She simply wanted to teach those arrogants bigots that they couldn’t get away with their crimes. And that not even expelling her from Hogwarts would prevent her from outshining every single scion of the Old Families.

She would show them. Well, not literally - she wasn’t stupid, after all. Even if robbing the Malfoys blind would be so much more satisfying if she could also rub it in their faces.

She could dream, though.

*****​

Hogwarts, May 6th, 1996

“...and while Nifflers are often thought to be fond of precious metals and jewels, they are, in fact, fond of anything shiny and will go to great length to find such objects. That makes them useful when digging for treasure.” Harry Potter closed his copy of ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them’ and sighed. “We already knew that from our lessons with Hagrid.”

“Yeah. But the book doesn’t tell you that the little buggers fight tooth and nail to keep any treasure they find,” Ron added. He frowned and wriggled his left hand. “Almost lost a finger there.”

“That’s a good point,” Harry said, making a note. “If they ask about Nifflers at the O.W.L. exams, such details will help a lot.”

“If they ask about Nifflers.” Ron snorted. “I asked my brothers - neither Percy’s nor Charlie’s nor Bill’s tests included Nifflers. Charlie sent me the latest on dragons, though.” He put a roll of parchment on their table in the Gryffindor common room and duplicated it, then frowned at the result. “The copy’s letters are a little smudged.”

“Would still be a passing grade,” Harry said, “if that charm were on the list of spells we need to know.”

“It should be,” Ron retorted. “It’s very useful.”

“We almost got Moody with that avalanche,” Harry agreed, smiling.

“‘Almost doesn’t count’,” Ron quoted their trainer and both chuckled. “At least we don’t have to worry about Defence,” he added.

“Just about Transfiguration, Charms, Astronomy, Divination, Care of Magical Creatures and Potions,” Harry said.

His friend frowned at him. “No one cares about Astronomy. No one but my Mum and Percy, at least. It’s useless. And we don’t have to worry about Divination.”

“The Divination examiner might not be as easy to fool as Trelawney,” Harry retorted.

Ron snorted. “They’d have to read our minds to know we’re making it up. And we’re good at everything in Charms or Transfiguration that’s useful in a fight, so we should at least pass.”

He had a point, Harry had to admit. “There’s still Potions.”

Ron winced. “Well, the examiner can’t be as evil as Snape?”

Harry scoffed. “That ‘s not a high bar. And you know what Moody said: ‘I’m training you to Auror standards, and a N.E.W.T. in Potions is requirement to become an Auror. You wouldn’t like it if you failed your Potions O.W.L.’,” he added, trying to imitate the old Auror’s voice.

Ron sighed and hunched over in his seat. “Thanks mate. I had almost persuaded myself that the O.W.L.s wouldn’t be that bad.”

“Any time,” Harry said with a grin. After a moment, he laughed. “Look at us - we’ve got Voldemort after us, and we’re worrying about the O.W.L.s!”

“Well, I can’t fail the O.W.L.s; Mum would kill me,” Ron said. “What’s your excuse?”

“Hermione said that failing the O.W.L.s would be letting Voldemort win,” Harry said. “Something about not letting him ruin my future.”

Ron blinked. “Well, not letting him kill you is kind of the first step for that. Most important one, too.”

“Yes,” Harry said, “but I…” He saw Ginny enter the commons room - her Quidditch match must have ended. “...I think I need a break from studying right now,” he said.

Ron raised his eyebrows, then glanced at the door. “Ah.”

Harry was already up and on the way to his girlfriend. “Ginny!” He beamed at her and gathered her in his arms for a quick kiss. She had just showered; he could smell her shampoo in her hair. “How was your game?” he asked.

She smiled widely. “We won - I caught the snitch.” Then she frowned. “I hoped you’d come and watch. At least for a few minutes.”

Harry shrugged. “Sorry, but I was studying and lost track of the time. O.W.L.s.” He lowered his voice and grinned at her. “But how about we celebrate your victory? Just the two of us?”

She seemed to hesitate a moment, then shook her head. “Sorry, I’ve got homework of my own.”

“Well, once you’re done, then?” Harry smiled. “I’m free until after dinner.” And dinner was in two hours. Since Ginny wasn’t studying for her O.W.L.s she wouldn’t take that long to finish her homework.

“We’ll see,” she said. “I might also lose track of the time.”

“Oh.”

“See you later.” She was smiling, but politely. Not the kind of smile he wanted to see.

He watched her vanish up the stairs to the girls’ dorm, then sighed and returned to his and Ron’s table.

His friend looked at him but didn’t say anything. And neither did Harry.

He couldn’t wait for the O.W.L.s to be over.

*****​

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

“You want me to teach you Defence?” The dog’s tone clearly showed that he hadn’t expected that. He had also stopped spinning around on his swivel chair.

Hermione Granger sighed. “Yes.”

“Don’t you have a tutor for that? An expert?” He was grinning now.

She clenched her teeth. “Yes. But as events have proved, you’re a better fighter than Mr Fletcher.” Not a better a thief, of course - Sirius could hardly be called a thief, in her opinion. Far too clumsy.

“Ah!” He smiled widely. “It feels so good to be acknowledged.” He sighed. “So good.”

She raised her left hand and flexed it, as if she were unsheathing her claws.

He cleared his throat. “I’m willing to teach my secretary and fellow thief, of course. Although unless you can train together with Harry, I doubt that I can spare the time to train you seriously.”

“I’m aware of that.” She didn’t have the time either, especially not with the O.W.L.s coming up. “And I’m not looking for lessons on how to fight like you do.” That wasn’t the point of being a thief. “But I would like a few lessons in escaping from people like Tripe.” She didn’t want to end up at the mercy of a vampire - or anyone - ever again.

“Ah!” He rubbed his goatee. “That shouldn’t be a problem.” His grin turned positively evil and he twirled his wand between his fingers. “We’ll start with teaching you how to dodge - as a human.”

Hermione realised right there and then that she had made a slight mistake.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, May 9th, 1996

“Alright, we’ve got a new target,” Mr Fletcher said, using his wand to roll out a map on the table in Sirius’s basement. “Finsley’s Fine Goods. A small-time fence in Knockturn Alley, who may have recently acquired a tome on blood magic.”

Hermione Granger craned her neck to study the map. The shop was located near the entrance to the Alley - not exactly the most isolated area.

Sirius frowned. “Wouldn’t it be easier to simply buy the tome? While we’re in disguise?”

Mr Fletcher shook his head. “Books on blood magic aren’t exactly the kind of things fences sell to anyone. It’s one thing to claim that you didn’t think that necklace was stolen when you bought it, but everyone knows that even the possession of blood magic paraphernalia is illegal. He won’t admit to a stranger that he’s got such a thing.”

“We could use Polyjuice potion and pass as an acquaintance of his,” Hermione said. She could also think of a number of people who deserved to get framed.

“We would need to observe him first, see who he knows and is familiar with, and then get their hair for the potion, as well as observe them to see how they act. Easier to break into the shop straight away,” her tutor said.

Hermione nodded in agreement - that made sense. Sirius shrugged.

“We’ll have to move quickly, though,” Mr Fletcher continued. “He’ll want to get rid of it.”

“Might he simply destroy it?” Sirius asked.

“He’s too greedy for that,” her tutor answered.

“You know him that well?”

“I’ve heard enough about him,” Mr Fletcher corrected the dog. “Anyway - I checked the wards out before I came here. Nothing impressive - good enough to keep the riff-raff out, but won’t stand up to a skilled Curse-Breaker.” He looked at Hermione, who was smiling at him. “Yeah, you can deal with them. Black and I will go in while you serve as lookout.”

Hermione frowned. On the one hand, she was glad to be allowed to deal with the wards. On the other hand, this sounded as if both men wanted to keep her out of danger.

The dog rolled his eyes. “Don’t make such a face! Being a lookout in Knockturn Alley at night isn’t that safe.”

She glared at him in return. He was starting to be a little too familiar with her if he could read her mood that easily. And she still owed him for the Stinging Hexes he had used on her during ‘training’. They might be effective, but they hurt!

*****​

London, Knockturn Alley, May 10th, 1996

Glancing around as she approached Finsley’s shop, Hermione Granger had to admit that Knockturn Alley didn’t look very safe. Vampires and hags were said to prowl the Alley past midnight - although most vampires might have gone into hiding these days - and even though she was disillusioned she couldn’t help feeling as if she were attracting attention.

Seeing the dog padding in front her, his pitch-black fur almost disappearing in the shadows, helped, though. His appearance had already sent one drunk wizard running away, screaming about the Grim coming to get him. She frowned - people feared the dog, but might attack a cat. If they managed to spot her first, of course, which they wouldn’t.

But she couldn’t break through the wards as a cat. Which was why she was disillusioned instead of a cat.

She reached the walls of the shop and tapped her mask. Her tutor had been correct - not that she had doubted him: The wards weren’t as strong as on the vampire’s lair. More dangerous than the average ward on a wizard home, but nothing she couldn’t handle. She glanced over her shoulder - a floating marker showed that her tutor was right behind her, watching her back. And the dog was ahead of her in the side alley, covering the front. She nodded, even though no one could see it, and started working.

It didn’t take long - the wards had been anchored to the walls, and sloppily so. She could spot two areas where they didn’t overlap. It took her half an hour to go through them, mostly because there was a dark curse hidden behind the first layer - a nasty surprise for an overconfident thief, but again, nothing really impressive.

She tapped her mask below her ear and whispered: “Done.”

“Finally!” the dog complained - he must have changed back to human. “This alley stinks!”

“Quit complaining, Black,” her tutor shot back, “you wanted to go as a dog.” He was already at the door, and a moment later, she saw it swing open. A moment later, she saw a black dog push past and the door closed again.

Now all that was left for her was the waiting. In Knockturn Alley. At night. She took a deep breath and told herself that she was a Gryffindor. She wasn’t afraid of some dark creature lurking nearby - she could handle any of them. And, she added to herself, her tutor and Sirius were just a word away.

She still hoped that they would not take too long - staring at the shadows outside the range of the spells on her masks was more disquieting than she had expected. It was one thing to read about the hags living in this place, scorned by Wizarding Britain, but another to imagine one of them trying to sneak up on her. At least there wouldn’t be any werewolves around.

She heard a noise behind her and whirled around, wand pointed ahead. A rat froze in the middle of the alley, then sprinted towards the closest shadow. She resisted the urge to hit it with a spell, but it took an effort - rats were filthy vermin, and any self-respecting cat would kill them given the opportunity. Unless that would give her presence and position away.

“You won’t be lucky next time,” she whispered, then returned to watching the shop and its surroundings.

It felt like an hour, but it hadn’t been longer than ten minutes when Mr Fletcher and Sirius returned. “We got it,” her tutor said. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Don’t know how useful it’ll be - it looks rather shabby,” the dog added.

Hermione waited until they had apparated to the rally spot in their safe house to answer. “Never judge a book by its cover.”

“I can’t - it’s missing its cover.” The dog was grinning at her.

“It wasn’t meant to be taken literally,” she explained to him.

“Well, it’s certainly not high literature.”

Hermione pressed her lips together and refrained from responding. It would only encourage the dog. Although when he turned his back to her, she banished a rolled-up newspaper at him, hitting him in the head.

“Hey!” He glared at her.

“Constant Vigilance!” she turned his own - borrowed - words back at him with a wide smile.

It was so worth the scolding from Mr Fletcher that she knew would be coming.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, May 11th, 1996

“Hey, Hermione!”

Hermione Granger frowned at the interruption but managed not to glare at the dog standing in the door of her room - her office - at Grimmauld Place. “Yes?” Her tone clearly told him that she was busy - busy working for him, actually.

“Dumbledore is coming. He wants to talk to you.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. The Headmaster, visiting her? Here? Why would he… Had something happened to Harry? No, Sirius would have been informed before her. But… “Did he tell you why?” she said, sounding calmer than she felt.

He shook his head. “No. But it must be important.”

Of course it was important - the Headmaster wouldn’t take the time to visit in person otherwise. And it concerned her. Personally.

She bit her lower lip, fighting the anxiety she felt rising inside her.

*****​

“Good afternoon, Miss Granger. Sirius.” Dumbledore sounded as pleasant and composed as usual when he stepped into the entrance hall of Sirius’s home, Hermione Granger thought. That didn’t mean much, though she thought that the news he brought wouldn’t be too terrible, or he wouldn’t be smiling. Or so she hoped.

“Good afternoon, sir.” She nodded at him.

“Welcome to my humble home,” Sirius said. “Tea’s ready in my study.”

“Thank you.”

They proceeded into Sirius’s study as she listened to polite and meaningless conversation about the latest gossip from Hogwarts. Not even interesting gossip - just banal stuff about the staff’s lives. She wanted to know the reason for the Headmaster’s visit.

Waiting until they were seated inside Sirius’s study and tea had been served took another toll on her patience. She almost drew her wand to take over serving from Sirius, even though that would have been terribly rude. But the dog was just too slow.

Finally tea was served and the Headmaster put down his cup after his first sip. “Excellent, Sirius. A new brand?”

“Yes. Hermione brought some muggle tea. I thought you’d like it.”

“I do.” He smiled at her. “You have an eye for tea, my dear.”

She forced herself to smile. “Thank you, sir.”

She must have failed in hiding her impatience, though, since he sighed and went on: “But I did not visit to have tea. I bring grave news.” He slowly inclined his head. “The Dark Lord has used his agents in the Ministry to access the addresses of the muggleborn students on file.” She drew a hissing breath but didn’t interrupt him. “We had anticipated this, and tampered with the records, but there were a few we could not replace because they were not strictly related to school records, and therefore not kept in one single place, but rather duplicated in several departments.”

“Like trial records,” Hermione said. Like hers.

“Indeed.”

“My family has moved twice since the trial, though.” And she had used Sirius’s address to register for the O.W.L. exams.

“But due to your financial obligations at the time, you were tracked.” He shook his head. “While I cannot say with certainty that your family’s address is known to the Dark Lord, I do not think we can safely assume that it is not the case.”

“The Death Eaters would have had her address for years, then,” Sirius said.

“Indeed. But, until recently, the Dark Lord was not willing to attack muggleborns - yet. That would draw attention, and speculation would quickly tie the new attacks to those of the Blood War.”

“He’s moving to open war, then?” Sirius asked.

“Preparing for it, at the very least,” Dumbledore said. He looked at her. “I do not think he is ready for war, yet, but on the other hand, your unfortunate and unjustly damaged reputation would allow him to disguise an attack on your family as you having run afoul of other criminals. And it is widely known how close you are to Harry and Sirius.”

“Which makes me an ideal target.” She clenched her teeth. Malfoy’s plot was, even years after the trial, still ruining her family.

“That’s remarkably specific,” Sirius said. “There are others who are close to Harry and myself. The Weasleys. Jeanne. The Tonkses. But you wanted to talk to Hermione.” Hermione saw him narrow his eyes. “You’ve got a spy close to Voldemort, haven’t you?”

Dumbledore’s smile grew a little thinner, she thought. “Even if I had such a source, I wouldn’t endanger them by telling others.”

Sirius scoffed. “It’s not your source from the first Blood War, is it? Because I don’t think Voldemort would be as stupid as to trust that git again. Unless he’s feeding you disinformation. With or without the git’s cooperation.”

Hermione bit her lower lip to avoid gasping. There was one man Sirius regularly called ‘git’. Snape. Had he been the Headmaster’s spy during the last war? It would explain a few things. And pose even more questions.

Dumbledore stopped smiling entirely and gave Sirius a stern look. “I assure you that I am aware of that, and that I trust this warning.”

Sirius scoffed. “Since he’s still alive, I gather he hasn’t met the Dark Lord yet. So you’ve got someone else.” He held up a hand. “I know, it’s a secret. But let’s talk about we can do to protect Hermione’s family. Guards won’t cut it, unless you have far more members in the Order than I think.”

Dumbledore sighed once more, then smiled wryly at her. “Sirius is correct. We cannot spare the needed number of wands to guard your family. Both your house as well as your parents’ workplace would have to be guarded - around the clock, to prevent ambushes and traps.”

That would take a lot of people. Hermione swallowed. “Then what can we do? Make them hide?” Her parents wouldn’t forgive her for ruining their lives a second time. Even if it wasn’t entirely her fault this time.

“That would be one way to keep them safe. Having them leave Britain would be another. Combined, I think they would be both safe and at least somewhat content.” Dumbledore stuck his hand into his robe and pulled out what Hermione, to her considerable surprise, recognised as muggle travel brochures. “It will cost some money - muggle money - though.”

*****​

Hogwarts, June 3rd, 1996

Harry Potter wasn’t quite at the point where he was reciting textbooks in his sleep - at least Ron claimed he wasn’t when Harry had asked - but he certainly felt like he was. Three weeks until the O.W.L.s started, and he had already crammed so much into his head. And so much was still left to learn.

He glanced at the Ravenclaw table. The fifth and seventh years were reading books during breakfast. He was certain that Hermione would be doing the same, were she at Hogwarts. She probably was studying during breakfast at Grimmauld Place. He wouldn’t go that far himself. Not yet, at least. Ginny wouldn’t like it. Although she hadn’t yet arrived at the Gryffindor table.

“Harry! Ron!”

He saw Luna moving towards him and his friend, waving excitedly. She sat down next to Ron and pulled out a stack of magazines - The Quibbler’s newest issue, he realised. “Here’re your copies!” Luna said, beaming at them while she handed the issues over, almost dropping one onto Ron’s plate.

“You gave me two,” Harry pointed out. His subscription only covered one.

“One is for Hermione. Her help allowed Daddy to uncover a far-reaching conspiracy and possible threat to the Statute of Secrecy, so it’s only fair that she gets a copy of the issue too!” Luna explained.

“Her help?” Ron asked. A glance showed Harry that his friend looked as confused as he felt.

Luna nodded several times. “Yes. She told me about ‘Westminster’ being a possible breeding ground for Nargles. Without her Daddy would have never thought of investigating that muggle location.”

Harry quickly unfolded his issue. There was a picture of the British parliament building on the cover. Right beneath the headline: Muggles Hiding Nargles! Conspiracy of Silence!

“Blimey! Your dad found Nargles?” Ron asked.

Luna frowned, scrunching her nose. “He hasn’t seen them - he wasn’t allowed inside. He told me that the muggle guards simply wouldn’t budge even though he asked nicely and told them about the dangers of a Nargle infestation.” She sighed. “The only explanation for their behaviour is that they are actively trying to hide the existence of Nargles by limiting access to them.” She nodded slowly and Harry thought her eyes were even wider than usual. “You need to warn Hermione that she has to be careful - we haven’t revealed our source, but if the muggles ever suspect her, they’ll try to silence her. They tried to kidnap Daddy, you know, but he escaped them,” she added in a whisper.

“Uh…” Harry said, wincing. If he told Hermione that… well, he’d tell Sirius in the evening, and his godfather could inform Hermione. They were getting along well, after all.

“Morning Harry, morning Ron… Luna?” Ginny had arrived.

“Hello, Ginny!” Luna said. “I’ve brought Harry The Quibbler.”

“Ah.” Ginny nodded, then bent down to give Harry a kiss - on the cheek, he noted. She sat down next to him, though

“Hello.” He slipped his arm around her waist, but she squirmed when he tried to pull her closer.

“I need to eat - I’m already late,” she said.

“Alright.” Harry nodded and withdrew his arm. “We can wake you up earlier tomorrow,” he said with a grin.

She glared at him. “Don’t you dare! I was studying late - we have exams too.”

Luna, who was still sitting next to Ron, nodded. “Yes.”

Harry shrugged. “That’s true, but they’re not as important as the O.W.L.s.” He certainly hadn’t worried that much about them last year. Nor had he studied that much.

Ginny glared at him again. She didn’t say anything, though, and continued eating. She didn’t kiss him either, when they left for class later.

*****​

“Alright, I’ll tell her. But seriously… A muggle conspiracy to hide Nargles?”

“I promised Luna that I’d warn Hermione,” Harry Potter told Sirius. “Can’t hurt, can it?”

His godfather snorted. “She can’t hurt you, you’re safe at Hogwarts.”

Harry gave him a flat stare and made a point of rubbing his arm, which had been hit quite a lot during the evening’s training. “I’m certain that you can defend yourself against her.” Sirius was one of the best fighters Harry knew - not as good as Moody, but very good.

Sirius snorted again, mumbled something about cats that Harry didn’t quite catch, but didn’t contradict him. “Good evening, Harry.”

“That remains to be seen,” he retorted. It depended on whether or not Ginny was done with her homework and studying.

His godfather chuckled, then stepped into Remus’s fireplace and vanished.

Harry sighed, briefly checked that Remus was still asleep - the wizard was still exhausted from his change last night - and went back to Gryffindor Tower.

He smiled when he entered the common room - Ginny was there in a corner, listening to the wireless with her friends. He walked up to her and slid an arm over her shoulder as he sat down on the armrest of her set. “Hey! All done with your homework?” He ignored the shushing sounds and motions from her friends. He and Ginny would leave in a moment.

She frowned at him, but nodded.

Harry bent down and a whispered into her ear: “Fancy a stroll in the castle?”

He felt her tense. “It’s past curfew,” she answered in a whisper.

He grinned. “That never stopped us before.” He pulled slightly on her shoulder. Just a little nudge. They didn’t have much time left since it was late already.

Once more she hesitated, but then stood. “Let’s go then,” she said, taking his arm.

He smiled. It was a good evening.

*****​

London, Merton, June 5th, 1996

“Australia? You want us to move to Australia?”

Her parents could have said that without sounding so shocked, Hermione Granger thought. It wasn’t as if this came as a surprise - she had told them weeks ago that they were in danger. She raised her chin, but remained seated on her chair at the dinner table. “Not moving - just traveling the country until Britain is safe for you once again,” she explained.

“And how long would that be?” her father asked.

“And why Australia?” Mum asked before she could answer Dad. “Didn’t you tell us that it was the deadliest magical country?”

“For British wizards. And pretty much every other wizard apart from the Aborigines - their shamans kill all the intruders they catch.” Hermione had told them that too, although that had been a year ago. “It’s perfectly safe for muggles.”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘perfectly safe’,” her father said. “It probably has the most dangerous wildlife of all the continents.”

“Which doesn’t make it that dangerous. Millions of Australian muggles have no trouble,” Hermione pointed out. “But the Aborigines keep all foreign wizards out - you’ll be safe there from Death Eaters.”

“That also means that you can’t come with us,” her mother said with narrowed eyes.

Hermione blinked. “Yes.” She had never planned to go herself - she was needed here, after all. She noticed the glances her parents exchanged. “I’ll be safe at Grimmauld Place. The house has some of the most powerful wards in Britain.”

“We could move in with you, couldn’t we?” Mum asked. “You said it was a big house, and that you could even add magical rooms.”

Hermione struggled not to wince. Her parents, at Grimmauld Place? Kreacher would have fits. Half the portraits would be livid. And she wouldn’t be able to go on heists without trouble any more. “You wouldn’t like it,” she said. “No telly. No radio. No computer. No phones either. You couldn’t leave by yourself, since you wouldn’t be able to get back due to the wards. You wouldn’t be able to meet many people.”

“We don’t have that many friends left - real friends, at least,” Dad muttered.

“In Australia, however, you would be on vacation. You could travel where you want, you’d stay in luxury hotels and resorts, meet new people…” She beamed at her parents.

“That would cost a fortune,” Mum said.

“Sirius is covering it,” Hermione waved her hand. “He can afford it easily.” There was no need to explain to her parents that her own cut of the loot would actually cover their travels, once Mr Fletcher fenced part of the furniture they had taken so far.

Her parents looked at each other again. “We would have to depend on Mr Black’s generosity again.”

“So? You just suggested moving into his home.” Hermione frowned.

“Where you’re already living.” Dad stared at her.

“I’m his secretary.”

“We’re technically his dentists.” Mum wasn’t helping.

“You couldn’t work there either. Do you really want to spend months, maybe years, in a single house? Lie to our friends when they ask where you are? Surrounded by wizards and magic?”

“You’re asking us to leave you there, dear,” Mum said.

“I’m a witch,” Hermione said. “Please. I just want what’s best for you.”

“That should be our line,” Dad said. He was grinning wryly, though - she was making progress.

“Well, if you want what’s best for me, then not making me worry about you or feel guilty for all but imprisoning you would be a good choice.” Hermione forced herself to smile. “Please. Besides - didn’t you say that you had always wanted to travel there? Before I was born?”

“Well, not under such circumstances…” Dad was wavering, though. And the look he sent to Mum was different from his earlier ones.

Hermione grinned. “Besides, even Dumbledore himself thinks it’s the best option. And the beaches there are gorgeous! Look at these brochures!”

It took her another hour of explaining, but they finally saw reason. And without her using magic to persuade them. Which had been her last resort. She wouldn’t let her parents get hurt, or worse, for her. Not again.

*****​

Hogwarts, June 14th, 1996

“Ginny! There you are!” Harry Potter beamed at his girlfriend when he found her at the entrance to the Hogwarts library.

“Harry.” Ginny smiled at him. A bit weakly, though - she was probably tired from studying. Like himself. “Didn’t you have a lesson with Dumbledore?”

He shook his head. “He had to leave. Something came up.”

“What happened?”

He smiled. “Even if I knew, I couldn’t tell you. It’s a secret.” He didn’t know what Dumbledore was doing. She pouted in that cute way of hers, and so he added: “If it concerned our families he’d have told us.” She didn’t look convinced, or so he thought. He beamed at her again. “But more importantly - I have two hours, and I have it on good authority that the unused classroom on the third floor is empty right now.” That was one of his favorite spots to snog. “The perfect spot to relax after all the studying we’ve been doing.”

She didn’t look as enthusiastic as he had expected - they had hardly seen each other for a week. “You mean the perfect spot to snog,” she said in a rather flat voice.

“Yes.” He frowned. That was the best way to relax, too - Sirius agreed with him as well. Heck, Hermione had said that people under stress, like soldiers, had an increased sex drive, too.

“I’m not in the mood to snog.” Apparently, Ginny wasn’t as stressed as he had thought.

“We haven’t done much all week,” he pointed out.

“We have done nothing but snog for a month whenever we had a little time for us,” she retorted.

“And we’ve had precious little free time.”

“I don’t want to just snog with you. I told you that.” She looked angry.

He swallowed his first thought. You shouldn’t push witches to snog, Sirius had told him. “Alright, if you don’t want to,” he lied, “then we can hang out with our friends.” He had trained and studied with Ron this week, but hadn’t done much else.

“So, if I don’t want to snog, you don’t want to spend time with me?” She was glaring at him now.

“No! But we can spend the time together and with our friends. I’ve told you that before.”

“Yes, you did.” That didn’t sound like she agreed with him, though. Were all witches so possessive once you started a relationship?

“And it’s true. We shouldn’t neglect our friends just to spend time with each other.” Sirius had been clear on that as well. And Harry had learned his lesson with Parvati.

“Unless it’s to snog,” she spat.

“Well, we can’t very well snog with each other in public, can we?”

“That’s not the point! I’m sick of never doing anything but snogging with you!”

“That’s because with the O.W.L.s so close, and my lessons and training, I have no time for anything else. That’ll change after the O.W.L.s, once I have more free time.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And we’ll have the holidays, too.” He smiled at her.

“Unless something more important comes up.” She was still glaring at him.

“Well, I can’t do anything with anyone if Voldemort kills me, can I?” he shot back. Why couldn’t she see that?

“I know that. I know that’s important.”

“So why are you so…” Difficult? Stupid? “...angry?”

“Because you think that spending time with me is not important unless we snog. You prefer spending time with Ron rather than with me!” Her eyes looked a little… was she crying?

He shook his head. “I want to spend time with both of you, with all my friends. I don’t want to choose between you.” Why couldn’t she understand that?

He saw her working her jaw work and her lips trembling. She looked very upset - those were tears in her eyes.

And then she bared her teeth.

“Well, then I’ll choose for you! Go snog yourself! Or Ron! We’re through!”

*****​

Harry Potter kept staring after her for a while after she stormed off. She had just dumped him. Just because he hadn’t wanted to dump Ron for her. He shook his head. Just like Parvati. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t crying. Not over this. It was stupid, and he had much bigger things to worry about. Voldemort. The O.W.L.s. If Ginny was too jealous to understand that then he was better off without her.

He slowly unclenched his fists. Yes, it was better like this. No more rows and weird glances and… No more snogging. He sighed. He should get back to the common room. Ginny would be telling everyone that it was his fault.

“Harry?”

He turned. Dumbledore was standing there. How had the Headmaster managed to sneak up on him? “Sir?” he said.

“Are you well? Young people generally don’t stand in hallways staring at the library without a reason.”

“I was just thinking,” he said quickly. “Lost in thought.”

“Ah.” Dumbledore nodded, though Harry couldn’t tell if the Headmaster believed him or not. “I have been looking for you, actually.”

“You were?” What for, he wondered. Had something happened to Sirius? Or Hermione?
But Dumbledore was smiling. “I wanted to tell you the good news right away: I found a cure for your curse.”

*****​

 

Chapter 20: Future Prospects

Longford, Heathrow Airport, Britain, June 22nd, 1996

“Be safe and enjoy your holiday, Dad!”

Gabriel Granger’s reply was interrupted by his little girl - not so little any more, he realised - hugging him. Hard. His little bookworm had become an athlete without him noticing! He knew she had been running each morning, but he hadn’t thought much of it. He heard her sniffle as he held her, and barely refrained from saying ‘there, there’.

Then she released him and launched herself at Ellen. “Mum! You too! Be safe as well!”

He smiled at his wife as she was trying to breathe, caught in their daughter’s surprisingly strong grip. “We’ll be safe, dear,” he said. “As safe as you can be in a country founded by convicts and filled with the most venomous animals and plants known to mankind.” And a country where foreign wizards disappeared, never to be seen again, according to what he had been told.

And, as he expected, his darling daughter released his wife to glare at him. “Dad! That sort of flippant remark not only ignores how wrong the practice of banishing so-called criminals was, even at the time, it’s also incorrect. The country wasn’t founded by convicts. In fact…”

He held up his hand to stop the lecture - Hermione was still overdoing her ‘research’ whenever she tackled a problem. “I know, dear. I was just kidding.”

That earned him a pouty scowl that made her look several years younger. Adorable. Not that he would say that - Hermione still had some issues with her appearance, no matter how much she denied it. Otherwise she wouldn’t always be wearing rather frumpy clothes, despite Ellen’s efforts. He patted her shoulder instead. “We’ll be fine.”

She hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Yes.” It sounded a little as if she was trying to convince herself, though. Then she hugged him again. Then Ellen. And then she tried to hug them both together. He was tempted to make a comment about staying in Britain if she was already missing them so much, but refrained. This was already very emotional.

“People are staring,” Ellen whispered.

“Let them!” Hermione retorted.

“We’re not the only ones,” Gabriel pointed out, nodding towards a very loud group a little further away. They were the only ones flying first class, though. At least he thought so. First class… Mr Black was proving to be even more generous than expected.

Gabriel wasn’t quite comfortable with that. Hermione claimed that there was nothing behind the man’s actions other than a willingness to help his godson’s best friend and his trusted secretary, but he couldn’t help fearing that, one day, their benefactor would call in the favours owed to him.

Well, he thought, watching Hermione deal with the staff at the check-in desk, Mr Black would find out that their headstrong daughter wasn’t easily manipulated. If he wasn’t already aware of it, of course - Hermione certainly had complained about his ‘lazy attitude’ often enough, and Gabriel had had the impression that she didn’t hide her annoyance from Mr Black either.

He watched their suitcases disappear on the conveyor belt and turned to Hermione again. His little girl. “So, that’s it.” He forced himself to smile. No need to make it harder than it already was. “We’re off to sunny Australia.”

“It’s actually winter there now, so it’ll be colder than you expect,” Hermione said.

“We know, dear,” Ellen cut in. His wife’s smile was forced as well, he could tell.

Hermione nodded and bit her lower lip. “I’ll write you and call, as often as I can.”

Which, Gabriel was all too aware, wouldn’t be that often. Not with that maniac trying to kill her and her friends. He felt the by now very familiar rage well up inside him. Rage against this ‘Voldemort’ and his followers for their bigotry and cruelty. And against himself, for being powerless to protect his daughter and wife.

They hugged again while he struggled with his rage. He managed to smile at her as they left her standing at the gate. But he still didn’t feel any better by the time they entered the lounge where they would be waiting for boarding to start. And no amount of free drinks would change that. “We’re leaving her in danger,” he muttered as he sank into a leather seat in the lounge.

“We’ve talked about this,” Ellen whispered.

They had. At length. Hermione hadn’t let up until they had given in. He understood the reasons for their trip. That didn’t mean he was happy about it. “We should have taken her with us,” he whispered.

“She wouldn’t have let us,” Ellen replied.

He glanced at her. She was smiling sadly at him. He sighed. His wife was correct - Hermione wouldn’t have let them take her out of the country. She was too stubborn for her own good. Too brave, too. Unlike her cowardly parents. And, it went without saying, they couldn’t have forced her, even if they had wanted to.

Ellen elbowed him in the side. “Stop feeling guilty. It’s not your fault.”

“I know,” he whispered back. And he did. But that didn’t make it any easier to leave his little girl behind.

And that he couldn’t help thinking that she wouldn’t have let them stay in Britain even if they hadn’t agreed to leave was no comfort either.

*****​

Hogwarts, June 22nd, 1996

Watching Sirius, Remus and Dumbledore prepare the ritual that would counter the blood curse on Remus and himself, Harry Potter felt like tapping his foot. He didn’t, of course - that would have been immature. Ungrateful as well - just because the Headmaster had found a counter-curse didn’t mean he could expect to be cured immediately.

But it had been a very long week between Dumbledore’s announcement and this evening. And not just because of the anticipation or the studying for the O.W.L.s. No, he could handle that. But dealing with his break-up with Ginny… He shook his head. It was hard enough to see her each day in the common room and the Great Hall. But to watch her talking with Parvati and the other girls, then glance at him, knowing they were talking about him, was worse. It wasn’t his fault that Ginny couldn’t understand that he didn’t have much free time and wouldn’t neglect all his friends for her! And she could at least be miserable, too!

“It’ll work, mate, this is Dumbledore.”

Harry turned his head to look at Ron, who must have misunderstood his expression. Harry almost corrected him - he wasn’t afraid, nor did he doubt the Headmaster - but decided against it. Ron had stood by him during the breakup, but it wouldn’t be fair to drag him into Harry’s issues with Ginny. So he nodded. “Yes.”

“Besides, they’re trying it on Remus first,” Ron added.

Remus had insisted on that, Harry knew, and everyone had ignored his own protests. It made sense, of course - the ritual wasn’t designed to cure two people at the same time - but it made him feel guilty anyway. Harry should have been first since Remus had only been cursed because he had been guarding him.

He didn’t want to dwell on any of this, so he nodded at Ron and then watched the preparations to distract himself. Dumbledore had a ritual circle, as the pattern formed by the silver runic etchings covering most of the polished stone floor was called, already prepared, but they still needed to place candles and censers at the right spots on its edge. Remus was doing that. Sirius was levitating a brass cauldron into the centre of the circle - it was large enough for someone to sit in it.

Someone would be sitting in it, Harry realised when Remus started to strip down. Which meant Harry would have to do the same afterward. He winced, then blinked.

“Oh…” Ron trailed off.

Harry knew why - he, too, was staring at Remus’s scars. The man had a lot of them. Gruesome ones. His arms and parts of his chest were covered by claw marks and bite marks, by the looks of it - not that Harry was an expert. But he couldn’t imagine anything else causing such wounds. “And I thought my scar was bad,” he mumbled.

Remus shot them a hurt glance, and Harry looked away, cursing himself for embarrassing the other wizard. And himself.

“I think you better leave the room,” Dumbledore spoke up. “If anything does not go as planned, you’ll be safe outside.”

Harry nodded, not feeling like protesting any more, and left with Ron.

Outside, he sighed and leaned against the wall, then slid down to sit on the ground. “Damn.”

“Yeah. I didn’t know it was that bad. He probably has more scars than Moody,” Ron agreed. “More scars than Charlie’s boss, even. That he survived so many cursed wounds…”

“Werewolves are tough. If he got them while he was changed…” Harry blinked. “Although the wounds would carry over.” They had covered that in Care of Magical Creatures. And Defence.

“Yeah.” Ron sat down as well. “How long will it take?”

“About an hour, or so Dumbledore said,” Harry answered. He remembered what the Headmaster had told him about rituals, how they took longer but made it easier to cast complicated spells.

“So long? Must be a hell of a ritual.” Ron knew as well as Harry did that it was likely a blood magic ritual. Banned in Britain, and highly illegal.

“They might simply be being as careful as possible,” Harry said. “It’s a new ritual.” For them, anyway.

Ron snorted, but didn’t contradict him.

After about a minute, Harry was sick of the silence. “Let’s quizz each other,” he said. “Name all of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration.”

“You sound as if you were already living with Hermione,” Ron said, chuckling. Then he grew serious. “I still can’t understand how she could send her parents to Australia,” he added with a visible shiver.

“They’re muggles. They’ll be safe. Thousands of muggles travel to Australia. Millions live there,” Harry said.

“Mate, you don’t understand. Entire Hit-Wizard companies vanished there, last century. Even the Dark Lord is probably afraid of travelling there.”

“Which is why the Grangers are going there,” Harry pointed out. He wasn’t certain if he believed all the stories he had heard - many sounded too far-fetched to him - but as long as Voldemort’s followers believed them, it would be alright. He didn’t think Voldemort himself would bother travelling that far to hunt two muggles.

Ron didn’t answer; he just snorted.

Harry shrugged. “Anyway, the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp’s Law?” he prompted his friend.

Ron sighed, but started to list them. “Food cannot be conjured, it can only be multiplied and…”

*****​

Over an hour and a half later, it was his turn to sit in the cauldron, covered in blood. Sticky blood that wouldn’t dry over time, as he found out. The smell of it, even worse when mixed with the smoke wafting through the air from the censers, almost made him puke. Which would be bad.

The ritual worked, he told himself. He had seen Remus when the Headmaster had called him in, cleaned and clothed, but asleep. But Sirius had assured him that his friend was fine. So Harry should be fine as well. In theory - Dumbledore had said that the ritual might be painful.

Harry didn’t think that anyone would be feeling fine in his place, anyway. Not when sitting naked in a cauldron slowly filling with blood, and with Dumbledore chanting words Harry couldn’t understand but which made his scar hurt with each syllable.

How exactly had Remus passed out?, Harry wondered as his headache grew stronger. It was pulsing now. His scar might even be bleeding, he thought - not that anyone would notice, what with blood covering his entire face and dripping on his chest.

He clenched his teeth. He wanted this cure; he could endure this. He had to endure this, or he would be stuck drinking a potion every day for the rest of his life. A potion made by Snape.

He snarled, focusing on his anger. He wouldn’t give that git the satisfaction of owing him so much! No matter how much this hurt.

Dumbledore finished another chant, and the scar in Harry’s forehead seemed to be on fire, the pain was that bad. Harry ground his teeth so hard he feared they’d crack and splinter, but it didn’t help; the pain grew worse. He dug his nails into his thighs - anything to take the edge off the agonising pain in his forehead. He was panting, too, no longer bothered by the stench of blood. How much longer would he have to suffer this?

He almost didn’t notice when Dumbledore finished chanting. He didn’t see the Headmaster freeze, his wand pointed at Harry.

But he certainly felt the agony filling him right after Dumbledore completed the ritual, and, just before he lost consciousness, he felt as if his scar was searing his skull.

*****​

He woke up, not in the infirmary, as he had expected, but in Dumbledore’s quarters. Or so he thought - without his glasses, his vision was rather blurry, but it definitely wasn’t the infirmary. He had his wand, though, and he was wearing clothes, he noticed. A quick Summoning Charm later, he had his glasses as well. Yes, his first guess had been correct. Dumbledore’s quarters, probably in a conjured bed.

“Are you alright, Harry?”

He turned his head. Sirius was there, too, sitting in Harry’s usual seat. He should have expected that.

“Harry?”

He blinked. “Sorry… I feel… fine.” He slowly reached up and gingerly touched his scar. It didn’t hurt. Much. Sore, and raw, he thought. It had bled recently, too - there were smudges of dried blood on his fingertips when he lifted them away from his forehead.

Sirius looked relieved. “We were worried when you collapsed.”

“Did it work?” Harry asked. That was all that mattered, after all. “Is the curse gone?”

His godfather smiled. “Yes. No trace of it is left. Neither on you nor on Remus.”

Harry smiled and closed his eyes for a moment. It was done. He wasn’t cursed any more. His life didn’t depend on Snape’s potion any longer. He slowly let out a breath. “Good.”

“It’s great,” Sirius said, beaming at him.

Harry nodded. “Was the ritual meant to be so painful, though?” he asked.

Sirius shook his head. “No. Remus said that it sapped his strength, but that there wasn’t much pain.”

Harry considered that for a moment. His scar had made the difference, then. “So… is this connection the result of blood magic, and did it react with the ritual?” He remembered something about similar spells influencing each other from his Charms revision a week ago.

“That is quite possible.”

Harry whipped his head around. He hadn’t noticed the Headmaster until the man had spoken. Dumbledore was standing near the door. Had he been there all along, or had he just entered? He focused on the problem at hand. “Sir? What happened?”

“I cannot say for certain yet.” Dumbledore smiled faintly and spread his hands. “While Voldemort is currently researching blood magic, I do not think that he used any such spell against you when he attacked you in 1981.”

“But…” Harry drew a hissing breath. “Why’s my scar reacting like this, then? Is he using blood magic to affect it through our connection?” If Voldemort was aware of their connection...

“That is a possible and worrisome explanation. However, I need to do further research to determine whether or not it is true.”

“What else could explain it, though?” Harry asked, scoffing. “Who else would be using blood magic on me?” He caught Dumbledore and Sirius exchanging a glance. “You expected this,” he said. Dumbledore slowly nodded. Harry shook his head. “You don’t mean…” His mother wouldn’t have done this. She wouldn’t have.

Dumbledore smiled sadly. “Lily was an exceptionally talented witch, and she would have done anything to protect you.”

*****​

Hogwarts, June 27th, 1996

The waiting was the worst part of the O.W.L.s, Harry Potter thought, shifting on the bench in the room next to the Defence classroom. Studying he could handle. The tests themselves as well - Charms had been easy, at least the practical parts. The same with Transfiguration. Herbology… well, he didn’t think he had made a blunder, and, as Sirius was fond of saying, no one other than those growing potion ingredients cared about Herbology anyway. But waiting… he hated waiting. It made him think. About his parents. His mother. What she had done.

He tried to distract himself by focusing on his Defence exam, which would be starting in a few minutes. He would have to demonstrate a Shield Charm, a Disarming Charm and a Stunner to pass. Child’s play - he and Ron had mastered those spells more than a year ago. And the written part this morning… He scoffed. He had finished twenty minutes early. After his training with Moody, he probably knew more about the dangers of the Dark Arts than the examiners. And about blood magic.

He clenched his teeth. He didn’t want to think about blood magic. He had almost died because of that vampire’s curse. It had taken Dumbledore months to find a cure. Which, Harry strongly suspected, had required a blood magic ritual as well. At least there hadn’t been a sacrifice. Or so he thought. Hoped.

Whatever his mum had done to protect him, on the other hand... Dumbledore hadn’t gone into detail and Sirius had said it didn’t matter since Harry was alive thanks to it, but he had learned enough about blood magic from Dumbledore’s musings to know better. His mother had created a protection that worked against the Killing Curse and lasted until he was seventeen years old. Such a powerful spell would have required a sacrifice, and a ritual taking hours to complete.

He closed his eyes. He would rather think about Ginny than dwell on this - and he still felt a stab of pain in his chest whenever he saw his ex-girlfriend in the common room or the Hall. He suddenly snorted - for someone who had only been cured of a lethal curse a few days ago, he was feeling rather gloomy.

Then he noticed the door to the examination room opening, and shot up.

“Mister Potter?” A blonde witch in Auror robes smiled at him. “I’m Belinda Browtuckle. We’re ready for your exam now.”

“Good!” he blurted out.

Her smile grew. “Not many are so enthusiastic.”

Not many had his problems. But that wasn’t a topic he could mention to anyone except - maybe - his closest friends. So he shrugged. “Defence is my best subject.”

She nodded as he passed her. Inside the room, the other two examiners, both wizards, were waiting, sitting behind their desks - conjured or transfigured, he thought; he hadn’t seen those desks before at Hogwarts.

The oldest wizard spoke up. “Hello, Mr Potter. I’m Sebastian Selwyn.” He wasn’t smiling. His expression was closer to frowning, even. Not as bad as Snape’s whenever the git saw Harry, but still…

“I’m Bilius Brown.” The other wizard curtly nodded at him.

“Hello.” Harry remained standing as Browtuckle took her own seat.

“You’re here for your practical exam in Defence Against the Dark Arts. It’s two o’clock now. Let’s start. Please produce the best Shield Charm you can, Mr Potter.” Selwyn sounded almost bored, and rather patronising too.

Harry couldn’t resist. “What do you mean by ‘best’, sir? Strongest, fastest casting, or maybe silently cast? Anyone of those could be the best choice depending on the tactical situation,” he quoted Moody.

“‘Tactical situation’?” Selwyn scoffed. “Produce the strongest Shield Charm you can manage, Mr Potter. And don’t try to sound like an Auror at your O.W.L. exam.”

The man definitely didn’t like him, Harry thought. But he had lived through five years of Snape, and Selwyn wasn’t in the same league. He shrugged and raised his wand. “Protego!”

A shimmering field enveloped him as the three examiners peered at him. Browtuckle looked impressed. “Solid form and shape,” she said while a dictaquill scribbled over parchment.

Brown didn’t show any reaction. And Selwyn… Harry tensed when he saw the man snarl and draw his wand. “Testing. Stupefy!”

Harry had to force himself not to dive to the side, roll behind the closest desk and come up fighting when he caught Selwyn casting. This was a test, not an attack. The Stunner splashed against his shield, causing it to briefly flicker. Harry grinned.

“Withstood one Stunner without visible degradation,” Browtuckle noted. Harry’s grin widened.

“Stupefy. Stupefy.”

Two more Stunners hit Harry’s shield, shattering it. He saw Selwyn was still casting, and jumped to the side, casting another Shield Charm as the man’s fourth Stunner missed him. Harry’s own didn’t miss, and the wizard dropped to the ground.

“Don’t…” Browtuckle, who had raised her hand, apparently trying to stop her colleague, was gaping at Harry and even Brown looked surprised.

Harry winced. “Sorry. When I noticed that he was still casting even after my shield went down, I simply reacted.”

Brown frowned at him. “That was quite an overreaction, Mr Potter. My colleague wasn’t about to harm you.” He pointed his wand at the wizard on the ground. “Rennervate.”

“You can’t assume that,” Harry shot back as Selwyn groaned on the floor. “Only a fool would let a stranger stun them without any backup.”

“Mad-Eye would love you,” Browtuckle muttered.

Harry grinned. “He said I’d make a decent Auror.”

Her eyes widened. “Did he train you?”

He probably shouldn’t have mentioned that, but what was done was done. Harry nodded. “Yes, he gave me a few lessons after I was attacked at the start of the year.”

“Merlin’s beard,” he heard her curse.

“You! You attacked me!” Selwyn had recovered his wits.

“Sorry, sir. I saw you casting at me after my shield had been shattered, and, well, my reflexes took over.” Harry shrugged. “Constant Vigilance, you know.”

Apparently, Selwyn didn’t like Moody either. But he didn’t even try to raise his wand in Harry’s direction for the rest of the exam.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 6th, 1996

“You stunned an examiner?”

Hermione didn’t need to yell, Harry Potter thought, wincing at the volume of his best female friend. “It was a reflex - and he tried to stun me first,” he defended himself, grabbing another finger sandwich from the plate Kreacher had put down in the living room. Answering her questions about his O.W.L. exams was hungry work.

“‘Reflex’,” Hermione said, shaking her head. She had put her pen down, too, Harry noted. And she had fed her monster cat a sandwich, too! No wonder the thing thought that all food was his!

“I knew having Moody train Harry was a good idea!” Sirius chimed in, chuckling. “Not even we did that, did we, Remus?” He didn’t sound as if he was asking a rhetorical question, though, Harry thought.

“No, we didn’t,” Remus confirmed. “But you probably would have tried, if given the chance.”

“What if he fails you for it?” Hermione cut in.

Harry scoffed. “I’d like to see him try. I passed all their tests with flying colours, and as I said: He tried to stun me first. It’s his own fault.”

She pressed her lips together before answering. “That may be true, but the truth doesn’t always factor into the Ministry’s decisions.”

Harry winced again as Sirius nodded. “Very true. But in this case, I doubt that Selwyn would dare to treat Harry unjustly - not with two witnesses, one of them an Auror, and with Dumbledore known to take an interest in the exams.” Harry’s godfather grinned, showing his teeth. “I remember my parents complaining about him putting a stop to the ‘selective grading’ that had been going on before he became Headmaster. Muggleborn grades jumped that year, or so I’ve been told.”

Hermione looked relieved.

Harry grinned. “And I don’t think he wants to announce that he was stunned by a student.”

“That, too,” Sirius agreed. “Although the story has spread anyway - Tonks heard from another Auror.”

Harry sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t think to keep my training secret.” It had felt too good to show off.

Sirius waved his concerns off. “Don’t worry. People already knew that you were receiving special training.”

“They didn’t know who trained you, though,” Hermione pointed out.

Sirius shook his head. “Voldemort wouldn’t have underestimated you anyway. Not after the vampire attack.”

Harry saw Hermione frown at Sirius before she looked at him again. “But his followers might have underestimated you.”

“Hey now! They knew we were training him!” Sirius sounded affronted.

“We’re not Moody,” Remus said, smiling wryly.

“Which is a very good thing!” Sirius shuddered. “I wouldn’t have half the success with witches if I looked like Moody.”

“I remember you telling me that witches found scars attractive,” Remus said.

“That is true. Sexy scars - like yours. Or Harry’s.” Sirius nodded at them. “But missing half your nose, a leg and an eye… That’s too much.” He blinked. “Or too little?”

“Irrelevant. Let’s go back to talking about the O.W.L. exams,” Hermione said, picking up her pen.

“You mean back to interrogating me,” Harry corrected her with a grin.

She ignored his quip. “That was Defence. Now, Potions was your next exam, right?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, ma’am!”

She didn’t find that funny, either. Unlike Sirius. Sighing, Harry started to tell her about his Potions exam.

*****​

“Isn’t this cheating?”

“What?” Hermione Granger looked up from her notes and stared at her best friend. They were alone in the living room - Sirius and Mr Lupin were meeting Dumbledore at Hogwarts. And Crookshanks had gone off to explore his new home.

“You know, grilling me about the exams,” Harry said.

She scoffed. “Certainly not. The O.W.L. tests for home-schooled students are different precisely to prevent such cheating.”

He blinked. “But if the exams are different, why did you have me talk about them for an hour?”

“The requirements to pass are the same for everyone, so there have to be some basic similarities.” That was obvious.

“Ah.” He sounded rather grumpy for a boy who had been cured of a lethal, if delayed, curse a few days ago, and who had already taken his O.W.L. exams and could therefore relax - unlike her.

“Besides, it was just an hour,” she pointed out. “You wouldn’t mind spending an hour to help me revise, would you?” He better not! He was done with school for the summer, after all.

“Of course not,” Harry said at once.

“Good!” She beamed at him. “I need some help with Potions.”

“You…”

He shook his head at her, and she grinned. She didn’t feel guilty for taking advantage of him - it wasn’t as if he couldn’t spare the time.

“Where’s ‘Jeanne’, anyway?” he asked. “Not that I’m missing her.”

“She’s visiting her father. Apparently, it’s ‘a family tradition to welcome family members returning from Hogwarts with a family gathering’,” Hermione quoted the other witch.

“That’s a lot of ‘family’,” Harry commented.

Hermione shrugged. “It’s an Old Family.”

“Speaking of…” Harry looked around, probably checking that Sirius and Remus hadn’t yet returned. “Did you find out anything about Jeanne?”

“Other than more than I ever wanted to know about what she does with Sirius in the bedroom?” Hermione asked as sweetly as she could manage.

“Yes.”

Harry wasn’t fazed. Drat. She shrugged. “No. She hasn’t done anything suspicious in my presence.” And Hermione had been too busy to do anything more… sneaky.

He sighed and muttered what was likely a curse under his breath. “I guess I’ll have to hope that she’ll let something slip during the holidays.”

“Provided that she does have such plans,” Hermione pointed out.

“Better safe than sorry,” he retorted. “Can’t be too cautious.”

Moody had a lot to answer for, Hermione thought. “Actually, yes, you can be too cautious. Or too suspicious.”

Harry frowned at her. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes. Which is why I said it.” She held up a hand when he opened his mouth. “I know and understand your suspicions. I do, really. I’m just pointing out that Jeanne might be innocent - at least of what you fear her to be planning.”

He leaned back on his chair and sighed again. “I just don’t want her to break Sirius’s heart.”

Hermione bit her lower lip. She wasn’t certain if she should ask, but… this was a good opportunity, maybe the last before she would be busy with her own exams. “Is this because you and Ginny broke up?”

His head snapped up. “You know?”

She nodded. “Ron told me, in case I wanted to visit The Burrow.”

“Ah.” She saw his shoulders sag as he looked down at the table.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hermione asked. She wasn’t certain that she wanted to talk about it, but Harry looked as if he needed to.

“I guess so… you’re a girl, after all. Maybe you can understand her.”

She pressed her lips together. Of course she was a girl! “What happened?”

He sighed. He was doing a lot of that today, it seemed. “She was acting like Parvati. Wanting me to pick her over my friends. To spend time with her alone - and not just snogging, you know. I told her that I didn’t have the time for that, not without neglecting my friends.” He was shaking his head as he talked. “I told her that we could snog when alone, and spend the rest of my free time with our friends. Play Quidditch, for example. Or hang out in the common room. That way, I wouldn’t have to neglect anyone.”

Hermione winced and spoke up before he could continue. “Let me guess: She told you that she didn’t want to be with you just for snogging?”

He stared at her, then nodded. “About that, yes. How did you know?”

She took a deep breath. “Because that’s what I would have said in her place.”

“What?” He gaped. “But you’re…” he made a helpless gesture with his hand. “You’re not like Parvati!”

“And neither is Ginny.” He was clueless, Hermione thought. Probably the dog’s fault. “No girl likes to feel that a boy just wants to snog with her, and nothing else.” Although no girl liked to know that a boy didn’t want to snog her, either. But that was another problem.

“But we were doing other things together!” Harry protested. “Just with our friends, too.”

She sighed. “That’s not the same. A girl wants to feel special. We don’t want to be just a friend who you snog in private.”

“But isn’t that exactly what Parvati did?”

She frowned. “No. Parvati didn’t want you to spend any time with friends, especially not with me, because she was jealous. Ginny wasn’t jealous.” At least Hermione didn’t think she was. “But she was probably afraid that you took her for granted, and only wanted to be with her to snog her.”

He scoffed. “But in the end, she wanted me to stop spending time with my friends and instead spend the time with her alone. Like Parvati!”

Hermione rubbed her forehead. “Yes, that may be what it sounded like, but her motivation was - probably - very different. And you could have compromised and spent a little less time with your friends, and a little more with her.”

Harry frowned. “I tried. But that doesn’t change the fact that she, too, wanted me to choose between my friends and her. And that’s something I won’t do!” He shook his head emphatically.

Hermione wasn’t certain if she should feel happy about his declaration. One the one hand, she loved knowing that Harry wouldn’t cast her aside for a witch to snog. On the other hand, if she were ever to…

She buried that thought.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, July 12th, 1996

“Miss Granger.” Mrs Cadwaulder barely bothered to nod at her before turning around.

“Yes,” Hermione Granger replied to the woman’s back. The witch had been acting noticeably cold towards her all week. Hermione didn’t know whether this was due to her unjust conviction, the Prophet painting her as a gold-digger, or because she was a muggleborn. Probably all of it, she thought - the woman had been all but glaring at her during the four days spent on the written exams.

“Miss Granger?” An old wizard asked, blinking at her over his half-moon glasses.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m Cedric Fawley. This is Mr Steinmark. You already know Mrs Cadwaulder.” His voice sounded as old as he looked, and he was reading his text off of a sheet of parchment. “You’re here for the practical parts of your O.W.L. exams. We’ll be starting with Charms, followed by Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures and finally Potions.” He looked up and blinked at her. “That’s quite a large number of subjects for a home-schooled witch. Particularly a muggleborn witch.”

“I had an excellent private tutor,” Hermione said.

She heard Steinmark scoff and a quick glance showed her that he was barely hiding his sneer. And Mrs Cadwaulder’s smile wouldn’t have looked out of place on a pouncing harpy. Hermione had expected that, though. She made a show of blinking. “Ah!” She raised her right index finger and smiled as innocently as she could. “I almost forget. Headmaster Dumbledore said he was interested in seeing how the home-schooled students fared and asked me for a copy of my memories of my exams. He said to let you know.”

Seeing the expressions of the three examiners - Steinmark’s scowl was worse than Snape’s and Cadwaulder looked as if she had bitten into a particularly flavourful Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Bean while Fawley was blinking even more - made it really hard for her not to smirk.

These three wouldn’t be able to do a little favour for Malfoy and his cronies.

*****​

Hermione Granger lowered her wand slowly as the last animated pea jumped into the tin can. Another perfectly cast charm. Not that any of the examiners would comment on it, though.

“Now demonstrate a Cleaning Charm.”

She almost rolled her eyes. Why were the examiners so fixated on household charms? She cast the charm anyway, of course - and with style, at least in her opinion, vanishing all the soap suds covering the floor with a flick of her wand after the Cleaning Charm was done. She longed to demonstrate that she had mastered a cleaning charm that worked far better, and without soap, but that would have been advertising that she was capable of erasing any trace she left on a heist.

“Ah… that was a Vanishing Charm, wasn’t it? Silently cast?” Fawley was squinting at her.

Hermione nodded. “Yes.”

“That’s very advanced,” Steinmark commented.

She forced herself to smile. “My tutor had me vanish all my failed conjurations each day.”

“Ah!” Fawley laughed. “A very good way to learn a spell.” Then he broke into a cough that lasted for a minute while everyone pretended not to notice.

“I think that covers Charms,” Fawley finally managed to say after he had taken a swig from a vial. “Now, Transfiguration.” He swished his wand, and a tea cup appeared on the table in front of him. “Please transfigure this into a rat.”

A rat! Hermione pressed her lips together as she did as ordered and turned a nice piece of fine china into vermin. At least her rat was clean, and not filthy like normal rats. She still wanted to blast it off the table, though.

“Silently cast again,” Steinmark noted.

“It’s a basic second year spell,” Hermione said.

“I see.” The wizard stared at her. She met his eyes with a smile.

*****​

“That’s quite an unusual reaction.” Fawley had removed his reading glasses and was staring at the Crup, which was barking madly in its cage.

Hermione Granger glared at the dumb canine. The thing should know better than to annoy a witch - or a cat.

“They usually only act like this towards muggles,” Steinmark said. His raised eyebrow left no doubt about his words’ implication.

Another reason to put the thing out of its misery, Hermione thought. And perhaps the bigoted examiner too, for good measure. “It probably smells my cat. I have a half-kneazle familiar,” she said with a toothy smile.

“That could be it,” Fawley said. “Although this presents us with a dilemma.” He coughed for a few seconds. “You obviously can’t demonstrate how to handle the animal if it’s acting in such a hostile manner.”

Hermione smiled and twirled her wand. “I’m perfectly capable of handling an aggressive Category XXX animal.”

Steinmark scoffed, no doubt thinking of her less than stellar - by design, of course - performance in Defence. But Fawley nodded. “Please do so.”

It didn’t take her long to teach the Crup to stop bothering cats. If only that would work on Sirius, too!

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 13th, 1996

Harry Potter only stumbled a little after Sirius had side-along-apparated him to the backyard of Grimmauld Place - he was making progress. Of course, doing this twice every day for weeks would help anyone make progress. “I should travel more often by Floo,” he said as his godfather used his wand to open the back door. He still couldn’t manage to step through a fireplace as gracefully as Sirius. Even Hermione was better at it.

“It’s not as safe as Apparition,” Sirius said. “We’ve got people at the Ministry keeping an eye on the Floo Network to guard against sabotage, but it would be too dangerous to hook up the Dursleys’ fireplace - people could find their address.”

And Uncle Vernon would probably have a heart-attack, Harry though. “I didn’t mean to travel to Privet Drive,” he said, “I just meant in general - I could use the practice.”

“You haven’t been visiting The Burrow as often as last summer,” Sirius said as they entered the kitchen.

“Yes.” Harry pressed his lips together. There was no need to discuss Ginny. They were over, and he didn’t want to see her every day.

Sirius made a noise that sounded like a mix between a grunt and a sigh, but didn’t press the issue. As usual, Kreacher had prepared breakfast already, despite the early hour.

“Where’s Remus?” Harry asked. There was no need to ask where Hermione was; his best female friend used to sleep in whenever she could - and stayed up far too late, her nose buried in books. And Jeanne didn’t get up before nine as a rule.

“Still asleep. He had a long night,” Sirius said. Which meant Order business, Harry knew. And which he wouldn’t be told about.

He felt claws lightly dig into his pants and looked down. Crookshanks gazed up at him with a familiar expression. Harry sighed. “Why are you always bothering me?” he asked as he used his spare wand to summon cat food. “You never bother Sirius or Remus.”

“Because you always feed the not so little monster when he begs,” Sirius said.

“If I don’t feed him he’ll shred my shoes again.” And no matter what Hermione claimed, ‘just use a Mending Charm’ wasn’t the answer.

Sirius snorted. “Cats can sense weakness, and he can sense that you’re the weakest link in the household.”

“Hermione’s the crazy cat lady, not me,” Harry said.

“But she knows enough about cats to understand that giving in to their every whim is bad for them,” Sirius said, grinning at him over the Saturday issue of the Daily Prophet.

“And not catering to their every whim is bad for me,” Harry retorted. He wasn’t about to endanger himself to teach Crookshanks manners. Or the stray that Hermione insisted wasn’t hers - even Crookshanks deferred to that cat, and Harry had seen what Crookshanks did to other cats invading his territory back at the Grangers’.

“What would Moody say about you being afraid of cats?” Sirius grinned at him.

“I’m not afraid. I’m just cautious.” Harry finished his first croissant. “You never know if it’s an animagus.” Like Pettigrew.

Sirius coughed - he must have gotten tea down the wrong pipe. “I don’t think you could placate an animagus with food,” he said after clearing his throat. “But you can rest assured that I checked before I allowed strange cats into our home.”

He would have, of course, and thoroughly, Harry thought as he nodded - Sirius knew best how dangerous animagi were. “Good.”

“Of course, not all animagi are a threat,” Sirius went on. “Although McGonagall definitely is a threat if you anger her.” He was slowly nodding with a long-suffering expression.

“I’m not planning on angering her,” Harry said. “And I know what her form looks like.”

“But offering her catnip would be a laugh!” Sirius said, chuckling. “Imagine her reaction!”

“No catnip,” Harry quickly cut in. “Hermione said that there would be hell to pay if ‘any poor cat gets drugged in this house’.” He shook his head. “She’s really overprotective of the animals - if it were harmful to them, pet shops wouldn’t sell it.”

Sirius shrugged. “She probably simply doesn’t want to deal with a drugged cat.”

Harry snorted. “‘Nothing a Mending Charm - or an Episkey - can’t fix’,” he imitated her.

Sirius nodded. “Rather callous, if you ask me.” He took a deep breath. “But, speaking of animagi, there’s something I…” Kreacher’s arrival interrupted him before he could finish.

“Post for Master’s godson and guests,” the elf said, dropping a pair of envelopes on the table.

“The O.W.L. results!” Harry grabbed the envelopes at once, dropping Hermione’s before staring at his. This was it. He took a deep breath, held it, then opened the letter. He sighed as soon as he saw the results.

“What did you get? What did you get?” Sirius asked, leaning in with an eager expression.

“An Outstanding in Defence,” Harry replied.

“I expected that,” Sirius said with a grin. “After all, I trained you. And the rest?”

“Exceeds Expectations in Charms, Transfigurations, Care of Magical Creatures, Potions and Herbology. Acceptables in History, Astronomy and Divination.” Apparently, the examiners really weren’t as easily fooled as Trelawney.

“That’s great!” Sirius exclaimed.

Harry smiled. “But the best thing is I’ll be able to take my N.E.W.T. in Potions!” And Moody wouldn’t kill him.

Sirius blinked. “You want to spend two more years with the git?”

Harry frowned. “I don’t want to, but I’ll need a N.E.W.T. in Potions to become an Auror.”

“You want to become an Auror?” Sirius stared at him as if that was a surprise. Hadn’t he heard that Moody had said Harry would make a good Auror? His godfather was rather slow today. Probably stayed up too long with Jeanne.

“Yes,” Harry said. “I’m already basically being trained as an Auror, remember? Moody said I’d be good at it, and that the Ministry needs all the good Aurors they can get.” He smiled widely. He wouldn’t let people like the Malfoys escape justice - or frame others. He’d clean up the system.

“Moody’s training you in Defence,” Sirius pointed out, still looking slightly surprised.

“And in spotting threats, and traps,” Harry said. “I’ll have to learn the procedures, but that’s not as important.” Moody had said so, and he had been training Aurors for years. “But you were about to tell me something…?”

“Nothing,” Sirius said in an offhand manner. “Just an anecdote.” He pointed at the other envelope on the table. “Besides, we need to wake Hermione. She’ll want to see her results.”

“Yes.” Harry grabbed the envelope. “I’ll get her.”

*****​

“Hermione?” Harry Potter asked, knocking on her door. No answer. “Hermione?” he repeated, louder. She might have used a Silencing Charm on the door, he thought. He could simply stick the envelope to the door or slide it through the cat-flap she had installed and go back to the kitchen… but he was certain that she would want to see her results as soon as possible.

“Hermione, the O.W.L. results arrived!” he called. Still no answer. He took a deep breath and tried to open the door. It wasn’t locked. She wouldn’t have left it unlocked if she didn’t want anyone to enter, he told himself as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Sirius had extended her room after she had moved in full-time, and, as expected, most of the additional space was taken up by bookshelves.

He grinned until his gaze fell on the bed. Then he stared. Hermione, still asleep, lay sprawled on her bed, her sheets kicked to the side, with her arms and legs wrapped around her pillow. Her bare arms and legs, he noted - she was wearing a thin T-shirt and equally thin shorts that didn’t hide much, especially as her T-shirt had slid up, revealing her midriff. Her hair hid most of her face, but he could see her mouth, lips slightly parted.

Her body was toned, he realised - her muscles were on a par with those of the girls in the Quidditch team; thanks to their shared locker room he could easily make the comparison. And her chest seemed larger than he had expected as well, although it was hard to tell without using his glasses’ enchantment… He swallowed. He shouldn’t be staring at her! It was wrong. He still stared, though.

And he couldn’t wake her up like this. She would be terribly embarrassed. He would be terribly embarrassed. He turned away. Best to wake her up while hiding behind the door, so she could slip on her bathrobe or something.

He turned away, then froze. Crookshanks was padding towards the bed - the cat must have followed him and Harry hadn’t noticed! Moody would curse his hide for such a lapse! He stopped berating himself, though, when he realised where Crookshanks was heading: straight towards his sleeping owner.

For such a massive cat Crookshanks was far too quick when he made the effort, and before Harry could react, the tomcat had leaped on to the bed - and on to Hermione.

*****​

Hermione Granger was rudely woken up in the middle of a pleasant dream, involving a library, stacks of rare books that needed to be read and a handsome assistant whose face she couldn’t quite remember, by a sudden weight slamming into her side.

“Ooof!” She rolled on to her back while her pet slid off of her. “Crookshanks! Did they forget to feed you again?” she asked, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the sudden light. Then she noticed Harry standing there, in the middle of the room, staring at her and Crookshanks. “Harry?”

He blinked, then held up an envelope. “Ah. I brought your O.W.L. results!”

She froze for a moment, then leaped out of the bed as if she was pouncing on a stupid dog trying to escape its justified chastisement. Her O.W.L.s! She barely noticed Harry taking a few steps back as she grabbed the envelope. A second later, she had ripped it open - without even using claws! Then she unfolded the letter. And winced.

“Hermione?”

She had known that she wouldn’t excel in all her subjects. Certainly not in Muggle Studies and History of Magic, which she hadn’t actually studied, and had only crammed a few days for each. But she had still hoped she’d do better in History than ‘Acceptable’ - she had read the books, after all. But Muggle Studies…

“Hermione?”

“‘Muggle Studies’ is a farce!” she spat. “Apparently, half of the grade is knowing how wizards see muggles!” They must have done that to keep muggleborns from easily getting good grades. Or, perhaps, to stop them from correcting the Ministry answers.

“What grade did you get?”

“Acceptable,” she answered. Then she winced again. “Same in Herbology… I thought I would reach Exceeds Expectations there, at least.” But theory was only half the grade there, and she simply hadn’t had the time or opportunity to study the actual plants.

“Oh.”

She glanced at Harry. He was staring at her with a rather pitying expression. She didn’t want his pity! “Exceeds Expectations in Potions.” Take that, Snape! Claim she had no talent, would he? “Exceeds Expectations in Care of Magical Creatures.” She had been lucky there that the bigots had chosen a Crup for the practical part - she knew how to deal with uppity dogs. But if it had been another animal… well, she was familiar with most guard animals. But still… she didn’t like to depend on luck for her grades.

“That’s good. And the others?”

“Hm?” She looked at Harry. “Outstandings in Charms, Transfiguration, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.” Though she had been lucky again with the last two, she knew - her knowledge was more specialised than good for a test.

“That’s great!” She found herself in his arms, lifted off her feet. “Four Outstandings!”

Belatedly, she hugged him back, then winced. She hadn’t freshened up - she had jumped straight out of her bed at him! She didn’t even have her wand to quickly clean her teeth!

He set her down. “And Defence?”

“Acceptable,” she answered, looking at Crookshanks and willing him to fetch her wand from under her pillow. Her cat was ignoring her, though - he must be really hungry, the poor thing. She sighed and went back to get her wand.

“That’s unacceptable!”

What? She looked at Harry. He was now glaring at her. “What?”

“Acceptable in Defence…” He shook his head. “You’re in danger! They’re targeting you! That’s why your parents had to leave! ‘Acceptable’ won’t cut it in a real fight!”

Well, she knew that! But she couldn’t show off her real skills - which would hurt her N.E.W.T.s in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, when Curse-Breaking-related questions would be tested - without endangering her cover. “But…”

“No buts! We’ll start your training today!” He nodded at her. “I’ll tell Sirius.”

“What?”

*****​

Harry Potter flicked his wand and sent a volley of Stinging Hexes at Hermione. He saw her start to move, then freeze up, and two of the hexes hit her. She yelped and dropped to the floor, rubbing her thigh.

“No, no, no!” He shook his head. “You can’t stop and think about what you want to do - you need to move and keep moving. It’s hard to hit a moving target. Think while you’re moving, and add random changes of direction so they can’t predict where you’ll be in the next few seconds.”

“I’m trying!” Hermione said, glaring at him.

He glared back. “Get up. We’re trying this again.” He didn’t like treating her so harshly, but it was for her own good. She could do it, he knew. She was smart - who else would manage so many O.W.L.s while studying at home? - and he was now very much aware that she was fit enough for this exercise as well, even if her baggy exercise clothes hid her body. Although seeing how she kept getting hit, he was tempted to use his glasses to check whether he had imagined her body this morning. He shook his head - he wouldn’t peep on his friend. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

This time he sent three hexes at her in a wide pattern so at least one would catch her when she tried to dodge.

She managed to get hit twice.

Harry closed his eyes and wondered if his teachers had ever been as frustrated with him as he was with his friend right then.

*****​

Hermione Granger was in pain. Her whole body hurt, especially her thighs and her rump - Harry must have hit her there dozens of times with Stinging Hexes - and the ointment she was using on her bruised skin wasn’t helping much. And, of course, the cursed dog was enjoying her suffering! She glared at Sirius, who was seated behind his desk, but not doing any work. The wizard had barely managed to contain his laughter when he had seen the end of Harry’s training session. He wouldn’t be laughing at all if he had been hit with so many hexes, she thought. Perhaps she should demonstrate that to him. Teach him a lesson in compassion.

“Forget it!” Sirius suddenly said.

“What?”

“Whatever you were thinking,” he answered. “You had that evil glint in your eyes.” He twirled his wand between his fingers.

She huffed. “We have to tell Harry.”

“What? That you’re actually not hopeless at Defence, but screwing up so much because you are hiding your actual skill - which, incidentally, isn’t that much better.”

She glared at him. She knew that she wasn’t in his, or, as today had proved, Harry’s, league, but she was far from hopeless. “Yes. He knows Occlumency, so he won’t be a risk. And he’ll worry less about me, and so can enjoy his holidays more, if he knows the truth.” And she wouldn’t have to suffer daily torture at the hands of her well-meaning but far too harsh friend. His teachers had a lot to answer for!

Sirius sighed. “We can’t do that.”

“Why not?” She finished smearing ointment on her thighs and started on her arms.

“We would have to explain why you’re hiding your skills. Which would lead to telling him what we’re doing when he’s at Hogwarts.”

“I think the Headmaster would understand,” she said.

“Dumbledore’s not the problem,” Sirius retorted. “Harry is.”

“What?” She was saying that entirely too often today.

“He wants to become an Auror after Hogwarts. Told me so today.” Sirius sighed again. “He wants to clean up Britain.”

Hermione blinked, then frowned. Why would that… “Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh’.” Sirius shook his head. “He’d be a hypocrite if he covered for a group of thieves while hunting other criminals.”

“We’re not exactly common criminals,” Hermione said. Their victims deserved it, after all.

“But we’re still criminals. He would be a corrupt Auror if he protected us while hunting others - such as corrupt members of the Ministry and the Wizengamot.” He stared at her. “I won’t ask him to sacrifice his ideals for me. Or for anyone else. He deserves better.”

Hermione met his eyes. He was serious. And, she had to admit, he was correct. She sighed. “I’ll expect compensation for my suffering.”

“What?” He gaped at her. “It’s your own fault! You should be able to fake being an average witch.”

“Harry won’t accept being average as good enough,” she pointed out. “And it’s hard to fake being average instead of being awful.”

He frowned, then shrugged. “Well, it’s only about six more weeks until he’s back at Hogwarts. You can endure for that long.”

He shielded her hexes long enough to escape the study, and with her limbs hurting, she couldn’t give chase. Not even as a cat.

Hermione hissed in frustration. She’d get him back, though. As soon as she could again move without pain.

Which, unfortunately, would not be for some time.

*****​

 

Chapter 21: The Trouble with Secrets

London, Ministry of Magic, July 15th, 1996

“Ah, Mr Weasley. Early today?”

Percy Weasley nodded at the the Hit-Wizard standing guard at the fireplaces in the Atrium of the Ministry while he cleaned the soot and ashes from his robes - high-quality, but not too high-quality; perfect for a junior member of his department. “As usual, Perkins,” he said with a polite smile. “You know how it is when you’re new.” Or when you had almost been sacked following an intrigue.

“Ah, yes, I remember.” Perkins certainly remembered the scandal that had almost cost Percy and his father’s careers, but he was polite enough not to mention it. He was a decent enough fellow - for a Hit-Wizard, as Nymphadora would say; the rivalry between the Aurors and the Hit-Wizards was a constant of the Ministry. A constant source of needless friction, Percy thought, but it wasn’t as if he were in a position to do something about it. Especially after barely surviving a scandal.

On the other hand, he was in a position to do something about other problems, which was the real reason he was always the first of the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee in to work. Entering his office - barely larger than some of the broom cupboards at Hogwarts - he quickly checked whether anyone had been tampering with the spells sealing his desk and filing cabinets. There was no sign of any tampering, and the more subtle spells he had prepared to tell if anyone had entered in his absence hadn’t been triggered either.

So far, it seemed the measures he had taken to guard against another attempt to frame him were working. He grabbed a stack of forms from his desk and left his office again. He was on a mission, after all.

It didn’t take him more than a few minutes to reach the offices of the Floo Network Authority. A quick glance at his watch confirmed that it would be another thirty minutes until shift change. Perfect. He schooled his features, then entered the office with a frown on his face.

“Oh, no, not again,” he heard the clerk on duty mutter as he approached the desk.

“Pardon?” Percy asked in his best no-nonsense voice.

“I said ‘morning’ - it’s been a long shift,” the clerk said quickly.

“A long shift? I wasn’t aware that the regulations governing night shifts had been amended.”

“It always feels longer at night,” the man - a Greengrass, but only very distantly related to the main branch of the Old Family - replied.

Percy sniffed. “No matter. I’m here to check up on another report of some foolish wizard stepping into a fireplace in front of muggles, and I require your assistance.” He waved a sheet of parchment in front of the man’s face.

“Err… the regular shifts starts in twenty-six minutes. They’ll be able to assist you with everything you need.” Greengrass smiled weakly. He hadn’t even looked at the report.

Percy glared at him. “This will take less than a quarter of an hour.”

“But I need to prepare the paperwork for the shift change. I can’t hold up the whole schedule for your request.”

“And I can’t wait that long!” Percy exclaimed. “I’m swamped with work - why do you think I’m here so early? Just point me at the logs and I will look for the report myself!”

Regulations forbade granting anyone from outside your department access to its records, at least unsupervised. But Greengrass had been up all night and would be too tired to care about anything other than going home - this wasn’t the first time Percy had done this.

“Alright, you know the way. But don’t accidentally destroy any records, ya hear me?”

“Pardon?” Percy didn’t have to fake his anger at the insinuation; he had been framed, and most people with any sense knew it. Not that Greengrass qualified, of course, or he wouldn’t break regulations.

“Nothing, go ahead.”

Percy sniffed and strode past the clerk, to the Records section. As soon as the door closed behind him, he summoned the scrolls covering last Friday’s Floo Network traffic. Aaron Rosier had left the Ministry at exactly five o’clock; Percy had timed the man himself. And if he had gone straight home… Percy smiled when he found the line showing the destination. Even if it wasn’t Rosier’s home it might be the home of another Death Eater.

He quickly created and shrunk a copy of the scroll, stashing it in a mokeskin purse stuck to the inside of his robes, before looking for the record related to the report he had shown to Greengrass. He already knew what he would find, of course - Percy had arranged the original incident through Dumbledore.

It would have been easier to make up a report and file it himself, but only amateurs made such mistakes with their cover. Not to mention that he didn’t want to risk any investigation into his activities revealing tampered records. Especially not when handling genuine, if arranged, incidents effectively would also help revive his career.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 16th, 1996

Harry Potter sighed as he sat down on the couch in the living room and grabbed one of the magazines strewn around at random on the sideboard. He sighed again when he noticed that it was the latest issue of The Quibbler - he had read that one already. The next one he picked up was ‘The Journal of Arithmancy’. He hadn’t read it, and had no intention of doing so - he wouldn’t understand very much of it, anyway. It was Hermione’s subscription. If only she would show as much talent in Defence as she did in other subjects… He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Hm? What don’t you understand? Or who?” Sirius asked, looking up from the muggle bike magazine he was reading in his favorite seat.

“Hermione.” He pressed his lips together so he wouldn’t add a curse.

“Oh, that’s normal. Countless wizards with far more experience than you have tried and failed to understand witches.” Sirius grinned.

Harry stared at him. “You claim to be an expert on witches.”

“Exactly. You’ve come to the right wizard.” Sirius grinned widely and dropped his magazine on the floor as he leaned forward. “Now, what did Hermione do to confuse you?”

“It’s not what you think,” Harry said before his godfather could insinuate anything. “I don’t understand how she can be so brilliant in Charms and Transfiguration, but can’t manage to defend herself.”

Sirius grinned. “Ah.” He nodded. “Well, just because she is good at learning spells doesn’t mean she’s good at fighting. Not everyone can think on their feet.”

“We’re not talking about duelling, or making snap decisions under fire here,” Harry corrected him. “She’s barely able to dodge simple volleys. You don’t need to think when all you have to do is keep moving.” He snorted. “And I know she can move very quickly - you should have seen her jump out of her bed when I brought her her O.W.L. letter.” He smiled at the memory.

“Oh?” Sirius was leering now.

Harry held up a hand. “No joking about being quick to jump into beds, or whatever you were about to say.” He rolled his eyes on seeing his godfather pout. “I know she is smart - she catches on to things quickly. I know she can move really fast when she wants to. And I know she is more athletic than I thought. So why can’t she do better in our training?”

“You’ve peeped at her? You used your glasses on her?” Sirius sounded far more proud than alarmed, in Harry’s opinion, but at least he showed some concern.

He glared at his godfather. “No! But she was sleeping in just a T-shirt and shorts.” Short shorts.

“Ah.” Sirius nodded. “But she didn’t hex you for seeing her like that?”

“Of course not!” It wasn’t his fault, after all.

“Ah.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Don’t start with that again. If Hermione fancied me, she’d have said something.” His friend certainly wouldn’t have given him advice on dating other witches.

“She might be shy. Or she thinks that you’re not interested.”

“Hermione? Shy?” Harry scoffed. His best female friend didn’t act shy at all - she gave her opinion on anything, whether you wanted to hear it or not. And whether or not he was interested… that didn’t matter. “Anyway, I need to find a way to make her improve in Defence.” Stinging Hexes obviously weren’t enough to motivate her to dodge. And only a madman would threaten her books.

“She might simply be slower to adjust to Defence,” Sirius said. “Don’t worry, I’ll take over her training when you return to Hogwarts.”

Harry doubted that Sirius would have more success - his godfather and his best friend got along better these days, but they still fought often - but it wasn’t as if he had a better idea. He’d just have to keep at it.

*****​

London, Greenwich, July 17th, 1996

Hermione Granger cleared her throat and put down the issue of ‘Curse-Breaking Monthly’ she had just finished - with a mental note to re-read the article reporting the latest news from the City of Dead. “Mr Fletcher?”

She saw him frown slightly in response, then grin. “Yes, Miss Granger?”

She rolled her eyes. She wasn’t about to call her tutor by his first name. That wasn’t done. Not before she was an equal partner with him, at least. But she didn’t want to talk about that, and refused to be baited. “Do you think I should stop pretending to be worse at Defence than I am?”

“Ah.” His grin changed slightly. “Are you sick of getting pelted with Stinging Hexes every day?”

She scowled. “Harry’s started to vary the spells.” Stinging Hexes hurt, but getting hit by Dancing Feet or Tickling Charms was far more humiliating. “But it’s not about that.” She could handle it. She had endured far worse after her expulsion, after all. And Harry at least didn’t enjoy hexing her, unlike the dog. “I feel bad for lying to my best friend. Especially when he’s spending so much time trying to help me.”

“I see.” He wasn’t grinning any more. “Do you think you’re treating him like a mark?”

Which was something Mr Fletcher had warned her not to do, Hermione knew. “I think that we - Sirius and I - could tell him that we downplayed my actual skill in order to make the Death Eaters underestimate me.” Which wasn’t entirely untrue.

He slowly nodded. “You could do that. It’s a good excuse. And he might not be too hurt by the deception if you come clean now.” She winced at that - Harry would hate being lied to. Especially by his godfather. “However,” Mr Fletcher went on, “he will not forget that you were deceiving him by hiding your actual abilities. And that might be a problem should he actually become an Auror after Hogwarts.”

Hermione bit her lower lip, then nodded. “He might suspect that I’m hiding more than that.”

“He might make the connection between the thief with a grudge against a number of pureblood families and the sneaky witch who managed to deceive her best friend,” her tutor confirmed. “It is by no means certain that he will suspect you, but it’s a possibility we can’t dismiss out of hand.”

She sighed. Harry was smart and he was being trained by a paranoid Auror. He would suspect her if she admitted the deception. “I still don’t like lying to him.”

“It’s hard, lying to your friends and family. But it’s necessary for people like us. The more people know our secret, the greater the risk of someone revealing it - accidentally or not.” His eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment as he continued. “At least you will not have to worry about your friend’s ignorance endangering him.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Potter’s being trained to deal with Death Eaters,” he explained. “Anyone trying to hurt you through him will regret it.”

“Ah.” She bit her lower lip to refrain from asking whether he was speaking from personal experience. His expression told her enough anyway. “I’ll have to improve then, enough so Harry won’t worry too much about me, but not more,” she said instead. This was not easy, as she had already found out. Especially since she also had to improve for real - Sirius wasn’t satisfied with her yet either.

Mr Fletcher smiled again. Someone who didn’t know him as well as she did wouldn’t have caught the lingering pain in his eyes. “It’ll be good training, though - if you can fool your best friend, you can fool your enemies as well.”

That should be ‘when’, not ‘if’, Hermione thought as she slowly nodded.

*****​

Wiltshire, Harnham, Britain, July 22nd, 1996

Hermione Granger padded along the small street, sticking close to the hedgerow on the right side. Rosier’s house was ahead, past a large former farm. She ignored the dog barking like mad at her as she passed just outside the range of his leash - the stupid animal was almost strangling himself with his futile efforts to reach her.

She sat down at the corner, still in view of the guard dog, and studied Rosier’s home. Nothing had changed since her last survey. She heard someone yell at the dog behind her and darted into the hedge between the two properties - best not to draw attention from a muggle.

She crept onwards on her belly until she was at the edge of the rather neglected lawn, then dashed across it - and through the wards. She came to a stop behind the old rain barrel at the side of the house. A moment later, she was back on two feet and pulled the bug out of her pocket, putting it down on the ground. Then she changed back, and picked it up in her mouth.

The barrel’s cover was old and rotten, but she was a lithe cat; it wouldn’t break under her weight. Two jumps later, she was on the sloped roof, and after a short climb, she was staring down the chimney. She couldn’t see any obstructions. Perfect.

She released the bug, which slowly floated down the shaft. If everything went according to plan then it would seek a hiding spot on the ground by itself. It was out of her hands, or paws, anyway - her job was done.

On the way back to where Sirius and Mr Fletcher were waiting, she passed the farm again, tail and head held high as the dog once more tried to strangle himself with his leash.

*****​

London, East End, July 22nd, 1996

“That was boring,” the dog complained as soon as they were back in the safe house they were using while Harry was staying at Grimmauld Place. “I almost fell asleep.”

Hermione Granger rolled her eyes at Sirius. “At least we won’t be lying when we tell Harry that you just sat around and were bored while I did all the real work.” Her friend - and Jeanne - had been told that they were meeting a member of the Wizengamot today.

Mr Fletcher shook his head at her. “As if Black would actually manage to stay silent during a meeting. He likes to hear himself talk far too much.”

“He also doesn’t like hearing others talk about him as if he weren’t present,” Sirius shot back.

Hermione cleared her throat before the two could have another row. “Pointless complaints of being bored aside, is there anything relevant that we need to discuss about today’s mission?”

Mr Fletcher was about to answer when Sirius spoke up as if he wanted to prove Hermione’s tutor right. “We now know that animagi make the best burglars?”

“We already knew that if a house lacks wards against animals, an animagus can sneak in,” Mr Fletcher corrected him. “But that doesn’t help us much - almost all manors will be warded against animals, and most heists will require more than simply dropping a bug down a chimney. More than you can handle, Black.”

“I could have done this mission by myself!” Sirius said.

“A trained animal could have done it,” Hermione retorted, “provided that they could climb.” Which a clumsy dog couldn’t. She snorted - the dog would probably have broken through the rotten lid on the rain barrel.

“I bow to your far greater experience in that area,” Sirius said, his grin turning it into an insult. He actually did bow, too!

“Settle down!” Mr Fletcher said, stopping her from cutting the dog back down to size. Call her an animal, would he? But her tutor wasn’t finished. “To answer your question: No, there’s nothing of relevance to discuss. We did our job, without any trouble. And without anyone deviating from our plan,” he added with a glance at her.

Hermione frowned at the rebuke. It wasn’t as if she would have entered the house by herself, even if she had seen a way. At least not without a very good reason.

“So, can I do the next house?” Sirius asked.

“We don’t have a next target yet,” Mr Fletcher pointed out.

“I’m planning ahead.” There was that insufferable grin again.

“You’re not going on a heist by yourself, Black. You lack both the necessary training and experience,” Mr Fletcher said.

“Well, I guess I could take Hermione with me. Chasing a cat up a tree would be a good cover,” Sirius said, rubbing his goatee.

“Certainly not!” Hermione glared at him. “It would draw attention to us,” she added as an explanation, although the indignity of such a farce was reason enough to shoot it down.

His grin widened. “Well, we can use that plan as a distraction then.”

She knew he was just doing this to rile her up - at least she hoped so - but the dog was really asking for a hexing!

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 24th, 1996

Harry Potter dropped into a crouch and sent three hexes in rapid succession at Hermione - a Stinging Hex and two Paint-Splash Hexes. All of them missed since she had started moving as soon as he had begun to flick his wand, and had jumped to the side. It wasn’t a graceful jump, he noticed as he cast a Dancing Feet Charm, but she kept going despite stumbling, and even cast a Shield Charm on the move, which deflected his spell. A few more steps and a rather short slide took her behind the bench next to her.

He grinned - he had made the same mistake back when he had started getting trained by Moody. A swish of his wand later, the bench turned into water and he was shaking his head at the thoroughly waterlogged witch.

“If you’re not on familiar ground, make your own cover, don’t trust anything left by the enemy,” he said, quoting his instructor.

She glared at him as she stood up and dried herself with a quick charm. “This was supposed to be familiar ground - I live here!”

“As do I,” he retorted. “And I prepared the room for this session, didn’t I?”

“That’s what teachers do.” Hermione’s glare hadn’t lessened.

He almost blinked - him, a teacher? He hadn’t thought of himself like that. “I prefer trainer,” he said. “But the point is you can’t trust your opponent.” He snorted. “Trust me, Sirius will be even worse - I learned this from him.”

“Great.” She shook her head.

“But you’ve made progress - that was a promising start.” He smiled at her. Encouragement was good. “You just need to work on your jumps. That was a little clumsy.” He blinked when her glare grew far more intense for a moment - he was just being honest.

She huffed, then quickly conjured a few walls around her position, smiling toothily at him before the last one hid her from view. “I’m ready!”

He sighed. At least she was improving now, albeit more slowly than he was comfortable with. How could she conjure walls that easily, and yet be so slow to adapt in a fight? He pondered the question while he conjured a mattress. A quick Levitation and Banishing Charm later, it was floating above her position, where he transfigured it into water. The yelp he heard a moment later told him that she hadn’t thought of conjuring a roof.

“Hiding like that won’t help you,” he said as he started to vanish the walls. “Your goal is to escape a fight, not hunker down and hope someone will come and save you.” In the last war, such help had almost never arrived in time. “And you can’t see what your enemy is doing if you hide like that either.”

“It was just a temporary solution,” she said, still scowling as she once more dried herself off.

“And what would have been the next step?”

“Create an escape tunnel,” Hermione retorted.

Sirius would probably take exception to Hermione digging - or vanishing - a hole in his floor, Harry thought. “Can you create one quickly enough to outrun pursuit?”

“I could fill it up behind me.”

“Can you do that and dig faster than they can vanish the material?” He raised his eyebrows.

“That should be possible with a specialised spell…” she started, then sighed.

“Which you don’t have,” Harry said. “Let’s focus on tactics that use spells you know.” Judging by her expression, Harry wouldn’t be surprised if she actually learned such a spell in the future. He cleared his throat. “There’s another thing.”

“What?” She narrowed her eyes at him. She didn’t take criticism that well, Harry knew. Nevertheless, they had to talk about it. He pointed at her exercise clothes. “Your clothes.”

“What about them? They don’t restrict my movement.”

“They’re rather baggy,” he said.

“They’re comfortable,” she shot back.

“They’re also prone to snagging on things when you move. An enemy - like a conjured animal - could also grapple with you more easily thanks to all that loose fabric.” There was a reason Auror and Duellist robes were close-fitting.

She hesitated for a moment, then tilted her head slightly. “Wouldn’t it be better if I trained in clothes that are similar to those I am likely to be wearing during an attack?”

“Yes,” he said, and she started to smile. “But,” he continued, “that’s why you might want to change how you dress normally, too. Maybe a tighter...” He trailed off when he saw her staring at him as if he had asked her to strip.

*****​

“I think Hermione has a problem,” Harry Potter said an hour later in Sirius’s study.

“Why do you think that?” Sirius asked, glancing up from the letter he was reading; Hermione had mentioned that she had prepared his correspondence.

“I suggested that she should dress in tighter clothes - to be less vulnerable in a fight”, he added before his godfather could misunderstand, “and she looked as if she wanted to curse me, before telling me that she wouldn’t change how she dressed.” Very loudly.

Sirius laughed. “You were lucky, Harry. There’s no good way to tell a witch that her robes are ugly.”

“I didn’t say they were ugly,” Harry protested. “Even though they aren’t the most stylish clothes. But they’re a liability in combat. She would be much safer with tighter clothes.”

“I’ll have to remember that line!” Sirius said, grinning. “Well, if I wasn’t in a relationship, that is,” he added.

“It’s not a joking matter, Sirius!” Harry shook his head. “Why won’t Hermione listen to me? I don’t understand. She’s supposed to be smart and sensible.”

“Ah…” Sirius trailed off, which wasn’t a good sign, in Harry’s opinion. “She’s probably simply being stubborn. You know how she is. The more you tell her to wear something more flattering, the more she digs her heels in. Not that she would wear heels,” he added with a grin.

“Fortunately, she at least wears sensible shoes,” Harry said.

“Well, I think she would look quite nice in high-heeled boots.” Sirius was slowly nodding. “And stockings and a basque. And a leather jacket.”

“What?” Harry was about to ask how Sirius could come up with such a combination when he noticed that his godfather was actually reading an issue of ‘Bike’.

He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Sirius was obviously no help with this. Remus was at Hogwarts, and no expert on witches anyway. And Harry would certainly not ask Jeanne for help. That left…

He nodded. He would have to call Tonks.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 25th, 1996

Hermione Granger looked at herself in the mirror - a normal mirror; she neither wanted nor needed to listen to an enchanted mirror’s ‘helpful advice’, thank you very much - pointed her wand at her brown mane, held in a ponytail, and cast another charm. Immediately, her hair changed from a perfectly fine brown colour to a deep black which wouldn’t look out of place on a cat’s fur.

Nodding, she changed, landing on all four paws with her usual grace. Unfortunately, even looking with her cat’s eyes, which offered her a slightly different range of colours, she could tell at once that her fur hadn’t changed colour and had stayed brown.

She changed back and sighed. She had cast the most advanced Hair Dyeing Charm she knew - and she had thoroughly researched that family of spells - but it seemed that even specialised charms didn’t affect her other form any more than the basic Colouring Charm did.

“That would have been too easy,” she muttered. But there were alternatives, she thought as she grabbed the bottle of muggle hair dye from her dresser, even if they were not as convenient as a simple spell would have been. If only cats could use wands!

Thirty minutes later, she was looking at a rather badly dyed blonde in the mirror. Mr Fletcher would never let her get away with such a sloppy job, but it was good enough for testing. Once more she changed into a cat.

And once more, she had brown fur. And while that meant that she had an easy solution should a certain dog try to dye her hair pink again, she did need a way to change her fur colour if she wanted to keep using her cat form on heists. She could let Sirius or Mr Fletcher cast a charm on her, of course - but that would vanish should she need to change into her human form to cast a spell, like on their last job.

In a pinch, she could use a Hair-Colouring Potion, of course. But in order to drink a potion as a cat, she would need to conjure a bowl - which would be left behind. Maybe she could create a self-vanishing water bowl…

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and she quickly changed back. “Yes?”

“It’s me.” The dog.

“Come in!”

“I just wanted to tell you… what happened to your hair” He was staring at her.

She rolled her eyes and cast a quick charm to restore her real hair colour. “I’m experimenting.”

“Well, that one’s a failure!” He shook his head. “It looks like someone sprayed you with bleach. You should go black instead.”

She glared at him. He didn't need to be so blunt. “I was testing how hair-dyeing charms affect my fur’s colour.”

He blinked for a moment. “You tried to dye your hair and hoped your fur would match it?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged. “Could’ve told you that that won’t work. I tried that out myself, at Hogwarts.”

She felt stupid - she hadn’t even thought of asking him. She bit her lower lip. “Potions work, but I need a bowl to drink them as a cat, and I can’t easily dispose of it afterwards.”

“Really?” He looked surprised. “Just conjure it for a short time, instead of trying to make it last hours.” She winced and he grinned at her. “Never overlook the lazy solution to your problem.”

“Dumping it on someone else?” she shot back.

“That works too!” he agreed, nodding several times. “I do it all the time.”

“I know,” she responded with an overly sweet smile - he did it to her, after all.

He ignored the implied rebuke and looked at the bottles and vials she had lined up on her dresser. “If Harry saw this he’d stop worrying about you,” he said, rubbing his goatee. “But if he knew you are dyeing your hair, it would endanger your disguise.”

“What?” What was Harry worrying about…? She groaned. “Did he ask you to tell me to dress in tighter clothes since you’re my nominal employer?”

“No,” Sirius said. “Even though you look better in leather.” She sighed in relief - until he went on: “He asked Tonks for help. Moony told me.”

An Auror giving her what amounted to fashion advice! Hermione clenched her teeth. Sometimes, Harry’s protectiveness was really aggravating.

Most of the time she liked it, of course.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 27th, 1996

“Wotcher!”

Hermione Granger forced herself to smile when she heard Tonks cheerful greeting. She had been expecting this visit. She turned her head and nodded at the Auror standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “Hello, Tonks.”

“So, I was dropping off something for Sirius, and I thought I should check on the most recent addition to his household, see how she’s faring,” Tonks said, stepping inside Hermione’s room. “Not too bad, looks like,” she added, nodding towards Hermione’s bookshelves.

“Harry asked you to talk to me, didn’t he?” Hermione said.

Tonks flinched, then smiled weakly at her. “Guilty as charged.”

Time to see if she could put the witch on the back foot, Hermione thought. She made a point of looking at Tonks’s clothes - combat boots, ripped leggings and an open leather robe with lots of pockets and a tattered hemline over a blouse, all of it in black. “I don’t think that the punk witch look would work for me.” Her tone indicated that it wasn’t working for the Auror either.

Tonks must have noticed, since her smile grew more teeth. “Well, I don’t know about punk, but the ‘frumpy wallflower’ look definitely isn’t working for you.”

Of course it wasn’t - that was the point of her disguise. Hermione frowned, though, and raised her chin slightly. “It’s comfortable.”

“I’m certain that we can find clothes that are both comfortable and more stylish,” Tonks said, “as well as less of a risk in a fight.”

“I don’t think I should change how I dress just to conform to someone else’s idea of how witches should look.” Hermione sniffed.

“I’d be the last to tell you that, trust me!” Tonks shook her head. “You should have heard my parents berating me about my fashion choices!”

Hermione could imagine that - not from personal experience, of course; her parents hadn’t disagreed with her choice of clothes. And she hadn’t had a rebellious phase anyway. Not an openly announced one, at least - she was certain that her parents would have a few words to say should they know that their daughter was training to become a professional thief. “So why are you here then?”

“Because you should be dressing like you want...”

“That’s what I’m doing,” Hermione cut in.

“...but you should make an informed decision,” Tonks went on. “And the security risk is real, trust me - I’ve had some rather embarrassing moments when my clothes snagged on furniture.”

Hermione’s eyes widened slightly. “In a fight?”

“No… just daily life.” Tonks waved. “Trust me, billowing robes look cool, but they’re not really practical in cramped spaces.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Hermione said, “but my clothes aren’t that bad.” She tugged at her sweater for emphasis. “I don’t see Harry or Sirius dressing in skin-tight clothes either,” she added.

“And we’re all very glad for that!” Tonks exclaimed, laughing. “But no one’s asking you to dress like that. Well, no one who knows what’s good for them.” She grew serious. “Your clothes aren’t that bad, but they could be better. Safer. You don’t fill your pockets with lead before you go swimming, do you?”

“Well, if I were to go scuba diving, I would wear a weight belt to trim myself,” Hermione said.

Tonks stared at her with narrowed eyes. “I said swimming, not diving.”

Hermione sighed. Time to try her cover story. “I don’t want to dress up,” she said, glancing at the floor and trying to sound both reluctant and honest, “or the Prophet will take it as proof that I’m a gold-digger out to seduce either Harry or Sirius. Or both.” That would hopefully be enough of a reason to keep any compromise from compromising her secret identity.

“Ah.” Tonks nodded in apparent sympathy. “Well, there’s a lot we can do without making you dress like some French tart.”

“Are you talking about Jeanne?” Hermione asked, wondering if Harry had asked Tonks’s help with that problem as well.

“Of course not!” Tonks said. “I would never say a bad thing about my dear cousin’s future wife.” She shook her head wildly for emphasis. “Even if she does dress a little… French.”

“And doesn’t have to deal with the Prophet questioning her intentions towards Sirius,” Hermione added. The Selwyns must have a lot of influence with the press. Or it was the fact that Jeanne was, although illegitimate, a pureblood and not a muggleborn. And lacked a criminal record.

Tonks shrugged, then perked up. “Anyway, let’s see what we can do with your clothes!”

Hermione once again forced herself to smile. It didn’t look like she could simply shrink her sweater and trousers until Tonks deemed them sufficiently grapple-resistant.

*****​

Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, July 31st, 1996

“Happy birthday, Harry.”

“Thank you, Ginny.” Harry Potter’s smile was as forced as Ginny’s looked. “I’m very grateful that your parents let me have the party here again.”

“Mum insisted,” Ginny said.

Did that mean Ginny had been against inviting him? “Ah,” he said, nodding.

“It makes sense - Grimmauld Place doesn’t have that much space.” Ginny frowned at him as if that was his fault.

“Yes. And there’s no Quidditch pitch either.” He glanced at the pitch, where most of the other guests were flying. And where he had been headed until he’d almost stumbled into Ginny.

“Yes.” She seemed to hesitate a moment, then turned her head towards the table in the garden, where Hermione was talking to Bill about Arithmancy or Curse-Breaking. “Hermione’s wearing different clothes from usual.”

He sighed. “Oh, yes. And it was a pain to get her to change. She was too stubborn to admit that her old clothes were not suitable for a fight.”

“Ah.” Ginny nodded. “They look better than her old ones, too.”

He shrugged. Hermione’s current clothes - rather drab robes - were still far from flattering, in his opinion, but now she wouldn’t get caught in any hedges through which she tried to crawl.

“Well, I’m getting some more cake,” Ginny said after a moment, nodding curtly.

“I’m going to fly some more,” he replied, then turned away.

*****​

Harry Potter barely noticed the Bludger headed his way as he banked left. There was a glint below him - the Snitch? No, just something shiny on the ground. He rolled to the left, the Bludger speeding past him, and started a dive. Below him, the former Gryffindor Chasers were outflying their opponents - Bill, Dean and Seamus - easily, though Ron managed to block Alicia’s throw. Team Weasley was still behind five goals.

He saw Ginny circling far above the field, and grinned. She was too stubborn to shadow him, which meant she wouldn’t get near the Snitch. Once he spotted it, Team Gryffindor would win.

Another Bludger flew towards him. The twins were focusing on him now and he couldn’t expect any help from his own Beaters - neither Hermione nor Luna were any good with the bats. And the less said about Neville’s performance as Keeper the better.

He pulled up and let the Bludger pass beneath him. It would take a few seconds to turn around, which meant he could look around again… There! A golden glint speeding across the field, close to the ground!

Harry dived. The second Bludger came at him, but from an angle. He dismissed it from consideration; it was too slow to reach him. The Snitch abruptly turned left and sped up, but Harry easily compensated, trading more height for speed. Another turn, right this time. Towards him. He pulled up and rolled at the same time, reaching out with his left hand, and he felt the Snitch slap into his palm hard enough to bruise.

But he had made the catch. Team Gryffindor had beaten Team Weasley. And he had beaten Ginny!

*****​

“Hey, Hermione! That was some nice flying!”

Hermione Granger finished storing her loaned broom in the Weasleys’ shed and turned to look at Seamus. She frowned at him - her performance couldn’t honestly be called good or nice. “You are aware that Luna and I playing as Beaters was a handicap to compensate for the Chasers playing with Harry?”

The boy’s smile didn’t falter. “Well, it was nice for you. I know you don’t like Quidditch.”

“You’re actually wrong - I quite like Quidditch. I’m just not good at it,” she corrected him with a glare, hoping he would get the hint.

He didn’t - probably because he was looking at her chest, and not her face. Her new robes weren’t exactly tight, but they didn’t hide her bust as much as her old ones. “That’s great!” he exclaimed. “Who do you think will win the next championship?”

“Probably Puddlemere United,” she answered. “They improved their Chaser line again.”

He nodded. “I think you’re right. They’ve been great before, and got better. Although the Harpies might give them a run for their money.”

She was tempted to correct him - the Harpies’ Seeker had retired, and her replacement was new to professional Quidditch - but that would mean spending more time talking with a boy who was clearly still fixated on one thing - and it wasn’t Quidditch. Fortunately, she spotted Luna stepping out of the house. “Perhaps. But I need to check on Luna now.”

She left the boy. And she left him his wallet, this time - Mr Fletcher had been clear about how dangerous it was to be predictable. Even Seamus might grow suspicious if he lost his wallet twice in a row at Harry’s birthday parties. “Hey, Luna! How are you doing?”

The blonde witch smiled. “Molly fixed my arm, see?” She held out left arm. “No bruises any more.” She pursed her lips. “But we were supposed to hit the Bludgers, not the other way around.”

Hermione nodded. “We tried. And our team won.” No thanks to them, though.

Luna, though, beamed. “We did! And with a wide spread, too!” Then she frowned again - although it looked more like a pout to Hermione. “Next time, I want to be on Team Weasley, though.”

“So you can play as Chaser?”

“Among other reasons, yes.” Luna suddenly started towards the table in the garden. “Now let’s go and eat our victory cake!”

“I think that’s still Harry’s birthday cake,” Hermione said with a smile.

“That’s alright since he won the game for us!”

*****​

“We could have beaten you, if Fred and George had focused on disrupting the Chasers’ formation. By trying to both hinder you and them, they achieved nothing. I told them so, but they didn’t listen.” Ron sighed before taking another forkful of cake. “But we’ll need to replace them, and Alicia and Angelina as well, this year.”

Harry Potter shrugged. “Ginny can play Chaser. And Demelza is good as well.”

“Yeah. But we don’t have any good Beaters. I’ve been keeping an eye on the pick-up games,” Ron said, frowning despite the excellent cake. “And we can’t count on you winning the games for us. Not with, you know.” He waved with his free hand at the trees in the distance. Or maybe the pond.

Harry understood, of course. They couldn’t count on him. Not with Voldemort out there. He sighed. He knew that fighting Voldemort - and surviving - was far more important than Quidditch, but it was still galling.

“Ah, there’re Hermione and Luna,” Ron said.

Harry looked up and saw the two witches walking towards them. Well, Hermione was walking. Luna was closer to running. “Has the cake gone bad in the time we were playing?” she asked. “You were frowning. You don’t frown when eating cake unless it’s bad cake. And Molly doesn’t bake bad cakes.” She gasped. “Did someone tamper with it?”

“No, no,” Harry was quick to reassure her. “I just thought of something unpleasant.”

“You shouldn’t be doing that on your birthday either,” she admonished him before taking a slice for herself and one for Hermione. Or, rather, two slices for herself - Hermione took another one. Luna could eat like Ron, when it came to cake, Harry noted.

“We were just discussing our prospects for this year’s Cup,” Ron said. “Is your arm OK?”

Luna just nodded, her mouth full of cake. She held out her arm to Ron.

“Your mum fixed it,” Hermione cut in. She was eating slowly, unlike the others.

“Good.” Ron sat back.

Luna seemed to be pouting, but it was hard to tell with her cheeks stuffed. Harry almost expected her throat to bulge like a snake’s when she swallowed before announcing: “Oh, I almost forgot: We have found even more evidence of the muggle conspiracy to hide the existence of Nargles!”

“You have?” Harry asked. He glanced at Hermione, who looked as wary as he felt.

Luna nodded several times. “Daddy tracked the Nargles to Downing Street, but he was arrested by muggle Aurors before he could find their lair. The muggles were acting on direct orders from their Minister, which proves that this conspiracy is rooted in the highest levels of muggle Britain!”

“Your father tried to break into Number 10 Downing Street?” Hermione’s voice had gone up an octave, Harry thought.

“He tried.” Luna held up a finger and lowered her voice. “The building is warded; another piece of evidence that it is a breeding ground for Nargles. We’ll be exposing everything in the next issue!”

Harry glared at Hermione. This was all her fault for cracking a joke about Westminster.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 1st, 1996

“Hello, Harry!”

“Hello, Jeanne.” Harry Potter smiled, even though he didn’t feel like it. Sirius’s girlfriend - fiancée now in all but name, or so he understood - was still far too friendly in his opinion. And he had been looking forward to having breakfast without her. “Already up?”

“Yes.” She grabbed a croissant and sat down in what had become her usual spot. “Sirius is still asleep. He keeps working late,” she added with a sigh.

Order missions, Harry knew. Not that he would tell the witch. He shrugged.

“Like Hermione,” Jeanne went on.

“Yes.” What did she mean by that? Hermione had always worked very hard, even at Hogwarts. “She’s his secretary,” he added.

“And she lives with you.”

She didn’t say ‘us’, he noted, though he didn’t know if that was a good or bad sign. “Yes. Her parents are travelling the world.”

“She’s recently been changing how she dresses.” Now the witch was smiling, rather patronisingly.

“Yes?” He took a sip from his tea. What was her point?

“Did you notice?”

“Of course I did.” He had told her to, after all.

“Ah.” Her smile widened. “Did you tell her that?”

He shook his head as he took a bite out of his own croissant. That would have been rubbing it in, and Hermione did have a temper. Unlike Sirius, he didn’t like provoking her.

She sighed. “Harry, a girl likes to be noticed if she makes the effort to dress up. You should at least compliment her, even if she still has a lot to learn about fashion.”

He winced. “That’s not how it is,” he said. “I told her to change since her old clothes were too baggy for her.”

“Oh?” She looked both surprised and amused.

“She’s not dressing like this to impress me,” he explained. “It’s for her safety.”

Judging by the way she shook her head, she didn’t believe him. “And you wouldn’t have any ulterior motives?”

“She’s my best friend. And she doesn’t fancy me, or she would have told me so.” Harry narrowed his eyes. She probably had gotten this notion from Sirius.

“That’s not a denial.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “If I fancied her, I would have told her so as well. Straight.” He was a Gryffindor, after all.

“Mh.”

Repeating his words would make him sound childish, so he didn’t. He made a point of reading the Prophet instead. And ignoring her giggle.

*****​

Hogwarts, August 2nd, 1996

“Thank you for coming,” the Headmaster said with his usual smile. “Please have a seat.” Behind him, his phoenix familiar trilled, then went back to grooming his wings.

“Thank you, sir.” Hermione Granger sat down.

“And thank you for the memory of your exams. It was very interesting to see how the home-schooled students are treated.”

“It was my pleasure,” Hermione answered. “Although I think some of the examiners didn’t appreciate being put on the spot like that.”

“It was the least I could do.” Dumbledore’s smile grew more apologetic. “If things had gone differently, you would never have had to face them.”

“And they wouldn’t have had to test a muggleborn,” Hermione added.

“Quite.” He nodded. “You did very well, considering your circumstances.”

“Yes. Considering.” She would have done much better, Hermione was certain, had she stayed at Hogwarts. She wouldn’t be an animagus, though. Nor a thief. Still… “You mentioned that you had a question for me.” Which he apparently couldn’t ask through the fireplace - nor trust to ask at Grimmauld Place. And for her. Not for Sirius, Harry or Mr Fletcher.

“Indeed. I would like you to listen to a record, if you would be so kind.”

“A record?” She frowned. That sounded… Ah. “From one of the bugs we placed?”

“Precisely.” He smiled at her, as if she had answered a question in class. “From your latest ‘heist’, I think Mundungus called it.”

“The Rosier job.”

He nodded. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

“I’ve got time to spare,” she said. Why would he want her to listen to such a record? Her eyes widened. Either it concerned herself or her family - or the Dark Lord.

He flicked his wand and an antique gramophone flew towards him, gently coming to rest on his desk. A quick tap later, the record started playing and two voices filled the room. One of them sent a cold shiver down her spine. Voldemort.

“You promised me access to your great-aunt's library, Aaron.” She wouldn’t ever forget that voice. Nor that tone.

“I did, milord. But Aunt Serena is stubborn und suspects the worst of everyone, even of her own family. She’s warming to me, though. I just need a little more time to gain her trust.” That had to be Rosier.

“You said that before. This task cannot be delayed indefinitely.”

“I’m doing what I can, milord.”

“Are you?” There was a mocking and threatening undertone audible now.

“I cannot appear too eager, or she’ll grow suspicious. Ever since the death of her husband, she has grown very possessive of his library.” Based on his wavering tone, she could imagine how nervous Rosier must have looked.

“With good cause, Aaron. Your task is of crucial importance. Succeed, and you will be rewarded. Fail, and you will wish that I killed you instead of your family.”

“Yes, milord.”

She heard a door open and close, presumably the Dark Lord leaving, and then Dumbledore stopped the record.

“That was Voldemort,” Hermione said before he could ask. “I recognise his voice.”

He nodded. “I thought so as well, based on your memory, but I needed to be certain.” He smiled, a little ruefully. “Old age affects the hearing, after all.”

She didn’t think that was the reason that he had called her. “The Dark Lord hasn’t found what he’s been looking for, then.”

She was fishing for information and, judging by the Headmaster’s smile, he knew it. He nodded, though. “Indeed. His followers have not met with much success, not least because of your own actions.” He sighed, suddenly looking years older. “But that might not amount to much if he succeeds in gaining access to that library. Ottokar Rosier was a man who did not hold with the idea that books should be banned, no matter their content.”

Hermione nodded - that was a view she shared.

He sighed again. “I believed so as well, once, but history proved me wrong.”

She tilted her head, accepting his rebuke, but nothing more. She could handle any knowledge. And, she added to herself, it wasn’t as if the Headmaster had asked her and her friends to destroy such books, but to recover them.

He went on: “Anyway... Ottokar collected a great many tomes, and among them might very well be some of the most infamous works on blood magic. Might, mind you - I would not have thought that he would go as far as that.”

“You want us to check and recover any works covering blood magic that we find.”

“Yes. One tome in particular - ‘Of Blood and Magic’.” He leaned back. “It will be no easy task. Aaron has not overstated Serena’s attitude. She suspects - not without cause, given what we just heard - that her relatives would rather inherit her estate sooner than later, and has accordingly taken precautions even Alastor might consider slightly excessive.”

“Alastor Moody?” She had heard a lot about the man. He was, in her opinion, at least partially responsible for Harry making such a fuss about her clothes.

“Yes. While Serena is not as skilled as Alastor, as the head of the Rosier family, she has access to vast resources to compensate for that. Her manor will be full of all sorts of defences, both old and new.”

Like the manors of other Old Families. Such as the Parkinsons, the Greengrasses, the Davises, the Bulstrodes and, of course, the Malfoys.

Hermione smiled.

*****​

 

Chapter 22: Blood and Tigers

Hogwarts, August 3rd, 1996

Sitting at his desk in his quarters, Severus Snape stared at the Dark Mark on his arm and pressed his lips together. It was his greatest - no, his second-greatest - mistake. If he hadn’t ruined his friendship with Lily in a moment of anger and weakness, he would never have joined the Dark Lord. And he would never have spied for that monster. Would never have told him of the Prophecy. Would never have betrayed him, only for Lily to be murdered anyway.

And would never have failed in his vengeance. The Dark Lord still lived. Thanks to his mastery of the Dark Arts, he had been reborn in a new body. And was once more working to undermine Britain, spreading his influence through the Ministry and the Old Families.

All while Severus was stuck hiding behind the wards of Hogwarts like a coward! He wasn’t even fighting the Dark Lord’s Death Eaters, like the other members of Dumbledore’s Order. “‘You cannot leave, Severus’,” he snarled at the empty air in front of his desk as he imitated Albus’s tone, “‘Voldemort knows you betrayed him and he has marked you. You would endanger your comrades - and yourself - should you leave the protection of Hogwarts.’” He scoffed, grinding his teeth. Albus had no idea - Severus didn’t care about his own life. Not any more. Hadn’t for a long time. All he cared for was avenging Lily. Redeeming himself.

But he had failed. Despite his attempts to portray himself as a coward who only switched sides after his master’s disappearance, despite positioning himself as a potentially useful spy for the Dark Lord, despite setting himself up to be punished by Albus for letting his students send that Gryffindor delinquent off, Severus hadn’t even been contacted. Or attacked. It was as if the Dark Lord was ignoring him - as if he didn’t care about Severus at all while he was hiding.

But Severus wasn’t a coward like Karkaroff, who was hiding in his own school! He wanted to fight! To hurt the Dark Lord, and his followers! To matter!

He abruptly stood and started to pace in his office. He didn’t matter. Not really. He had helped keep Potter’s spawn alive, after the idiot had been hurt showing off his girlfriend, but who cared? It wasn’t as if the Dark Lord had made any other attempt on the brat, and Albus’s vague words about how crucial the spoiled child was were as worthless as his assurances that Severus’s potions were needed by the other Order members. Those who actually fought.

Words as worthless as Severus himself. He should be out there, tracking down Death Eaters! Poisoning them, cursing them, even serving as bait to lead the Dark Lord into a trap. Doing anything but hiding like a coward. Even Black and Lupin were doing more than he was.

He glanced at the fireplace in his office. It would be so easy. A little powder, a simple word, a single step, and he would be there. In his mother’s home. The Dark Lord would notice. Would send his followers. Might even come in person. And Severus would be ready for them. Would have his traps prepared. Would make them bleed and die while they fought their way inside, until, at the last moment, when they thought they had beaten him, he would enact his final revenge, and destroy them all. Destroy the Dark Lord’s new body, too.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. It would be so easy. Too easy, Albus had said, and too difficult, at the same time. The Dark Lord wouldn’t fall for it. Wouldn’t send his minions. Would simply make Severus hurt through the Mark until he wanted to die - or went mad and killed himself.

And that, as much as it galled, Severus couldn’t allow. He couldn’t die in vain. Or worse, end up helping the Dark Lord. His former master believed that Dumbledore was unaware of his latest plans and didn’t know he had taken a new body. Severus acting against him would ruin that, and make the Dark Lord act more cautiously.

He clenched his teeth. If only the Dark Lord would attack openly. Once Dark Marks were floating above burning houses again, there would be no more need for secrecy and deceptions. Severus would be free to act, then. Free to fight. Free to redeem himself. He would matter again. No longer would he be reduced to brewing potions and keeping an eye on the brat.

Not for the first time, Severus thought about bringing this about. Pushing the Dark Lord into showing his hand. It would ruin Albus’s plans, perhaps - but wouldn’t it ruin the Dark Lord’s plans as well? Force him out in the open before he suborned the Wizengamot and the Ministry?

Albus wasn’t perfect. He had failed Lily. He had failed Severus, too. He had almost lost the last war. He might lose this war, too, even before it started.

But it wouldn’t be easy to push the Dark Lord into action. Severus knew enough Death Eaters who had escaped punishment after the last war to ensure that he could gain the attention of the Dark Lord - but that wouldn’t force him to act.

No, he thought as he balled his hands into fists, he had to keep waiting. Keep seeing the reminder of Lily’s greatest mistake each week. Until war finally broke out, and he could, at last, redeem himself.

*****​

Cambridgeshire, Outside Wisbech, Britain, August 3rd, 1996

The Rosier Manor looked old, but in very good repair. It was impressive, Hermione Granger had to admit, from a purely architectonic point of view. Its wards would be even more impressive, though. She couldn’t make out any details of them from her vantage point in the closest woods - she’d need to move a lot closer to the wardline to actually analyze the spells forming the manor’s defences - but the sheer power and scope of wards that had grown for centuries… She whistled softly while she adjusted her mask’s zoom enchantment. The wards were older than those on Grimmauld Place. She hoped that they were not as advanced, at least - the Blacks’ reputation for knowing dark curses was quite understandable once you analyzed the wards on the family home. Which she had done.

“Those are old wards,” Mr Fletcher chimed in. “No telling exactly what kinds of spells were used without unraveling them. A number of the enchantments might be too old to be very effective. But most of those would have been replaced.”

“Probably used blood magic, too,” Sirius chimed in. “Even before the Statute of Secrecy, no one would have missed a muggle peasant.”

Hermione wondered if the Blacks had done the same. Grimmauld Place was far younger than this manor, but she doubted that Sirius’s family would have had any scruples when it came to their security. For all his scoffing about his relatives, Sirius didn’t have many scruples when it came to keeping his family safe either.

“Open ground all around,” Mr Fletcher went on. “Which means if we get detected while dealing with the wards, we’ll have no cover.” And with Rosier being paranoid, infiltrating while in disguise was not possible.

“We could tunnel to the underground part of the wards,” Hermione said. The manor had been built when sieges still included tunneling, so the spells would cover the ground underneath the building as well.

Mr Fletcher shook his head. “No. The wards will be set up to deal with such attempts. Might even have spells placed to detect and collapse a tunnel before it reaches the wardline. We’ll have to approach above ground.” He looked up, then grinned. “Probably have to approach from the air.”

“On brooms?” Sirius actually sounded excited.

Mr Fletcher’s grin widened. “Not exactly.”

*****​

“Are you certain we can’t go faster?”

Hermione Granger pressed her lips together to refrain from snapping at the dog as she guided the floating, disillusioned platform she and the two wizards were standing on slowly closer to the wardline - or the ward bubble, in this case.

“No, we can’t, Black,” Mr Fletcher said. “We don’t know where exactly the wards start. You wouldn’t want to trigger them, would you?”

The dog grumbled something she didn’t catch, and didn’t care about in the first place. She had to focus on levitating the platform closer and closer to the manor, until the wards showed up in her field of vision. If she had been able to create a spell for her mask that projected a depiction of the dome the wards formed onto her visor… But it had already taken hours to prepare the platform they were using, what with all the spells necessary to keep it hidden and safe.

Relatively safe, she amended her thoughts - if the wards were triggered, their platform would be blasted apart. Or worse.

Another yard. Two yards. She glanced down at the ground, a hundred yards below her. She knew where the wardline was there, but even with her mask, and the light of the barely waning moon, it was hard to tell from above.

And then she was almost blinded when the wards came into range of her detection spell and lit up in her enhanced sight. The curse the dog muttered under his breath was, although crude, only too appropriate. Those were a lot of spells. Powerful spells. Very similar to Grimmauld Place’s defences, indeed. And also more powerful than The Burrow’s, she thought. But the Weasleys had the most modern scheme.

Mr Fletcher, though, didn’t sound daunted or impressed. He sounded gleeful. “Ah… there we go. Float us a little closer, I need to study these in detail!”

She swallowed, then steered the platform even closer to the - for her enhanced sight - glowing layers of spells. If she triggered one of them...

“Stop!”

She stopped, holding her breath.

“Perfect. Now get comfortable - this will take a while,” her tutor said. She released her breath and sat down. He didn’t ask her to move away. He knew better, after she had refused when they had started planning this. He needed her - he couldn’t deal with the wards and control the platform at the same time. And they needed the dog too, she added to herself, with a glance at the statues covering the lawn below, hinting at the numerous defences that awaited them once they were past the wards.

They were a team.

*****​

‘A while’ turned out to be almost three hours. The dog had either fallen asleep after an hour, or had been making a very determined effort to make them think he had. Hermione didn’t care either way as long as he didn’t distract Mr Fletcher.

Her tutor sounded ready to fall asleep as well when he announced that he was done. “Had to do it the hard way for most of the wards - the spells were not layered in a pattern, just piled on each other,” he explained. “Pretty typical for such old manors, too - most people do not seem to consider more effective patterns worth the loss of all the added power the old spells have accumulated.”

That was a foolish notion, in Hermione’s opinion. What good was a powerful spell if you missed your target? If only she had been able to watch Mr Fletcher at work so she could judge just how difficult it was to break through such wards.

“Black?”

“Huh? What?”

So, he had been asleep. Hermione sighed. “We’re ready to go in,” she said.

“Finally! Took you long enough!”

“Don’t get reckless, Black,” Mr Fletcher said. “There are bound to be traps and other defences awaiting us down there.”

“Of course!” Sirius sounded almost offended at the accusation. “I would have a hard time explaining to Harry or Jeanne how I managed to get cursed while officially in a meeting with Dumbledore about a proposal for the Wizengamot.” With a chuckle, he added: “Especially since our dear Hermione is supposed to be visiting a sick grand-uncle of hers no one ever heard of before.”

She rolled her eyes at the dog’s implication, even though they couldn’t see each other. She didn’t curse the dog; she only hexed him, and never when he didn’t deserve it. “Harry already suspects that you go on Order missions. If he thought I were with you, he’d insist on coming along.”

“And we can’t have that,” Mr Fletcher said. “One untrained maverick is enough; we don’t need a wannabe Auror.”

“I just think that you visiting a muggle boyfriend of yours would have been a better cover,” Sirius said, and she knew he was grinning in that lewd manner of his.

“I’m not going to fake a boyfriend as a cover,” she said in a terse voice. She had her pride.

“You can talk about your love lives once we’re done here,” her tutor cut in. “Let’s move! Take us forward, then down to the balcony in front.”

“I don’t have a love life,” Hermione said before she took a deep breath and started to move the platform forward through wards strong enough to kill all of them in an instant. If Mr Fletcher had made a mistake… He hadn’t, and Hermione sighed with relief once her detection spell showed that they had safely passed the wardline.

“Well, you could have a love life if you wanted.”

“Shut up, Black,” Mr Fletcher snapped, “or do you want us to crash into the roof?”

She could float the platform and cut the dog down to size - verbally, at least - at the same time, but it would have been unprofessional. Hermione still clenched her teeth at Sirius’s unwanted commentary as she brought the platform to a stop on top of the balcony.

“Hold it here,” she heard her tutor say, “I’ll check for traps.”

“If Madam Rosier actually trapped her own balcony, then she would have fit in perfectly with my family,” Sirius said.

“Couple spells coverin’ the floor and door,” Mr Fletcher reported. “Hermione, disable them. Black, take over floatin’ the platform.”

Hermione nodded, despite all of them still being disillusioned. She could do this. Whether Mr Fletcher was too tired to do it himself or thought this was an easy training opportunity.

“I’ve got it,” Sirius announced. “Don’t get cursed,” he added, “Harry would never forgive me.”

She snorted as she lay down and scooted to the edge of the platform to take a closer look at the balcony below without the Disillusionment Charm on the boards interfering with her view. There were indeed spells down below - several on the floor. She didn’t know all of the spells, but she recognised a vermin detection spell, linked to an unknown curse and a Vanishing Charm. Madam Rosier must not like animals, she thought. It wouldn’t affect a human thief, though.

But the other spells would, she was certain. Curses and one of the more obscure alarm charms. Triggered by anyone stepping on the ground - she spotted the small charm commonly used for such traps. But would Madam Rosier have gone so far as to trap the balcony in a manner that would prevent her from using it without spending time and effort on disarming the traps?

Hermione doubted that. She studied the door. There was the standard pattern that allowed the door to be safely opened from the inside without triggering the curse on it. And another alarm charm. However, she couldn’t spot a spell that would suppress the traps on the ground at the same time. She frowned. Was Rosier so paranoid as to cut herself off from parts of her own home? Or… She flicked her wand, then smiled. There was another detection spell linked to the curses. Aimed at a specific object. Probably Rosier’s favorite necklace or brooch.

But fooling the spell would take too much time - it was already midnight. They’d have to use the platform to avoid touching the floor. And she still needed to open the door. “Float us closer to the door,” she whispered.

After a moment, she felt the platform move. She studied the door while they floated closer at a snail’s pace. “Stop!”

It was an old door. Sturdy, but old. Not nearly as perfectly fitted to its frame as modern muggle security doors - there was no need to, either, what with spells offering insulation and protection. But it meant that she would be able to fit a wire through the gap at the top. Or a slightly more sophisticated tool. Not that she needed much more than a wire, with the door lacking a lock.

A minute later, she had it open.

And a moment after that, she cursed. The study’s floor was glowing with spells.

“Hermione?” Mr Fletcher sounded worried.

“What did you do?” So did Sirius.

“I opened the door,” she said. “But the floor inside is covered by spells as well. It’s not safe to walk on without a key item.”

“Can you disarm them?” Sirius asked.

“I could.” Hermione bit her lower lip. “But I fear that Rosier will have covered most of the manor with such traps. She might have left a ‘public area’ safe, but certainly not her husband’s library.” Hermione certainly wouldn’t leave her own library unprotected, if she had a library worth protecting, that was. Disarming all those curses and alarm charms, room by room, would take far too long.

“We’ll make better time if we avoid the floor then,” Mr Fletcher echoed her thoughts.

“Go in through the ground floor?” Sirius asked. “That should be the public area.”

Hermione grinned. For all his claims to be born riding a broom, Sirius remained a ground-bound dog.

“No,” her tutor said, and she knew he was grinning as well, “We’ll be avoiding the floor on this floor.”

“Floating?” Sirius sounded doubtful. But then, he wasn’t a trained thief.

Hermione flicked her wand and conjured a plank next to her.

“The spell might cover more than just the floor itself. Two yards should be safe,” Mr Fletcher said.

She nodded in agreement, even though he couldn’t see her. “Yes.” Then she ended her Disillusionment Charm and slid on to the plank before levitating it.

She floated so close to the ceiling, her head almost bumped into the protruding parts of the stucco, but she reached the other side in less than half a minute and stuck the plank to the wall with a Sticking Charm so she could work freely.

“We should use brooms,” she heard Sirius mutter.

Mr Fletcher shot the idea down at once. “Too unwieldy. We need a steady platform to deal with the other curses.”

“There’s nothing steady about this.”

“Be quiet,” Hermione hissed. “I’m working on the door.” And the dog’s complaining was distracting.

“Don’t rush it,” her tutor said as she saw him arrive next to her. He had dropped his Disillusionment Charm as well.

“I’m not.” She wasn’t - but the spells were the same as the ones on the balcony door. She knew how to deal with them. “It’s open,” she announced after a few more minutes.

She glanced back and saw the dog arrive, his clenched teeth visible under his mask. He didn’t complain, though. Good for him - this was how a heist went down.

The hallway behind the door was trapped as well. Hermione didn’t expect any part of the floor to be safe.

“Could we sneak into Rosier’s bedroom and steal her key?” Sirius asked, staring at the floor.

“No. We don’t know what it is, and it would only allow one of us to safely pass through the curses.” Mr Fletcher shook his head. “Let’s move. Keep an eye out for house-elves.”

The library would be in a room facing the courtyard, Hermione thought. Rosier wouldn’t want to risk anyone catching a glimpse from outside, and natural light would have been desirable at the time it was built.

“Looks like all doors are trapped. Fortunately, this isn’t the work of a professional Curse-Breaker,” Mr Fletcher commented after he had studied the closest doors. “Rosier must have done this herself.”

It still took Hermione two more minutes to get through the next door, only to discover a simple guest room - unused, and covered in dust. At least it looked like a guest room - it was far too impersonal for a room in which someone had lived. “It doesn’t look like there are elves working here,” she commented. And the furniture didn’t look valuable either.

“Don’t assume that,” Sirius whispered. “Kreacher didn’t clean the rooms he didn’t think were needed either. Old elves get… eccentric.”

She frowned, both at being corrected by the dog and at the thought of another elf like Kreacher.

“Keep an eye out then!” Mr Fletcher told him, floating towards the next door already. “I’ll take this one.” He turned his head and addressed her. “Take the next one.”

She nodded and passed him, reaching the last door before the corner. It was another dusty guest room - eerily similar to the first, down to the same pictures on the walls.

Mr Fletcher hadn’t had any luck either. “Let’s take the north side.” The rooms there would have the most light - if the windows weren’t covered with drapes. But Hermione would have preferred the evening sun shining through the windows of her library, had she lived here. That meant the library would also be close to the main bedroom.

The rooms on the north side of the courtyard were a bust as well. Abandoned children’s rooms, or so Sirius claimed. Hermione couldn’t tell - they were dusty and empty. And that had cost them more time. It was well past midnight now. Dawn was still three hours away, Hermione told herself, and rushing such work was a very bad idea. She couldn’t help feeling that they were on the clock, though. And lying on the planks was rather uncomfortable. She should prepare padded ones for the next time they were needed. Maybe enchant them in advance - keeping them floating was tiring her as well.

A large door barred the way to the east side of the building. It took Mr Fletcher ten minutes to get through the spells protecting it, too.

“I don’t like this,” Sirius muttered.

“We can’t rush this,” Hermione told him.

“Not that. It’s too easy. If Rosier really is paranoid and expects her own family to come after her, then the hallways should have been guarded by more than just the floor traps. My mother wouldn’t have trusted one set of curses - she would have used three different traps.”

Hermione was glad she had never met Walburga Black, not even her portrait. “Rosier might not have been able to do more than this,” she ventured.

He scoffed. “She would have been taught, in my family, no matter her talent.”

Which meant he had been taught as well, Hermione thought. “She’s not a member of your family,” she remarked.

“She could have been, though.” He bared his teeth. “The whole manor reminds me of home, before I cleaned it up. And we had more traps to deal with than this. Far more traps.”

“Your folks were crazy,” Mr Fletcher whispered. “Most people want to be able to live in their homes without having to dodge their own traps in every room.”

“Point,” Sirius admitted.

“Mind ya, doesn’t mean the library won’t be packed full of dark curses,” her tutor added. “Especially if it’s full of illegal books as well. Far easier to claim she had no clue what books were stored there if she can blame her late husband for the curses too.” He took a deep breath. “And we’re in.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise after she saw the hallway behind the door. The walls were covered with tapestries. Old, expensive ones. And unless she was mistaken, those were Ming vases lining the walls.

She knew that they had to stay undetected and just grab the tomes Dumbledore wanted, maybe framing Aaron Rosier for it if they couldn’t cover up the books’ disappearance, before vanishing without anyone being the wiser, but… She really wanted the other books and the furniture, too!

On second thought, seeing as every tapestry and vase in range of her spell was cursed, maybe she could skip the furniture this time.

“Don’t touch anything!” Mr Fletcher whispered. “Haven’t seen so many curses in a single hallway in a while.”

“Reminds me of home.” Sirius had to upstage him, of course.

They moved on, floating in the middle of the hallway. Hermione couldn’t see any spells on the ceiling, but the stucco there didn’t seem to be sturdy, so anyone clinging to it would likely fall to the ground with parts of the ceiling stuck to them.

They turned the corner, and Hermione once again found herself almost blinded when she glanced at the two doors facing each other there. “If that’s the library, then Rosier really doesn’t want anyone to be able to enter,” she whispered.

“And the same goes for her bedroom,” Sirius added.

“I’m clearing a way,” Mr Fletcher said. “We’re running short of time.”

Hermione bit her lower lip so she wouldn’t complain - she hated being sidelined, but Mr Fletcher was correct; she wasn’t as experienced as he was, and she would take more time to deal with the curses. At least watching him deal with the overlapping curses protecting the two doors was both interesting and enlightening.

“It’s all about the pattern,” he whispered - he must have noticed her staring. “Find it, and you can stretch or rip it.”

“Easier said than done,” the dog cut in.

Neither Hermione nor Mr Fletcher contradicted him. Her tutor was mumbling as he worked, and she could see sweat running down the parts of his face not covered by his mask; he was breathing heavily as well. She feared that he might be pushing himself too much. But they needed this tome.

By the time they floated in front of what Hermione was now certain was the library, Mr Fletcher looked like he would collapse any moment. “I’ll do the door,” she said, swallowing as she moved her wand.

“No!” Mr Fletcher shook his head. “I’ll handle it.”

“You’re close to collapsing,” Sirius cut in. “Let her open the door.”

“And exhaust herself as well? Someone will have to deal with the curses inside, and she’s the best among us.”

“I’ve been clearing out an entire house filled with curses,” Sirius said in a rather petulant-sounding voice.

“Not like this,” Mr Fletcher retorted. He closed his eyes. “I just need a moment.”

Hermione clenched her teeth, then inched forward a little. She could at least study the spells on the door. Just in case.

The moment stretched into ten minutes before Mr Fletcher felt ready to start dismantling the spells on the door. He worked quickly, though - Hermione almost missed him dealing with a rather nasty cascading curse array.

But she didn’t miss the door swinging open, revealing half a dozen shelves surrounding a desk covered with notes. The shelves were full of books.

And each of them seemed to be cursed.

*****​

Hermione stared at the shelves, mind racing as she studied the curses. They had the same trigger as the curses on the floor. And they weren’t particularly hard to break. She knew how to do so. Her tutor also knew how, of course. But… around twenty books per row, six rows per shelf and six shelves was roughly seven hundred and twenty books. Few of them had their title on their spine, so in order to find the book they wanted, they would have to check almost every book, which meant they would need to break almost every curse. Even if they rushed that would take hours. Hours they didn’t have.

She bit her lower lip as she tried to find another solution. Maybe the Summoning Charm would work… The books in the Hogwarts library were protected against it - she had found that out during one of her summer visits. According to Dumbledore, this had been done so students couldn’t summon books being used by others. That wouldn’t be a concern for a private personal library - Hermione’s future library would allow her to quickly summon any book she needed. But while the curses might not be triggered if the book were summoned, they would certainly be triggered if it were touched. So she would have to summon the book in question, but end the spell before the book reached her… Provided that the curse wasn’t triggered by a Summoning Charm. And that Rosier hadn’t protected her library so the very illegal books they were seeking couldn’t easily be found. Which, seeing as the witch had cursed every single book of her library, was only too likely. She shook her head - that plan was too dangerous.

She could only see one practical solution. She glanced at Mr Fletcher. He had the most experience. Maybe he...

He sighed. “We’ll need the key item,” he answered her unspoken question. So, he didn’t see any other way either.

Sirius looked at the door to Rosier’s bedroom. “Breaking through that door seems to be more difficult than breaking the curses on the books. More dangerous too,” he added.

“We don’t have the time.” Mr Fletcher was already guiding his plank towards the door. “I’ll work on the door.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Break the curses on the floor. Just in case.”

Hermione understood. Just in case there would be a fight. She pressed her lips together and floated closer to the ground. Behind her, Sirius was muttering a few curses.

It took her longer than she had thought it would to deal with the curses on the floor - the curses on the tapestries were linked to them. But she did it. Smiling behind her mask, she announced: “I’m done.”

“Almost done too,” Mr Fletcher responded. He was sweating profusely.

And the dog was eyeing the floor as if he doubted her! Frowning, she slid off her plank and stood on the ground, baring her teeth at him. “It’s perfectly safe,” she whispered, so as not to distract her tutor.

The dog grumbled, but followed her example.

The two of them stood around with their wands out for another five tense minutes, until Mr Fletcher sighed and seemed to sag. “Curses ‘ave been dealt with,” he said. After a moment, he, too, stood up and descended to the ground. “Alright. Don’t kill her - we need her to find the key item.”

And killing Rosier would mean their break-in would definitely be noticed. Unlike if they obliviated the witch. Hermione gripped her wand more tightly as Sirius stepped up to the door.

He glanced at her, then at Mr Fletcher. “Watch our back,” he said as he took a step to the side of the door where the hinges were.

Hermione mirrored him on the other side. She looked at him, wand raised. He nodded and she pointed her wand at the lock. A flick later, the handle turned and the door slowly swung open into Rosier’s bedroom. She took a deep breath and waited, glancing at Sirius. He nodded at her, then took a step forward.

And a green spell flew through the gap, barely missing him.

Hermione gasped - a Killing Curse! Rosier was truly deranged - but her wand was already moving, and she completed her Shield Charm. Across from her, Sirius snarled and responded with a curse she didn’t recognise before pressing himself against the wall.

Mr Fletcher had thrown himself to the side, out of the line of fire, and when Hermione glanced back at him she could see that he was slow to get back up. She started to move towards him, but he waved her off. “I’m not hurt.”

Exhausted, then, she thought. She bit her lower lip and moved back to the door, taking a deep breath. More curses flew out of Rosier’s bedroom, slamming into a stone wall Sirius had conjured. Rock fragments and splinters hit her Shield Charm, causing her to flinch despite them being deflected harmlessly.

She had to support Sirius. That meant exposing herself even though her Shield Charm wouldn’t protect her against a Killing Curse. Should she go high or low? Low, she thought, crouching down. More curses flew through the doorway, from both sides. She had to act now, while Rosier was focused on Sirius. If only she was left-handed - being right-handed, her current position meant that she’d have to expose herself fully to cast at the witch inside.

Before she could move, though, Mr Fletcher yelled. “Behind us!”

She whirled around and saw that the tapestries they had passed on the way in were coming alive - tigers, lions, bears and wolves, as well as armored knights, appearing in the hallway, advancing on them.

Sirius had noticed the danger as well. “Keep the door sealed!” he yelled.

She glanced back at him as he flicked his wand, stone filling the doorway. Then she had to dive to the side as a tiger pounced on her, its claws missing her by inches as they slid off her Shield Charm. As she had trained to with Sirius, she rolled and came up with her wand already moving. “Finite!”

The tiger disappeared. But more animals and knights were appearing. She dispelled another tiger as Mr Fletcher covered part of the floor with sticky glue, halting their advance for a moment. Hermione was about to take advantage of that when the stone wall behind her started to break under Rosier’s assault. Once more she whirled, reinforcing the wall as splinters bounced off her shield. It wouldn’t hold up for long, though.

And neither would Mr Fletcher, she realised, glancing over her shoulder. He had trapped the first wave of animals, but the next wave were using them as stepping stones, clearing the area covered in glue with long leaps. Hermione caught a wolf in mid-jump with a Banishing Charm, slamming it against a knight trying to climb over a stuck bear. Both toppled over and became stuck.

But two more wolves had made it through, and one came straight at her. Her Shield Charm held, but she was pushed back. She hissed at the slobbering canine and cast a Piercing Curse straight down its gaping maw. The animal collapsed with blood pouring out its mouth, but more were coming. Mr Fletcher had managed to cast a Shield Charm himself, but he was all but buried under a lion and a bear and his spell wouldn’t hold out much longer.

And neither would she, Hermione realised, as she faced two wolves and a lion. And Rosier was battering the stone wall behind her. Sirius, under attack on the other side of the hallway, yelled about burning the animals.

The lion pounced, and she threw herself to the side - she couldn’t risk her Shield Charm against such a massive beast. One wolf jumped at her before she could get up again, and her shield barely stopped the animal from mauling her. A Banishing Charm sent it back, blocking the other wolf’s approach, but the lion had recovered, and this time she couldn’t get away in time.

Claws scraped over her shield, shattering it, and the animal crashed into her, roaring as its fangs bore down towards her face. Hermione didn’t think, she simply reacted - and changed. The lion’s fangs smashed into the stone floor when she suddenly shrank in size, and Hermione scrambled out from underneath the yowling cat. She changed back and dispelled it, but the threads into which the lion returned hadn’t even touched the ground before a wolf knocked her down. Flailing, she managed to block its jaws from ripping her throat out with her left arm, before blowing its head off with a Blasting Curse, splattering blood all over herself.

And then she screamed with pain when the second wolf bit down on her leg. She tried to curse the animal, but it shook its head with her leg still caught in its jaws, and the pain stopped any attempt at casting. She managed, mostly by accident, to kick the wolf as she once more flailed, and it let her go, its maw trailing blood - her blood - only for the animal to lunge for her throat instead.

She raised her arms to protect herself, to banish it again, but she was too slow and the wolf too fast. Instead of white fangs, though, blood and gore hit her, blinding her momentarily.

“Got it!” she heard Sirius yell. “She’s hurt! Get up!”

She wiped the wolf’s remains off her mask with a quick Cleaning Charm and was about to tell him that she was trying, but had a mauled leg, when the stone wall filling the doorway turned into a wave of blood that splashed on to the floor and rushed towards her and her friends.

A wedge-shaped dam of stone rose to meet it halfway, shielding them from the blood. Which was, Hermione realised, leaving sizzling trails on the ground as if it were acid.

“Episkey! Get up! Get up!”

The pain was… lessened. Hermione glanced at her leg. It wasn’t bleeding anymore. Sirius had mostly healed it. She rolled on to her stomach and started to stand up. Next to her, Mr Fletcher was groaning, but not moving.

But Rosier was moving - she could see the witch in the doorway, wand flashing. She flattened herself, but she wasn’t the target. Mr Fletcher was, and a curse struck him directly.

He started to scream - and stood up, moving jerkily. “She’s controlling me!” he yelled, his arms windmilling as he charged Sirius - who simply sidestepped him, and sent a curse at Rosier that missed, but sent the witch back into the bedroom.

For a moment, Hermione was frozen. Should she try to help her tutor, or Sirius? Another curse shot out of the bedroom and splashed against the ceiling, and acid blood started to rain down. Hermione darted behind the remains of the dam and flicked her wand. “Avis!”

A flock of birds appeared and flew into the bedroom, at the witch. Using the distraction, Hermione changed and raced after them, jumping over the puddles of acid on the floor. A curse missed her, blowing up part of the door’s frame, and then she was inside, skidding over the polished stone floor until her claws found purchase on a thick carpet. Another curse flew at her, and she ducked under the bed, then changed direction, as Harry had taught her.

She slid out from underneath the bed on the same side and changed back, casting as soon as her wand appeared. Her Stunner was stopped by the Rosier’s Shield Charm, though, and the witch was casting as well, her wand flicking until it pointed directly at Hermione, its tip lighting up. She ducked, changing again, and the armoire behind her blew up, splinters digging into her fur and making her yowl in pain.

This time she went straight ahead, straight towards the witch, clearing the bed and leaping at Rosier, changing as she pounced - only to crash into the witch’s Shield Charm and slide off. She rolled and rolled, coming up in a crouch, and kept moving as she cast a Shield Charm of her own.

And Rosier was down, on the ground, after having been smashed into the wall behind her. Hermione glanced at the doorway. Sirius was standing there, smoke rising from where acid blood had splattered his clothes, his wand still aimed at Rosier.

*****​

Ten minutes later, the situation was under control. Rosier was secured, the animals had been dealt with, and they hadn’t found any other traps. Mr Fletcher had collapsed at the same time Rosier had been stunned - after her Shield Charm had been shattered by smashing her into the wall - and Hermione Granger had spent a few minutes frantically casting spells until she was reasonably certain that whatever curse had hit him wasn’t about to kill him.

“My limbs were movin’ by themselves,” he managed to say. “’Urt like ’ell.”

Hermione nodded - he was covered with bruises. She hadn’t found any life-threatening internal bleeding, but a Blood-Replenishing Potion was advisable anyway. Just in case.

“I’ve secured Rosier,” Sirius announced. Looking around, he added: “What a mess.”

“And you’ll have to fix it,” Mr Fletcher said.

“What?” Sirius stared at him.

“We’ll interrogate the witch. Find out if she called the Aurors - not that I expect her to let anyone enter, Aurors or not - then where the books are and how to get them.” Hermione’s tutor groaned as he pulled out a vial. Veritaserum. “You need to fix the place up. We need to cover this up.”

Sirius blinked, then sighed, but didn’t argue. Not that he could have, anyway - Mr Fletcher was too exhausted to be able to focus on repairing things and Hermione was the obvious choice to recover the books they needed. That left him to clean up.

As Sirius started to fix the hallway, Mr Fletcher mumbled: “I got sloppy. Musta missed an alarm.”

Hermione shook her head. “In a manner of speaking.” She nodded at the door, then used her wand to swing it around a little until they could see the other side. “She had a string stuck to it, which would ring a bell next to her bed when the door was opened. Presumably with a spell on it to avoid alerting us.”

“Foiled by a muggle trick.” Mr Fletcher started to laugh, but ended up coughing - he wasn’t fine, despite his claims, Hermione thought. But he couldn’t rest - they had a mission to complete.

And he knew it as well. He stood. “Let’s wake her up.”

*****​

Half an hour later, Hermione Granger was feeling slightly nauseous. What Rosier had revealed under the effect of the Veritaserum… She shook her head. The witch hadn’t been hiding a library her late husband had acquired to protect his reputation - she had been protecting herself. She was a practitioner of blood magic. Fortunately, not a very talented one, mostly focused on enhancing - or changing - her own body. If she had been more skilled, more experienced, if she had used blood magic in the traps outside her bedroom, then things would have gone considerably worse for the three of them.

But, even taking the fight into account, things had gone reasonably well. Hermione glanced at the - in her opinion rather too small - pile of books that they had recovered thanks to Rosier’s enchanted necklace, which neutralised the curses. If only they could have taken more of the books. Or had the time to break the spells preventing them from being duplicated. To leave poor, defenceless books in the hands of such a witch… But Hermione’s proposal to loot the entire library and cover it up with a fire had been shot down by the other two as too suspicious.

Pouting, she watched as Sirius rearranged Rosier’s memories. “It won’t be perfect,” she pointed out, still slightly resentful. “She’ll notice some discrepancies over time.” Sirius shot her a look full of wounded pride. She sighed. “No matter how good you are, Rosier will probably suspect something has happened when she suddenly can’t remember the very books she’d used to learn some of her spells.”

“She’ll probably blame Aaron, or another of her relatives,” Mr Fletcher said. He was looking better than he had half an hour previously. He hadn’t been fazed by the description of the late Mr Rosier’s actual death, either.

“Probably,” Hermione repeated, pouting. It wasn’t certain.

“Probably.” He nodded at her. “And if it happens, it’ll happen quite a long time from now.”

Too late to affect the current conflict. Probably.

Hermione sighed and stashed the books in her enchanted pocket. She hadn’t been allowed to copy them either. Even though some of the spells Rosier had mentioned during her interrogation sounded harmless and very useful. For disguises.

At least, she thought, patting her pocket, she had managed to copy the book in which Rosier had found that ‘Tapestry-to-Tigers Spell’ without anyone else noticing. And she had pocketed another Knut as a souvenir. And a few more trinkets Rosier wouldn’t miss once Sirius was done with her.

A fire would have been far more profitable, though.

*****​

Hogwarts, August 4th, 1996

“You have done very well, Sirius, Miss Granger.” Dumbledore beamed at them. “The Tome of Blood,” he continued, looking at the old book on his desk. His smile faded. “To think Serena had delved into such matters…” He slowly shook his head. “She should have known better.”

Sirius scoffed. “That book had better be worth all the trouble we went to. Not only did Rosier almost kill us, but I had to spend hours fixing her ugly manor.”

Hermione Granger rolled her eyes at the dog’s hyperbole, then felt guilty for thinking ill of him - he had saved her life, twice, after all. But then, she had provided the distraction that had allowed him to take down Rosier. And they were all in this together - Mr Fletcher, Sirius, and herself. A team.

That still didn’t mean that the dog should behave like that towards the Headmaster. She glanced at her partner and nominal employer. “It was at most one hour. There wasn’t that much damage.”

“It felt longer,” he retorted.

“I bet it did.”

He frowned at that. “What do you mean?”

“It was work after all.” She smiled sweetly at him, the implications clear.

“Ah, yes!” He grinned shamelessly, acting as if her admonishment was a compliment.

Before she could tell him off, Dumbledore spoke up. “It seems that Poppy has finished examining Mundungus.”

A moment later, the door opened, and Hermione’s tutor shuffled inside. “Still not done? Just had to drop the books off.”

“I just complimented their work.”

Mr Fletcher scoffed. “Was hard enough. I’m gettin’ too old for this.”

“I daresay that even a much younger man would have been exhausted, had he been in your place,” Dumbledore said.

Her tutor grunted in response. “Are we done then?”

“With this mission, or in general?” the Headmaster asked.

“Both.”

“Yes to the first, but unless things go unexpectedly smoothly, I suspect that there will be further occasions on which your unique skillset is needed.”

“I figured.” Mr Fletcher sat down on one of the free chairs. “You goin’ to study the books, then?”

Dumbledore didn’t say anything. He simply raised one eyebrow slightly.

Her tutor snorted. “Right. It’s a secret. As if we couldn’t tell. You don’t recover books from your enemy unless you want to study them. You destroy them instead.”

Hermione thought so as well, but she also knew that Dumbledore would never admit that - it was safer that way for everyone.

Mr Fletcher stood up. “Well, let’s head home and go to bed. You’re officially still visiting your sick grand-uncle, after all.”

“You’re a good replacement - you look like you need to be nursed back to health,” Sirius cut in. Mr Fletcher didn’t bother with a reply. “I, on the other hand… Harry will suspect that I was on a mission for you,” he said to Dumbledore.

“Harry won’t be a problem,” Hermione said. “But what about Jeanne?”

Sirius shook his head. “She knows I’m working with Dumbledore. I’m not even lying. Technically.”

“All night?” Hermione had her doubts.

“It’s Dumbledore,” the dog said, as if that explained it.

Hermione hoped that he was right.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 5th, 1996

“Good morning, Hermione!” Harry Potter tried to sound as cheerful as he could. His best female friend wasn’t a morning person. And today she seemed to be worse than usual - she looked barely awake.

“Morning,” Hermione mumbled in response and almost stumbled into the kitchen table.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked.

“Just a little tired,” she answered. “I didn’t sleep well.” She sat down and grabbed the teapot.

“It wasn’t because of our training, was it?” He had insisted that they do their daily training when she had returned from visiting her grand-uncle yesterday evening, which, in hindsight, probably hadn’t been a good idea since she had arrived rather late and he had been a little rough.

“No.” She shook her head. “Just a nightmare.” She reached for the croissants, and Harry caught her hesitating and wincing when she reached towards the blood orange juice.

So she wasn’t as fine as she claimed. Hadn’t she rolled rather hard over that shoulder yesterday evening? He suppressed a frown. Moody was fond of the saying ‘No pain, no gain’, but that didn’t mean you had to suffer after a training session. “Are you certain?”

She glared at him. “I think I would know if I were hurting.”

She would - but would she tell him? Harry hesitated. Hermione was sensible. She wouldn’t lie to him, would she? Even if she thought it would make her look weak? She was quite competitive, after all, and might conceal an injury.

He hesitated again. He could check, of course. Without her knowing. Just a little tap on his glasses. It wouldn’t be peeping. Just checking that she was alright. It was for her own good, after all - she did look bad this morning.

He waited until she was reading the Prophet, then tapped the frame of his glasses.

And he had to correct himself. She didn’t look bad at all. And she wasn’t hiding bruises under her clothes. Or anything else.

*****​

 

Chapter 23: Summer’s End

Hogsmeade, Britain, August 10th, 1996

Standing behind the bar, Aberforth Dumbledore looked up when he heard the the front door of his inn open, then narrowed his eyes. There were few people he loathed seeing more than the one who had just entered. His brother.

“We’re closed,” he snapped. His left hand gripped the edge of the bar.

“The door was open.” Albus smiled patronisingly at him.

Aberforth raised his wand. “You’re not welcome here.”

“I know.” His brother seemed to ignore his wand as he stepped closer. Aberforth wanted to curse him. “I would not have come to visit you if it were not important.”

“I don’t care. Get out!” Aberforth spat.

In response, Albus slowly drew his wand. Aberforth tensed. If he actually tried…

“I am simply ensuring our privacy.” And his brother cast a Mufflatio Charm with that patronising smile Aberforth hated so much.

“I don’t care if the whole village knows that I loathe you.” Aberforth glared at him. The whole village probably knew it, anyway.

“It is not about that.” Albus’s smile might have slipped, just a little. Then it vanished entirely. “Voldemort is back.”

Aberforth drew a hissing breath. If the Dark Lord had returned… “The blood murders?” He lowered his wand, but kept ahold of it.

Albus nodded. “Exactly.”

“You’ve known that he was back for a while, then.” And he hadn’t told him.

“Yes, I did.”

“Didn’t trust me, did you?” Aberforth scoffed. Of course Albus wouldn’t trust him, not when he was one of the few willing to defy him.

“I did not trust you to keep it a secret.” Albus inclined his head.

“You didn’t want me to warn my friends.” His brother had never cared for Aberforth’s ‘milieu’, but to go that far… Albus certainly hadn’t left his oh-so-noble and law-abiding friends in the dark.

“They might have, inadvertently or not, tipped off Voldemort that I was aware of his return,” Albus said. A likely excuse.

“And that has changed?” Aberforth narrowed his eyes.

His brother sighed. “The situation has changed. Whereas before, I expected him to go to ground if discovered, I believe now that he will intensify his efforts to conquer Britain instead.”

Aberforth snorted. “Half the Ministry will support him anyway.”

“I do not think that things are as dire as that,” Albus retorted. “But I do concede that he has enough support among certain parts of the Ministry to risk an open confrontation.”

“Which is what you want.” Aberforth knew his brother very well.

Once more Albus nodded.

“And why come to me? Are you planning to use my friends for your plots?” If he expected any of them to run to the Dark Lord, Albus would be disappointed - Aberforth’s friends didn’t like Death Eaters either.

“Not particularly. Whether or not your ‘friends’ deserve your trust will not affect my plans.”

Aberforth scoffed. “And yet you’ll use them, if you can.”

“I took their actions into account when making my plans.”

Aberforth forced himself not to lift his wand and curse his brother. To admit his callous thoughts so openly… “So why have you come bothering me, if you don’t need a few expendable gutter-rats for your plots?”

Albus sighed and leaned against the bar. “Researching the Dark Lord’s means to survive what would have killed anyone else, I found myself contemplating my own mortality.”

“You think he might kill you.”

A not quite shrug was his brother’s answer. “I would be a fool to assume that my victory was assured when facing such an accomplished enemy.”

“Like when you were facing your old love?” Aberforth smirked at the wince that caused. He could still hurt his brother.

Albus recovered quickly, though. With a faint smile, he responded. “I will not have to deal with lingering sentiments in this case.”

“But you think you might die, and you crave absolution.” Aberforth sneered at his brother.

“It has been over eighty years since she died.” Albus was pleading now.

Aberforth scoffed. “And my answer is the same as fifty years ago: Not in your lifetime, Albus! You and your plans killed her. And I’ll never forgive you for that.”

“It might have been your spell that killed her,” Albus said, then pressed his lips together as if he regretted his words.

Aberforth didn’t care. To accuse him of that, to blame him for Albus’s sins… He lifted his wand, rage filling him. “Get out, or I’ll kill you myself!”

Albus nodded and left without another word. Once the door closed behind him, Aberforth forced himself to relax and put his wand down. The nerve of his brother! Shaking his head, he summoned his own personal bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky.

He needed more than one drink after this, or he might curse the face off the next bugger who annoyed him.

*****​

London, East End, August 10th, 1996

“It’s been a week and we haven’t received another mission!”

Hermione Granger briefly rolled her eyes, but otherwise didn’t react to Sirius’s outburst. She had studying to do - the Rosier mission, for all that it had been successful, had taught her that she still had a lot to learn before she could break into the manor of an Old Family. And not simply about Curse-Breaking to get through the wards - she suppressed a shudder, thinking at how close she had come to death at the hands of that madwoman.

“Be glad, Black. We barely survived that last mission,” Mr Fletcher said.

“Oh, please! Rosier wasn’t even close to being a skilled duellist - or a talented witch.” Sirius sneered. “She spent months casting curses on every inch of her home, and she learned a little blood magic and the Killing Curse, but she didn’t really know how to fight. If you hadn’t been exhausted from dealing with all those curses, she wouldn’t have hit you either.”

“The reason I was exhausted was that her preparations did work,” Mr Fletcher shot back. “Just like with her muggle alarm trick - if it works, it’s not stupid.”

Hermione pressed her lips together to refrain from correcting Mr Fletcher’s mangled saying. She didn’t want to get involved in the dispute, but the two wizards were glaring at each other. So she spoke up: “I think it’s rather hypocritical of a bigoted member of an Old Family to resort to muggle solutions to make up for their shortcomings.”

Both men turned to look at her. Sirius snorted. “Pureblood bigots like my family are hypocrites. If it provides them with an advantage they will use it, no matter who invented it. Why do you think my family maintained extensive business ties to muggles until mother terminated them?”

But Mr Fletcher shook his head. “We shouldn’t blame others for problems our own arrogance caused. We can’t underestimate them.” He sighed. “And we shouldn’t overestimate ourselves.”

“Speak for yourself!” Sirius retorted. “I don’t do that.”

Hermione coughed while Mr Fletcher snorted. The dog looked affronted. “You’re just jealous that I, as the most skilled fighter, had to save you again.”

“You would have been cursed by the very first trap if we hadn’t dealt with it,” Mr Fletcher told him.

“I’ve dealt with such curses before.”

“Really? I didn’t see you dealing with any of the curses there.” Mr Fletcher scoffed.

“I didn’t want to make you feel even more useless than you already did,” Sirius retorted.

Hermione hissed. This was getting too personal. “None of us would have been able to complete - or survive - the mission by ourselves.” Dear lord, she thought, that sounded so clichéd. It was true, though. “So, can you stop arguing and let me get back to studying?”

The dog pouted. “I’m still bored.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “You can go over the dossier for next week’s Wizengamot session, then.”

“I’m not that bored. You can give me the gist of it later.”

She counted to ten in her head. Then she started an impromptu Defence lesson. With a surprise attack.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 11th, 1996

He shouldn’t be doing this. He really shouldn’t. Harry Potter was well aware of that. On the other hand, Harry had no doubt that Moody would never let a little guilt about seeing your best friend naked stop him from using his enchanted eye to check for ambushes. Constant Vigilance!

He tapped the frame of his glasses. Then he closed his eyes. What was he thinking? He was at home, in his kitchen. There were no ambushes in Grimmauld Place. Not any more, at least, after the last of the curses left by Sirius’s mother had been dealt with. No, he had to be honest with himself. He wasn’t checking for ambushes. He was peeping. At his best female friend.

“Harry? Are you alright?”

He jerked and found himself face to face with Hermione. “What?” She had managed to surprise him. Moody would kill him.

“You had your eyes closed and seemed to be troubled. Is anything wrong?”

“No, no. I was just a little tired.” He was lying. And peeping. But he couldn’t turn his glasses off right now. Not when Hermione was watching him so closely.

“Did you have trouble sleeping?” She was leaning forward and he could see… her hand, before she put it on his forehead.

“A little.” Technically, it was true.

She withdrew her hand. “You don’t have a fever. But you look tired.”

He blinked, and forced himself to look at her face. “Don’t you have a spell to check?” he asked with a grin. “Or did you simply want to touch me?”

She snorted. “You don’t have to use magic for everything.” But she drew her wand and cast a spell. “No fever, but your temperature is a little above normal.”

Of course it was - he was staring at her body. Hermione wasn’t the most beautiful witch he had ever seen - that was Fleur Delacour, of course - and she didn’t have the figure of... Lavender, but she had a nice body nevertheless. Certainly a better body than Ginny. Or Parvati. Probably - Parvati would have grown up a little since they had broken up. Athletic, with well-toned legs and arms. She wouldn’t look out of place in the Hogwarts Quidditch locker room, he thought.

“Harry!”

He jerked again and stared at her. “What?”

“You were spacing out again. I’m getting Sirius!” Hermione stood and turned. “Stay here!”

He nodded, looking at her backside until she left the kitchen. Then he sighed and clenched his teeth.

He wasn’t looking forward to explaining this to Sirius.

*****​

Harry Potter had waited for barely more than a few minutes - long enough to finish his tea - when he heard Hermione’s voice.

“...and he was falling asleep again while I was talking to him! I don’t know what the Headmaster is doing with him, but he needs rest!”

A moment later, she entered the kitchen with Sirius in tow. His godfather’s look of concern rapidly gave way to bemusement when he saw Harry.

“I’m fine,” Harry said. “The tea helped.” He pointed at the pot on the table.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and flicked her wand - she was casting another spell to check his health, he realised. The results didn’t seem to please her, though - she frowned. “You didn’t take a Pepper-Up Potion, did you? Those shouldn’t be taken lightly.”

“I didn’t!” he protested. “I just needed a little more time to wake up fully.”

“While you were eating breakfast?” Hermione sounded as doubtful as McGonagall when Harry had asked for more supplies for ‘Quidditch team building’ last year.

He had to change tack. “Well… I was preoccupied. I had some bad dreams, and…” He spread his hands. “Dumbledore isn’t pushing me, but the whole thing... it’s never far from my mind, you know? I can’t really talk about it with anyone, either.”

She nodded with such an expression of understanding that he felt a stab of guilt for lying to her. And for peeping at her. “I’m sorry,” she said, putting her hand on his arm, “I was simply worried about you.”

“As was I,” Sirius cut in, but he was grinning widely behind Hermione’s back. “You know, you can always talk to me, even if you can’t go into details.”

“And to me,” Hermione was quick to add.

Harry forced himself to smile. “Thank you.”

*****​

“So, what had you so distracted that Hermione thought you needed help?”

Harry Potter, sitting in the living room and listening to the wireless, winced on hearing Sirius’s question. “Don’t you have work to do?” he asked, smiling weakly at his godfather, who was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed.

Sirius snorted. “I pushed that on to Hermione, which also should keep her too busy to interrupt us.” He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “So?”

Harry sighed. “You know, I am working with Dumbledore on a secret project.” Even if ‘working’ was a little misleading when all that he was doing, other than keeping his Occlumency skills sharp, was letting Dumbledore examine his scar.

“Yes. But unlike Hermione, I am quite familiar with the expression you had at breakfast. James looked the same when he was lying.”

And here Harry had thought that Snape hating him was the worst consequence of looking like his dad.

“Can’t fool your godfather, Harry!” Sirius grinned and sat down in the seat opposite Harry’s. “So, spill! Tell your godfather what was so… distracting… that you ignored a pretty girl talking to you.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “She surprised me after I had activated the enchantment on my glasses.” He didn’t have to say which enchantment.

Sirius laughed. “Ah… ogled her, did you?”

“Accidentally.” Which was true. Even if he had been planning to check her out.

“Sure, sure.” His godfather grinned. “So, finally realised she’s a pretty witch with a hot body?”

Harry glared at him. “And why would you know that?”

“From your reaction, of course.” Sirius’s grin grew wider as he leaned back. “And I saw James’s expression after we had enchanted the mirrors in the girls’ bathroom at Hogwarts and Lily took a shower.”

Harry briefly wondered if he could blame his dad’s genes for his own actions. “It’s not like that.” Sirius raised his eyebrows, and Harry sighed. “I didn’t want to ogle her like that.”

Sirius nodded. “Much too obvious. If she hadn’t been so worried about you, she might have hexed you.”

Harry clenched his teeth to suppress his guilty feelings. “Moody said to always be on your guard. To never assume that you were safe.”

Sirius beamed at him. “That’s a great excuse!”

“It’s true.” Harry glared at him. It wasn’t like that!

“Even better.”

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me not to abuse my friend’s trust like that?”

“You already feel guilty about it, so that would be pointless. Besides, everyone does it once they learn the Disillusionment Charm.” Sirius blinked. “Or was that James’s Cloak? Anyway, it’s basically harmless. If it weren’t, the Quidditch Team wouldn’t share a locker room.”

“So, are you telling me to just keep peeping at her?” Harry couldn’t tell if his godfather was serious.

“Of course not! Now that you know that she can ‘distract’ you, you should ask her for a date!”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? She’s your best friend, she’s pretty, both of you are single and you live together - it’s the perfect setup!”

“First, she doesn’t like me like that,” Harry pointed out - not for the first time, “or she would have said something.” He continued before Sirius could once again claim that his best friend was shy instead of bossy: “And we won’t be living together once term starts in September.” He wouldn’t act like Seamus.

“You can meet during the Hogsmeade weekends.”

“Once a month?” He didn’t think that was often enough for a relationship. And they would have to rent a room... and people would know... He shook his head. “No, we wouldn’t have a future.”

“We’re talking about dating a witch, Harry. Not about marriage. Live a little!” Sirius smiled at him. “You’re too serious.”

“I won’t use her like that - she’s my best friend.” He didn’t want to risk losing her friendship after a breakup. And she probably could find some really nasty hexes in Sirius’s library.

His godfather shrugged. “If you say so. Plenty of witches at Hogwarts, right? Well, not the Slytherins - can’t trust them. Although I guess that’s a good reason for checking what they are hiding under their robes.”

In hindsight, Harry should have expected this from his godfather.

*****​

Hermione Granger was sorting through the latest acquisitions to her growing magical library in its temporary home in Grimmauld Place’s basement when the dog disturbed her.

“Ah, there you are!”

She glanced at the dog as she slid another copied book into its proper spot on the shelf. “Yes?”

He looked around as if he were seeing her library for the first time. “Did you add a shelf?”

“Yes.” Of course she had added a shelf - she had to. Anyway, he could easily extend his basement.

He blinked. “You sound as if you were angry with me.”

“Really?” She put as much sarcasm into her words as possible. “And what possible reason would I have to angry with you?”

He shrugged. “Several? That’s why I’m asking.”

“Several?” And the dog was acting as if that were no reason for concern.

“You’re often angry.”

“With you.” And with good reason.

He frowned. “Shouldn’t you still be working on the latest proposal for the Wizengamot?”

She smiled sweetly at him. “I think that requires your personal touch at this point.” Try to foist it off on me, would you?

His frown deepened. “Is that why you’re angry? You’re supposed to love being able to influence the Wizengamot’s policies!”

She sniffed. “Not when it’s a blatant attempt to keep me busy.” And away from Harry.

“Ah!” He smiled at her. “Saw through that, did you?”

“Yes.” She tapped her wand on her reading desk. “What did he say?”

Sirius waved his hand. “It was just boy talk.”

“Boy talk.” She narrowed her eyes at the dog. “Really.”

“Really.” He nodded. “We talked about witches, and their bodies, and dating.”

“Oh.” She was still a little sceptical - the dog had that expression on his face he often had when he was not telling the full truth - but it made sense. Even though Harry had had two girlfriends, and should be well aware of the facts of life and relationships - she had also discussed that topic with him, after all. But he was still rather young, and his breakup with Ginny was rather recent.

“I sorted him out,” Sirius said, sitting down in her favorite armchair and crossing his legs. “He was far too serious.”

“He’s just being sensible,” she defended her friend. “Which is a good thing in his situation.” If he were acting like Seamus… she shuddered at the thought. She didn’t know why the dog was laughing at that, but she didn’t like it. “Was that all?” Had he really come to bother her just to tell her that he had had another talk with Harry?

“Ah, not exactly.” He frowned. “What was I…” Snapping his fingers, he exclaimed. “Ah! I was wondering if you had found a solution to protecting your mask against spells that can see through walls.”

She didn’t quite pout in response - she hadn’t made as much progress as she liked. “Not as much as I had hoped for,” she admitted. Wards couldn’t be made so small as to protect a single person - nor as mobile. And a Disillusionment Charm was only of limited use for a team of thieves. “The best solution seems to be changing my skin colour, and to use makeup and similar muggle means to alter how my face looks to someone using such a spell, but I still need to extensively test that.”

“You mean ‘body paint’?” He grinned. “I am available if you need someone to test your defences. Unless you prefer to use Harry for that.”

She rolled her eyes at his joke. “Any tests involving Harry would require us telling him about our heists.” Which Sirius had vetoed. She still wasn’t entirely convinced he was right, but she had to admit that telling Harry would force him to either help them and become a thief as well, or rat them out to the Ministry - which she didn’t think Harry would do. And as Sirius had put it, Harry should be the one to decide what he wanted to do with his life.

“So, that leaves me?” Sirius sounded surprised.

She sighed and nodded. She didn’t really like having the dog use such spells on her, but the only other alternative was Mr Fletcher. And asking him to check if her artificial tan looked right felt like asking a teacher to look at her naked body.

At least she could teach the dog a lesson, should he misbehave.

*****​

Hogwarts, August 16th, 1996

“You just tried to enter my mind,” Harry Potter said - with his eyes closed, of course, to break the connection.

Dumbledore laughed. “I did indeed - and you noticed, and shut me out. A remarkable feat for a wizard with far more experience.”

Harry opened his eyes and looked at the Headmaster. Dumbledore both looked and sounded as if he were serious in his praise. “I could only lock you out by closing my eyes, though,” he said, frowning.

“Did you try to block me, or to mislead me?” The Headmaster smiled gently at him over his reading glasses.

“Neither.” He had reacted by reflex, choosing the quickest and easiest way to deal with it.

“I would wager that you would have managed either just as well. You have made remarkable progress over the summer.”

“Thank you, sir.” Harry felt proud of this achievement - until he reminded himself that ‘remarkable progress’ wasn’t good enough when facing one of the most powerful and experienced wizards in the world. There was a reason so many wizards and witches trembled at the mere mention of Voldemort’s name. “And what about your own project?”

Dumbledore’s smile faded a little. “I have made significant progress as well, although while I have mastered the theory, practical application of what I’ve learned has turned out to be a little more difficult than expected.”

In other words, Dumbledore hadn’t managed to duplicate her work, Harry thought. He nodded anyway. But thinking of his mum… He took a deep breath. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

He didn’t want to know, but he had to know. “My mother used blood magic to protect me.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly, without any trace of his smile left on his face.

“And she managed to protect me against the Killing Curse. A feat no one had managed before. Something everyone thought impossible. And she managed to have that protection destroy the Dark Lord’s body as well.” Harry spoke faster, to get it out before he lost his nerve. “She used a sacrifice, didn’t she?” He didn’t wait for the Headmaster’s answer. “And since it was so powerful - it’s still protecting me - she didn’t sacrifice an animal. She sacrificed a human, didn’t she?” He was on his feet, staring at Dumbledore, despite not remembering having stood.

The Headmaster sighed. “And you wonder just who she sacrificed to save you, do you not? Whose life she traded for yours?”

Harry nodded.

“Her own.”

“What?” Harry gaped. “How is that possible?” How could anyone die and still cast a spell?

“According to my research, she prepared the ritual, completed all the steps but for the sacrifice, and had her death complete it.” Dumbledore smiled gently. “No innocent blood was shed to save you, save for Lily’s own. She loved you so much, she sacrificed her own life to protect you.”

“But…” He trailed off. He had often heard that his parents had died for him, but to hear it had been literally true…

“Self-sacrificial magic is, as should be expected, very rare. Few have the will to sacrifice themselves for others, and fewer still have the skill and determination to plan their own death in advance. But such a sacrifice - one of the most selfless acts, usually at least - can be used to work truly great magic. Lily was a prodigy, one of the smartest witches I have seen in my time at Hogwarts. The things she could have done, had she lived…” Dumbledore sighed again.

And she had sacrificed everything for him. Harry pressed his lips together.

“But we should not lose ourselves contemplating what might have been. She made her decision, and we should respect that.” The Headmaster smiled at him. “I hope I have managed to assuage your fears.”

Harry nodded, although while he was relieved that his mum hadn’t murdered anyone to protect him, to know that she had used her own life instead was a burden he could have done without.

How could he live up to that legacy? What could he do that would do her sacrifice justice?

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 21st, 1996

Family thought to be on holiday found dead - drained of blood!

That wasn’t a headline Hermione Granger wanted to see in the morning. Especially not when she couldn’t read the article right away because Sirius was hogging the newspaper.

“What does it say?” she asked instead. “Who was killed? And when?” Maybe if she asked enough questions, Sirius would tire of answering and hand over the Prophet.

“The Clearstones. They were thought to be on holiday in France, so they were not missed until the father didn’t return to his post in the Ministry on schedule. So, they were killed three weeks ago, before their holiday.”

Hermione glanced at Harry, who was clenching his teeth. Sirius, she noticed, did the same.

“I didn’t have a vision of another ritual three weeks ago,” Harry answered their unspoken question, a seemingly forgotten croissant in his left hand. “If I had had one, I would have told you!”

“Sorry,” she said, feeling guilty for doubting him.

“Dumbledore might have wanted you to keep it a secret,” Sirius added.

“I would have told you anyway,” Harry insisted.

“Well, you shouldn’t have,” Sirius retorted. “We’re keeping secrets for a reason.”

Harry was about to contest that, but Jeanne arrived, which made further discussion of the Order’s policies impossible unless they wanted to obliviate the French witch. Which wasn’t on the table.

“Good morning!” she greeted them, smiling - until she noticed their expression. “What happened?”

Sirius started to explain, and Hermione used the opportunity to secure the newspaper for herself with a quick Summoning Charm. Ignoring Sirius’s protests, she quickly read the article in question.

Father, mother, and ten year old son, all dead, all drained of blood. Suspected vampire attack. Some baseless speculation about Clearstone, a muggleborn, engaging in vampire hunting, and this being a retaliatory attack. And some commentary about his recent promotion being ‘controversial’.

“Bloody bigots,” she muttered, handing the newspaper back after noting the name of the journalist - Skeeter, of course.

*****​

An hour later, Hermione Granger was in Sirius’s study and almost finished with his mail when she was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Yes?” She tried not to sound annoyed, even though first reading about the triple murder and then being stuck with the dog’s mail while he was off ‘checking out the latest brooms’ in Diagon Alley with Harry had left her somewhat irritated. At least the two had gone in disguise.

“Hermione? Do you have a minute?”

It was Jeanne. Hermione didn’t want to talk with the witch - there was still the danger of being recognised - but sending her away wouldn’t help. She forced herself to smile as she opened the door with a flick of her wand. “Of course. What do you need?” she asked in her best ‘secretary voice’ when the other witch entered.

Jeanne’s smile dimmed a little - Hermione wouldn’t have noticed it if she didn’t know the witch so well. She recovered quickly, though. “You’re Harry’s best friend, aren’t you?”

“Apart from Ron, yes.” Hermione liked to think she was Harry’s best friend, but he had spent much more time with Ron, even if - technically - they were living together now.

“Do you know why he’s so distant with me?”

Probably because you keep pushing yourself into their lives, Hermione thought. Like she had insisted on being called ‘Jeanne’. “I think he’s a little jealous of you,” she said instead, which was also true, even if Harry didn’t want to admit it. “Sirius is basically all the family he has left, and he hasn’t known him for as long as he should have.” And both of them knew the reason for that very well. Sirius had made a lot of progress, but he hadn’t fully recovered from Azkaban. Hermione actually doubted that he ever would. “However,” she went on, preferring not to dwell on that, “even if that wasn’t the case, he would still likely be jealous. That’s a normal reaction to a parent figure having a new partner.”

“I figured as much, “Jeanna said, sighing as she sat down on the visitor’s seat in the study.

Hermine wanted to ask her why she hadn’t said so, then, but held her tongue. Jeanne might be a risk to her cover, but she also was Sirius’s girlfriend, and she hadn’t actually done anything to support the suspicions Harry was so fond of voicing. So Hermione shrugged. “I’m certain that he’ll accept you in time.”

Jeanne nodded. “Sirius said the same.”

“Well, he’s right.”

“Ah!” The witch sighed. “I had hoped that there was something I could do, other than simply being friendly, that is.” She crossed her legs, causing her short robe to fall open along the split up her right side, revealing her leg.

Hermione suppressed an irrational bout of jealousy. She was still growing up, and she was a cat - she was as graceful as the French witch if she wanted to be. She still found herself tugging on her messy ponytail, a stark contrast to Jeanne’s elaborate hairstyle.

And Jeanne hadn’t missed that, seeing as she suddenly smiled. “Although maybe we could do something about your hair? I know a hairstyle that would look perfect on you!”

Hermione froze for a moment. What was it with people trying to give her a makeover? “I like it like it is,” she said. “It’s practical.”

“Tsk!” Jeanne shook her head. “You think like a muggle. I’ll teach you a spell to style it in seconds, no matter how complicated!”

“I like it simple.” Hermione protested. “Like my mum,” she added.

“There are a lot of simple hairstyles. Have you ever tried a French braid? You’ll love it!”

Hermione disagreed - right now, she was feeling a rather strong animosity towards anything and anyone of French origin.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, August 21st, 1996

Usually, Harry Potter enjoyed shopping trips. Between his childhood with the Dursleys and his years at Hogwarts, occasions to go shopping had been very rare. Visiting Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade was still an exceptional treat, in his opinion, and today’s trip was no exception.

However, he would have preferred to visit Diagon Alley in his own body, instead of wearing the body and face of an unknown teenager thanks to a vial of Polyjuice Potion. But it had been that, or calling Remus, Tonks and probably another Order member or two to protect him. And Harry hadn’t wanted to impose on them, nor take them away from more important work for the Order.

“Look at that hat? How can anyone wear such a monstrosity?” Sirius, also disguised thanks to Polyjuice, exclaimed as he pointed at a hat in a window with a two foot long point. “Anyone who buys that must be compensating for something!”

Harry mumbled his agreement. He wished Sirius would act a little less excited - the owner of the hat shop was glaring at the them. But his godfather either didn’t notice, or ignored the witch. Harry thought it was the latter.

“Your mother taught me that expression, you know,” Sirius suddenly said. “When James wanted to impress her with his new broom.” He frowned. “That was our … fifth, no, sixth year!” He smiled again. “James was so horrified, he almost got rid of the broom. I had to talk to him for an hour to save the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor. Lily could pull a mean prank if she wanted to!”

Harry laughed as loudly as Sirius at that - he loved hearing such stories. Not just because he learned more about his parents, but it also meant that Sirius had regained another memory and that his recovery from Azkaban was progressing.

“Oh, Quidditch Supplies is open! Come on, Henry! Let’s check out the brooms!” And Sirius was off, headed straight towards the next shop.

“Of course, ‘Marius’,” Harry mumbled, following him at a slightly slower pace - he was still getting used to his new body. On the way, he tapped the frame of his glasses, and took a peek inside the shop - as Moody had said, the best ambushes preyed on the known habits of the target. But the shop was empty except for the clerk behind the counter.

“Look, a Sturmwind.” Sirius rubbed his chin, which was currently free of a goatee. “No matter what it said about the broom in Quidditch Weekly, I don’t think it beats the Firebolt.”

“R… my friend said it turns better, but has worse acceleration and a slightly slower top speed,” Harry said. He pursed his lips, angry at his near lapse.

“Where did he hear that?”

“There was an ad in the special edition of Quidditch Weekly,” Harry answered.

“What? Why didn’t we get that?” Sirius frowned, then glanced at the rack of magazines inside the shop.

“It’s about the Cannons.” That explained enough.

“Oh. Never mind then.” Sirius returned his attention to the broom in the window. “Worse than the Firebolt, as I said.”

Harry shrugged. He could think of situations where a tighter turning radius would be better than speed or acceleration, but it was very situational. And outside Quidditch, top speed was the most important quality of a broom - you had to be able to outpace a pursuer, or catch up to a fleeing enemy.

Movement behind them caught his eye. Two witches, leaving the shoes shop across the street. One of them wore a hat that obscured her face. Harry tapped his glasses out of reflex, just to check who she was. He didn’t recognise her face. And she wasn’t hiding anything under her robes. He looked away before he felt too guilty.

“Henry?”

“Ah, just looking to see if Fortescue’s is open already,” he quickly said.

“It should be,” Sirius answered. “Want to stop there after lunch? Or before?” he added with a grin.

“After.”

“Let’s see what’s on the menu in the Cauldron, then.”

As they walked towards the Leaky Cauldron - Sirius was a fan of the meat pie there; he said it had saved his life after his escape from Azkaban - Harry couldn’t help but wondering how long he’d have to pick between having bodyguards following him around or using Polyjuice. And what if he got a new girlfriend? He couldn’t decide what would be worse - dating with a teacher, Auror or Sirius looking over his shoulder, or dating while both he and his girlfriend were using other people’s bodies.

Although, maybe if they could pick whose hair they could use…

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 21st, 1996

“We’re back!” Sirius yelled as soon as they returned. “And we have a surprise!” He shook the bag containing the sweets they had bought even though neither Jeanne nor Hermione were present yet.

Harry Potter shook his head as he picked himself up from the floor and wished that the Polyjuice Potion’s effect would have already finished before he had stepped into the fireplace. It was hard enough to keep your balance while travelling by Floo powder without adjusting to a stranger’s body.

Jeanne appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the first floor. “We have a surprise as well,” she announced with a wide smile.

‘We’?, Harry thought as he saw the witch gesture behind her. Someone was hiding there, and his wand was halfway to his glasses when the person stepped forward and he recognised Hermione. Hermione with a different hairstyle and an expression usually found on Neville’s face before a double lesson in Potions.

Jeanne was either unaware of that, or was ignoring it. “Voilà! We have tamed her hair!”

Hermione seemed to hunch over. “It’s just a braid.”

“A French braid. Come on!” And with that, Jeanne tugged on Hermione’s hand, pulling the obviously reluctant girl along.

The hairstyle did look much better than her usual messy ponytail, Harry thought. She must have fought it tooth and nail, though, judging by her scowl. No wonder Jeanne was so proud. He smiled.

“It looks nice,” he said. “Stylish.” Now if only Hermione would wear one of Jeanne’s tight, short robes, or one of the ones slit up to the hips on both sides…

Before he could comment further, the potion’s effect wore off, and, for a moment, he felt as if he was melting, before he found himself back in his own body.

“Ah, finally!” Sirius, returned to his own form as well, shook his head. “Even though it’s fascinating to try out another body, I much prefer my own.”

“As do I,” Jeanne said, as she embraced him. And kissed him. The French way.

Harry looked at Hermione, then grabbed the bag with the sweets Sirius had dropped to the floor to better grope his girlfriend. “Let’s pack these away,” he said.

She nodded. “Yes, let’s.”

As she led the way to the kitchen, he tapped his glasses’ frame again. Just to better imagine how she would look in different clothes.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 22nd, 1996

“Hey, mate!”

“Hi, Ron.” Harry Potter greeted his best male friend, only slightly jealous of his apparent ability to walk out of a fireplace without stumbling. He was making progress, after all, as well. Unless Polyjuice Potion messed up his balance.

Ron looked around. “Is Hermione home?”

“She’s working in the study. We can fetch her,” Harry answered, pointing to the hallway. “You said you had a question when you called?” A question he didn’t want to ask through the Floo.

“Yes.” Ron said. “It’s about muggle customs, so I thought you two were the best to ask, having grown up among muggles.”

“Ah.” Harry had grown up among a particular family of muggles, but he didn’t think that Ron wanted to hear about them, and he didn’t want to think about them in the first place. “Is this about Muggle Studies homework? Get ready to be lectured by Hermione about not waiting until the last minute.”

“What? No, no. It’s not about homework,” Ron responded. “And the holidays aren’t over yet, anyway.”

“You know her. If you haven’t done it in the first week, she thinks you’re putting it off,” Harry said with a chuckle.

Ron nodded. “And you’re living with her.”

“Yes.” Harry glanced at him, wondering if he meant anything else by that, but they had reached Sirius’s study. He knocked and entered without waiting for an answer - Sirius was always there for him, after all. And this wasn’t Sirius’s bedroom.

“Hey!” Harry waved. “Ron’s here, and he has a question for me and Hermione, so we’ll need her.”

“Hi, Hermione!”

“Hello, Ron.” Hermione, to Harry’s surprise, stood up at once. “I’ll leave the rest to you, Sirius,” she said with an overly sweet smile. She was, he noticed, wearing her ponytail again, instead of a nicer hairstyle. And her sweater and pants wasn’t particularly tight either. At least they weren’t oversized.

Harry’s godfather grumbled, but didn’t object. Not that he could - he had taught Harry that friends came first.

They headed to Harry’s room, with a detour to the kitchen to grab some snacks and drinks. On the way, Harry explained that it wasn’t about homework, heading off Hermione’s lecture. Once they had settled in - Ron on Harry’s chair, Harry and Hermione on his bed - Ron cleared his throat. “You know about Luna’s investigation into Nargles, don’t you?”

“Yes.” As a subscriber to The Quibbler, Harry could hardly miss it. Hermione nodded.

“She’s asked me to help her on her next fact-finding trip in Muggle England,” Ron went on. “So, I need to know how muggle journalists act and dress.” He shrugged. “I asked Dad, but… He’s not an expert on journalists.”

Hermione mumbled something that Harry didn’t catch, but thought was a little uncomplimentary about Mr Weasley’s expertise. He glanced at her, but she wasn’t paying attention to him. He nodded. “He probably knows more about technical things.” Mr Weasley could drive, after all, and had managed to enchant a car.

“Yeah.” Ron shook his head. “He gave me his Motor and Autocar collections to read, but that didn’t help. And his muggle newspapers didn’t have anything about journalists either.”

“You want to pose as muggle journalists?” Hermione asked.

Ron nodded. “Luna said they had to, so the conspirators hiding the existence of Nargles wouldn’t notice them.”

“Ron, I do not think that muggles are hiding Nargles,” Hermione told him. “There isn’t even any proof that Nargles exist. No one has ever observed them. No one reliable, at least. Invisible, intangible creatures?”

Ron shook his head. “Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.” Harry was about to use his glasses on him to check if he were an impostor in response to that when Ron added: “That’s what Luna said. And it makes sense, you know? Ashwinders were thought mythical for a long time, until one was observed at Hogwarts. And there are several invisible creatures which were only discovered when someone created the spells to detect them. So, Nargles could exist.”

Harry thought Ron had spent a little too much time with Luna. He glanced at Hermione, who looked like she had swallowed a lemon. His friend nodded - very reluctantly, he could tell - and said: “I suppose that’s true.”

Ron grinned, but was wise enough not to rub it in. “And it’s fun to look for them. Even if you don’t find them, you might find something else interesting.” Yes, definitely too much time with Luna, Harry thought. “So,” Ron went on, “how do muggle journalists dress and act?”

“They act and dress like normal muggles,” Hermione responded, still a little peeved, in Harry’s opinion. “They don’t have any special clothing, and they only wear press badges at certain functions.”

“Press badges?” Ron asked.

“Badges that prove that they are members of the press. Journalists.” Hermione explained.

“What do they look like?”

Harry cleared his throat. “I think it would be best if we showed you.”

“You know a journalist?” Hermione asked.

“No.” Harry grinned. “But I know a great cinema.” He wouldn’t need to use Polyjuice to hang out in muggle London, and he was certain that there would be at least one journalist in Mission: Impossible. Or in one of the trailers shown before the movie.

*****​

As soon as Ron had left through the fireplace again, hours later, Harry Potter knew that he was about to be lectured.

“‘I know a great cinema.’ Really? If we hadn’t bought Ron a book on the subject, and those magazines, he still wouldn’t have a clue about journalists!” Hermione had her hands on her hips and was frowning at him.

He grinned at her. “He loved the movie. And didn’t you say that journalists dress like normal people? So it was helpful.”

“It’s an American movie. And journalists don’t act or dress like fictional secret agents.”

Harry shrugged. “He also spent hours in muggle London.” With a grin, he added: “And I didn’t hear you complaining too much about the movie.”

She sniffed. “There wouldn’t have been any point.”

“What were you writing during the movie, anyway?” he asked.

“Just a few notes. You did drag me away from work, after all,” she responded with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Harry sighed. He might have to have a word with Sirius - trying to work in the middle of a spy movie wasn’t healthy. “At least Ron had fun.” He frowned. “Although I wonder why Luna didn’t ask us for help - she knows we both grew up in muggle England.”

Hermione snorted. “She wants to spend time with Ron, not with us.”

“Oh?” Why wouldn’t Luna want to spend time with them? Had they… Harry blinked. “You think she fancies him?”

“Yes.” Hermione sounded as if that was obvious. It wasn’t.

“Ron didn’t say anything about that.”

“I don’t think he knows.”

“Should we tell him?” Harry frowned. Was it OK to leave Ron ignorant of Luna’s interest in him?

“No. Luna can tell him when she’s ready,” Hermione said in a rather final tone.

“Alright.” Harry wasn’t certain if it was the correct thing to do, but Luna was Ginny’s best friend, and offending her would offend his ex-girlfriend. And he would rather avoid that. And her.

He just hoped that Luna wouldn’t try to monopolise Ron.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 23rd, 1996

“Hello, Hermione. Do you have a minute?”

Not again, Hermione Granger thought, putting down her pen. She still hadn’t caught up with her work after yesterday’s trip to the cinema, and her training had suffered as well - although she might be able to use an idea or two from that movie. And now Jeanne wanted to talk again, and certainly for longer than a minute. But she had a cover to maintain.

“Of course,” she lied. “What do you need?” But if this was another attempt at forcing a makeover on her...

Jeanne closed the door behind herself before continuing. “What exactly is Sirius doing with you?”

Hermione blinked. What was the witch implying? Her and the dog? “What do you mean?” she asked in her best ‘confused’ voice. “I’m his secretary. I mostly handle his mail.”

“You do more than that.” Jeanne hadn’t taken a seat. She was standing in front of Hermione’s desk, forcing Hermione to look up at her. “You also accompany him to those ‘meetings’.”

“To take minutes, and inform him of details that might have slipped his mind,” Hermione explained.

Jeanne scoffed. “Long meetings about politics, but he never complains about them - unlike Wizengamot sessions. Meetings with Albus Dumbledore.”

Hermione wanted to bite her lip. They should have trained the dog in maintaining a cover, too. Out loud, she said: “In the Wizengamot, he’s surrounded by people he doesn’t like or even hates, and has to listen to them politely. Headmaster Dumbledore is a friend of his. They work well together.”

“Do they?” Jeanne raised an eyebrow. “Sirius often brags about his successes in the Wizengamot, but they do not seem to correlate with those meetings.”

Hermione wanted to curse herself for missing that weakness in her and Sirius’s cover. “Politics take time. It’s not unusual for plans to take weeks to be put into action. The Headmaster is fond of planning ahead.”

“But Sirius isn’t.” Jeanne leaned forward, her hands on Hermione’s desk. “I remember at least one ‘emergency meeting’.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “And his nightmares are always worse after such meetings.”

Nightmares? Hermione couldn’t keep the surprise off her face, then berated herself. Of course Sirius would have nightmares - she had had some herself, after all, after some of the more dangerous missions and heists. And she hadn’t fought in the last war, lost her best friends, and spent a decade in Azkaban. Feeling very guilty and ashamed at missing something that should have been obvious, and even more so for lying about it, she said: “He hasn’t yet fully recovered from Azkaban, I think. And I assume some of the topics mentioned in those meetings set him off.”

Jeanne wasn’t convinced, Hermione knew.

“And does he also get hurt in those sessions?”

“He often trains Harry in Defence,” Hermione replied quickly. “It can get rough, but nothing that lasts.” She thought Sirius would have ensured that he was fully healed before going to bed with his girlfriend. Would she have to check him for lingering wounds after a heist or fight?

“You’re going to keep lying to me, aren’t you?” Jeanne glared at her.

Of course she was. You didn’t drop your cover unless there was no other way. Especially when faced with someone you didn’t trust. “I’m not lying,” she lied.

Jeanne scoffed and left.

Hermione muttered curses she had overheard her tutor use in tense situations as soon as the door had closed behind the other witch. She need to talk to Sirius, at once - but he was currently in the Wizengamot. That left her tutor and Dumbledore. Maybe she could…

The door slammed open. Hermione had her wand drawn and aimed before she realised it was Jeanne. The witch looked scared - and not by her wand. “Hermione! Harry collapsed! He’s bleeding!”

Harry! Hermione was at the door in seconds. “Where is he?”

“Living room,” Jeanne replied.

She raced, barely managing to keep from changing and using her superior speed on four legs in front of Jeanne. Harry was hurt!

She almost crashed into him when she reached the doorway - he was standing and holding his forehead. “Harry?”

“Hermione?” He blinked at her. Blood covered his face, but his glasses were clean. “I need to talk to Dumbledore.” He seemed to sway on his feet and when she reached out to steady him, she ended up hugging him. “He has to know,” Harry said, and she felt him tremble in her arms, “he’s killed again. So much blood…”

“We’ll get you to Hogwarts at once. And call Sirius,” she told him.

Then a voice made her freeze. “Now I see.”

Hermione realised with a sinking feeling that Jeanne had seen and heard everything.

*****​