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

Chapter 28: Decisions

Hogsmeade, January 3rd, 1997

Alastor Moody stopped a hundred yards away from the inn and scanned the area. The building’s walls blocked his enchanted eye - which was what he had expected. That didn’t mean it wasn’t a trap, of course. His enemies would expect him to expect a trap, and to know that the inn was normally warded to block his sight. A truly cunning enemy, of course, would expect that, and plan accordingly.

Not that there were many such enemies left. And after yesterday, the number of wizards who could both best him in battle and were cunning enough to out-think him had shrunk even further. And the scumbag owning the Hog’s Head Inn wasn’t on that list, no matter how highly the old goat thought of himself.

Although Albus’s brother might not know that and might even try to settle their differences, now that Albus was dead. Alastor narrowed his good eye. He’d be inside the man’s wards. On the other hand, the scumbag would know that Alastor would be prepared for an ambush. And, as loathsome as the man was, he had some loyalty towards the other criminals frequenting his dive.

So, while it wasn’t actually safe to enter the inn, the risk was acceptable. And Alastor had to talk to the scumbag. He owed it to Albus.

He slowly made his way over to the shabby inn’s door - any enemy watching would assume his peg leg gave him more trouble, especially in the wet snow, than was the case. Any stupid enemy, at least - smarter enemies would know that he wouldn’t settle for a simple peg leg when he had replaced his missing eye with a much improved artificial one.

His wand twitched when he spotted movement behind him. Two figures. A wizard and a witch. Acting like a couple. If they did something threatening… but they didn’t. Just a couple out for an afternoon stroll. Locals. Or that was what they wanted him to think. A quick scan showed nothing suspicious beneath their robes, but that, too, would be expected from cunning foes. He kept his eye on them until they were out of range.

He had reached the entrance in the meantime. He narrowed his normal eye at the sounds from inside. Some song in the background, and voices nearby. Perfectly normal - which would be the best cover for an ambush. But they wouldn’t really expect him to simply walk in, would they?

He snorted and, with a flick of his wand, pushed the door open with enough force to almost tear it off its hinges as it slammed into the wall.

He grinned at the scum inside, knowing they both recognised and feared him. Half of them had jumped up and were ready to bolt. The other half had drawn their wands. He scoffed. “I’m not here for you. Not today,” he said as he stepped inside. His grin told the criminals what would happen should they try anything.

No one did. Most didn’t even move while he slowly walked towards the bar, the sound of his peg leg striking the wooden floor ringing through the room. Guttersnipes and whores, the lot of them.

Albus’s brother was the only one who didn’t look nervous. The man looked mad. He had his wand ready, too, as Alastor spotted through the counter. But he wouldn’t start a fight. Not with so many of his ‘friends’ nearby. So Alastor grinned. “Afternoon.”

“You’re not welcome here,” came the snarled response.

“I don’t give a damn,” Alastor retorted. “I don’t want to be here anyway.” Unless it was with an Auror squad raiding the place. Or even Hit-Wizards. Their usual collateral damage would only improve the place, and no Aurors would be at risk. “You know why I’ve come.”

The other wizard snorted but didn’t deny it. He didn’t offer Alastor a seat. Not that such an offer would have been accepted, anyway - much too dangerous. Alastor raised his wand, ignoring how Albus’s brother tensed and gripped his own wand, and slowly cast a privacy spell. It wouldn’t do to let anyone, much less the scum in this inn, overhear them.

“If you’ve come to offer me your condolences, don’t bother,” the man spat.

Alastor snorted. “I know better than that.” The man wouldn’t shed a tear over Albus’s death. “He left you a note, didn’t he?”

“I burned it.”

“Did you read it?” Alastor squinted at the man.

Albus’s brother sneered but didn’t answer.

“You did.” Alastor chuckled, slowly. “He knew how to word it, didn’t he?”

Albus’s brother scoffed. “If he had known how to lead as well as he could speak, your Order might not have lost so many people. At least he had the decency to die as well. This time.”

Alastor glared at him. As if the scumbag had any idea about fighting a war, much less leading people in battle! “It was a good plan. Lured the bugger into a trap, which was sprung as planned. That the Dark Lord had a few wands up his sleeve about which he didn’t tell our spy was to be expected as well.” He wouldn’t mention that there had been traitors in the Corps as well. Not to scum like this man.

“He’s dead; sucking up to him won’t get you anything any more.” The man sneered, worse than Malfoy. “He buggered things up, as usual. He just had to assume no one was as clever as him. He should have been prepared for the attack through the muggle entrance. The battle would have been over before the traitors arrived, if that lift had been better protected.”

The man was very well informed, Alastor had to admit. Someone had talked to him already. “Couldn’t spare the wands for that. Too many cowards in Britain, you know.”

Albus’s brother clenched his teeth at the barb. “Not enough idiots doing his bidding, you mean. Not enough curse-fodder for his plans.”

“That ‘curse-fodder’ fought and died for everyone in Britain.” He wouldn’t let the scumbag besmirch their memory. Alastor stared at the man. “And Albus sacrificed himself.” A perfectly ambiguous wording. Nothing to incriminate either Albus or Potter. Almost everyone would assume Alastor was talking about Albus exposing himself to a lethal attack as he saved the Boy-Who-Lived.

Judging by the man’s glare, Albus’s brother knew what he really meant, though. “He was a hypocrite to the end. Using blood magic for his goals!”

“He sacrificed himself to deal with the worst dark magic I’ve seen so far,” Alastor corrected the bugger. “Rendered the Dark Lord mortal.”

“And then had a kid kill him.” Albus’s brother scoffed. “Couldn’t even arrange for one of you lot to do the deed? Had to use Potter for it?”

“Potter was Plan B. If Albus’s sacrifice hadn’t been enough, he might have been able to do it.”

“Did anyone bother to tell him that?”

“Didn’t matter. There was no time to check. And Potter had to act quickly while the bugger was still hurting.” Alastor had been too far away to kill the Dark Lord. Most of the Order wouldn’t have tried even if they had been nearby. Not after seeing Dumbledore fall. Potter had been the only one ready.

“And did it work?”

“Yes.” Alastor slowly nodded. He had checked the diary as soon as he had managed to get away from the Ministry. Which meant Albus’s other contingency plans wouldn’t have to be enacted. Like the letter Albus’s brother had received.

“Good. There’s no need for you to be here any longer, then.” The other wizard looked at the door.

“There’s no need for anything of what we talked about to be mentioned, ever,” Alastor said, staring at him.

The other wizard didn’t look away. He had guts, at least. “It’s not as if anyone would believe me. Albus died saving the Boy-Who-Lived, who then took down the Dark Lord with righteous anger. The sheep will eat it up and crucify anyone who dares to tell them that their hero wasn’t perfect!”

“De mortuis nil nisi bonum.” Alastor smiled. “As long as you remember that, we’ll get along fine.”

“Get out!”

Alastor nodded and left. One loose end tied up.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 3rd, 1997

Harry Potter rubbed his left arm as he sat at Sirius’s bed in the infirmary at Hogwarts. Madam Pomfrey had healed his broken bones easily, but he still felt them itch, or twinge, when he focused on them, no matter how often the nurse claimed it was his imagination.

Which wasn’t very often, actually. Not with so many wounded Order members in need of help. And those were just the ones Pomfrey could treat. Not the ones who had been struck with dark curses. Those were in St Mungo’s - if they were still alive.

He hunched over. Too many had been killed in the Battle of the Ministry, as the Daily Prophet was calling it. Order members, Aurors, Hit-Wizards. Snape. And employees who had been unlucky enough to catch a stray curse while trying to flee.

He looked at Sirius. His godfather was still unconscious. Which was good - he wouldn’t be feeling the pain from the Skele-Gro regrowing half his bones. His skin looked a little patchy; the newly grown parts not matching the slight tan of the rest. And his hair was such a mess, half of it burned, it made Hermione’s ‘morning mane’ look good. But he was alive, and he would recover. In time. A few days, maybe a week, Pomfrey had said.

“Mate!”

That was Ron! Harry whirled around and put a finger to his lips. “Shush!” He nodded towards the other side of Sirius’s bed, where Jeanne was sleeping in a rather awkward position, half on her seat, half on Sirius’s pillow.

Ron snorted but didn’t yell further as he limped over to them, wincing when he stepped on his healed leg. His skin looked better than Sirius’s - he hadn’t been tanned even a little and was naturally pale. In a quiet tone, he asked. “Did you read the Prophet?”

Harry pointed at the wastebasket in the corner.

“Ah.” Ron scoffed. “Anyone reading that shite would think that Malfoy had personally defeated Voldemort.” He looked around, then frowned.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Harry corrected him. “But the article certainly pays a lot of attention to him ‘bravely risking his life and soul’ to lure the Dark Lord into Dumbledore’s trap.”

“Dumbledore’s and yours,” Ron said, conjuring a chair for himself as he sat down with a relieved sigh.

Harry shrugged. “It was his plan, and his trap.” And his sacrifice. The Headmaster must have copied the ritual of Harry’s mother. “I just was lucky enough to be in a position to take out Voldemort.” He sighed. “How’s your family?”

“Fine.” Ron blinked. “I mean, they’re well. Mum wasn’t really hurt, Dad’s been healed already, Percy apparently wasn’t even in danger - he’s back at the Ministry, but he was at breakfast at home. Bill’s a little roughed up but wasn’t at The Burrow. Apparently, he has a girlfriend. Mum’s ticked off that he didn’t say anything.”

“Good.” Harry hadn’t thought that the Weasleys had been seriously hurt, but you never really knew. “I mean about them being fine. Not about your mum being angry.”

“I know what you mean.” Ron chuckled. “She was very unhappy with me. What about your family?”

“Sirius’ll need a few more days to recover.” He had told Ron that yesterday already. “Jeanne’s alright, just a few bruises. Remus and Tonks…” He bit his lower lip. “They’re at St Mungo’s. Last I heard they should recover.” Should. You never knew. “And Hermione is mad at me.” Relieved and happy, as well - her hug when he had headed to Grimmauld Place to tell her what had happened had almost broken bones, Harry thought.

Ron winced. “Really?”

“Yes.” Harry nodded. “Said she needed to calm down before visiting, or she’d hex the lot of us.”

His friend laughed. “At least she’s safe. Luna cried, you know,” he said in a lower voice.

“Oh?” Harry was surprised - Ron was fine, after all.

“Yes. She was at The Burrow as well.” Ron sighed. “She wanted to visit as well, but McGonagall and Moody limited visitors to Order members and their family.” He shook his head. “They are afraid of attacks by desperate Death Eaters. Like after the last war.”

On Neville’s parents, Harry thought. He nodded. “I hope they don’t try to keep Hermione out.” That would probably drive her into a rage.

Ron chuckled. “McGonagall wouldn’t. Besides, she’s an Order member, right?”

Harry nodded. “Right.” He leaned back. “I just wish Sirius was awake. He could do something to counter Malfoy.”

“Dad’s working on that,” Ron said. “Percy too. And you’re the Boy-Who-Lived. Even Malfoy can’t do much against the vanquisher of Voldemort.”

Harry sighed. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to use his fame like that. Malfoy had been Dumbledore’s spy, after all, so he had been on the Order’s side. He blinked. “Do you think Malfoy is an Order member as well?”

“Bloody hell, I hope he doesn’t visit!”

Harry nodded in agreement.

After about a minute, Ron said: “Hey - how did Romilda react?”

Harry froze. He had completely forgotten about his girlfriend!

*****​

London, Greenwich, January 3rd, 1997

Hermione Granger knew something wasn’t right as soon as she entered her tutor’s flat. There was a faint but distinct smell of… rotten meat? Clenching her teeth, she closed the door and drew her wand. “It’s me.”

“I know,” came Mr Fletcher’s answer from his bedroom. If he were under duress, he’d have said something else - not that she suspected something like that. Still, she kept her wand drawn as she pushed the door, which was only angled, open. Then she hissed.

Mr Fletcher was on his bed, half sitting up. He waved, but she didn’t pay attention - she was staring at his left leg instead, which ended between his knee and ankle, the stump wrapped in bandages. And the smell…

Her head snapped up to glare at him. “You didn’t tell me you were cursed that badly!”

He shrugged, smiling - though she could see how he forced himself to do so. “Wouldn’t have done any good. You had to go back home as soon as possible, and I managed to stop the curse from rotting my leg off.”

“By cutting off your own foot?” she asked, realising as she spoke that it wasn’t as absurd as she had thought. Then he nodded, confirming it, and she felt ill.

“There was no choice.” He shrugged.

“You need to be in St Mungo’s!” The leg needed to be treated. To be regrown. What if it was infected?

He scoffed. “They can’t do anything - it was a dark curse.”

“There are counter-curses!” Hermione retorted.

“Yeah. But I had to cut it off since I wouldn’t have been able to get help in time. And there’s no counter-curse for that.” He shrugged.

“But… torn limbs can be regrown.”

“Not when dark curses are involved. That’s pretty much the definition of dark magic. One of them, at least.” Mr Fletcher scoffed. “Besides, it’s my own fault - I shouldn’t have underestimated Runcorn. I should have been faster, too. I’m getting old.”

“But if you cut it off, then that wasn’t done by a dark curse.” Hermione bit her lower lip as she pondered this. “That should be treatable.”

“Not with magic. And muggle medicine can’t make limbs regrow.” He shook his head. “Let it rest. I won’t die, and I know a Healer who’ll treat this without asking questions.”

“What? Why won’t you go to…” Hermione started.

He interrupted her by holding up his hand. “I can't go to St Mungo’s. The Healers would report such a curse. And then the Aurors would investigate - a dark curse means a dark wizard attack. And given the timing, they’d know that I was involved in the battle in the Ministry. At the very least, they would realise that I’m an Order member. And I would rather do without such scrutiny. Or such a reputation.”

“But you could go to Hogwarts! Sirius’s there!” And Harry and Ron - who still thought she was mad at them for making her stay at home while they fought. Well, she was - but not as much as they thought. Not that she had actually stayed at home.

He scoffed. “Poppy’s a good nurse, but she can’t do anything my acquaintance can’t do as well.”

“And is your ‘acquaintance’ also more trustworthy than her?” Hermione asked.

“Not really. But he’ll assume that I was on the wrong side of the battle if I’m coming to him and not to a respectable Healer. And that means no one in Knockturn Alley will connect me to the Order.” He coughed. “Well, Fletcher, at least.”

“And Smith?” Hermione frowned. “As you said, the timing for Smith to lose a foot is suspicious.”

He grinned, but it looked forced again - he didn’t succeed in hiding his pain, she thought. “That’s why Smith will have returned to the New World after the New Year’s Ball. And there, in his old home country, he’ll have run afoul of a dark wizard. I’ll have a new story to tell once I’m officially back in England in a month or two.” He closed his eyes. “It’s for the best.”

She bit her lower lip to avoid yelling at him. He was wrong. And yet, she didn’t know what to say to convince him. Going to some shady Healer in Knockturn Alley… “Will you leave the country?”

He shook his head without opening his eyes. “Just stay out of Wizarding Britain. I still have to tutor you, after all.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, both feeling relieved that she wouldn’t lose her tutor and ashamed of her selfishness in the face of his crippling injury.

“Of course,” he said, “you’ll have to stop doing heists until you’ve finished your training.”

Hermione gasped. “What do you mean?”

He looked at her. “Without two good feet, I won’t be able to come along on the kind of heists you’re planning. And you’re not good enough, yet, to do them by yourself. And Black won’t be any help anyway.”

She almost mentioned Moody - Harry and Ron’s trainer had a peg leg, and it hadn’t slowed him down much, if at all, judging by Harry’s stories. But Mr Fletcher knew that as well.

So she nodded. “Let’s get you to your ‘acquaintance’ then!”

“Once you’re properly disguised.” He grinned - and, for the first time today, it didn’t seem forced. “A guttersnipe like Fletcher doesn’t know pretty witches. So, rags and Polyjuice Potion.”

She grimaced at the thought of looking ugly - and dirty, which was even worse! She was a cat, not a hag!

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 3rd, 1997

Harry Potter stumbled out of the fireplace in the entrance hall of his home. He had to work on that. If Voldemort had been waiting right in the Atrium, Harry would have been an easy target. Maybe he could spend a day not doing anything other than using the Floo Network to travel around over and over until he figured out how to ‘just keep walking’, as Sirius called it.

He smiled at the thought - Sirius had woken up. Harry’s godfather was in pain from the Skele-Gro, and he still looked like he had lost a battle with a flock of Bludgers, but he was awake and would be fine in a few days.

Harry looked around. No one greeted him. He pressed his lips together, briefly debating whether or not he should call Romilda. Shaking his head, he headed to the stairs. Hermione first. He sighed as he made his way up to the first floor. He had hurt her by not allowing her to accompany him to the Ministry, but it had been for the best. If she had been in that battle… Harry shuddered at the thought of her getting hurt, or worse.

He reached her door - it wasn’t closed; there was a gap of about five inches - and knocked. “Hermione?” When there was no answer, he slowly pushed the door open. “Hermione?” Was she giving him ‘the silent treatment’, as Sirius had called it? No, the only occupant of the room was Crookshanks, who was occupying her bed and staring at him as if he were an intruder.

Harry stared back. He had faced and defeated Voldemort; a cat, half-Kneazle or not, simply didn’t measure up. The fat monster sniffed and went back to napping, but somehow made him feel as if he didn’t measure up. There was a reason he didn’t like the animal. At least Hermione’s other cat wasn’t as arrogant.

Shaking his head, he left Hermione’s room to check Sirius’s study and the library.

She wasn’t in either of those rooms. Where was she? He blinked, then sighed. “Kreacher!”

After a minute, the little elf stepped out of the servant’s passage hidden inside the wall. “Yes, young master?”

“Do you know where Hermione is?”

“Master’s servant told me to tell you that she went out to ‘clear her head’.”

“Couldn’t you have told me that when I arrived?”

“Young master didn’t ask.” Kreacher showed his teeth as he smiled, not bothering to hide his amusement.

Harry refrained from trying to correct the elf - he knew it wouldn’t achieve anything. Kreacher had served the Black family for almost two hundred years and was very set in his ways. And Harry suspected that Hermione had told the elf not to tell him unless asked. “Did she say when she would be back?”

“No.”

He sighed. “Thank you.”

The elf vanished through the concealed door, presumably to return to his duties, and Harry shook his head. If he couldn’t talk to Hermione, then that left Romilda. Or maybe he could check if there was any news about Remus and Tonks.

The alert informing him that someone wanted to enter the house through the Floo Network interrupted his thoughts. He rushed to the entrance hall. Had something happened to Sirius? Or Remus? Tonks?

He knelt down at the fireplace, throwing a pinch of Floo Powder into the flames. “Yes?”

“Potter? Can I come through?”

Moody. At least it sounded like him. “What did you tell me when I left the Ministry?”

He heard the old Auror chuckle. “That you shouldn’t tell anyone what Albus did.”

Harry nodded, even though no one could see him, then stood and tapped the fireplace with his wand. “Come through,” he said, not lowering his wand and taking a few steps back and to the side.

A moment later, Moody stepped out of the flames. Even with a peg leg, the man didn’t so much as miss a step, Harry noticed with some envy.

Moody nodded at Harry’s wand, aimed at the Auror. “Good to see you haven’t picked up bad habits just because the Dark Lord’s gone.” A flick of his wand put them under the effect of a privacy charm.

Harry wasn’t certain he agreed with Moody - the old Auror was paranoid, after all - but he knew disagreeing wouldn’t do any good. “He’s gone for good then?” he asked instead.

“Yes. I checked.”

Harry smiled. He had been certain - almost certain - after seeing and feeling the effects of Dumbledore’s ritual, but it felt good to have it confirmed. “How did it go at the Ministry?”

“As expected.” Moody scoffed. “Amelia’s investigating, but I think the best we can expect is that the more cowardly spies and sympathisers panic and flee the country. It’ll be hard to get them - the Dark Lord kept his cards close to his chest. Like Albus. At least someone took out Runcorn in his office during the battle and left him stunned and surrounded by evidence implicating the bastard.”

“Runcorn? The oldest Wizengamot member?” Sirius had complained about that wizard often enough.

“Yeah.” Moody nodded. “Bloody traitor won’t escape this time. But Malfoy’s already vouching for his friends. The scumbag’s milking the deal he made with Albus for all it’s worth, and Fudge, of course, is falling for it. He had already secured a pardon for all he did ‘prior to the Dark Lord’s defeat’ from Albus himself, but apparently, that’s not enough for him.”

Harry cursed under his breath. The man who framed Hermione as a thief was going to escape justice once again. On the other hand, he had spied on the Dark Lord for Dumbledore. Probably had also helped lure Voldemort to the Ministry. And he had been the one to stop the battle and make the remaining Death Eaters surrender. Most of them, at least.

“Well, Albus left me some information, so dear old Malfoy won’t be able to get much more than was agreed,” Moody added. “If only Albus hadn’t died…” Both his eyes stared at Harry.

Harry knew what he meant. “Then the Dark Lord would still be alive.”

“Don’t tell anyone what really happened. Some might suspect, but as long as they can’t prove anything…”

“I know.” Admitting that he and Dumbledore had used blood magic would be stupid. Harry frowned. “I’ll have to talk to Hermione, though. She helped Dumbledore research things.”

“Find out what she knows, and make sure she knows to keep her mouth shut.”

Harry nodded.

Moody stared at him for a few moments, then nodded. “Now, I didn’t just come to chat. Albus left me a few instructions. One concerns you.”

Harry blinked, surprised. And concerned. Why wouldn’t the Headmaster have left him such instructions?

Moody chuckled. “Don’t look like that. I’m not here to obliviate you or anything.” He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a slim case. “Here. Dumbledore said you should have it. There’s a vial with a message for you as well. Sealed.”

Harry opened the case and stared. It was the Headmaster’s wand - his real one, as he had explained when he had told Harry about his decoy. The wand he had used for his rituals and to fight Voldemort. And he had left it to Harry?

*****​

London, Knockturn Alley, January 3rd, 1997

Hermione Granger tried not to let her thoughts show as she watched Mr Fletcher getting treated. His stump looked ghastly with the bandages removed. Her tutor hadn’t just cut off his foot; it looked like he had cauterised the wound as well. Unless the blackened flesh was the result of the curse. But, in that case, the curse would have spread, wouldn’t it? It certainly smelled as if it were spreading, but the Healer didn’t seem to be alarmed. Not that it would surprise her if ‘Healer Brown’ were too incompetent to catch a dark curse’s effect - the man practised in what was literally the back room of a pawn shop in Knockturn Alley!

“Alright, Dung! Looks well enough to me. I’ll just remove the burned flesh and close ya up, and yer missus can take care of ya, right?” The man didn’t just speak with a worse accent than Mr Fletcher when he was playing the gutter rat, he cackled like a hag, too. Hermione could tell, now - a couple of those creatures had watched her and Fletcher make their way through a dirty side alley to this ‘clinic’.

“Thanks, Brown.”

The Healer swept his wand back and forth, and the putrid flesh - probably; Hermione wasn’t an expert - started to vanish. After a few minutes, only clean looking flesh and bone remained. And blood. Another spell closed the wound. “Done. I guess you’ll need a peg leg too?”

“I’ll manage with a crutch, thanks.”

“Already have an eye on a prosthetic then? I could use an alternate supplier; rumours are that the Ministry’s conducting a purge.”

“Sorry, I’m just cashing in a favour,” Mr Fletcher said.

“Too bad. Now about my fee…”

As Mr Fletcher paid the Healer, Hermione sighed and checked her watch. Twenty more minutes until the Polyjuice Potion wore off. Twenty more minutes of being an ugly, old witch.

“Alright, let’s go!” he interrupted her thoughts.

She nodded, drawing her wand. Just in case the hags outside were getting more aggressive. And to cast another privacy spell. “Where are we going to get the prosthetic?” she asked as she opened the door.

“Muggle England, of course.” He grinned as he moved his crutches. “Mr Smith wouldn’t go for something as crude looking as Mad-Eye’s peg leg. And the muggle clinic will be all too glad to help a poor victim of a landmine laid by the Eighth Army.”

“That sounds awfully specific,” Hermione replied, narrowing her eyes.

“Well… it’s a favourite excuse of those who get maimed while trying to rob graves in Egypt.” He shrugged. “Acquaintance of mine lost an arm like that. And when he went back with a new one, he lost his life.”

“Let’s hope you don’t follow his example,” Hermione said.

“Oh, I’m not as stupid, don’t worry. I can take a hint.”

Somehow, that made her worry.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 3rd, 1997

Harry Potter was just about to - finally - call Romilda’s home when he heard the front door open.

“Harry?”

“Hermione!” He stood. “You’re back.”

He half-expected her make a sarcastic comment about stating the obvious, but she simply nodded. She must have calmed down, then. Good.

“Is there any news about Sirius and the others?”

“Sirius was awake earlier today. He’s sleeping again,” Harry told her. “Pomfrey said he could go home tomorrow, or the day after.” He took a deep breath. “No news yet from Remus or Tonks - they’re still getting treated. Can’t even visit them.”

She nodded. “Nothing we can do, then.” She didn’t sound happy about it.

“No.” He shook his head. “Are you going to visit Sirius?”

“Once it’s safe to do so,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to make you worry about me, would I?”

There was the sarcasm. Harry winced. “I’m sorry.”

She took a deep breath, then waved her hand. “I understand why you acted as you did, but I’m not happy about it.”

He knew that. Sirius knew it. Tonks and Remus knew it. Crookshanks probably also knew it. He didn’t say that. But he couldn’t help saying something else. “It was a brutal battle. If you had been there…” He shook his head. “I still have trouble realising that Dumbledore’s dead.” Even though he would probably never forget that horrible moment. He closed his eyes for a moment and clenched his teeth. A moment later, he felt her hand on his arm. She didn’t say anything, though. He sighed, remembering Moody’s instructions. “Do you know what happened?”

He could see her bite her lower lip, then nod. “You told me yesterday. And I read the Prophet today.”

He sighed again. “There’s more to the battle. You know the Headmaster’s trap worked - thanks to Malfoy, I guess.” She clenched her teeth in response; he noticed her jaw muscles twitching. “But Voldemort didn’t kill Dumbledore. Or rather, he didn’t defeat him. Dumbledore sacrificed himself to defeat him. Like my mum.”

Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth but closed it again without saying anything. So she knew. “Yes,” he said. “Blood magic. You can’t tell anyone.” He didn’t have to explain why - she would know that.

Hermione nodded. “But why does everyone think you killed Voldemort if the Headmaster did it?”

Harry hesitated. He wanted to tell her everything, but Moody - and Dumbledore - had been explicit about that. “I actually killed him. But I wouldn’t have been able to without the Headmaster weakening him.” Technically, it wasn’t a lie, he told himself as she nodded.

“So what’s going to happen now, with Malfoy being revealed as the ‘heroic’ spy for Dumbledore?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Dumbledore would have expected that, and he left instructions for Moody and probably for others. Mr Weasley and Percy are doing their best, I think. But I don’t know anything about the Headmaster’s plans for Malfoy.”

She frowned. “He might have gone overboard with his secrecy.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, trying to ignore his guilty feelings.

*****​

Romilda was smiling when she stepped out of the fireplace, Harry Potter noticed. “Harry!” And she was certainly not showing even a little anger as she hugged him. Nor when they kissed. “I’m so proud of you!” she said when they separated.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m terribly sorry for not calling you sooner, but…” He sighed. “There was just so much to do - Sirius was hurt, Remus and Tonks were hurt, Snape was killed…” He shrugged. It wasn’t a good excuse for forgetting to call his girlfriend. “I wanted to call you earlier, but then more things came up.” Like Moody, and Hermione. And dinner.

She shook her head. “Don’t be sorry! You’re a hero! Of course you had a lot to deal with!”

“You’re not mad?” he asked. Hermione was still not too happy with him, and he had told her what had happened as soon as he had managed to leave the Ministry.

“Of course not! I’m happy!”

As she was kissing him again, he realised that she really wasn’t mad at him even though he had not thought of calling her until a day after the battle.

He was relieved but also - somehow - disappointed.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 5th, 1997

“Good to be home!” Hermione Granger heard Sirius exclaim when they stepped into the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place. “Poppy is a competent nurse, but the infirmary at Hogwarts lacks some crucial functionality.”

“What functionality?” She knew she shouldn’t ask, but she did anyway - Sirius was overacting, and she could see he was still hurting when he moved. It was like throwing a hurt dog a bone.

“Why, Miss Granger!” He grinned at her and slipped an arm around Jeanne. “It distinctly lacks privacy!”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course.” As she had expected - mostly, at least.

“Don’t be like that just because mine and Jeanne’s return means that you can’t sneak your lover into the house any more!” the dog said.

“Lover?” Harry was staring at her.

“He’s joking,” Hermione said. “Or rather, he’s trying to be funny, but failing at it. I have no lover.”

“Ah.” Harry smiled.

Before she could glare at him for presuming that she couldn’t get a lover if she wanted one - which she didn’t, thank you very much - Jeanne cut in: “Well, she should get a lover. A girl her age needs to explore love.”

Hermione rolled her eyes again. “There are more important things to worry about than my love life.” She looked at Sirius. “Like the situation at the Ministry.”

Sirius sighed. “Spoil my fun, will you?” He held up a hand. “Let’s discuss this in the living room.”

“All your mail is in your study,” Hermione pointed out. She didn’t have to also point out that there was ample room for all four of them there.

“But the liquor cabinet is in the living room,” the dog retorted. She glared at him, and he sighed again. “At least I have a bottle of Ogden’s Finest in my desk.”

*****​

“So,” Sirius said, half an hour, lots of complaining about all the letters and notes she had compiled for him and no whisky later, “Malfoy’s got the Wizengamot convinced that as Dumbledore’s spy, he’s so trustworthy, he can vouch for a number of suspected Death Eaters. Such as his good friends Parkinson, Nott and Bulstrode.”

“Yes,” Hermione Granger confirmed.

“And if Crabbe and Goyle hadn’t been killed and captured, respectively, in the battle, he probably would be vouching for them as well,” Harry said. “Can you do something about that?”

“I wish I could,” Sirius said. “The notes Dumbledore left to me do state that Malfoy wasn’t privy to the Death Eater roster. The Dark Lord wasn’t that trusting, after all.” He scowled. “But according to the Wizengamot notes my dear secretary diligently collected for me, he’s claiming that he was ordered on the morning of the battle to ensure that they would support the Dark Lord.”

“Which would mean that they couldn’t have been ordered around by Voldemort.” Hermione shook her head.

“Rubbish!” Harry shot to his feet.

“Of course it’s rubbish, but we can’t disprove his claims. Interrogating Malfoy with Veritaserum without concrete evidence of his guilt would have been nigh-impossible under the best circumstances, but after he was seen fighting side by side with Dumbledore? And with that damned letter of Dumbledore’s proving that he was his spy?” Sirius snorted. “It would be easier to convince the Wizengamot to unceremoniously bury Dumbledore in a shallow grave in a muggle cemetery.”

“And Parkinson, Nott and Bulstrode?” Harry stood. “They’re not seen as heroes - they hid in the Wizengamot during the battle!”

“Malfoy’s basically vouching for them. Without any evidence of our own, they’re pretty much untouchable by the law.” Sirius shrugged. “I’d curse Dumbledore for this if I weren’t certain that Malfoy was essential for ambushing Voldemort.”

“But…” Harry clenched his teeth and looked at her, Hermione noticed. “We have to do something! They framed Hermione! They got her expelled!”

“Nott wasn’t involved in that,” Hermione corrected him. The Notts weren’t on her list. But if Malfoy was vouching for them, maybe they should be?

“Bah!” Harry shook his head, pacing. “We can’t let Malfoy use this to take over the Wizengamot!”

“And we won’t,” Sirius said. He held up a thick stack of parchment and a vial. “Dumbledore left me a sort of political testament. Including the memory of a posthumous address to the Wizengamot.” He grinned. “Malfoy will find it hard to publicly go against the final wishes of the man who sacrificed his life fighting Voldemort. Especially if Harry as the Boy-Who-Lived gives us his support.”

Harry beamed. “Yes!”

“He’ll try to subvert it, though,” Hermione pointed out. “Obstruct the proposals by adding riders or alter the wording until the original aim is perverted.” As Sirius’s secretary, she had quite the insight into how the Wizengamot and the Ministry operated.

“He can try,” Sirius said. His grin widened as he turned to her. “Let’s see Malfoy attempt to explain why Dumbledore’s dying wish that your case be reviewed in light of new evidence - evidence the Headmaster himself collected - shouldn’t be heeded!”

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 6th, 1997

“...and while she might have committed a crime as a child, she worked hard to contribute in our struggle against the Dark Lord. She hasn’t crossed wands with Death Eaters like so many brave Order members, but not everyone is able to fight in battle, and I think that she has redeemed herself through her work as the secretary of my esteemed colleague and ally in the Order, Sirius Black. In recognition of that, I therefore propose to grant Miss Granger a pardon for her past crimes.” Malfoy smiled widely and nodded as the Wizengamot began to applaud.

Hermione Granger clenched her fists to refrain from standing and cursing the man. She had fought for the Order - she had risked her life against vampires and dark wizards! She had even taken down a traitor in the Ministry during the battle! She wasn’t just Sirius’s secretary!

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, whispering despite the privacy spell he had cast once they had taken their seats on the visitor’s gallery of the Wizengamot Chamber.

She forced herself to take a deep breath and school her features before answering - it wouldn’t do to reveal her and her friends’ secrets in an angry outburst. “He’s proposing to pardon me, instead of exonerating me.” At his puzzled look, she explained. “You pardon a convicted criminal, but you exonerate an innocent victim of a miscarriage of justice. I’ll still have a criminal record if his proposal passes.” She clenched her teeth. “And by making it look like all I did was handling mail and making tea for Sirius, he’s acting as if this is a favour for Sirius, not a reward for me.”

“What?” Harry frowned. “But Dumbledore gathered proof of your innocence!”

“Enough to review my case, not enough to prove my innocence without further evidence,” Hermione corrected him. The Headmaster had outlined the investigation which would have - with political pressure - led to such evidence. “But if Malfoy’s proposal gets accepted, then the Wizengamot won’t also vote to review my case. Even though Dumbledore asked for it. They’ll consider the matter settled.”

“But…”

Harry now looked like he wanted to curse Malfoy, so she put her hand on his arm to calm him down. “Let Sirius answer that.”

But, listening to the next Wizengamot member speaking in support of Malfoy’s proposal, Hermione was certain that Sirius wouldn’t be able to stave it off. A number of members wouldn’t even know the difference between a pardon and an exoneration, and many more wouldn’t care. Enough to sway the vote.

“...in light of my esteemed colleague’s bravery, I therefore fully support this proposal. I think I speak for everyone that the late Chief Warlock would also have wanted this - those of my generation will certainly remember how he redeemed Severus Snape, another brave soul who died fighting the Dark Lord, after a troubled youth. With the Chief Warlock’s funeral coming up, the timing would also be perfect for such a gesture.”

A gesture. Nothing about justice. Nothing about repaying the gold those bigots had stolen from her family and Sirius’s coffers. Hermione pressed her lips together and tried to hide her anger.

“But… does that mean your expulsion won’t be reversed?” Harry asked.

She glanced at him, then shook her head. “No, that was part of the punishment, and would be repealed.”

Harry smiled. “Well, that’s something, at least.”

She nodded. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 7th, 1997

Harry Potter sat on his bed in Gryffindor Tower and stared at his new wand. The Elder Wand. He still couldn’t really believe that the Headmaster had left it to him. Nor that it was actually real. One of the three Deathly Hallows.

He held it up and concentrated. Its tip started to glow brightly. It felt just like when he used his first wand. Did that mean that he was the wand’s master? He remembered watching Dumbledore’s message in the Pensieve Sirius had recovered from Hogwarts.

“Harry, my boy, if you are hearing this then I am dead.” Dumbledore, sitting at his desk, had chuckled. “I had to say that. More seriously, if you are hearing this, then my plan will have worked and Voldemort has been rendered mortal by my sacrifice and then defeated by you using your mother’s sacrifice. Or maybe a stray curse - the best-laid plans of mice and men, and so on. If you are feeling guilty about my death, don’t. I chose this, fully cognisant of the consequences. It was the best, the only practical solution to deal with Voldemort’s soul anchors. I do not think that we could have found and destroyed all of them by other means.”

He had smiled. “You may have noticed that your scar will have been affected as well - it was a connection to Voldemort’s soul, and therefore suffered the same fate as his anchors. I do not think that the scar will vanish as a result, but you are unlikely to suffer headaches from it any more.”

Dumbledore had leaned back. “However, that is not why I am leaving you this message. It will have been given to you together with my wand. You are aware that not every wand will suit every wizard - matching wand to wizard is actually far more difficult than crafting a wand - but this wand is special. It is the Elder Wand, and it will serve whoever defeats the prior owner of it. I took it from Grindelwald after our duel. If all went as planned, then you will be its new master - although there is a chance that you might not have won its allegiance. You should be able to figure that out on your own. I caution you to use it wisely, though - it will help you tremendously in a fight, but it will switch its allegiance as soon as you are defeated, so do not use it frivolously, but limit your use to occasions when you must risk its loss. Grindelwald is not the only, but just the most recent, example of how much evil a wizard wielding it can cause. I implore you to keep your possession of it a secret. Let people believe that you were left my wand as a sign of trust, lest too many greedy wizards come after you.

“The notes about the Deathly Hallows I am also leaving you should explain more about the wand’s powers. Study them well.” And with a grin, Dumbledore had added: “You might also find a few surprising notes about your father’s cloak, better known as the Invisibility Cloak. It has been in your family’s possession since...”

His father’s cloak - the second Deathly Hallow. Harry shook his head. No wonder Ron hadn’t noticed him that evening when he and Romilda had hidden in that alcove!

Harry sighed. Two legendary items, both in his possession. If anyone knew or suspected… He snorted.

“Mate? Did you go to bed already?”

He looked up. “Ron?”

His friend pushed the curtains of Harry’s bed back and peered inside. “What are you doing?”

Harry shrugged. “Just…” He spread his hands and sighed.

Ron nodded. “Yeah, I know. I still see the battle when I close my eyes, too.”

Harry clenched his teeth. He didn’t want to lie to Ron. Not even by omission. But Dumbledore had asked him to keep the secret. And yet… “You know…”

“I wanted to...” Ron said at the same time as Harry started to talk.

“You first,” Harry said. He didn’t mind waiting to reveal his secret.

“I wanted to talk to you about the battle. Specifically, about the snakes.” Ron looked around, then cast a privacy spell.

“The enchanted snakes Voldemort sent after us?” Harry asked.

“Yes. The ones you ordered away.” Ron was staring at him.

Harry nodded. “Yes?”

His friend looked confused. “The ones you talked to.”

“Yes?” Why was Ron being so weird?

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were a Parselmouth?”

“A what?”

“A wizard able to talk to snakes. You were hissing at them.”

“What?” Harry stared at him. “I was talking normally to them.” Shouting, actually.

“I heard you hiss, mate. And they obeyed you.”

“That was because I had a connection to the Dark Lord,” Harry said, pointing at his scar. “It’s…” He blinked. “You think I can talk to any snake? I remember a trip to the zoo, and a snake talking to me…”

“You’re a Parselmouth then, mate. That’s not good.” Ron leaned forward. “People usually think that’s a sign of a dark wizard. If anyone hears about this, it’ll be bad.”

Harry closed his eyes and muttered a few curses. “Especially with Malfoy being so popular.” If Malfoy managed to frame him as a dark wizard… Merlin’s beard, since Harry had technically used blood magic, he might even be unable to prove his innocence.

“Better watch your mouth when you’re around snakes,” Ron said. “You don’t want to hiss in the middle of Care for Magical Creatures.”

“I didn’t even notice that I wasn’t speaking English!” Harry said through clenched teeth.

“Then you’ll need to learn how to notice that,” Ron shot back.

“I’ll need a snake for that.” They hadn’t learned how to conjure snakes yet. Moody had said snakes were too slow, usually, and too weak to be effective in a fight. Good for ambushing your enemy, and assassinating the unwary, though.

“I can ask Luna to get one,” Ron said. “She’s good with animals.”

With weird animals, Harry thought. But it would be rude to say that. “Thanks.” He sighed and cleared his throat. “There’s something I have to tell you, too.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Ever heard about the Elder Wand?” Harry raised it and wiggled it in Ron’s face until he saw his friend’s eyes widen. “Yes.”

“Merlin’s arse!”

“That was my thought, too,” Harry said.

*****​

London, Greenwich, January 10th, 1997

“You got your pardon.” Mr Fletcher nodded at the scroll Hermione Granger had dropped on his table right after entering the flat. “Heard it on the wireless.”

She scoffed. “That was never in doubt once Malfoy asked for it.”

“Still remarkable that they managed to grant it within five days,” he commented as he read the parchment. “Without mistakes, even.”

“They wanted to pass it before Dumbledore’s funeral.” Hermione took a seat at the table.

“And it covers all of your past crimes - which includes the heists we did for Albus. Quite clever,” Mr Fletcher said.

“They probably simply copied Malfoy’s pardon.” Something, she had realised, that Dumbledore might have arranged. He might even have thought that it outweighed the benefits of clearing her name. Might. She didn’t want to think about that right now. “Speaking of Dumbledore’s funeral: Will you be attending?”

“No.”

She didn’t frown, even though his reply had been rather curt. “Is your prosthetic working?”

“Like a charm.” He chuckled at his own joke, but it sounded forced to her.

“I thought it took longer to craft a tailored prosthetic,” Hermione said, tilting her head to look at Mr Fletcher’s left leg. Much longer.

“Like with wizards, money helps things along.” He grinned and pulled his trouser leg up, exposing shiny metal and plastic.

“And some spells, I wager.”

He nodded. “I didn’t want to be useless and stuck with crutches any longer than necessary.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not useless.”

“I got crippled by a senile bigot because I got sloppy.” He was scowling now. “I’m worse than useless.”

“That was bad luck.”

He scoffed. “Only a fool blames bad luck for his mistakes.”

“And only a fool doesn’t learn from their mistakes,” she quoted him.

He chuckled without mirth again. “And I’m no fool.” He sat down in his favourite chair. “I learned my lesson.” He knocked on his artificial lower leg. “Can’t burglarise anything any more. At least nothing important.”

“We can enchant it,” she protested. They could add a lot of spells, add a lot of functionality.

“Aye, we could. And we will.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “But it won’t be as good as my old one. And I won’t be as good as I was.” He looked straight at her. “I’d be more hindrance than help to you, like this.”

“That’s not true! You’re still the best thief I know!”

He shook his head. “But I’m not the best thief I know. Not any more.”

“But…” She bit her lower lip. How could she convince him that he wasn’t useless? She needed him! “You just lost a foot, not your head! You still have all your experience! And your wand arm!”

He laughed at that. “I do, and I’m still willing to teach you all I know, as I promised. But I would only drag you down on a real heist.” He shook his head, then met her eyes again. “I’m not going to be responsible for your arrest. Or worse.”

Oh. That was his problem, she suddenly realised. She should have known. “But…” she trailed off, unsure what to say.

“Besides,” he nodded at her pardon, “you can return to Hogwarts now.”

“Yes.” She slowly nodded. Professor - Headmistress, now - McGonagall had already sent her a letter. “Yes, I can.”

But did she want to?

*****​

Hogwarts, January 11th, 1997

“...and I think I speak for everyone here when I say that Albus Dumbledore will be terribly missed. As Headmaster of Hogwarts, as Chief Warlock, as Supreme Mugwump, he worked tirelessly to help everyone! I would not call myself a close friend of his, but…”

Harry Potter was proud that he managed not to roll his eyes during that twit Selwyn’s speech. “It’s clear that he’s the most senior member of the Wizengamot - he’s already senile,” he muttered.

Romilda, sitting next to him, leaned over. “Your speech was much better. And much shorter.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. It had been a struggle, too, with everyone and their dog trying to tell him what to say. Hermione had written a three-foot draft - and a four-foot one for Sirius. He leaned forward, startling Romilda, and glanced at his friend, sitting on the other side of Sirius and Jeanne. She didn’t look angry at his editing, but that could be deceptive. “I wish Remus and Tonks were here,” he whispered, straightening.

“They’re still in St Mungo’s?”

“Yes. Dark curses.” The prognosis was good for both - but they would have scars. He squeezed Romilda’s hand when he saw her wince.

After another five minutes, Selwin finally finished his speech, and Mr Doge - one of Dumbledore’s oldest friends, Harry had learned, who had given a truly moving and also short speech - stepped forward. “Thank you, Matthias.”

Selwyn solemnly nodded as he returned to his seat, but Doge was already addressing the crowd assembled in front of the monolith that would mark Dumbledore’s grave on the grounds of Hogwarts. “Now rise, everyone, so we can salute our friend and teacher as he takes his last journey.”

Harry stood and raised his wand, together with hundreds of wizards and witches.

“Lumos!” Doge said as Dumbledore’s coffin - a stone sarcophagus - started to float and slowly travel towards the opening in the monolith.

“Lumos!”

Hundreds of light shone - in many different colours, exactly as Dumbledore had wished in his last will and testament. ‘Something to brighten the day’, he had called it.

Harry kept staring at the coffin until it disappeared into the polished white marble.

*****​

Hermione Granger slowly lowered her wand when she saw the marble seal itself up behind the Headmaster’s coffin. “Nox,” she whispered, cancelling her spell, then took a deep breath. Dumbledore’s grave was sealed. It was over. The funeral. The war. An era, even. Probably. It certainly felt like it.

“Let’s go to the Great Hall!” Sirius said. “I’m starving!”

She glared at the dog - couldn’t he show some decorum, instead of thinking with his stomach?

He frowned at her. “Don’t give me that look! Dumbledore would have wanted us to enjoy the buffet. He said so in his will.”

She didn’t doubt that. “It’s still unbecoming,” she said. This was a funeral, after all.

“And I’m still hungry! Let’s fetch Harry and the others and go!”

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head, then looked around for Harry, Ron and the others. And Harry’s little girlfriend. Seeing the little witch cling to Harry’s arm as if he’d float away if she weren’t weighing him down almost made her reconsider her decision. Luna certainly didn’t act like that with Ron.

She was shaking her head when she approached them. “Hey! Sirius wants to head to the Great Hall.” She nodded towards Hogwarts.

“Good idea! I’m starving!” Ron said, then frowned as if he didn’t know why she was glaring at him. Boys!

*****​

Half an hour later, Hermione Granger finally managed to be alone with her two best friends. She felt bad for jinxing the mistletoe at the side entrance to the Great Hall, prompting Luna to search for Nargles in the corridor behind it. She didn’t feel bad for casting a Full-Bladder Hex at Harry’s girlfriend, though. That witch simply couldn’t take a hint.

She sighed and cast a privacy spell. Harry and Ron immediately tensed. “What’s up?” Ron asked.

“Was there any trouble at the Ministry? Or with registering at Hogwarts?” Harry looked around, presumably for the Headmistress.

“No,” Hermione said. “I just need to tell you something in private.” As nice as Luna was, Hermione wasn’t certain that the girl could keep a secret. She took a deep breath. “I’m not returning to Hogwarts.”

*****​

 

Chapter 29: Relationships

Wiltshire, Malfoy Manor, Britain, January 11th, 1997

Narcissa Malfoy née Black kept her - expected - expression of sorrow and mourning until Draco, Lucius and herself returned to their home. It wouldn’t have done to even hint at a smile when attending Dumbledore’s funeral. Not when the mudblood-loving fool was currently considered Britain’s greatest hero.

Once she was in the entrance hall of her manor, though, she dropped the facade and schooled her features into a cool and composed expression - as befitted a pureblood witch of good breeding. She had not forgotten what her mother and aunt had taught her: a daughter of an Old Family was always in control - of her appearance, her temper and her magic.

“So, with Dumbledore dead and you ruling the Ministry, can I finally teach Potter and the blood traitors their place again?”

Even if her darling son made it difficult at times. Like today. Draco was a wonderful wizard and a loving child, but his temper suited a Gryffindor more than a Slytherin.

“No, Draco,” Lucius said in a firm voice.

“Why not? You said that the Dark Lord had betrayed us and was worse than Dumbledore. That’s why you worked with the Headmaster! But now they are both dead!”

She smiled at Draco. “They are dead, and your father is the most influential wizard in the Wizengamot, but that doesn’t mean that he can do as he wishes.” Fudge might be pliable, but manipulating the Minister still took a certain amount of finesse and caution.

“Why not?”

She frowned at him. “Do not whine. It doesn’t become the scion of the Malfoy family. And it doesn’t fit the last pureblood heir of the Black family either.” Unless her rotten cousin managed to beget a child on his French whore.

He sulked, but he didn’t whine.

“I’ll explain,” Lucius said. “Let’s go to the salon. Dobby!”

A moment later, the house-elf’s voice piped up from behind a curtain. “Yes, Master?”

“We’ll be having a few refreshments in the salon.”

“Yes, Master.”

When they arrived a few minutes later in the salon, three trays with tea and confectionery were laid out next to the sofa and Lucius’s seat, though Narcissa could just discern the movement of the curtain in the corner. Dobby meant well, but he was no Kreacher.

He did brew acceptable tea, at least. And could cook well, Narcissa reminded herself while nibbling on a scone as Lucius filled her cup.

“So… why can’t we oust the Weasleys?”

She frowned at her son to remind him to wait patiently for his parents to start talking as Lucius cleared his throat.

“In fact, we took you home with us for this afternoon to discuss that exact topic. It goes without saying that you shouldn’t tell anyone that we didn’t stay in Hogsmeade.” Lucius nodded and took a sip from his cup with perfect poise. “While my actions in the conflict with the Dark Lord have earned our family a great deal of prestige and influence, Dumbledore’s heroic death and Potter killing the - although greatly weakened - Dark Lord means that Black and his ilk have profited from the battle’s outcome as well.”

Which was a very unfortunate outcome in Narcissa’s opinion. Her husband had been the one to risk his life and soul daily for a year to spy on the Dark Lord. He had been the one who had lured that madman into the ambush, at even greater risk. And, most importantly, he had been the one to reveal the Dark Lord’s Horcruxes to Dumbledore. Without Lucius, the Dark Lord would have still been as immortal as he had thought himself to be when he walked into the Ministry. All Sirius had done was absorb a few curses in the battle while casting some of his own - as typical for a Gryffindor. He hadn’t even had the grace to die heroically and leave the Black family fortune to Narcissa.

“But shouldn’t you have moved against them, then, instead of helping Black’s mudblood return to Hogwarts?” Draco put his teacup down and Narcissa refilled it with a flick of her wand.

“I did, Draco.” Lucius smiled. “It may look like I supported Black, but instead, I have hurt him. The Wizengamot is now convinced that pardoning Black’s thieving pet mudblood was only done as a favour to Black. Taking notes and handling mail for your betters certainly is not a heroic deed worthy of redemption.”

“Ah!”

Narcissa made a mental note to give Draco a few more lessons in hiding his reactions. He was too open with his emotions.

“So, not only will many of my ‘esteemed colleagues’ feel that Black spent a sizeable amount of the political capital he gained from his own actions during the battle on helping out his mudblood mistress, but I also countered his plans to have the mudblood’s case reviewed.”

“Reviewed?”

“There was a slight possibility that the girl’s conviction might have been overturned, depending on what evidence Dumbledore had collected during the years since,” Lucius explained. “While I made sure that our part in those events was covered by the blanket pardon Dumbledore granted me in exchange for spying on the Dark Lord, certain friends of ours would not have fared as well.”

Draco blinked, then nodded. “Pansy, Daphne, Tracey and Bulstrode.”

“Their families,” Narcissa cut in, “would have been forced to return the compensation they were awarded.”

“By granting the mudblood a pardon, though,” Lucius went on, “I nipped that in the bud.”

And, Narcissa knew, he had hastened the decline of Sirius’s influence.

“But the mudblood’s still returning to Hogwarts.” Draco huffed. “And everyone thinks Potter is a big hero!”

“That couldn’t have been avoided,” Lucius retorted. “Which is why I didn’t oppose it. Never waste your gold and influence fighting the inevitable, Draco. Always go with the tide and use the currents to your best advantage.”

Draco nodded, but Narcissa knew that it would be best to drive this lesson home. “Which, in this case, means that those families are in our debt twice - once for your father saving them from prosecution, and once for saving their reputation and their gold.” It was a very good thing that no one but the Dark Lord had known the identities of all his followers.

“Ah!” Draco smiled widely.

Narcissa knew that smile - and frowned at him. “That does not mean that you should antagonise them, Draco, by wounding their pride. All of them are Old Families, and while they owe us, that does not mean we can order them around.” Not without causing so much resentment that it wasn’t worth the trouble. Her son pouted, and so she smiled and reached over to ruffle his hair.

“Don’t fret, Draco. Their families will be aware of these debts, and I have no doubt that they’ll instruct your friends to treat you accordingly. A lighter touch will net you more than acting like a Gryffindor.”

Judging by the horrified expression on her son’s face at being compared to Gryffindors, this was a lesson he would not forget. Unlike, also obvious due to his grimace, his last lesson on keeping his emotions hidden.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 11th, 1997

“She doesn’t want to return to Hogwarts!” Harry Potter gestured with his left arm as he paced inside the area of his privacy spell in the Gryffindor common room. He barely noticed one of the lower years nearby flinching - and didn’t care; it had taken days to get the other students to stop bothering him about the battle in the Ministry. “She’s finally pardoned, her expulsion reversed, but she doesn’t want to return!” He didn’t understand Hermione. She loved school! And she loved Hogwarts! He turned to stare at Ron. “Why?”

“Well, she said that she wouldn’t fit in any more,” Ron answered. “That she’s used to…”

“I know what she said,” Harry interrupted him. “But I don’t believe it! She was mad about her O.W.L. results, and blamed them on having a tutor! And now she refuses to come to the best school in the world?” She couldn’t really prefer a tutor to Hogwarts! Especially with Snape gone.

“She’d be behind in a few subjects,” Ron retorted, but he was shrugging even before Harry could tell him off for that. “I don’t get it either, OK?”

Harry huffed. “She could easily catch up by the end of this year, and she’d be ready for seventh year. Probably be ahead of everyone, too.” He had told her that, too.

“Maybe she has a muggle boyfriend and doesn’t want to leave him?” Romilda said.

“She doesn’t have a boyfriend,” Harry corrected her. “She said so herself.” He shook his head. “No, that isn’t it. Maybe…” He clenched his teeth and cut himself off. Hermione wouldn’t be as petty as to abandon Hogwarts - to abandon the opportunity to join him and Ron, her best friends - just because she was an adult and didn’t want to have a curfew again.

“Maybe she misses her parents?” Luna asked.

He turned to look at her. She had stopped poking through the magazines the Gryffindors had collected in the room - ‘the Gryffindor library’, she had called it on her first visit - and smiled at him. “What?” he asked.

“Her parents left Britain half a year ago, didn’t they? So the Death Eaters wouldn’t be able to find them,” Luna said. Harry didn’t think they had ever told her the real reason for the Granger’s ‘vacation’. He glanced at Ron, who looked as surprised as Harry at that. So, no.

“Yes?” Harry didn’t know what Luna meant. “But they would be able to return now…” He blinked. Hermione’s parents would be able to return, but if she were at Hogwarts, she wouldn’t be able to see them. Ron still looked puzzled. As did Romilda.

Luna nodded several times. “She isn’t used to being away from her parents, is she?”

Harry sighed. That made some sense. Not too much, but some. He was glad he hadn’t blown up at Hermione when she had told them about her decision. Not too much, at least.

But he still wanted Hermione to return to Hogwarts. To be with him. And with Ron. But he couldn’t fault her for choosing to be with her parents instead. He’d do the same, after all.

Sighing, he sat down in his armchair, then gasped, surprised, when Romilda moved to sit in his lap after he had closed his eyes for a moment. He frowned at her, but she smirked, unimpressed, and wrapped her arm around his shoulders before kissing him.

He was already kissing her back when he heard Luna pipe up: “Good idea!”, followed by Ron making a surprised noise.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 14th, 1997

“This is Mr Biggles,” Luna said, holding out a small green snake to Harry Potter.

“Mr Biggles?” Harry stared at the snake.

“Yes?” the snake answered.

“That’s your name?”

“Yes?”

“Oh, what’s he saying?” Luna said.

“He confirmed that he’s Mr Biggles,” Harry answered.

“Of course he would!” Luna replied, nodding firmly.

“How did you know his name?” Harry asked.

“Well, he looks like a Mr Biggles, doesn’t he?” she answered.

Harry decided not to pry further. The snake’s name didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he learned how not to speak Parseltongue whenever he saw a snake.

Which, he soon found out, wasn’t as easy as he had thought.

After an hour of fruitless attempts to not hiss at Mr Biggles, he handed him back to Luna. “Thank you.”

She smiled at him and cooed at the snake. “Bye-bye, Mr Biggles. You will now be staying with your new friend, Harry.” She patted the snake’s head with one finger, then smiled at Harry. “Take good care of him, he’s a nice snake.”

Harry blinked. He opened his mouth to explain that he couldn’t keep a snake with him - he was a Gryffindor, and even if he managed to hide Mr Biggles, he couldn’t risk accidentally outing himself, but Ron was shaking his head behind Luna.

Harry took the snake back with a forced smile.

He had to talk to Sirius. Or Hermione.

*****​

Longford, Heathrow Airport, Britain, January 27th, 1997

“Dad! Mum!”

Hermione Granger’s parents had barely made it out of the arrival gate when she jumped them - literally, in her dad’s case.

“Ooof!” He staggered back, almost stumbling into their trolley in the process, before he recovered his balance and managed to return her hug. “Careful! You’re not as little as you were when we left.”

She ignored his comment and squeezed a little harder, then released him and hugged her mother. “Mum!”

“Hermione!”

Both were wiping tears from their eyes after Hermione released them.

“Well, that’s a good way to start making up for cutting our vacation short!” Dad said, but when Hermione pouted at him she couldn’t help but notice that his eyes also looked rather wet. “I’m joking.”

“You’re trying to joke,” she corrected him. “Let’s go; the car’s waiting.”

“The car?”

“Sirius hired a limousine. With a chauffeur,” she added. Her parents exchanged a glance, and Hermione sighed. “I tried telling him that we’d be fine with a cab.” She shrugged. “You know how he is.”

“I guess we should be grateful that he didn’t remodel the house in our absence,” Dad said.

She flinched.

“Dear, that was your cue to laugh.” Mum was frowning now.

Hermione sighed. “We just improved its security.” Mostly. The escape tunnels were hidden and wouldn’t inconvenience anyone. And they needed more shelves for the books she had bought anyway. Now if only there were a way to get the telly working inside wards...

Two hours later, they were sitting at the dining table - also new - and drinking tea. Hermione rolled her eyes. “Stop griping about the furniture! Or the tea set!” It wasn’t as if she had taken the new additions from the loot from her heists - she knew better than that.

Mum sighed. “It’s just… we already owe Mr Black so much.”

“I owe him so much,” Hermione corrected her. “You don’t owe him anything.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree about that,” Dad said.

She frowned at him, but if he hadn’t seen reason after a discussion lasting half an hour in the cab, reiterating her arguments once again wouldn’t do much good. “So,” she changed the subject, “you know that the Dark Lord is dead, and the danger from his followers is mostly gone.”

“Mostly.”

She nodded at him. “Yes, mostly. The Ministry’s still looking for surviving moles, but we can safely assume that none of them are willing to risk exposing themselves by avenging their master.” They would have been ordered to fight in that case - Voldemort had had to resort to mercenaries to bolster his ranks.

“I don’t think there would be much risk to them in going after a pair of muggles.”

Hermione didn’t wince. Her mum was sharp. “No, but that’s where the enhanced security comes in.”

“I thought that would mean we couldn’t use electronics inside the house.” Dad wasn’t slow either.

“Only wards have that effect. But Sirius hired a pair of wizards as guards for you.” She saw her parents’ expression and hastily continued. “Not like bodyguards. They’re just keeping an eye on the house and the office - you know, patrolling. Checking out the neighbours, casting alarm charms at night…”

Judging by the way Mum was pressing her lips together and Dad was looking for his scotch, it was time to change the subject again.

“Also, while I’ve received a pardon and my expulsion was reversed, I will not be returning to Hogwarts. I’ll stay in London with you, and continue my studies with my tutor and work for Sirius.” And she would be able to visit muggle London and Diagon Alley whenever she wanted, instead of being confined to Hogwarts. Officially, at least - it wasn’t as if she couldn’t already come and go as she pleased at night.

Hermione smiled brightly at them. Fortunately, they took that news very well - much better than Harry and Ron had - and she didn’t have to explain her real reasons for not returning to Hogwarts.

Because her parents wouldn’t have reacted well to her planning to finish her training as a professional thief. Not at all.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 30th, 1997

“...and I want you to write two feet about the effects of Stunners on a Shield Charm for next week.”

Harry Potter didn’t groan at the homework assignment, unlike most of the class. Nor did he rush out of the Defence classroom as soon as he had written down the instructions. Instead, he waited until everyone but Ron and himself had left.

“Do you have questions about the lesson?” Remus asked as he cast a quick Mending Charm on the training dummy Seamus had accidentally scorched during the lesson and floated it back to where the rest of them were stored.

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head.

“We learned that over a year ago,” Ron added.

Harry nodded - Remus had taught them that himself, after all.

“You still have to write the essay,” Remus said.

Harry rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment; he and Ron had argued at length that they should be allowed to skip such homework, but Remus hadn’t budged. Apparently, with Voldemort dead, they didn’t need special exemptions any more.

“Just because you can use it in practice doesn’t mean you can skimp on the theory; both are required for your N.E.W.T.s,” Remus continued. “But if you don’t have any questions about the essay, what questions do you have?”

Harry quickly cast a privacy charm. “Did Tonks get our copies of the Auror handbook?”

Remus frowned at him. “It’s barely been a week since she returned to work, and you expect her to violate regulations and copy manuals for you? And, anyway, why would you think that I would know anything about that?”

“Please,” Harry said. “We saw you together in St Mungo’s.”

Remus narrowed his eyes. “Did you use your Cloak to spy on us?”

Harry grinned. “No. I was bluffing, but you just confirmed it.” Sirius had told him, but Harry’s godfather wasn’t the most dependable source where relationships were concerned. He still claimed that Hermione had a crush on Harry.

“You make a cute couple,” Ron added. “Luna said so.”

Harry knew that this wasn’t the time to make jokes about matching scars. Even though Remus had claimed that a few more scars wouldn’t matter given how many he had already had before the Battle of the Ministry when Sirius had joked about witches thinking scars were sexy.

Remus snorted. “Luna also thinks Thestrals are cute.”

“Well…” Ron shrugged. “They have a sort of charm.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Harry said. He had no intention of feeding or petting the things - ‘getting to know them’, as Luna called it. “So… Tonks hasn’t brought you the manuals yet.”

“No, she hasn’t,” Remus said. “And you better not bother her about it - she’s still on light duty.”

The way Remus bared his teeth was not even close to a friendly smile and he was growling, Harry realised, despite the full moon having been a week ago. Harry nodded quickly before leaving with his friend.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to be patient,” Ron said outside the classroom. “Never thought I’d miss Moody’s lesson so much.”

Harry nodded. “I wish they’d finish the mole hunt at the Ministry.”

“Won’t help,” Ron said. “Percy told me that they lost too many Aurors; Moody’s going to be very busy until the next class finishes the Auror course.”

Harry sighed. “It’s weird, having so much free time and nothing to do. Other than school.”

“And spending time with our girlfriends,” Ron said.

“Right.”

*****​

When Harry Potter entered the Gryffindor common room with Ron, he found Romilda waiting for him. She stood as soon as she saw him and started to walk towards him. Her friends - Cerys and Carol - waved at him, and he nodded back at them before kissing his girlfriend. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She beamed at him. “Do you have Quidditch training later?”

He shook his head. “Not today. Do you want to do a little flying?”

She nodded. “I’d love to.”

“Unless you want to do something else,” Harry added belatedly.

“No, no. Let’s go flying!”

“Alright. Let me drop off my books and get my broom.” Harry kissed her again, then went up the stairs.

When he dropped his book bag on his bed, he saw Ron stuffing a chess board into his pocket. He looked at it, then at Ron.

“Luna and I are going to play a few games of exchange chess. We’re going to trounce Cho and Marietta,” Ron answered with a grin.

“I’m going flying with Romilda,” Harry said.

“You’re lucky that she loves flying as much as you do,” Ron said. “Luna likes playing chess, but not as often as I’d like.”

Harry grinned and waved as Ron left, then went and grabbed his Quidditch goggles for Romilda - the enchantments on his glasses were good enough for flying.

Maybe some Quidditch goggles would make a good Valentine gift for Romilda, Harry thought as he left his room. As often as they went flying together, she certainly could use some.

*****​

London, Merton, January 31st, 1997

Hermione Granger loved that her parents were back from their ‘protective vacation’, as her dad called it, and that she was once again living with them - part-time, at least. While she was a witch and would never seriously contemplate abandoning magic or the magical world, she had missed being able to watch the BBC at home and use a computer. And being able to explore the rapidly growing ‘Internet’, as it was called - even though her collection of books had finally caught up and then exceeded her original collection, and she had usually bought at least The Times while staying at Grimmauld Place.

However, shopping for groceries as a muggle didn’t fall amongst those parts of muggle culture that she had missed. Passing through aisles stuffed with goods, most of them things she didn’t need nor want, listening to fragments of pop songs when passing people who had to be deaf already judging by the volume of their headphones and trying to get around the other customers of the supermarket who were blocking the aisles was testing her patience. It would be so easy to simply summon everything she needed. Or delegate the whole task to Kreacher, if this were a shop in Diagon Alley.

She should never have volunteered to do the grocery shopping when Mum had called and told her that she’d be late today - a boy had had an accident on the playground that had smashed his front teeth. Something magic would have been able to fix in five minutes, too.

She grabbed the last item on her list - olive oil - and proceeded to steer her shopping trolley towards the checkout, cutting off the old lady who had spent far too many minutes deciding between two brands of detergent a little earlier, in the process blocking Hermione. Her smile at that small piece of payback - the woman was buying dog food, too! - vanished as soon as she turned the corner of the last aisle and saw that only two tills were staffed, both with a long queue of waiting customers.

Five minutes worth, maybe ten - why were people doing their weekly shopping on a Friday afternoon? Hermione sighed as she picked the left queue, then bit her lower lip. Could she risk getting a book out of her enchanted pocket? A glance upwards told her that she couldn’t - there were cameras. She should have brought a purse large enough - before extending it, of course - for a decent-sized book. Sighing, she looked at the newspaper stand at the till then clenched her teeth. Tabloids that made The Quibbler look like The Times. She closed her eyes and sighed again, more loudly.

“I would offer you my spot, but I don’t think it would help you much.”

What? Hermione looked to her right. A boy - a young man, she corrected herself; he was about her age - was smiling at her, leaning on his own shopping trolley.

He gestured at his queue. “I don’t think it’ll move faster than yours.”

“Ah.” She smiled and nodded, politely, as she looked him over. Beige woollen sweater, polo shirt beneath it, she could spot the collar, and black jeans. Trainers. Brown hair, fashionably cut. Handsome face. She wasn’t staring. Not long enough for him to notice, at least. “As my mum would say: Your own queue is always the slowest.”

“That’s a rather egocentric view, don’t you think?”

Hermione nodded. “I told her so, too.” She had been ten at the time, too, and her parents hadn’t let her forget it for years. She smiled at the memory. And at the man.

He smiled back. “Are you in a hurry? Late for a date?”

“No,” she answered. Was he checking if she was single? “Just impatient. I should have brought a book.”

He laughed. “I hope it won’t take that long.”

“Why? Are you late for a date?” She tilted her head, just a little. Not quite like Miss Merriweather.

He shook his head. “No.”

Her queue advanced, and she pushed her trolley forward, then turned to face him again. She saw his eyes look up, at her face - they had been wandering over her turtleneck and jeans. Briefly, at least. “No date on a Friday?” she asked. She wasn’t using Miss Merriweather’s smile. But she wasn’t just smiling politely.

He shook his head. “No.” He paused for a moment. “Although I’ve heard that The Frighteners is a good movie.”

Did he expect her to ask him out on a date? “What’s it about?” she asked.

“Someone who can see ghosts and has to deal with a ghost who murders people,” he explained as his queue advanced.

She frowned - ghosts couldn’t affect the living. The most they could do would be scare people and hope they had an accident.

“It’s a horror comedy,” he added after he had stopped his trolley again. “A friend of mine said it was quite funny.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “I haven’t been to the movies in a few months…” she trailed off and smiled at him.

“Would you like to go watch the movie with me this evening?”

She bit her lower lip - she had planned to have dinner with her parents. On the other hand, they had said that she should go out more often, so they couldn’t really complain about such a change of plans. “Does that include dinner?”

“Of course!”

That would make it a date. She belatedly realised that she didn’t know his name. Nor he hers. She rectified that: “Hermione Granger.”

“Paul Simms,” he said. “Hermione?”

She had expected that reaction. “From ‘A Winter’s Tale’. My parents love Shakespeare,” she explained.

“Ah. I bet you have to explain that to almost everyone you meet.”

She nodded. “Oh, yes.” Her own queue advanced again.

“So… can I have your number?”

She pulled out her notebook and wrote down her address and phone number, then noticed that he was staring at her behind. No, her back pocket, which was just a little too small for her notebook. “See something you like?” she asked, channelling Miss Merriweather this time, to distract him.

It worked - he blushed.

And, after a moment, so did she.

*****​

London, Merton, January 31st, 1997

“Italian?” Hermione Granger asked when she saw the restaurant Paul had chosen for their date. She noted with a little relief that she wasn’t underdressed for the venue - she had picked a nice set of slacks and a tighter cashmere turtleneck for the occasion.

“It offers pasta, pizza and meat dishes - something for almost everyone. A safer bet than Asian or French,” Paul explained as he opened the door for her.

“Smart. Obviously, this isn’t your first date.” She nodded with a grin.

“Can I answer that without destroying whatever good impression of me made you accept my invitation?” He smiled, but she didn’t think he was as confident as he tried to appear.

Instead of answering, she laughed, and his smile grew more relaxed. The head waiter asking for their reservation prevented further conversation until they had taken their seats.

“And what about you? Are you a dating expert?” he asked.

“I haven’t been dating much.” Not at all, unless attending balls in disguise counted. But she didn’t need darting experience to know that even hinting at her training to lead men on to gather intel wouldn’t go over well. “I was too busy studying and working.”

He nodded. “What are you studying?”

“I’m working on my A Levels.” It wasn’t much of a lie - the N.E.W.T.s were the magical equivalent, after all.

He blinked, looking surprised. “And you’re already working? I mean…” he trailed off, looking confused and a little embarrassed.

He didn’t ask how old she was, so it was probably not that. But Hermione remembered that he had seen her house and her parents’ car when he had come to pick her up. “My family had financial troubles a few years ago. I started working part-time at the time to help out, and by the time we had solved our problems, I had become used to earning my own money.”

“Ah.” As he nodded in apparent understanding, the waiter arrived with the menu, and they ordered their drinks. They didn’t take long to order - Paul was obviously familiar with the menu and picked the pizza of the week, and Hermione quickly decided on a salad and lasagna al forno.

“What kind of work do you do?” he asked after the waiter had brought their drinks and taken their order.

“I’m the secretary of an independently wealthy gentleman who prefers to focus on his French mistress and his hobbies rather than on his investments,” Hermione said. His obvious surprise made her smile. “It sounds more important than it is - I mainly handle his correspondence and schedule. And remind him of his appointments when needed.” Which was all too often the case - the dog probably enjoyed riling her up like that. She watched him, but he didn’t seem to think there was more to her work. Unless he was far better at hiding his thoughts than he had appeared so far.

“I am working part-time as a clerk at a bank myself, and I’m studying economics at South Thames College,” Paul said. “I just started, though.”

“Both working and studying?”

“Yes. Is it easy to balance school and your work? I wouldn’t have managed during school myself. Not at my current job.”

“Oh, I’m not going to school any more; I have a private tutor helping me to prepare for my A Levels.” That probably made him think that her parents were spending more on her tutor than she was earning as a secretary.

“Ah.”

“It’s not ideal, but I like being able to schedule my own hours - mostly. I was in a boarding school for a while but that… didn’t work out.” Hermione wasn’t lying. Not really.

He nodded. “I never went to a boarding school. Pretty much stayed in Merton all my life - even my own flat is just a ten-minute walk from my parents’ home.”

“My parents just returned from a six-month vacation in Australia,” Hermione said. “I’m glad they made it home safely.”

“Ah, yes. Australia. Deadliest continent in the world. Most of its flora and fauna want to kill you, and the rest are venomous.”

She almost corrected him - he probably meant ‘poisonous’ as he’d included plants - but held her tongue. “They weren’t reckless or stupid.”

“My parents would say that that’s a teenager’s job.”

She snorted. “My parents say I went straight from toddler to twenty going on thirty.” She blushed a little, remembering. “I had a tendency to be a know-it-all.” She wasn’t, not any more. Or not as much, at least. Despite the dog’s claims.

He laughed. “Is that the result or the source of your love of books?” At her glance, he elaborated: “You mentioned you wanted to bring a book to the supermarket and your home had a lot of bookshelves.”

“I can’t really say, if I’m honest - as far back as I can remember, I’ve always loved books.” She was about to go into her favourites but refrained. “Do you like to read?”

“Well, despite my teachers and professors’ best attempts to make me hate reading, I like historical novels - and history books.”

She beamed at him. They spent the rest of the meals talking about historical novels, and whether or not they should be as historically accurate as possible.

*****​

“So, what did you think of the movie?” Paul asked three hours later, as they were leaving the theatre.

Hermione Granger frowned. “I didn’t like how they portrayed the ghosts.”

“I thought the special effects were quite good.”

“Not that,” she corrected him. “I didn’t like that they had the ghosts being able to affect physical things and people.” That was completely wrong - ghosts couldn’t do that.

“Well, the movie wouldn’t have worked if they couldn’t affect people. Kind of hard to murder someone if you can’t touch them or do anything else,” Paul replied.

“Not necessarily. You could surprise and shock someone by suddenly appearing next to them and yelling. Timed correctly that could make them have an accident. Or a heart attack,” Hermione said. “And even if you didn’t manage that, you could cause them to suffer sleep deprivation and ultimately drive them to suicide by not letting them rest at all.”

“You have given this some thought, I see.” He grinned. “If I read about an unexplained murder, I’ll know who to suspect.”

“That just means that you’ll be my first victim!” She snorted, then sniffed. “After all, you picked a horror movie to scare me into your arms, didn’t you?”

He laughed at that, then slipped his arm around her shoulders - as he had during the movie. “Well, you didn’t object to my pick, did you?”

“No, I didn’t.” She leaned into him as they walked back towards her home - and his; they were almost neighbours, as she had found out. Although she had expected that since they had met in the local supermarket.

Ten minutes later, they were standing in front of the door to her home.

“Well, I had fun,” he said. “I’d like to do that again. Go on a date, I mean.”

She nodded. “I had fun as well.” She didn’t know many people with whom she could discuss muggle books. Not in that much depth, at least.

“So… next Friday?”

She was tempted to say ‘How about tomorrow?’, but that would have been too eager. So she nodded, then wet her lips and kept looking at him - he was slightly taller than her.

And when he leaned forward to kiss her, she didn’t object to that either.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 2nd, 1997

Standing in the hallway outside the Gryffindor common room, Harry Potter tapped his glasses, activating their enchantment, then checked the corridors. He didn’t spot anyone hiding nearby - no ambushes. He hadn’t expected any, but you could never be sure. Not even after Voldemort’s defeat. Two witches strolled past - Ravenclaws - and he almost checked them out. He controlled himself in time, though. While Moody might disagree, Harry had come to doubt that seeing through robes made him any safer; almost everyone carried a wand, and potions were not uncommon either. You couldn’t really tell an attacker from a harmless passer-by. And he hadn’t ever found anyone dangerous that way either.

It felt wrong, too. A little.

The door opened behind him, and he stepped to the side and turned, keeping his wand out. Romilda stood there, smiling at him. “Hi!”

“Ready to go flying?” he asked, patting his enchanted pocket, where his Firebolt rested.

She nodded and lifted her - not shrunken - broom. A Cleansweep Five. “Yes.”

“Let’s go then.” He offered her his left arm, and she took it.

He hadn’t turned the enchantment off - he was used to its effect by now, at least enough to be able to walk without blinding himself to his environment. Halfway to the gate, in the courtyard, he spotted a group of students. Slytherins. Half a dozen of them, with Draco Malfoy in their midst.

He frowned. He could change their route. The side door would be a bit of a detour, but he could explain it to Romilda as being more private. That, of course, would make them take even longer.

He scoffed. He had fought and defeated Voldemort; he wouldn’t turn tail at the sight of a bunch of idiots like Malfoy and his cronies.

He heard the git before he saw him: “...and Professor Slughorn has personally invited me to the first party of the Slug Club at Hogwarts in decades!”

Romilda giggled at hearing that.

“We’re invited as well,” Harry reminded her in a whisper.

“It’s still a silly name,” she retorted.

She giggled again as they rounded the corner.

“Professor Slughorn realises, of course, how important my father is, after the Battle of the Ministry, where he...”

As soon as the Slytherins - Parkinson, Nott, Greengrass, Davis and Zabini - spotted Harry and his girlfriend, they stiffened. Malfoy even stopped in mid-sentence. “Potter,” he said with a forced smile.

“Malfoy.” Harry nodded at him. “Telling tales about the battle against the Dark Lord? I don’t remember you being there.”

“My father was there!” Malfoy shot back.

“I don’t see him here,” Harry retorted. “I don’t see Crabbe or Goyle either, but we all know why they’re missing, don’t we?”

Malfoy hissed through clenched teeth and the rest of the Slytherins flinched. Parkinson glared at Harry.

“What?” Harry snorted. “Your father betrayed Voldemort. Did you honestly think they wouldn’t try to take revenge?”

“That’s none of your business,” Malfoy replied with his typical sneer.

“Since their fathers tried to kill my friends and me, I think it’s my business.” He scoffed. “Hell, I might have been the one to kill Crabbe’s father. I certainly couldn’t tell who I was fighting since they were all masked.”

That made them flinch even more, and he felt Romilda’s grip tighten on his arm. He waited a moment, but no one said anything in response. Perfect.

Smiling toothily, he nodded at the Slytherins again and walked away with Romilda.

*****​

An hour later, they set down again after a long but rather slow, by Harry Potter’s standards, aerial chase. He was the first to land, and he watched Romilda come in.

“Whew!” She said, handing over the broom shouldering her broom. “That was fun. But it was freezing.”

He frowned. “Did the Warming Charms fail?” She should have said so - he could have cast one that lasted.

“Mh.” She hugged him. “I need someone to warm me up.”

“Ah!” He returned her hug and rubbed her back.

A few kisses later, they were walking back to the school - to the side door, this time. “Did you have fun?”

“Of course!”

“We can do something other than flying if you want to.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I like flying!”

“Are you sure?”

“Why would I lie?”

Why, indeed. But if she loved flying, why didn’t she have better gear? The Cleansweep Five was a decent broom, but it was getting old. There were better brooms to be had - not too expensive either; it wasn’t as if her family was poor.

“As long as I can spend time with you I’m happy.” She was beaming at him, and they stopped outside the door for a quick - or not so quick - snog.

“I’m happy to hear that.” And he was. “But if you ever want to, well - explore the Forbidden Forest, for example, we can do that too.”

“We can do that if you want to.”

She was smiling at him, but he had to force himself to smile back. A little, at least.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 7th, 1997

“Here are your notes and your itinerary for the Wizengamot next week!” Hermione Granger announced, dropping a stack of parchment on Sirius’s desk. “If you have any questions, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Her employer eyed the parchment with the same expression a dog would have when confronted with a tiger. No wonder he had been happy about her decision not to return to Hogwarts, which would have meant she couldn’t work for him any more. Then he perked up. “Not staying for dinner? Hot date tonight?”

The dog’s wide, mocking smile just begged for a cat to rake his nose with her claws. But not today. Instead of teaching him a lesson, she smiled. “Yes.”

“What?”

He was gaping with such a flabbergasted expression that she glared at him. “I have a date this evening. Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to get a date if I wanted to?”

“No, no!”

Which, of course, meant ‘yes’. She scoffed and shook her head.

“Who is the lucky boy?” He had recovered and was leaning forward in his seat.

“A neighbour. I met him in the supermarket.”

“A muggle?” He was looking as if he were surprised again.

“Is there something wrong with muggles?” She narrowed her eyes at the dog.

“No. Just… I didn’t expect that.” He shook his head.

“Really?” She didn’t bother to hide her doubt. “Did you expect me to flirt with the Ministry staff when we visit the Wizengamot? Or go and ask out students in Hogsmeade?” She snorted at the idea.

“When you put it like that…” He pouted. “But isn’t it awkward dating someone who can’t know about the real you?”

“No more awkward than not telling Harry about what I did during the war.” And what she was planning to do, once she had completed her training.

“Ah, right.”

She rolled her eyes. He had been the one who told her to keep that a secret. Even though his reasons made sense - if one believed letting Harry become an Auror was as important as Sirius thought it was. “I’m heading home to get ready for my date now.”

Hermione felt surprisingly pleased to say that.

*****​

London, Merton, February 7th, 1997

“What did you think of the movie?” Hermione Granger asked as she and Paul were leaving the theatre.

“Hm.” Paul looked pensive. “It was nice, but a little too ‘family friendly’, you know what I mean?” It must have been a rhetorical question since he continued before she could answer: “Not much action, and a lot of feel-good clichés. The idealistic little girl against the evil investors, cute animals and the good people cheering the kid in a happy ending.” He shook his head. “It didn’t even have a real villain. No real danger at all.” He grinned at her. “All this for saving food with wings?”

“It’s not about geese,” Hermione retorted. “It’s about a young girl learning to fight for what she believes in. She overcomes all obstacles to protect those weaker than herself.” ‘Fly Away Home’ was a very uplifting movie.

Paul shrugged. “Not enough fighting for my taste. Not enough guns.” He grinned. “Family-friendly. I like a bit more blood and gore with my action.”

She was tempted to tell him that he wouldn’t be saying that if he had been in a real fight, but held her tongue. “The flying scenes were beautiful.” Flying an ultralight must be almost like flying on a broom, she thought - but with more comfortable seating arrangements and less agility.

He grinned again. “I prefer planes with guns on them in my movies.”

She snorted. “I prefer to fly instead of watching actors wave props around and playing soldiers.” Harry and Ron would agree with her, she knew.

He blinked. “Don’t tell me that you can fly!”

She almost winced, then forced herself to grin. “Well, not without a plane. Or a magic broom.”

That made him laugh. She smiled. “I would like to be able to, though.”

“Don’t we all?” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned into him. “But we’ll have to make do with the next best thing.”

“Which would be?”

“Dancing as if nobody's watching. I know a great club.”

“Lead the way.” It was certainly better than dissecting a movie.

An hour later, she found that kissing on the dance floor was better than dissecting a movie as well. Much better.

And snogging in dark corner of the club was even better.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 21st, 1997

Harry Potter ducked and Sirius’s stunner passed overhead, not even hitting his Shield Charm. He jumped forward, rolled over his shoulder, barely noticing another Stunner missing him, and cast a Piercing Curse followed by a Stunner at near point-blank range. His godfather’s shield shattered, and he went down a moment later.

A flick of his wand revived Sirius and Harry offered a hand to the groaning wizard to help him up. “That was a good session.”

Sirius frowned at him. “If I weren’t still suffering from the wounds I took at the Ministry, I’d have completely trounced you.”

“Pomfrey released you in perfect health over a month ago!” Harry retorted. He had won a few rounds fair and square!

“I’m talking about the wounds taken by attending the Wizengamot, and listening to idiots who couldn’t outwit a mountain troll,” Sirius said. “I’m suffering.”

Harry remembered his own encounter with a mountain troll as he shook his head. “Excuses, excuses.”

Sirius scoffed. “I’ll show you excuses next week.” He sat down on the bench near the door of the Defence classroom and summoned a bottle of Butterbeer. “So, how are you doing when you’re not abusing a wounded man? Or dumping snakes on your godfather? Everything’s alright? Any trouble with Tonks’s handbooks?”

Harry joined him and grabbed a bottle for himself. “Other than their size, they’re fine.” Studying the manuals would take more time than Ron and Harry had expected, but they had the time to spare, now that Voldemort was gone. “Slughorn’s a good teacher, but he’s a little too pushy about his club. McGonagall hasn’t found a replacement Transfiguration teacher yet, so she’s teaching as well as acting as Headmistress. But that’s not a really big change.”

Sirius nodded. “Yeah. She mostly let the prefects run things anyway.”

Harry shrugged. Dumbledore had left a lot of the school’s daily business to her, or so Harry had heard. “Malfoy’s acting as if he fought Voldemort himself, but that was to be expected.”

“His father’s the same.” Sirius scoffed. “Bigoted bastard.”

Harry didn’t disagree with the sentiment. Hermione would have corrected Sirius that neither Malfoy was technically a bastard. He took a sip from his own bottle. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Hm?”

“About Romilda.” Harry took another sip.

“Oh?” Sirius put his own bottle down.

“Things should be great. She’s always happy to see me, she likes flying with me, she doesn’t nag me, she doesn’t try to get me to drop my friends, and we snog a lot…” Harry sighed.

“That does sound great,” Sirius said.

“Yes. But…” Harry shrugged. “I just feel like… like something’s missing, you know?” Before Sirius could say something lewd, he went on: “She goes along with everything I say. And when I ask her if she wants to do something with me, we end up doing something I like.” He stood and started to pace. “When I mentioned exploring the Forbidden Forest as an example, she said OK.” He gestured. “I brought it up because Luna and Ron are doing that - Luna loves those excursions. But they are also playing chess, which Ron loves.”

Sirius rubbed his goatee. “So you don’t like being in charge all the time?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t like it. It feels as if she’s just going along with whatever I want. That makes the whole thing feel… wrong.” He shrugged. “As if it doesn’t matter at all what I want; she’ll just nod and do it.”

“As long as she can do you?”

He rolled his eyes at Sirius. “I just…” He sighed. “It sounds stupid, but it feels as if I’m doing all the work. Even if all I have to do is say something and she goes along with it. I just want more.” Something more. Something more like Luna and Ron had. Or what he had had with Ginny. Before the rows, at least.

“Ah.” His godfather nodded. “You’re not satisfied.” Harry rolled his eyes - he had just said that. “Well, if you’re not happy in a relationship, there are only two possible solutions: You break up with her, or you change her. But changing someone is hard. Very hard. Trust me.”

Harry snorted. “And what if I break up with Romilda? Get another girlfriend and hope she’s a better fit?”

“Yes.” Sirius grinned. “You’re still young. You’ll find the right witch yet! You’ll also discover that as you grow older, you change. And the witches change as well.”

That would have sounded far more convincing if Sirius wasn’t about to marry a witch about fifteen years younger than he was, Harry thought. He changed the subject. “So how is it going in the Wizengamot?”

Sirius scowled. “Not too well.”

“Can’t outwit wizards who are dumber than a troll?” Harry asked with a grin.

His godfather scoffed. “Malfoy’s Fudge’s best friend and doing all he can to undermine Arthur and Amelia in the Ministry. And he’s trying to control the Wizengamot. We might need you to make an appearance or two, to counter him. Or at least give an interview.”

“Alright.” Harry nodded. Compared to fighting Voldemort, playing the hero or giving an interview was easy. “Unless it’s Skeeter. I’m not talking to her.”

Sirius laughed. “No one wants you to talk to her.” He stood. “Well, it’s about time to return home.”

“Is Jeanne waiting for you?” Harry grinned. “Or did you try dumping your work on Hermione again?”

“I wish!” Sirius said. “Since she’s got herself a boyfriend, she’s not around as much as before.”

Harry blinked. “Hermione has a boyfriend?” Hermione?

“Yes. Some muggle boy she met at the ‘supermarket’.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. If that boy was taking advantage of his best friend...

*****​

Hogwarts, March 9th, 1997

“So, where do you want to go first?” Harry Potter asked when he climbed out of the carriages in Hogsmeade with Romilda.

“I don’t have anything specific in mind,” Romilda answered. Then she beamed at him. “Where do you want to go first?”

Harry almost sighed, then smiled and shrugged. “I don’t have any plans other than to spend time with you. So, you’ll have to decide where we go!” Let’s see her weasel out of that!

“Hm.” For a moment, she looked lost. Then she smiled again. “Let’s go to Spintwitches!”

That was the local Quidditch shop - well, they also sold other sporting goods, but who cared about anything other than Quidditch? - and they had been there before. Almost every Hogsmeade weekend, in fact. But at least Romilda had picked something by herself. So Harry nodded. “Alright.”

It didn’t take them long to make their way to the shop. There was no new broom on display - not that Harry would have expected one; the new models were usually revealed before the summer training camps started - but they had the new Quidditch Weekly. Harry smiled and went to grab one. Then he realised that Romilda had followed him.

“Oh, that’s Gwenog Jones!” she said, pointing at the cover. “She’s great.”

“Yes. There’s a poster of her on sale, too,” Harry said. He nodded at the poster, showing Jones hitting two Bludgers with one swing in the game against Puddlemere last autumn. That had decided the match.

“Are you gonna buy it?” Romilda asked.

“Do you want it?” He asked back.

She shook her head. “No, no, I’m good.”

It wasn’t expensive. It was just a poster. But if she didn’t want it, or didn’t want to say it… He nodded. “Alright. I’ll be right back.” He went to the counter, then glanced over his shoulder at her while the saleswitch operated the till.

Romilda was looking at him and smiling.

He forced himself to smile back at her.

*****​

London, Merton, March 24th, 1997

Harry Potter didn’t like Paul Simms. Not at all. He was smiling far too much. And the way he always had his arm around Hermione, as if she weren’t allowed to leave him…

“Another boring movie,” the man - the boy; he wasn’t that much older - said, theatrically sighing as he pointed at the poster above the entrance.

“Have you already seen it?” Ron asked. “I thought this was a new movie.”

“He hasn’t,” Hermione said, and Harry saw her elbow Paul in the side. She was dressed up a little, he'd noticed - she even wore makeup. It looked very nice on her. “But Paul prefers action movies, and this is a movie about a sports agent who wants to change his work.”

“A sports agent?” Ron looked lost. Maybe they shouldn’t have invited him to come along - but then it would have just been Harry with Hermione and her boyfriend. Which would have looked very bad. And Romilda didn’t know enough about muggles to fool Paul.

“A man who works for professional athletes, negotiating their contracts for them with the team owners,” Hermione explained.

“Ah.” Ron nodded. “I didn’t know that that was a profession.”

“You didn’t?” Paul looked surprised.

Harry shrugged. “Ron’s not interested in sports. He doesn’t even watch football.”

“Really? You don’t look the type.” Paul had that arrogant expression on his face again, Harry thought.

“The type?” Ron asked.

“You know, all intellectual, no sweaty sports.” Paul grinned. “Although Hermione isn’t a big fan of sports either.”

Harry almost smirked. Paul obviously had no clue about Hermione’s love for Quidditch.

“I prefer to do sports rather than watch others do them,” Hermione said. “Which is why Paul won’t jog with me: He’s the opposite.”

“Indeed - my weak male ego can’t stand being bested by a girl.” Paul laughed and pulled Hermione close to press a kiss on her head. “But I love watching her work out.”

Paul didn’t have to leer like that, Harry thought. And his jokes weren’t really funny. He didn’t like seeing Hermione blush like that either.

“And I’ll love watching this movie,” Hermione stated firmly. “All the critics say it’s great.”

“As long as we’re going to watch Star Wars next week,” Paul retorted.

Ron opened his mouth - presumably to ask about Star Wars - but Harry distracted him with an elbow to the ribs before he could start. “Yes. We’ll go watch that one as well.”

“With your girlfriends?” Paul sounded far too sceptical.

“Yes. Luna and Romilda will love it,” Harry said.

“Are you sure?” Ron asked.

“Yes.” Harry nodded. They could use privacy spells in the theatre, to keep Luna from disturbing the audience.

“Romilda?” Paul shook his head. “Who names their daughter Romilda? Or Luna?”

Harry wanted to hex the guy. And Ron looked as if he shared the feeling.

*****​

“You’ve got interesting friends.”

Hermione Granger glanced over her shoulder at Harry and Ron. They were still at the bus stop, looking at Paul and herself, but too far away to overhear Paul. Unless they were using spells. Which they weren’t. She waved, and they waved back.

“They’re the best friends you could wish for,” she said as they turned the corner. Who else would risk their lives for her?

“They seemed to be a little jealous.”

“Jealous?” She frowned. “Maybe they’re afraid that you’ll act like Harry’s first girlfriend. She was so insecure and possessive, she wanted him to stop spending time with Ron and me.”

“Well, I’m not insecure or possessive, am I?” He pulled her closer to him as he said so. “Just because I want to hold you and never let go again.”

She snorted. “As long as you don’t try to convince me not to visit them at their boarding school you’ll be fine.”

“I know better than to try to convince you to do anything you don’t want to,” he said.

She blushed slightly - she knew he wasn’t just talking about visiting her friends. But while she wasn’t averse to what he meant, they had been dating for less than two months. Although it wasn’t as if there were a minimum time you had to wait before you had sex. And if there were, two months would be fine. Or almost two months. And Mum had ensured that she knew how to use contraceptives. So she was prepared. If she felt ready. Which she usually did, when they were snogging. Still…

“Want to come to my flat for tea?”

“Sure,” she answered. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d be snogging on his couch. Or done more. But they hadn’t gone all the way. Yet.

She leaned into him as they walked towards his home.

*****​

“So, what did you think?”

What Hermione Granger thought was that that wasn’t a question you should ask after you’ve had sex with someone for the first time. She took a deep breath and glanced at Paul, lying next to her in his bed. He looked nervous. Which meant that an honest answer - ‘Not bad, but I expected more’ or ‘I hope it gets better with practice’ - was out of the question. She liked him. She didn’t want to lose him. He was a good kisser. She liked talking with him. And discussing - debating - the merits of various books and movies. Being honest wasn’t worth hurting his ego - while he was joking about it, he hadn’t taken well to her running him into the ground the first and only time they went jogging.

So she sat up, smiled at him and ran her fingers over his chest.

“I think that we’ll be late for work and uni tomorrow.”

*****​

Hogwarts, April 11th, 1997

“There you are!”

Harry Potter winced, then forced himself to smile before turning round. Romilda was standing in the door. “Hi.”

She stepped inside and closed the door. “Why did you want to meet me in the Defence classroom?” she asked as she walked towards him.

“It’s private. Remus isn’t around.”

“Oh!” She grinned, then looked at the desks and the open duelling area. “Doesn’t look too comfortable, though.”

Harry swished his wand and conjured two seats facing each other. “Let’s sit down.”

Romilda looked puzzled but took her seat. “A couch would be better, I think.”

“I don’t think so,” Harry said, then clenched his teeth as she started to frown. He pushed on. “I’m sorry.” She opened her mouth but didn’t say anything as he continued. “I don’t think that it’s working between us.” He shook his head, trying to both keep looking at her and ignoring the way her expression shifted from surprised to shocked. “It’s just…” He took a deep breath. He had prepared a little speech, but he couldn’t recall most of it. “I mean, I like you. Very much. But I don’t think we’re good for each other. I don’t think we’ll be happy if we stay together.”

“Why not?” There were tears in her eyes now.

Harry wanted to curse Moody’s lesson about watching an enemy’s eyes. “I can’t explain it. Not well. It’s just…” He sighed. “Something’s missing.” Honesty was best, or so he had heard, but telling her that he was sick of how she went along with everything he said? That would make her blame herself, and she didn’t deserve that.

“What?” She was crying now.

He felt as if he had cursed a child. Or a kitten. “I don’t know what exactly. But I know that I’m not happy as things are. It’s not your fault. Maybe I’ve changed, after Voldemort, and it took me time to notice?” he lied. “But it’s best we break up before we start hating each other.”

Romilda shook her head, staring at him. Her lips trembled as tears ran down her cheek. Then she stood and ran out of the room, sobbing.

Harry closed his eyes, leaned back and cursed under his breath.

That had been as bad as he had feared. Or worse. But what else could he have done? He couldn’t string her along any longer and act as if everything was alright.

Maybe he should have talked to Ron or Hermione about this.

*****​

 

Chapter 30: Secrets

London, Ministry of Magic, April 14th, 1997

“But Arthur! With the Dark Lord gone, we don’t need as many Hit-Wizards any more. We can use the gold we pay them elsewhere - like for the repairs needed in the Ministry. Marcus Selwyn’s proposal is very sound.”

Arthur Weasley wasn’t a man who was easy to anger. His patience and tolerance had been a boon when raising seven children - especially Fred and George. Nevertheless, even he could lose his temper when pushed too far, and Fudge was doing his best to make Arthur curse him. “Cornelius,” he said with a forced smile, “the number of Hit-Wizards hasn’t been increased since the end of the last war, despite us needing more guards for Azkaban after the removal of the Dementors. Marcus’s proposal would see us not even replace those Hit-Wizards lost in the battle against the Dark Lord.”

“But we what we lose in quantity we make up in quality,” Fudge retorted, fiddling with a quill on his desk. “By raising the standards of our force, we will be able to do more with fewer wands.”

That had to be straight from Malfoy’s mouth, Arthur thought. He scoffed. “Raising standards? I don’t see anything about that in this proposal.”

“That will be handled in a second bill,” Fudge explained. “It’s still being worked on.”

“I’ve read Dolores’s draft,” Arthur said.

Fudge blinked. “You have?”

“Yes.” Arthur didn’t smile. “I’ve also read her draft for the proposed entrance exam for new employees.” He leaned forward. “She wants to test new Ministry employees on their knowledge of ‘Wizarding Britain’s Traditions and Customs’.”

“Any employee of the Ministry is expected to know how to comport themselves in society, especially at a social event.” Fudge shook his head. “Imagine the scandal if someone insulted a diplomat!”

“Are you aware that there is no course covering such a subject at Hogwarts?” Arthur asked.

“An oversight that can be easily corrected.” Fudge smiled. “I know of a number of wizards and witches who could teach such courses.”

“Do you know why there is no such course?”

“I think Albus opposed it in the past, for budgetary reasons. Which is why this is a very good opportunity to both reduce the amount of dead weight in the Ministry and fund a new course!”

“The course was opposed by the Board of Governors. The official reason given was that wizarding traditions and customs couldn’t be taught at school. That was to be the prerogative of the parents.” Arthur scoffed. “And now you want to test prospective employees on knowledge only a member of an Old Family could have? How do you think the majority of our population will react to such a blatant attempt at discrimination?”

“Discrimination? Now, Arthur, be fair!”

“Yes, discrimination. There’s nothing in that test about Defence at all. It’s not even about Hit-Wizards and Aurors - it’s a generic test for Ministry employees. How do you think you will get more capable Hit-Wizards if you don’t test for skills that are actually relevant to their duties?” Fudge opened his mouth, but Arthur ploughed on. “How do you think Harry Potter will react, once he realises that you plan to discriminate against muggleborns? As the son of a muggleborn witch?”

“What?”

“Imagine the Vanquisher of Voldemort speaking out against a Minister who supports such blatant attempts to favour Old Families in the Ministry.” Arthur hated to use Harry’s name like that, but it was the best way to stop this latest attempt to build up the influence of the Old Families. “Imagine if he refused the Order of Merlin you want to award him, in protest against such measures.”

Fudge gaped, then frowned. “No one would refuse such an honour!”

“You know his godfather.”

Fudge paled. “But… if he refused…”

“If he refused, you’d be the one everyone would blame. You would be seen as the Minister who made the Boy-Who-Lived despise him. You. Not anyone else.”

Fudge sagged in his seat. “But we have to balance the budget somehow! The damage done to the Ministry in the battle, the gold needed by St Mungo’s - they already went through this year’s budget for treating curses! - and the pensions for the next of kin of the dead...”

“Sirius proposed a bill to fine those caught or killed while fighting for the Dark Lord,” Arthur said.

“But… that would be cutting into the family fortunes!” Fudge protested. “It would be like punishing the children for the sins of their parents!”

“How is fighting for the Dark Lord different from gambling away the family fortune?” Arthur asked. “Both are mistakes. But the former is also treason.”

“Well…” Fudge trailed off. “That’s for the Wizengamot to decide!”

That was the best Arthur would get, and he knew that. “And Marcus’s proposal?”

“Will certainly have to be reworked,” Fudge said with an expression as though he were having a tooth pulled. “As will Dolores’s draft.”

Arthur nodded. “Good.” It wasn’t defeated for good but stalled for the foreseeable future. “Now, I have a proposal of my own. Or rather, a joint proposal with Sirius and Amelia. It’s about the regulations regarding the Auror Corps’s size.”

Fudge looked like he’d prefer to be cursed.

*****​

Hogwarts, April 15th, 1997

As soon as Harry Potter entered the Gryffindor common room, coming from Quidditch practice, he saw Romilda sitting in the corner. She wasn’t looking at him at all. Her friends, though, were glaring at him as one of them hugged her. They weren’t the only ones - a number of the other girls were looking at him as if he had hexed Romilda. And Ginny looked as if she wanted to hex him herself.

He sighed as he went up to his room. Neville, Seamus and Dean were not around - probably in the library, working on their essays or something. He hadn’t seen them in the common room. Ron had followed him inside, though. “Why are they acting like that?” Harry asked as he sat down on his bed and sent his Quidditch gear to his trunk with a few flicks and swishes of his wand.

“Well, mate,” he heard Ron answer, “I’d say it’s because you made Romilda cry. A lot.”

Harry looked at his friend. “I was just being honest! What should I have done instead? Lied and acted as if everything were fine?” He snapped his trunk’s lid shut, loudly enough to startle Ron.

“Luna said that being honest isn’t all that’s it cracked up to be, but it’s better than lying.”

“That’s very helpful.” Harry scoffed.

Ron shrugged and closed his own trunk, more gently than Harry had done. “Maybe it isn’t what you did, but how you did it.”

“And what should I have done differently?” Harry stood and shook his head, then walked over to Ron’s bed. “How do you break up with a girl without making her cry?”

“I don’t know,” Ron said. “Be nice about it?”

Harry scoffed again. “I was nice. I told her I liked her, and that it wasn’t her fault.” He gestured. “That it wasn’t working out between us. That we’re not good for each other. And that we wouldn’t be happy if we stayed together.” He noticed that Ron was staring at him. “What?”

“That’s nice?”

“But it’s true!” Harry retorted. “She was just doing what I wanted. Nothing else. That’s not healthy.”

“But she seemed happy. As far as I could tell.”

“I wasn’t,” Harry shot back. He walked back to his bed and let himself fall into it. “I didn’t want to keep lying to her, and now everyone - or at least every witch - in Gryffindor hates me.”

“Well, not everyone.”

Harry rolled his eyes. A few witches had flirted with him as soon as news of his break-up had spread. He wasn’t certain if that was worse than if they had been glaring at him, too, or not.

“Maybe you should be asking yourself what you should do, instead of what you should have done?”

Harry glanced at Ron. “What should I do?” he asked, in as flat a voice as he could manage.

Ron chuckled. “Luna says that if you hurt someone, you should apologise.”

Harry snorted. “Sirius said that if a witch is mad at me, I should apologise, regardless of whose fault it is.”

“Well, if Sirius and Luna agree on something…”

Harry almost snapped that that would be a reason to rethink the whole thing - Sirius’s advice had gotten him into this, and Luna certainly didn’t think like most witches he knew. Nor most wizards, either - but that might have made Ron mad - his friend was very protective of Luna. And as much as it galled him to admit, Ron might have a point. He sighed once more. “Great. Now I just need to find a way to talk to her in private again.”

Ron cleared his throat.

Harry glared at him.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 16th, 1997

Hermione Granger stared at Harry. “You snuck out of Hogwarts and came to see me because you need to ask me how to apologise to your girlfriend?”

“Ex-girlfriend. That’s the reason I need to apologise to her.” He smiled at her. “No other witch I know well will talk to me. You’re my only hope.”

“Stop quoting Star Wars,” Hermione snapped. “You’re no princess, and I’m not an old hermit.” Nor an old maid - she had a boyfriend. And they had sex!

He raised his arms. “Sorry, sorry. So, can you help me? Please?” His smile grew more desperate.

She sighed. “Alright.” She couldn’t let her best friend down. Not when everyone else, especially the dog, had apparently done so. Especially not when it probably had been that little witch’s fault in the first place. Maybe she should look into that… No. She mentally shook her head. She wouldn’t meddle in Harry’s love life. “First thing, get her a gift. Something she likes. But not too expensive, so that it won’t look like a bribe. And nothing that reminds her of you.” That should be enough for Vane.

“Uh…” He grimaced.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “What is the problem?”

“I don’t know what she really likes. That’s why I broke up with her in the first place.” He shrugged.

Hermione blinked, then narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ll have to explain that.”

Five minutes and a few questions later, she was pinching the bridge of her nose again. To think that she could feel sympathy for that little witch… “You are an idiot.”

“I know.” He pouted. It didn’t look good on him.

“Tell that to Romilda as well.” She sighed. “And get her a box of Honeydukes’ best selection as an apology gift.”

“I thought you said that I shouldn’t try to bribe her?”

“It’s not a bribe. It’s compensation.” She glared at him. “And next time, be more sensitive! And don’t listen to Sirius when it comes to witches!”

That dog was such a bad influence on her friend!

*****​

London, Merton, April 18th, 1997

“It’s the best of the trilogy!” Philip exclaimed.

“No, A New Hope is better.” Mark shook his head.

“A New Hope is second best, at best.”

“A New Hope has a happy ending. The Empire Strikes Back ends on a downer.”

“That’s what makes it so good. It’s darker. Not such a fairy tale.” Philip’s sneer looked remarkably like Malfoy’s.

“The Empire Strikes Back has a muppet.” Mark scoffed. “I’ll take a fairy tale any day over fat Kermit the Jedi.”

Hermione Granger cleared her throat. “The Empire Strikes Back is the most critically acclaimed movie of the trilogy.”

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Mark protested. “Critics don’t know nothing.”

“Don’t know anything,” she corrected him. Mark nodded in agreement, but Paul poked her side with his elbow. She frowned at him. It wasn’t her fault that his friends didn’t speak properly. And it was certainly his fault that their - by now traditional - Friday movie date had turned into an outing with his friends. His ‘interesting’ friends. Not that she expected him to drop his friends for her; she wasn’t Parvati. But it would have been a nice gesture if he had gone to watch the movie with his fellow Star Wars fans on another date.

“Well, I like The Empire Strikes Back best as well,” Paul chimed in. “It’s the most mature of the movies. We see the rebels get beaten, on the run, we see them take casualties - and there isn’t a victory against all odds in the last second, unlike in the other two movies.”

“The Empire winning doesn’t make the movie more mature,” Hermione countered.

“It makes it darker, though, which is also better,” Paul said. Philip nodded.

Hermione briefly and silently wondered if Paul would think that if he had ever been in battle. Or in danger. She shook her head, both at her own thoughts and his argument. “I disagree.”

“It’s also more realistic,” Paul went on with a grin. “Life is tough, then you die.”

Hermione pressed her lips together. She shouldn’t have complained about how unrealistic the plot of the latest romantic comedy they had seen together had been. “It’s a science fiction movie with space physics patterned after World War II aerial combat. It’s not supposed to be realistic.”

“That just means that the plot itself needs an even larger dose of realism!”

Paul could stand to be a little more graceful when he scored a point against her, Hermione thought as his friends agreed with him. And she could stand to be a little less jealous, she added, when she caught herself wishing that Philip and Mark would leave already.

*****​

“So, Paul said you’re already working while you study for your A-Levels,” Philip said as he set his pint down.

It sounded less like a question about her work to get her to talk, and more like he was questioning her claim, Hermione Granger thought. But he was Paul’s friend. She nodded. “Yes. I’m working as the secretary of an independently wealthy but somewhat lazy gentleman who prefers to spend his time with his French lover rather than managing his own affairs.”

“And he lets you run his affairs?” Mark sounded as if he doubted her as well.

Hermione kept smiling, as Mr Fletcher had taught her. “I mostly handle his correspondence. He makes the final decisions, but he often follows my proposals. Almost all of his wealth other than his cash is in long-term investments which do not require much work.”

“Doesn’t sound like he has much work,” Mark said.

“He corresponds with a number of friends, and is heavily involved in the running of his gentlemen’s club,” Hermione elaborated. Wizarding Britain and especially the Wizengamot had more than a few similarities to a traditional gentlemen’s club.

“He’s got a gentlemen’s club?” Mark’s smile turned into a leer, and Philip was suddenly far more attentive.

“The traditional gentlemen’s club. He isn’t running a strip club,” Hermione clarified.

Paul chuckled. “You running that kind of club would be hot, though!”

She glared at him, and he smiled and patted her hand. “Sorry. You look so cute when you’re riled up.”

She smiled, although she had to clench her teeth at his friends’ chuckles.

“So, who’s the gentleman?” Mark asked.

“I’m not about to violate his privacy,” Hermione responded.

“Well, in that case: Do you have any juicy stories to tell?” Philip leaned forward. “Elderly British gentleman, French mistress - that sounds like a set-up for a movie.”

“Or a TV show,” Mark added.

“He isn’t elderly,” Hermione corrected him. Sirius wasn’t even forty - and he certainly didn’t act his age most of the time!

“Oh!”

She didn’t like what Mark’s grin implied. Not at all. She didn’t have a crush on the dog. But before she could think of a way to tell him that Philip went even further: “Don’t take this the wrong way, but why did he hire a teenager as a secretary?”

“I went to school with his godson, whom he is raising. Harry’s my best friend, and when I was looking for work, he told his godfather.”

“Ah.”

She caught Philip glancing at Paul and realised that he thought that the dog had taken pity on her. Which hadn’t been entirely untrue, she had to admit - he had paid off her debt mostly to help her, after all. But while it had started as a cover, she was doing real work these days. And she was good at it.

But if she told anyone what had really happened, even if she left out magic, no one would believe her.

Paul wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “Now, you two idiots, stop badgering my girlfriend! Let’s talk about Star Wars again!”

And now her boyfriend had stepped in to protect her. Hermione would have felt a little less conflicted about that - though she would have still resented it at least somewhat - if she didn’t suspect that he didn’t fully believe her story either.

If only she could tell him the truth! Fortunately, he respected her privacy and didn’t pry. He was a really good boyfriend, in that regard.

She ordered a cola for herself and leaned into his side.

*****​

Hogwarts, April 19th, 1997

Standing on the stairs, right at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, Harry Potter noted that Romilda was sitting where he expected her to be, then turned his glasses’ enchantment off. He cleared his throat, then checked his appearance. It wouldn’t do to have missed some stain or tear - what he was about to do would be embarrassing and humiliating enough. He patted his enchanted pocket - the box from Honeydukes hadn’t disappeared. It had better not have; it had been expensive.

For a moment, he thought about delaying again. Maybe he would manage to catch her outside, or alone… No. He had procrastinated enough, as Hermione would say. So he took a deep breath and then entered the room, heading straight towards his ex-girlfriend.

She saw him coming and ducked her head, and he felt a twinge of guilt that hurt far more than the glares from her friends. One of them even drew her wand, though she didn’t aim it at him.

He cleared his throat again. “Romilda?”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, Potter!” her friend with the wand - Marcy - hissed. The other witches at the table nodded in support.

He ignored them. He wasn’t here for them. “I’m here to apologise, Romilda.”

She didn’t look up, and, if anything, seemed to hunch a little more. But Marcy didn’t say whatever she had been about to say, and the other girls looked surprised. And, as he had feared, the whole room had fallen silent and was now shamelessly eavesdropping. Great. But if he cast a privacy charm, rumours would fly. Or rather, worse rumours.

He continued. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but I did. I made a mess of that, and it’s my fault.” She started to glance at him but stopped. “I should have talked to you about my… feelings much earlier. I should have been honest, instead of acting as if everything was fine until…” He took another deep breath. “Until the break-up.”

She was looking at him now, though without fully facing him. Marcy looked like couldn’t decide whether she should hug Romilda or hex him. Well, try to hex him, at least.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you. It wasn’t right, and it’s all my fault. I was an idiot.”

She finished turning her head and looked at him for the first time. And she wiped the tears from her eyes. “What did I do wrong?” she finally asked, still sniffling.

He clenched his teeth for a moment. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Sometimes, people change. And feelings just change. Voldemort’s death changed me. I killed him. I killed others, too. I’ve lived years with the knowledge that he was back, and that he wanted to kill me. I’d trained for years to face him. And with him finally dead...” He shrugged. “I changed.” Or rather, without that pressure and with more free time, he had discovered that he wanted more out of a relationship than snogging. But telling her that would make it look like their entire relationship had been based on a lie.

She nodded slowly. He pulled the box out of his pocket and held it out to her. “It’s… well, you liked the box we got on Valentine’s Day.”

She stared at it, then met his eyes again. “Is there another girl?”

He shook his head. “No.” And given how much grief he had gotten from everyone for hurting Romilda, it didn’t look like there’d be another girl for some time.

She took the box and mumbled something that might have been a thank you. Harry waited a few seconds but couldn’t think of anything else to say, so he turned and walked away.

Once he was on the stairs again, out of her sight, he sighed with relief. He raised his hand to touch the frame of his glasses - to check how Romilda was doing - but refrained from doing so.

She deserved better.

*****​

London, Greenwich, May 2nd, 1997

When Mr Fletcher had told her that he’d avoid Wizarding Britain for a few months to fake a trip ‘back’ to the New World while he trained her in muggle Britain, Hermione Granger hadn’t expected that this would mean training in muggle methods.

She glared at the lock on the table in her tutor’s flat. She should have been able to pick it easily - she had been picking locks for years - but she hadn’t managed for over ten minutes. And had broken a few of her lockpicks.

Mr Fletcher didn’t even bother to hide his amusement. “That’s one of the latest locks on the market. You’ll need to analyse it before you know how to handle it.”

She turned her glare on him. “You said I couldn’t use magic.”

“I said you couldn’t use magic to pick it. I didn’t say you couldn’t use magic to analyse it.” He grinned. “If you don’t keep up with the magical and muggle security measures, you’ll fail as a thief.”

“I’m not planning to rob muggles,” she retorted, angry at herself for missing the - now - obvious solution.

“That doesn’t matter. A number of pureblood wizards and witches buy muggle locks to enhance their wards. And those among them who have things worth stealing tend to pick the best muggle locks they can get - even if only so they don’t have to actually bother trying to learn anything about them.”

Hermione sighed. At least she didn’t have to worry about electronic locks in wizarding manors. Then she pressed her lips together and aimed her wand at the infuriatingly difficult lock and cast her first spell at it.

An hour later, she had finally figured out a way to pick the lock. Which still took her five minutes.

“I know, I know. I need to be faster,” she said before Mr Fletcher could. It wasn’t the best comeback, not even close, but it made her feel a little better for her earlier lapse.

“Yeah,” he said, going back to reading the newspaper. The Times this time. His prosthetic foot was whipping in the air - it looked perfectly natural covered up by a sock and a shoe, but it wasn’t quite moving like a real foot.

“Do you have a date today?” he suddenly asked.

“Yes.” She and Paul always went to the movies on a Friday evening. It always made her remember their first date.

“Return of the Jedi?”

She blinked. Mr Fletcher knew more about muggle pop culture than she had expected. “Yes. Without his annoying friends, this time.” Paul could learn.

“Annoying?”

She frowned. “They think Sirius is my ‘sugar daddy’,” she quoted Philip’s comment, which she had overheard without him realising. Noticing Mr Fletcher’s expression, she explained: “They think that he’s employing me because I’m his lover.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Like the Prophet’s slander.”

“Yes. And because I can’t tell them about magic, or Sirius’s name, I have to be so vague that they don’t believe me.” She scowled.

“What about your boyfriend?”

“He believes me.” Or at least he had told her so.

“That’s good then.” He sighed and leaned back in his favourite seat. “Relationships with muggles are always a little tricky. You’re not allowed to tell them about magic unless you marry them. And afterwards, it’s a shock. Had a friend in school, muggleborn, who married a muggle girl. She left him after the wedding.”

Hermione winced. That must have been awful.

He shrugged. “If she couldn’t handle that, then the marriage wouldn’t have lasted anyway.”

“He could have told her before, though,” she said. Marrying someone with such a secret between them...

“That would have been illegal.”

She rolled her eyes at that. “Just as doing magic outside school is illegal, and yet everyone does it if they can get away with it.”

He chuckled. “Yeah.” He looked at her. “If you plan on telling your boyfriend, don’t. Not until you’re certain that you want to marry him.”

“I’m not planning to.”

Though she couldn’t help wondering how Paul would react.

*****​

Hogsmeade, May 10th, 1997

“Welcome to Hogsmeade, milady.” Harry Potter held open the door of the carriage he and Fay had taken from Hogwarts. He gestured with his free hand in a flourish, putting on the ‘Old Family Charm’, as Sirius called it.

“Thank you, milord.” Fay held out her hand to him as she stepped down.

He didn’t wince, even though ‘milord’ reminded him of Voldemort. “So, where do you want to go?” he asked with a smile instead.

She hesitated for a moment, not quite managing to raise an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you have our date planned out?”

Was that a dig at his dates with Romilda? He hoped it wasn’t and chuckled, perhaps a little too loudly. “I like to be a little more spontaneous than that. It’s not as if we’re going to the movies.”

“Movies?”

“Muggle entertainment. Like the telly, just bigger. They’re on a schedule.”

“Ah.”

He didn’t know if she really understood what movies were. But saying that they were like the wireless with pictures would be patronising. “So, let’s each pick a destination, and see where that leaves us. You first. Where would you like to go?”

“Hm.” She looked quite cute as she pouted. “Let’s go to Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop! Sophie said that they had a new cake on the menu that was just marvellous!”

“Alright.” At least Fay knew what she wanted.

And half an hour later, Harry knew what he didn’t want: the new cake in Madam Puddifoot’s. “They must have simply replaced any flour with sugar,” he muttered as he took another sip from his - fortunately very good - tea.

Fay simply nodded with a bright smile partially hampered by the fork sticking out of her mouth.

He pushed his plate over to her and her eyes lit up.

“Thank you!” She beamed at him, then started to eat again.

“Have you listened to the Weird Sisters’ latest song?” she asked between bites.

“Haven’t heard it yet,” he answered. “The wireless in our room belongs to Seamus, so he usually decides on the music. Unless we use Silencing Charms.”

She giggled. “Well, you should listen to it. It’s great! Myron really knows how to sing about heartbreak!” She sighed. “I wonder if he’s writing the songs based on personal experience, or if it’s a subtle dig at Donaghan - he married two years ago, you know, and there were rumours his wife isn’t happy with their latest tour arrangement.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice, even though Harry had cast a privacy charm earlier. “I heard that she might be in a relationship with Orsino.”

He had no idea who Orsino was. “Ah.” At least Parvati used to gossip about people he knew.

“Though I think it’s actually Herman. He plays the lute, and he’s the most attractive and sensitive in the group. If Donaghan’s wife were to fall for anyone, it would be him!”

“Ah.” He would be saying that a lot, Harry thought. She hadn’t asked him yet what kind of bands he liked.

After half an hour filled with more details about the Weird Sisters than Harry had ever wanted to know, and another slice of cake, Fay finally stood. “So, what do you want to do now?”

“Check out Spintwitches,” he said. “They might have a new broom model on display.”

She nodded but didn’t show much enthusiasm. He didn’t know if that was a good or a bad sign.

*****​

Hogwarts, May 10th, 1997

“How did your date go?” Ron asked when Harry Potter met him on the way to the Great Hall for dinner.

Harry looked around, checking that they were alone, then sighed. “I wish Hermione didn’t have a date today.” Ron blinked and looked confused, so Harry added: “I wouldn’t have had to listen to hours of gossip about the Weird Sisters.” He’d have to struggle not to blast the wireless to pieces when it next played a song by them.

“Oh.” Ron winced. “That sounds awful.”

“I got her back, though - I dragged her through Spintwitches for an hour and she doesn’t like Quidditch.” Harry grinned.

“She doesn’t like Quidditch?” Ron sounded shocked.

“She doesn’t.” Harry shook his head. “We agreed that we wouldn’t have another date.”

“Probably a good idea. Exams are coming up.,” Ron said. “Luna’s revising a lot.”

“Ah.” He had thought that Ron was around a little more than usual lately.

“I’m helping her in Defence,” Ron added. “Mostly on the practical side.”

“Hexing your girlfriend?” Harry mock-gasped.

“I’m not training her Moody-style.” Ron snorted. “You’re the one who dragged your girlfriend to those lessons.”

“She insisted,” Harry shot back, laughing as they entered the Great Hall. He looked around and saw Fay was already seated. She glanced at him, then went back to whispering to Parvati and Lavender, who also glanced at him.

It didn’t look like Harry would be dating any of the Gryffindor girls in his year for the foreseeable future, but he didn’t mind.

*****​

London, Merton, May 10th, 1997

“It’s delicious!”

Hermione Granger noted with relief that Paul didn’t repeat his mistake of assuming that her mum had cooked the meal. Or that Hermione had.

“Thank you.” Mum smiled.

Even though, this time, Mum had cooked.

Her dad smiled as well. “You’re learning, Paul. Hermione used to be quite put out when her friends assumed that Ellen was doing all the cooking in our home.” He sighed theatrically. “The lectures she would give…”

Hermione glared at him. “I was ten!”

“A very vocal ten-year-old,” Mum chimed in.

Hermione switched her glare to her traitorous mother as Paul laughed.

“I can imagine.”

He received a glare for good measure as well as Hermione huffed. “I haven’t done that since I was twelve.” Because she had been at Hogwarts, and after her expulsion and move, she had lost contact with most of her old friends and hadn’t made any new ones. But that wasn’t something Paul needed to know.

“Oh? Harry and Ron never made that mistake?” Paul asked.

She was surprised that he remembered when she had met her friends for the first time. And wondered why he’d pick such a topic.

“No.” Dad shook his head. “To be fair, since they met Hermione at their boarding school, she probably lectured them there.”

Everyone but Hermione laughed again. She pressed her lips together, then masked her silence by taking another bite of the - truly delicious - veal escalope with cream sauce. Or, as Mum liked to call it, ‘escalopes à la crème’. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and said: “I didn’t lecture them; I just told them in advance that everyone in our family shares the chores, including the cooking.”

“Even if they can’t cook yet.” Dad earned himself another glare.

“And I didn’t merit such an advance warning?” Paul’s pout seemed not to be entirely faked, Hermione thought.

“I expected better of you.” She shook her head and stuck out her tongue at him. “You’re living in your own flat, after all.”

“And I’m not living with a rich godfather who spends all his time with a French mistress,” Paul said.

Hermione frowned. That sounded like a dig at Harry. “They have a male housekeeper,” she said, maybe a little sharper than she should have.

“A male housekeeper? Not a butler?” he asked.

“No.” Kreacher couldn’t be called a butler.

“Well, if we’d had a housekeeper, my childhood would have been much more comfortable,” Paul said. “Alas, my mum had us do chores as well.”

“Harry had to do a lot of chores when he was living with his aunt,” Hermione said, frowning. “He wasn’t - isn’t - some spoiled rich child.” Rich, but not spoiled.

“Yes. He was very polite when we met him for the first time,” Mum added. “That was before his godfather took him in.”

“Why did he go to live with his godfather?” Paul asked.

Hermione said: “That’s private.”

“Ah, I forgot.” Paul smiled. “You can’t talk about your employer.”

Was there an edge to that remark? Hermione smiled overly sweetly - he should know better than to pry. “Discretion is the hallmark of a personal secretary.”

“They’re called ‘personal assistants’ these days, or so I believe,” Paul said.

“Semantics,” Hermione said with a shrug.

“Words have power,” he shot back. “Calling your employee your personal secretary sends a different message than calling her your personal assistant.”

“My employer isn’t concerned with that.” Hermione pressed her lips together before she said anything more about Sirius.

“I’d certainly believe that!” Dad cut in. “He’s a memorable man, if a little eccentric.”

Mum nodded.

“You’ve met him then,” Paul said.

“Of course we did,” Mum replied. “We wouldn’t have let Hermione take such a job otherwise.”

“Ah.” It looked like Paul was about to say something, but he caught himself and nodded. After a moment, he said: “Could you pass me the salt?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.”

“Which movie are you going to see next weekend?” Mum changed the topic.

“Not Beverly Hills Ninja,” Hermione said.

“Aw.” Paul pouted again. “I heard it’s funny.”

He was winding her up, Hermione knew. But at least he wasn’t asking questions about Sirius any more.

*****​

Two hours and a great tiramisu later, as they ‘took a stroll’ through the next park on the way to Paul’s flat, Hermione Granger still hadn’t forgotten the conversation at dinner. “Why are you so interested in my employer?”

She saw him tense before he answered. “I’m just curious.”

“You know that I can’t tell tales.”

They stopped walking and he turned to face her. “I just want to know if you’re happy with your job.”

“I am.”

His expression told her that he had his doubts. Or maybe suspicions.

She sighed. “I’m happy there. My employer’s a little eccentric, but he’s a good man.” Or dog. As much as a dog could be good. “And he’s my best friend’s godfather.”

“Ah.” He pressed his lips together.

“What do you mean?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t tell me that you’re jealous of Harry!”

“He seemed a little jealous when I met him.”

“You joked about his girlfriend’s name,” she said. “And he’s protective of all his friends.”

“Ah.” He didn’t look as if he were convinced.

“He’s not a spoiled kid, nor is he trying to seduce me; trust me, he didn’t see me as a girl for years.”

“He’s a fool then,” Paul replied with a sweet smile that made her smile at him in return.

“When it comes to girls, yes,” Hermione agreed. “But I’d trust him with my life.” She owed him and Ron her life, too - but that wasn’t something she could tell Paul.

Which meant Paul would misunderstand her remark.

She kept smiling, though. “But I’m trusting you with my heart.”

That made him smile again. “And with your body,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist.

She didn’t like that remark - it reminded her a little too much of the bigots she had spied on as Miss Merriweather - but it was better than letting him stew about Sirius and Harry. So she kissed him and then leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder, as they continued towards his flat.

*****​

Hogwarts, May 17th, 1997

“Mr Potter! Welcome to my humble abode!”

Harry Potter didn’t really like Slughorn. The man was jovial, a much better teacher than Snape and probably a better Potioneer as well, but he was just a little too friendly. And too focused on influential people. But, as Sirius, Hermione and Mr Weasley had told him, Slughorn was useful. Or, rather, his network was useful. If Harry wanted to keep Malfoy’s father from taking over the Ministry and the Wizengamot, then he couldn’t afford to antagonise the head of Slytherin house. Which meant attending the Slug Club parties. And smiling at Slughorn.

“Thank you, sir. I’m glad I could make it.” He nodded at Slughorn, then at Katie. “This is Katie Bell, my date. She’s a Chaser for Gryffindor.”

“Welcome, Miss Bell!” The man kissed Katie’s hand with more grace than Harry had expected. “If either of you is interested in a career as a professional player, my dear friend Gwenog accepted my invitation for this evening’s soirée.”

“Gwenog Jones?” Katie perked up.

“Indeed.” Slughorn’s smile grew wider. “I think she’s… yes, there, near the buffet. Do try the shrimps; they’re marvellous - an old student of mine caught them himself and sent me a basketful fresh from the sea.”

“Thank you, sir, we will,” Harry said, then tried to act as if he was guiding his date towards the Holyhead Harpies’ Beater, instead of getting dragged along. “Slow down, Katie,” he whispered. “She won’t run away. Let’s get some food first.”

“Sorry!” she whispered back. “I’m just so excited - this might be my chance to get a foot in the league!”

“Ripping my arm out won’t help with that goal,” he shot back. “And what about Alicia?”

“She’s a rookie, she won’t be able to do anything for me,” Katie explained as they reached the buffet table.

“Ah.” That made sense. Harry summoned two trays, and they started to sample the food.

“Mh.” Katie closed her eyes for a moment. “Slughorn was right - the shrimps are delicious.”

Harry nodded, although he wasn’t that fond of seafood. “The pastrami sandwiches aren’t bad either,” he added.

“Pastrami?” Katie asked.

“Romanian speciality,” he said. He’d have added that it was very popular in the USA if Katie had any idea about muggle countries.

“Ah.” She nodded, but he could see her eyes straying to Jones. “Would you mind coming with me, to break the ice, before you veer off to talk to the Head Auror?”

“Of course,” he said. That was the deal, after all.

“Thanks. You know, you could go pro much more easily,” she said, before finishing her last shrimp.

Harry shrugged. “As much as I like flying, I’d rather be an Auror than a Seeker.” He could do much more good that way.

“I understand,” Katie said.

She didn’t, though. Not really, Harry thought. “But even if I wanted to go pro, the Harpies wouldn’t be my team of choice,” he said as he led her towards Jones.

“I didn’t think so,” she agreed, giggling.

*****​

Ten minutes later - he had stayed with Jones and Katie long enough not to be seen as rude - Harry Potter was at the buffet again, sampling the desserts and looking for Scrimgeour. He noticed Greengrass approaching the table and moved a little to the side. Both to be polite and in case he needed more room to dodge. But she was headed towards him, not the buffet, he quickly realised.

She nodded at him in greeting. “Good evening, Potter.”

“‘Evening,” he replied, with a tiny nod.

She didn’t acknowledge his curt manners and the message they sent. “Did you try the shrimp? It’s delicious.”

“I did. It’s not bad.” She was wearing very thin, very expensive robes, he noted. Daringly cut, too - a slit went up her right leg to her waist, and her décolleté plunged further than Krum doing a Wronski Feint. She was wearing her wand in a holster on her thigh - that fashion hadn’t been popular in Britain for a number of years, or so Parvati had once told him.

She must have noticed his eyes wandering, since she smiled and nodded towards where Katie and Jones were talking. “Your date seems to be more interested in Jones than in you, Potter.”

He shrugged. “I knew that when I asked her to accompany me to this party.” He smiled. “We are teammates and friends, nothing more.”

She blinked, but kept smiling and pushed her right leg forward a little - enough for the robes to reveal most of it. “And are you looking for more?”

She was actually flirting with him. He couldn’t tell if she was serious - she didn’t seem to be tipsy - but it didn’t matter. He nodded. “Yes.” And right when she was about to say something more, he continued. “Although I certainly wouldn’t consider anyone who was involved in framing my best friend. Or any of their friends.”

She blinked with her mouth half-open.

Harry nodded towards Slughorn. “If not for Malfoy and the likes of you, Hermione would be here. With a personal invitation from Slughorn.” Any witch who managed to brew Veritaserum in her second year would have been seen as a prodigy.

Greengrass sneered. “I’ve seen her O.W.L. results. She wouldn’t have made the cut. Unless she were sleeping with you.”

So someone had leaked Hermione’s tests. Not really a surprise. He scoffed. “She did that while studying mostly by herself, with just one tutor. Imagine what she would have done at Hogwarts, with the best teachers in Britain.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t speak like that about her ever again.”

She paled slightly - it wasn’t easy to spot given her natural skin tone - but then raised her chin. “You should know better than to threaten me!”

He scoffed again. “I’ve faced and killed Voldemort. You think your father or his friends impress me?” He shook his head with a snort. “Now pardon me, I need to talk to the Head Auror about my future career in the Ministry.”

Harry smiled when he noticed that she paled a little more upon hearing that. As if he’d give a Slytherin friend of Malfoy’s the time of day, much less date them.

*****​

London, Merton, May 18th, 1997

Hermione Granger gracefully walked past Mrs Jefferson’s house, ignoring the stupid rat-sized dog barking at her from behind the fence. That animal was an embarrassment to dogs, and that took some work. She sniffed in derision and jumped on Mr Grey’s fence, stopping to clean her fur for a moment or two as the stupid chihuahua almost went insane down on the lawn. It even tried to jump up and snap at her, despite not having any hope of even reaching halfway up to her spot. Dogs!

She sighed and went on, passing Mr Grey’s house, to slip into the Vanderbilt's garden. That family had very nice children who appreciated a fine cat visiting. They weren’t home today, though, so Hermione continued roaming her territory.

Well, it should be hers. Crookshank had taught every other cat that he was not to be messed with, and he answered to her. Unfortunately, not every cat - none but her, actually - could appreciate logic.

And so she skipped the Brown’s garden and crossed the street - after checking for traffic, of course - before their old tomcat came after her again. A few fences later, she had reached Paul’s home and jumped up on to the stone pillar from which the mailboxes of Paul and his neighbours hung.

She wasn’t spying on her boyfriend. Just… passing by. And checking if there were any cats nearby. Just in case. Maybe some people watching, too. And basking in a few rays of sunlight on this fine Sunday morning. And maybe catching Paul when he was taking a break from his studying, to see if he appreciated a fine cat gracing him with her presence.

She was nodding to herself when she saw the door open.

“Argh… the light! It burns!” Mark stood there, shielding his face with his arm and hissing as if he were a Hollywood vampire.

Hermione sat up and eyed the man. He didn’t look well. Tired. Maybe hungover. But he was laughing as he stepped out, followed by the definitely not laughing Philip. And Paul. She sniffed. That didn’t look like the aftermath of a study session - Paul wasn’t taking the same courses as his two friends.

Her suspicions were proven correct when she saw Paul hand Mark a bag full of video cassettes. Star Trek, her sharp eyes told her from her vantage point.

“Oh, look, Paul, you’ve got a visitor!” Mark laughed loudly and pointed at her - they must have watched videos throughout the night, Hermione concluded, seeing as her presence apparently caused such amusement.

“A rather fuzzy one, too!” Philip added. “Probably a stray.”

She hissed. She wasn’t a stray! And she wasn’t fuzzy either! She was a beautiful, graceful, perfect cat!

“And it’s got an attitude,” Mark said, shaking his head. “It’s not your girlfriend’s cat, isn’t it? Same hair colour.”

Paul laughed. “No, she’s got a massive orange cat with a face as if it had smashed it into a wall a few times when it was little.”

Crookshanks was a lovely tomcat, Hermione thought, glaring at her ignorant boyfriend.

“Speaking of her, was she working last night?” Philip asked. “For her mysterious employer?”

Paul frowned. “I told you: I didn’t invite you two just because she wasn’t available!”

“So, she was ‘working’!” Mark said, and Hermione could hear the air quotes. If she jumped, she could give his nose a good swat, maybe also claw his legs a little before dashing away from the fool.

“Studying. She’s got exams coming up.”

“Ah. What subjects?”

Paul shrugged. “I didn’t ask.”

“And if you asked, she wouldn’t tell you.” Philip shook his head. “Mate, I tell you, she’s not good for you.”

“She’s cheating on you!” Mark said. “Working late, not telling you about her work, not even telling you where she works - the perfect setup for an affair.”

“Or you’re the affair,” Philip said.

Hermione wanted to claw both of them. If Paul were the affair, would she have taken him to meet her parents?

Paul snorted. “You’re just jealous.” But he didn’t sound that convincing.

And he didn’t pet her, either, when she jumped down to weave around his legs.

*****​

Hogwarts, June 5th, 1997

“...then stir three times clockwise and reduce the heat to let it simmer for three minutes.”

Harry Potter sighed and closed his eyes, repeating the instructions for brewing a Cramps-Relieving Potion in his head. “Why is this covered in sixth year?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Mr Biggles answered.

Harry froze - he must have been speaking Parseltongue! He looked around. No one seemed to have noticed the snake peeking out from behind his robes on the bed next to his desk, and the privacy charms would have kept anyone from hearing him hiss. “What are you doing out of your habitat?” he hissed.

“Your sleeping spot is warmer,” Mr Biggles said as if that explained it.

“The terrarium is hotter than this room,” Harry retorted.

“It doesn’t smell as nice,” Mr Biggles said, then started to burrow under his sheets.

Harry rubbed his face and sighed. He still hadn’t learned how not to speak Parseltongue when he saw a snake. At least it was limited to living snakes - pictures and figures didn’t trigger him.

And he hadn’t told anyone about it either. Ron only knew because he had been the one to tell him, and Luna because she had procured Mr Biggles for him. But he hadn’t told Sirius and Hermione. Nor had he told anyone but Ron about the Elder Wand.

He sighed. He would have to tell Sirius soon enough - or at least explain why he had a pet snake. And Hermione, too. And tell Hedwig not to eat Mr Biggles. At least Crookshanks wasn’t living at Grimmauld Place any more or Mr Biggles would be in danger. Hermione’s stray, though… He’d have to ask her to take it home. Or ward the house against cats.

He chuckled at that thought, then sighed again. Sirius would probably be hurt that he hadn’t told him right away. And he might even think Harry was… No. His godfather loved him. He wouldn’t condemn him for talking to snakes. He wouldn’t. Harry knew that. And yet, he was still nervous. Anxious, maybe.

He’d tell Sirius, though. And Hermione too. So they’d know about this and would be prepared if Harry was exposed as a Parselmouth. And maybe they could help him learn how not to hiss when he saw a snake.

But the Elder Wand and the Cloak… Could he tell Sirius? Dumbledore hadn’t told anyone until his death. Not even Moody had known about it, as far as Harry knew. And his father hadn’t even told Sirius, his best friend, his brother in all but blood, according to Sirius, that this was the Cloak of Invisibility. Would knowing about such secrets endanger his family and friends? Sirius hadn’t been told the truth about Dumbledore’s plans. And he was still suffering from Azkaban. Could he be trusted with this? Should he be trusted with this?

Could Harry handle this by himself? Dumbledore had managed, but Harry wasn’t Dumbledore.

He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. He almost wished he didn’t know the truth about the wand, his Cloak and about being a Parselmouth.

*****​

London, Merton, June 6th, 1997

“Now that was a great movie! Non-stop action!”

Hermione Granger smiled as she listened to Paul go over the movie they had seen, gesturing as he praised it. She liked it very much when he was that excited.

“And the villain was great. Truly evil, not some half-arsed ‘misguided soul’. And the twist with the serial killer!”

“Garland,” she said.

“Yeah, Garland. He had a happy ending in Vegas.”

“He’ll probably kill more people,” Hermione said, frowning.

“He let the girl live.”

“Doesn’t mean he won’t kill again. Serial killers aren’t funny.”

“In movies they are.” He grinned.

She rolled her eyes. Not for the first time, she wondered if he’d find them funny if he had ever encountered a murderer. “It was a good action movie,” she said. “I thought The Rock was better, though.”

“Why?” He looked at her with narrowed eyes.

“It had Connery as the lead,” she answered, grinning. “Much sexier than Cage.”

“Ah.” He didn’t laugh and his smile felt a little forced.

Why would he… She pressed her lips together. Did he think this was a dig at him? A veiled hint that she preferred older men, such as Sirius? Who, incidentally, had escaped from Wizarding Britain’s version of Alcatraz, just like Connery’s character in The Rock had from the original. She chuckled at the thought of Sirius as James Bond.

Then she saw Paul wince and wanted to curse herself for her stupidity.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, June 7th, 1997

Hermione Granger went straight to Sirius’s study as soon as she arrived in Grimmauld Place. To her surprise, he was already up and even working. Or at least, at his desk, she corrected herself when she saw that he was reading a muggle magazine. In as much as you could call staring at nude women ‘reading’.

“Good morning,” the dog greeted her as he hastily hid the magazine he certainly hadn’t bought for the articles. “You’re early,” he said, with a wide if forced-looking smile.

She curtly nodded. “We need to talk.”

“No.” He shook his head.

“Yes.” She bared her teeth.

“Those words have never heralded anything good for me.” He hunched over and pouted. “Especially coming from a witch.”

“Tough. We need to talk.” She cast a privacy spell, then leaned forward on his desk. “I don’t want to hide from Harry any more.” She narrowed her eyes at him as she continued. “My boyfriend thinks I’m having an affair with you. All because I can’t tell him about magic, and so can’t tell him about you and my work.”

“Your boyfriend is jealous of me?” He sounded far too happy to hear about her troubled relationship. When she glared at him and raised her wand, he winced and held up his hand. “Sorry, sorry. But what does your boyfriend’s jealousy have to do with Harry?”

She sighed. “Harry will soon be back home. With Voldemort gone, we have lost our cover for our heists. And Harry will suspect something if we disappear for an evening or a night - he’s not dumb.”

Sirius shrugged. “Well, we don’t have to pull any heists during the summer. Fletcher’s not yet up for anything anyway. Lost his nerve with his foot.”

She glared at him for that. “It’s not just that. I feel bad hiding this from Harry. He’s the only one in the house who doesn’t know what everyone else did in the war.”

“It’s necessary. If he knew what we’re planning, he’d abandon his dream of becoming an Auror. He would probably join us.”

“He’d insist,” she said - she knew him well, after all. “And why shouldn’t he? Wouldn’t you enjoy doing a heist with him?”

He sighed. “Of course I’d love to do a heist with Harry! We’d be a great team - all of us. And Harry would fit right in.” He smiled, shaking his head. “It would be like doing pranks with James.” Then he pressed his lips together and stared at her. “But it would be selfish of me. I’d have fun, but he’d be abandoning his dream. For me. For you. And I’m not going to do that to him. I’m not that selfish!”

“He’s sixteen years old. Who says he’ll still want to become an Auror in a year? He might want to become a professional Quidditch player,” Hermione said. England’s team certainly could use a better Seeker.

“He’s been studying the Auror handbook Tonks gave him for months. He’s kept his training up, even with Voldemort dead. Moody said he’s already better than most rookie Aurors.” Sirius snorted. “Harry’s working harder for this than for school. He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t want to become an Auror. It’s his dream. And neither you nor I nor anyone else will ruin this for him! All of us owe him too much for that.”

She wasn’t leaning over his desk any more, Hermione realised. She must have taken a step back during his speech - Sirius could be very intense if he wanted to. And cared enough.

He was wrong, though, Hermione thought. But she couldn’t go behind his back. She owed him too much. And Harry, too. If she were wrong… She sighed and nodded. “As you wish.”

“It’s for Harry.”

She nodded again.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, June 21st, 1997

“Sirius? Do you have a minute?” Harry Potter asked, poking his head into his godfather’s study.

“Always, Harry! Come in.”

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Harry said as he closed the door behind him.

“Just boring work. Hermione can do it better than I.” Sirius smiled. “Sit down.”

“She’d love to hear you saying that,” Harry said, grinning when he saw Sirius wince.

“Where is she, anyway?”

“Dealing with her cat.”

“Crookshanks?”

“No, the stray with the bushy tail.”

“Ah.” Sirius chuckled.

“I told her that she has to keep that cat out of the house. I don’t want Mr Biggles to end up being eaten. He keeps escaping his habitat.”

“Mr Biggles?” Sirius blinked.

“My pet snake. Luna named him.” Harry said as casually as he could.

“You’ve got a pet snake?” Sirius wasn’t quite yelling, but he certainly came close.

“Yes. I’ve got a good reason for that, though.” Harry forced himself to smile. “I’m a Parselmouth.”

Sirius blinked with his mouth open.

“I’ve been trying to learn not to talk in Parseltongue whenever I see a snake,” Harry went on. “But it’s going slowly.” He clenched his teeth. “I hoped to have it down before returning from Hogwarts, but…” He shrugged.

“You’re a Parselmouth. You can talk to snakes.”

“Yes.” Harry was getting a little worried.

“How did that happen?”

“I don’t know. I remember talking to a snake in the zoo, before Hogwarts, but I thought that was accidental magic. Then Ron noticed that I could talk to the snakes Voldemort conjured in the Ministry. No one else noticed, though.”

“Ah.” Sirius slowly nodded. “The ability is inherited.”

“Dad or Mum?”

“I’d say Lily, but… if James were a Parselmouth, he’d have kept it quiet, but he’d have told me. I lived with him and his parents, you know.”

“I know.”

“So… might have been Lily. Or it happened like Tonks - she’s a metamorphmagus, but neither of her parents has that talent.”

“Ah.” That made Harry feel a little better.

“Well, you’re right in hiding it. Malfoy would love to paint you as a dark wizard. As if that slime is anything but a Death Eater who got smart!” Sirius shook his head. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Of course,” Harry said. “Sorry for not telling you sooner.”

“Don’t worry; you had your reasons.” Sirius smiled, though it looked a little forced to Harry.

He winced, feeling guilty. Then he took a deep breath. “There’s more.”

“You can talk to dogs too?”

Harry chuckled, despite the weak joke. He drew the Elder Wand. Sirius’s eyes widened - he must have recognised it. “Dumbledore left me this.” Harry put it on the desk. “It’s the Elder Wand.”

Sirius cursed so loudly, Harry was glad he had decided not to tell his godfather about the Cloak.

*****​

 

Chapter 31: Changes

London, Ministry of Magic, June 28th, 1997

Horace Slughorn didn’t have to fake his smile when he stepped out of the fireplace in the Atrium of the Ministry - he loved attending occasions such as this mixer, organised by the Minister himself. Cornelius might not be the most talented wizard or politician, but he knew how to socialise and network. Although not nearly as well as Horace himself, especially now that both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore were dead.

He nodded at the two Hit-Wizards standing guard at the Thief’s Downfall installed nearby. “Good evening, Mr Perkins, Miss Smith.”

“Good evening, sir.” Miss Smith - Slytherin, finished Hogwarts in 1982 - smiled at him. He wouldn’t have ordinarily remembered her name; despite her family name, she was neither particularly bright and talented nor well-connected. But she had been in her seventh year when Albus had forced Horace into retirement in 1982 in favour of his pet spy. Who had been killed by the Dark Lord, allowing Horace to return to Hogwarts as both Potions Master and Head of House.

Mr Perkins - Gryffindor, finished Hogwarts 1980 - nodded with less warmth. Horace had had great hopes for the boy - he had shown an impressive talent in Transfiguration - but the death of his brother had made him enter the Hit-Wizard force upon finishing Hogwarts, and he had apparently never managed to get over what he had seen in the last year of the war. Unfortunate, but not rare.

Horace put the two out of his mind as he walked towards the lift; he had far more important people to care about this evening.

Two minutes later, he arrived on the Minister’s floor. He had timed his arrival well - he wasn’t the first and wouldn’t appear too eager, but he was far from the last; Cornelius wasn’t yet too swamped by people currying his favour to greet Horace.

“Horace!”

“Cornelius!”

They shook hands vigorously. Or what Cornelius thought was vigorously.

“How are you doing? Relieved that the school year is over?” Cornelius smiled widely.

Horace nodded. “Indeed. I had to take over for Severus Snape, and sorting out the schedules and subjects…” He shook his head. “I’m glad I finally have the time to reorganise the syllabus for next year.” He wasn’t really lying - Snape had been a gifted potioneer, but as a teacher, he had been mediocre at best. The man had simply lacked any tolerance for less talented students.

“Ah, but you’ll manage. And I dare say, Hogwarts can use your experience, what with Albus dead.”

He caught Lucius Malfoy, who had been hanging back, using this to insert himself into their conversation. “I would have voted for you as the new Headmaster, had you had been nominated.”

Horace smiled politely at the offer and at the reminder that he had not been nominated. “I think I was away from Hogwarts for too long, enjoying my retirement, to take on such a challenge. Minerva has my trust and full support.” For now, of course.

Lucius nodded with a smile. “And who knows what the future will bring? McGonagall is a gifted Transfiguration teacher, but the post of Headmistress requires other skills.”

Minerva had been the Deputy Headmistress for decades, Horace knew as well as Lucius, but that wasn’t what the man was talking about. So Horace nodded with a smile. “How are things in the Wizengamot?”

Lucius sighed. “We’re doing our best, but, alas, some people prefer to put their personal ambitions and interests above what’s best for the country.”

Such as Lucius himself, Horace knew. Fortunately, Cornelius cut in before he had to comment.

“Are you butting heads with Sirius again, Lucius?” The Minister shook his head. “What are his issues with your latest proposal?”

Lucius sneered. “He’s still opposing a reasonable reduction in Aurors and Hit-Wizards, despite the money the Ministry could save.”

Horace nodded, but he knew better than to get into politics. Especially when Blacks were involved. “Oh, is that Elphias?” he said, acting as if he hadn’t spotted the old wizard minutes ago. “If you’ll excuse me, I really must say hello to him; haven’t seen him since Albus’s funeral.”

A few minutes, and some meaningless platitudes about how everyone was missing the man who had all but destroyed Horace’s lifework for his pet spy, later, Horace was standing at the buffet sampling the wine. It was a good selection; bought from another member of the Slug Club, unless he was sorely mistaken, Charles Shacklebolt. Cousin to the Auror currently in the best spot to inherit Rufus’s position, should there be a vacancy.

“Mister Slughorn.”

Horace turned around, his polite smile growing marginally warmer when he recognised Deborah Greengrass née Rosier. “Madam Greengrass.” She had been an altogether average witch at Hogwarts, not too closely related to the main branch of the family. The only thing she had had going for her had been her beauty; and she had made the best of it, marrying into the Greengrass family. As would have been expected of a Slytherin. Her daughters were cut from the same cloth, in Horace’s opinion.

“I was hoping to meet you here,” she said with a fake smile.

“Oh?” He had an inkling what this was about.

“Yes. Did you know that Mr Potter threatened my daughter at one of your parties?”

Of course he had; he’d be a poor host if he didn’t pay attention to his guests. But he faked ignorance. “He threatened her?”

She nodded. “She was just being friendly when she saw that his date had left him, and he threatened her - over that muggleborn thief with whom his godfather is living. Imagine that!”

“I see.” He nodded slowly. He had expected such a complaint.

She scoffed delicately. “As Daphne’s Head of House, I hope you will take adequate action to set the boy straight. It’s obvious that his godfather and that girl are a bad influence on him. Criminals, both of them! He should have been raised by an Old Family, not by… such a man.” She could sneer almost as well as Lucius, Horace noted.

Horace smiled. “I had heard of that little incident.” He inclined his head. “I think tempers ran a little high there; Harry is very protective of his family and friends. Something, I think, Sirius has taught him. Although I think we are fortunate that Sirius hasn’t taught him the proper forms and ways; if he had thought your daughter had insulted him with her insinuation, that might have been grounds for a duel.” Duels had been outlawed for over a century, but it was an open secret that some Old Families still arranged for a ‘friendly spar’ over some insults. The Blacks had been notorious for that, a few decades ago. Before the first war.

Greengrass paled.

“Fortunately,” Horace continued, “Harry wouldn’t blatantly break the law like that; he is set on becoming an Auror. A fitting career for the Vanquisher of Voldemort, wouldn’t you agree?”

The witch nodded, albeit a little jerkily. Horace had to refrain from sighing. That some people seemed to have forgotten just what Harry had done not even six months ago…

“If you’ll excuse me; I just saw someone I’ve wanted to meet for some time.” He nodded at her; it was a slight, but he would be better off not antagonising the Boy-Who-Lived. The man who took down Voldemort, backed by the Black fortune, would be a formidable force in a few years.

Like Arthur’s son, towards whom he was walking. Percival Weasley’s career was, according to what Horace’s friends had told him, back on track after that unfortunate affair a few years ago. Prefect, Head Boy and member of Albus’s Order - if only Horace had been at Hogwarts during his years there. But, as with the other Weasleys, he had missed his chance there. If he had known just what kind of political mind Arthur had hidden behind his harmless facade, he would have certainly cultivated closer ties with the family.

“Mister Weasley!” He beamed at the young man, intent on correcting his past mistakes.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 1st, 1997

“Harry? Are you busy?”

Harry Potter closed his copy of the Auror handbook - reading about the procedures for requesting Hit-Wizard support for a raid wasn’t very interesting - and looked at his godfather standing in the doorway. Sirius looked a little nervous, he thought but hid his frown. “No. What do you need?” There couldn’t be any trouble related to the Elder Wand, could there?

Sirius took a step inside, closed the door and cleared his throat. “I need to discuss something with you. Something serious.”

Harry clenched his teeth for a moment. Was this about him being a Parselmouth? He glanced at Mr Biggles, who was sleeping under the heater in his terrarium - Hermione’s idea; he hadn’t slipped out since they had installed that. Although enlarging the terrarium to the size of Harry’s bed - with a lot more plants and a small tree to climb - had probably helped as well. He blinked and focused on the matter at hand. “Yes?”

Sirius took a deep breath, and his smile looked rather forced. Whatever this was, it was important, Harry thought. Had someone been hurt? Had Remus’s curse turned out not to have been countered? Had…

“What do you think about getting a stepmother?”

Harry blinked.

“Because, you know, I think Jeanne is a very nice witch. Not just nice in that sense, but she’s brave - would have been a Gryffindor if she had been a Hogwarts student - and smart, and she has a spine. I know she’s a little young for me, at least from a muggle perspective, as Lily once told me, but I’m not really old either, and…”

Harry held up his hand. “Sirius?”

“Yes?”

“We’ve been expecting you two to announce your wedding or at least your official engagement for months now.” Harry smirked, relieved.

“Oh.”

Harry nodded. “Yes. If I had a problem with Jeanne, I would have said something months ago.” There was no need to mention his fears and his talks with Hermione. Jeanne had proven herself. More than once.

“Ah.” Sirius looked sheepish. “I’m glad to hear that. Although there are a few more things to consider. You see, marriage usually results in children.”

“Yes?” Harry blinked again. “Is Jeanne pregnant?”

“What? No, no.” Sirius frowned. “Did you expect me to get her pregnant, after everything I taught you about safe sex?”

Harry didn’t want to answer that honestly, but judging by Sirius’s frown, Harry’s expression betrayed him anyway. His godfather huffed. “Really!” Then he laughed. “Anyway, no, she’s not pregnant. But once she is, there’s the matter of my heir.”

“What about him or her?” Harry asked, then frowned. “Wait - do you think I’d be jealous of your and Jeanne’s future child?”

“Well,” Sirius said, looking embarrassed, “it’s a possibility. You know I had a brother, and after I was cast out of the family, I certainly felt some jealousy towards him. And scorn, since Regulus was a Death Eater. Mostly scorn, of course. But I didn’t like the thought of him inheriting the Black fortune.”

Ah. “Well, I’m not jealous.” He wasn’t. Not really. He knew Sirius wouldn’t brush him aside in favour of a baby. Not really. And by the time the baby would be born, Harry would be an adult already, and living his own life. Probably. And being jealous of a baby was very, very childish. At least that’s what Hermione would tell him. “I know you’re not…” He bit his lower lip before he finished with ‘my real father’. That would be unkind. He started again, “I didn’t expect to inherit anything from you.” He had his own inheritance from his parents, anyway. It wasn’t a fortune, but it would allow him to get a flat or house of his own, at least.

Sirius shook his head. “But you will. You’re my godson. I won’t neglect you, I promise you. And I still owe you twelve birthday presents,” he added with a smile.

Harry thought about joking that there was a new broom on the market, supposedly better than a Firebolt, but if he did, Sirius would rush out and buy him one. “Thanks,” he said instead.

They hugged each other. And Harry hoped Sirius wouldn’t notice that he actually was jealous. Of Sirius and Jeanne.

*****​

London, Merton, July 2nd, 1997

Hermione Granger tensed up when she saw the owl landing on the window-sill. She knew that the exams she had taken didn’t really count towards her future - unlike the N.E.W.T.s next year - and that she could use the next year to make up any deficiencies they might reveal, but she couldn’t help feeling nervous anyway.

She checked for curses and other ‘surprises’, then took the envelope from the fidgeting owl. It had to be impatient. Or, she added to herself, spotting Crookshanks eyeing the bird with interest, it was wary of her cat. As any bird should be. She slipped it an owl treat, then gave Crookshanks a few cat treats so he wouldn’t feel slighted and opened the letter.

Outstandings in Charms, Transfiguration, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. She sighed with relief. Mr Fletcher would have been very disappointed otherwise. As she would have been. Acceptable in Defence. She winced. She had sandbagged a little too much. She hoped Harry wouldn’t inflict more training on her. Still an Exceeds Expectations in Potions. Acceptables in Care of Magical Creatures - she hadn’t been as lucky with the test’s subjects as in her O.W.L. exam - Herbology, and History of Magic. She hadn’t taken Muggle Studies. Not after that farce of an exam for her O.W.L. She wouldn’t study, much less write down, obvious falsehoods!

She sighed again.

“How did you do?” her mum asked.

Hermione handed her the letter. “About as well as on my O.W.L.s.”

“But for Care of Magical Creatures,” her mum corrected her.

“But my Arithmancy and Ancient Runes results are better.” Not as close to Exceeds Expectations any more.

“Ah.” Mum handed the letter to Dad, so he could stop craning his neck and trying to read it upside down.

“You did well there,” he said after skimming it, “considering your situation.”

She pursed her lips. Yes, considering her situation. “I expect to do better on the N.E.W.T.s themselves, with the distraction of the war gone.”

Her parents nodded, smiling. They probably wouldn’t smile if they knew what exactly she had been doing during the war.

“Speaking of which,” Dad started, “have you given any thoughts to what you’ll be doing after your N.E.W.T.s?”

She frowned. “I plan on continuing to work for Sirius.” And starting her revenge as soon as Mr Fletcher deemed her ready.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“It’s a good job.” And a good cover. “It’s interesting work. I can help shape the laws of Wizarding Britain.”

“Yes,” Mum said, “but… is it really a good idea to tie yourself so closely to Sirius? What if his own situation changes? You said he’s about to marry his fiancée.”

She frowned. “I doubt that things will change because of that. Jeanne’s already living with him.” And both Sirius and Jeanne knew and supported Hermione’s plans for revenge.

Her parents glanced at each other. “If you’re certain…” Dad said.

She nodded. Firmly. “Yes, I am.” What was their problem?

“It’s just... Paul seemed to have some issues with your work,” Mum said.

“Or rather, your inability to tell him anything about your work,” Dad clarified.

She frowned. “Did he come and talk to you while I was absent?” That would be going too far!

“No, no.” Dad shook his head. “But we couldn’t help noticing a certain tension during our last dinner together when that topic came up.”

She didn’t quite shrug. “That’s to be expected. Many wizards and witches dating muggles are in a similar position.”

“And how many of them manage to solve that?” Mum looked at her.

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re allowed to tell your husband once you’re married. Such marriages aren’t exactly rare, but I don’t know how many relationships with muggles fail before marriage.”

“Are you planning on marrying Paul?” Mum asked. She was staring at her, Hermione noticed.

“I’m not planning on marrying anyone,” Hermione answered. “I’m seventeen.” An adult under Wizarding Law.

“Ah.” Dad smiled. “I should have known you weren’t a love-struck girl dreaming of a wedding with her first love.”

“A stack of books would hardly make for a good groom anyway,” her mum added.

She glared at them both and pouted. But she also realised that she hadn’t thought, nor dreamt, of marrying Paul. He was nice, funny when he wasn’t being obnoxious about his movies, and handsome. And he turned her on when they were together.

But she hadn’t been ‘love-struck’, as Dad called it. Not at all. Not once during their relationship.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 7th, 1997

“Ah, here it is!” Sirius said, holding up the latest Daily Prophet and pointing at an article on page five. Before Harry Potter could read even the headline, though, his godfather had turned it around again and started reading himself: “Engagements: Sirius Black, Head of the Black family, announced his engagement to Jeanne Selwyn, daughter of…” He looked up, frowning. “Jeanne Selwyn?”

“I double checked. The announcement we sent to the newspapers read ‘Jeanne Dubois’,” Hermione told him as she buttered her toast.

“I think my father ‘corrected’ that when they asked him for a comment,” Jeanne said. She shook her head. “He does not seem to understand that such behaviour will not endear him to either of us.”

“Or someone wants you to believe he did that,” Hermione suggested.

“That would be incredibly petty,” Sirius said, shaking his head.

“Skeeter is incredibly petty, in my experience,” Hermione retorted.

“Skeeter would have tried to throw doubt on Jeanne’s parentage and would have mentioned that her father ignored her until he lost his heir. She is petty, but not that subtle.” Sirius shook his head. “No, I think this is my future father-in-law’s ego speaking.”

“I concur,” Jeanne agreed.

“Great. This’ll be a pleasant wedding.” Harry sighed.

“Oh, compared to my parents, Jeanne’s father’s a very amicable fellow,” Sirius said, grinning. “You wouldn’t want to know what they would have told the Prophet.”

“I can imagine,” Harry said. He had heard enough stories about the portrait of Sirius’s mother. Hermione nodded in agreement.

“Anyway, let’s not get annoyed over this,” Sirius said. “It won’t change the fact that I’ll be marrying the most beautiful witch in England next summer!” He wrapped his arm around Jeanne’s shoulder and pulled her in for a kiss. A kiss that turned very French very quickly.

Harry sighed at the display - he didn’t begrudge his godfather his happiness, but the breakfast table wasn’t the right place to show such affection. He shook his head and leaned towards Hermione. “If I’d known they’d make out at the table, I’d have pretended to oppose the wedding,” he whispered.

“Oh, shush!” she whispered back. “They love each other and shouldn’t hide that.”

There was some difference between not hiding your love and snogging at the table, Harry thought. But he didn’t want to appear jealous - he was the only single person in the extended family right now - so he nodded and returned to his breakfast.

*****​

An hour later, Harry Potter was at his desk, studying the Aurors’ rules for reporting incidents. And shaking his head - for a force meant to uphold law and order in Wizarding Britain, the Aurors probably spent more time fighting paperwork than anything else. And he was supposed to learn this.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember what he had just read. Date, time and location were easy - that was simply common sense. Everyone involved, split into Aurors, allies, suspects, victims and… He suppressed a curse and focused. He was an Occlumens - he could do this. Occlumency didn’t grant a perfect memory, but if you knew your mind, you knew where to look for what you couldn’t remember. In theory - Dumbledore had taught him, ‘en passant’, as Ron would say, that the human mind had a tendency to alter memories.

But then again, as an Occlumens, he was less susceptible to that. He focused and saw the page he had read before in his mind. “Aurors, allies, suspects, victims, persons of interest - witnesses, mainly - and anyone else,” he said, smiling.

“Aurors, allies, suspects, victims, persons of interest?”

He jerked and muttered a curse under his breath as he turned. He hadn’t noticed Hermione entering his room! Focusing on his memories, to the exclusion of everything else… Moody would tear him a new one if he ever heard of this. “Hermione?” he said out loud.

She snorted. “Yes, it’s me. And you used to tease me about getting lost in books!” she added with a grin.

He sighed. “I’m studying.” Then he winced and held up his hand. “No teasing about that, please.”

“I would never!” she said, but her grin widened. Then she grew serious. “You’re really determined to become an Auror, hm?”

He nodded. “You know, I hadn’t been really serious. Not at the beginning. But now, with Dumbledore gone…” He sighed. “You know what Malfoy’s doing. And his friends.”

“What they are trying to do,” she corrected him. “So far they haven’t been too successful.”

“That’s not enough!” He saw her wince slightly at his vehemence. “Sorry.”

She shook her head. “It’s OK.”

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, you know how the Ministry works - rich people are pretty much untouchable. If you want to bring someone like Malfoy to justice, you need the backing from someone rich and influential.”

“Like Sirius,” she said.

“Yes. But that’s not a solution.” Harry stood. “That’s not how it’s supposed to work.” He shook his head. “We need to change that. And I think I can do it, with Sirius’s help. As the Boy-Who-Lived, or the Vanquisher of Voldemort, I can do more than others. And as an Auror, I can do the most good. Clean up the Ministry. And ensure that the guilty are punished instead of the innocent. Unlike other Aurors, they won’t be able to easily ignore me.”

Hermione winced at hearing that, he noticed. Why would… of course! She didn’t like being reminded of her expulsion. He sighed - once again, he had hurt a girl without meaning to.

*****​

London, Greenwich, July 8th, 1997

“What’s bothering you?”

Hermione Granger looked up from her notes on the latest muggle locks. Mr Fletcher had lowered his newspaper and she could see his concerned expression. She considered lying - it was her private business, after all - but decided against it. “I asked Harry about his wish to become an Auror.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “And he was set on his course, contrary to your expectations?”

She frowned - was she so easy to read? “Yes.”

“It’s a simple deduction,” he added. “If he hadn’t been determined, you wouldn’t be annoyed, but either happy or angry at Black for still not telling him.”

“He wants to clean up the Ministry. Stop the corruption. Put an end to people escaping justice,” she said, choosing not to comment on his analysis of her mood.

“And you’re afraid he’ll go after you.”

“I’m not afraid,” she said. Or lied - she didn’t know herself. “But I would rather not find out if he values justices more than his family.” Harry had sounded full of conviction and determination when he had talked to her.

“Well, as long as you don’t get caught, there won’t be a problem.” He grinned. “Which means more training, and less worrying about your N.E.W.T.s.”

She huffed - she could do both. “You also said to prepare for the worst.” Azkaban.

Mr Fletcher tilted his head. “Which you did, didn’t you?”

She sighed. “I could escape Azkaban as a cat.” With some additional preparations to get off the island. “But that was when the Dementors guarded it.”

He nodded. “Escaping won’t be easy with the changes the Ministry has implemented.”

“I almost wish they’d kept the Dementors. Or that Malfoy’s attempt to reduce the number of Hit-Wizards would succeed,” she said, scowling.

Mr Fletcher blinked. “I thought he was going after the Aurors.”

“Sirius and Mr Weasley shot that proposal down. But if there are fewer Hit-Wizards, then Aurors might be called on to fill in for them,” Hermione explained.

She saw him frown. “And uppity muggleborn Aurors, or Aurors who don’t know when to drop an investigation, could be transferred to guard Azkaban.”

“Exactly.”

“Would Bones and Scrimgeour allow that?” He folded his newspaper and dropped it on the stack next to his seat. Hermione resisted the urge to straighten the stack with a quick spell.

“Bones, I don’t think so - she lost family in the last war; she won’t work with Malfoy and his cronies.” According to Sirius. “Scrimgeour, though…” She sighed. “He’s got a reputation as both honest and ambitious, but no one knows which of the two he’ll sacrifice if he is forced to choose.”

“Expect the worst, then.”

“Yes.” She nodded.

“What’s Black doing about this?”

“Trying to back both of them. But Bones doesn’t want to appear as one of his followers - or corrupt - and Scrimgeour doesn’t want to commit himself.” Which was a bad sign.

“Typical. Bones is too stubborn for her own good.” He scoffed.

Hermione shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with having principles.”

“Unless they’re the wrong principles.” He shook his head. “Bones’s been in the DMLE for a long time, though. So she has to know how to deal with politics. At least enough to keep her job.”

He didn’t have to say out loud that Madam Bones would treat a group of thieves according to the law, no matter their motives and past deeds - Hermione knew that well enough. And she knew as well that if she didn’t want to make Harry choose between protecting his family and friends and upholding the law, she couldn’t get caught.

It would be so much easier if Harry were not so determined to reform Britain as an Auror.

*****​

London, Merton, July 10th, 1997

Hermione Granger clenched her teeth and once more pondered abandoning her plan. It was undignified. Inappropriate. Embarrassing. She didn’t need to do this, either - she had done fine so far by herself. She was an adult in Wizarding Britain, and would soon be an adult according to British law as well. And adults didn’t ask their parents for help with their love life.

But this was her first relationship, and she could really do with some mature advice. From someone other than Jeanne. So she took a deep breath and entered the living room, where her mum was reading.

“Mum?”

“Yes, Hermione?” Her mum didn’t look up from her book. That didn’t mean she wasn’t paying attention - Hermione had found that out when she was still a little girl. But this was more important than a negotiation over her allowance as a five-year-old.

She cleared her throat. That made Mum look at her. “It’s about Paul.”

“Oh?” Mum put her book away. “What has he done?”

Hermione pursed her lips, “He hasn’t done anything. It’s me.”

“What did you do?” her mum asked.

“I realised that I might not be in love with him. Not at all,” Hermione said.

Her mum snorting wasn’t the reaction she had expected. “It’s your first relationship - as far as I know.”

“That’s true,” Hermione said, a little indignantly - she wouldn’t lie to her parents about that.

“So you lack any alternative points of reference.”

Pointing out that she had read a number of books about this wouldn’t help her, Hermione knew. “It’s just… I like him. But I never dreamt of marrying him. And I never even considered sacrificing my plans for the future for him.” Not that her mum knew what exactly those plans were.

“And you shouldn’t!” Mum said, rather vehemently. “Your future is worth more than any romantic relationship.”

Hermione didn’t mention that she had considered - but decided against - abandoning her revenge, or at least postponing it for the foreseeable future, for Harry. They were talking about romantic relationships, not friendships. “I’m feeling a little guilty, though. As if I’m simply using him.”

“Has he mentioned wanting to start living together? Or any plans like that?”

“No.” Hermione shook her head.

“Then you certainly don’t need to feel guilty for not thinking about it either. Just enjoy your relationship for what it is, and if it gets too much, break it off.” She smiled. “Gabriel wasn’t my first love either, you know. And I certainly didn’t think about marrying anyone when I was a teenager.”

That had been in the seventies, so Hermione was inclined to believe her.

“With the exception of Prince Charles, of course,” her mum added with a smirk.

“What?” Hermione stared at her.

“Every girl in my class dreamed of becoming Queen at least once. We were in primary school.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You weren’t seventeen then.”

“But ‘almost a teenager’.” Mum grinned as she reminded Hermione of her attempt to get a later bedtime in primary school.

She tried to get their talk back on track. “So should I simply keep dating Paul, until I get fed up for whatever reason, and then break up?”

“Yes.”

That sounded rather cold, Hermione thought. “Even if it hurts him?” She didn’t want to act like Harry had when he broke up with Romilda.

“You’d hurt him and yourself far more if you stay together when you don’t want to.”

Maybe she should talk to Jeanne, Hermione thought as she nodded at her mum.

*****​

Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, July 31st, 1997

“I wish you a happy birthday, Mr Potter.”

“Thank you, Mr Doge.” Harry Potter replied.

“Please, call me Elphias.”

“Elphias,” Harry repeated with a nod and a smile that would hopefully look genuine. It wasn’t the old wizard’s fault that, this year, Harry’s birthday party at The Burrow wasn’t a gathering of friends, as it had been in the years before, but had been turned into a ‘mixer’ for mostly adults and old people.

“I was Albus’s best friend, you know,” Elphias said. He wasn’t looking at Harry, or at anyone else, as far as Harry could tell. “We were in the same year and house at Hogwarts, and we planned to do the Grand Tour afterwards. Travel the world together. But then his sister was attacked…” He trailed off with a sigh. “I think Albus never really recovered from that. He changed. And even more so after his sister died.”

Harry was glad he wasn’t expected to smile any more. He already had heard this story from Dumbledore himself. But it would be rude to say so. So he listened to the story, nodding and acting as if he was paying rapt attention, until the man finished and moved away to find another victim.

He noticed Sirius walking towards him. “Smile, Harry!” his godfather said with a smile. “It’s your birthday!”

Harry snorted. “Some birthday.” He made a point of looking towards the Quidditch pitch, where most of his friends were flying.

Sirius looked puzzled. “Why don’t you go and join them?”

“Because I’m being hounded by every old and influential wizard or witch you invited to my party,” Harry spat out. “They all want to talk to the Boy-Who-Lived. Or the Vanquisher of Voldemort.”

His godfather winced at hearing that, then cast a privacy spell. “I’m sorry about that, but we need more support in the Wizengamot and the Ministry if we want to counter Malfoy’s plans.”

“I know,” Harry said. “And I understand it’s necessary.” But that didn’t mean he had to like it. Or like his guests. At least he didn’t have to feel guilty for making Mrs Weasley deal with this - Mr Weasley had helped organise it, with Sirius, so he was to blame for a small birthday party turning into the social event of the month.

“Welcome to politics, Harry.” Sirius grinned. “Being friendly with people I don’t particularly like is the part of my work that I can’t drop on Hermione. And once you’re working for the Ministry, you’ll have to do this more often.”

“Great. I can’t wait to start,” Harry muttered.

Sirius laughed. “Well, since you’re so enthusiastic, how about I introduce you to Amelia Bones? She should get to know her future Head Auror, shouldn’t she? And her niece is a looker.”

Harry snorted, but his godfather had a point. Talking to Madam Bones would be interesting, provided he could avoid sounding like an idiot. And while he wouldn’t normally have invited Susan Bones to his birthday party, the Hufflepuff seemed to be nice. He nodded. “Alright.”

“Just don’t break her niece’s heart. That might harm your future career.”

Harry glared at him. “You said that Bones is a witch who’d never abuse her position.”

“That’s true. But she can make you suffer just by being as strict as the regulations demand or allow.”

Harry sighed. “I hope she doesn’t have a crush on me.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because if she has a crush and I turn her down, she’ll be hurt,” Harry explained.

“So don’t turn her down?” Sirius shrugged.

“And once we break up, she’ll be hurt worse?” Harry snorted.

“That’s really pessimistic.” Sirius frowned. “With that attitude, any relationship is doomed from the start.”

“I’m just being realistic,” Harry retorted. After all, so far he hadn’t managed to end any of his relationships on friendly terms. “Let’s go.”

*****​

Hermione Granger was almost pressing her chest into the shaft of her broom as she chased that thrice-damned Golden Snitch which had been taunting her for minutes now. It was flying low above the grass, trying to lure her into a collision with the ground. But she was too smart for that ploy - no mere bird would get the better of a cat.

Grinning fiercely, she kept her position behind and above the twittering prey. It would veer off any moment… now! The Snitch pulled to its right, and Hermione dived at it, hand stretching out to grab it.

At the last second, the Snitch dove down and to the left, and Hermione overshot it. Cursing the thing, she pulled up and banked left. That stupid imitation-bird wouldn’t escape her again!

Alas, her prediction came true, but not in the way she had intended: Ginny had been sneaking up on the Snitch and snatched it just as it tried to gain some distance from Hermione.

“Ginny’s got the Snitch! Team Weasley wins!” Hannah, who had volunteered to act as the referee together with Susan, announced as the Weasleys and the assorted other players they had shanghaied to fill their ranks celebrated their victory.

As she landed, Hermione told herself that she had held back anyway. At least a little. At the start. And it was mostly luck anyway, given how random the Snitch seemed to act. She still wanted to use a Reductor Curse on the Snitch, though.

“Well, you tried, but Ginny’s a natural Seeker.”

Hermione glared at Seamus. “I didn’t want to be Seeker,” she lied.

“You did better than expected,” Ron cut in. “Not that you had much of a chance anyway, with the twins recruiting Alicia, Angelina and Katie.”

“Which was rather unfair,” Seamus said. “You get pros, and we get ‘Team Potter without Potter’.”

“No one knew that Harry wouldn’t be able to play,” Hermione said. Although she should have expected it - she had planned the party with Sirius, Mr Weasley and Percy, after all.

“No one agreed to mixing up the teams either when we knew Harry would rather talk to the high and mighty than play Quidditch,” Seamus shot back.

Harry would rather have flown the whole day, Hermione knew. But saying that would run counter to the goal of this party. “They wanted to win. And to look good in front of Mr Farnespudding.” Who was the owner of the Wimbourne Wasps, and might need a new Chaser this season.

“Beating us didn’t exactly make them look good. We sucked worse than the Claws,” Dean said.

“But Katie could show that she could keep up with Angelina and Alicia,” Hermione pointed out.

“Yes,” Katie said, smiling. “And I wanted to play with them again. I missed them last year.”

“We all missed them,” Seamus said, suddenly all smiles.

Hermione rolled her eyes - he was so predictable that she was tempted to steal his wallet again.

“I hoped Harry would play,” Susan said. “But he’s been talking to Auntie for what feels an hour,” she added with a sigh and a pout that looked very much as if she had trained in front of a mirror, in Hermione’s opinion. Someone had a crush, if Hermione wasn’t completely mistaken.

Ron said: “He wants to become an Auror after Hogwarts, so he wanted to use the opportunity to ask her a few questions.”

“Really?” Susan’s face lit up. “He can come visit us any time!”

Hermione told herself that Susan would have heard that from her aunt anyway. But she still wanted to hex Ron. The last thing Harry needed was yet another relationship with a girl who had a crush on him.

When Susan and Hannah started to gush about the Boy-Who-Lived and Luna dragged Ron away to look at what she thought was a ‘cross-pollinated pixie’, whatever that was, Hermione excused herself and went to track down Sirius.

She found him at the buffet with Jeanne, behaving as if he were there simply to enjoy Mrs Weasley’s cooking and not to keep an eye on Harry. Who was now talking to Scrimgeour. She took a small plate and put some roast beef and chips on it as she raised both eyebrows at Sirius.

“He’s enjoying himself,” Sirius said.

“I can see that. But how are we doing?” Hermione said. She smiled at him as if he were a random member of the Wizengamot, to drive the point home.

He winced, then smiled. “Well, everyone we invited attended. No one excused themselves. That’s a good sign.”

“Even my father is present,” Jeanne added, nodding towards an older man talking with Slughorn.

“Now that was a miscalculation,” Sirius grumbled sotto voce. “I thought he wouldn’t visit the Weasleys.”

Jeanne shook her head with a smirk. “And I told you that he can be very pragmatic when it furthers his interests. That’s why he recognised me despite me being born a bastard.”

“I believe the euphemism du jour is ‘natural born’,” Sirius said. “Damn hypocrite!”

“It’s a good sign, though,” Jeanne said.

Hermione shook her head slightly. “Your father might simply have realised that unless he disinherits you, which would ruin all his plans, he cannot distance himself from Sirius without ruining his position.” Which Mr Selwyn should have anticipated. Unless he had had reason to expect Sirius’s early death during the conflict with Voldemort.

“As I said, it’s a good sign.”

Jeanne’s smile was all teeth.

*****​

“Is the coast clear?” Harry Potter asked as soon as his call to The Burrow had gone through.

“All the guests have left, yes,” Ron answered him.

“Finally!” Harry didn’t bother hiding his relief as he stepped out of the fireplace - only stumbling slightly, too! Not even the fact that Hermione entered The Burrow behind him as smoothly as if she were walking through the door could dampen his good mood.

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” Mrs Weasley asked, flicking her wand to cover the table in the living room with a fresh tablecloth.

“You invited Zacharias Smith, Mum,” Ron said, shaking his head. “How that git was sorted into Hufflepuff I’ll never understand. He’s almost as arrogant as Malfoy!”

“He probably wasn’t cunning enough for Slytherin,” Ginny said. She put on a sneer and imitated the boy’s nasal voice. “You know, Helga Hufflepuff was my ancestor, although I don’t mention it so others don’t feel inferior.” She made retching noises.

“Ginny!” Mrs Weasley glared at her.

“What? He does sound like that!” the witch defended herself.

“Fortunately, he doesn’t say ‘Wait until I tell my Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandmother about this!” Harry said, laughing.

“I think you’re missing about fifteen ‘greats’,” Hermione told him.

“Nineteen, actually - the Hufflepuffs were known for marrying and having children early,” Luna corrected her.

Harry laughed again - he knew that Hermione would check that claim as soon as she could do so without being obvious about it.

“Isn’t Sirius coming as well?” Mrs Weasley asked. “Or did something come up?”

“He’s probably afraid we’ll blame him for the torture we had to go through this afternoon,” Harry said.

“‘We’?” Hermione frowned at him. “As I recall you were the only one who was pestered by everyone.”

“A sacrifice we’ll remember!” Ron cut in.

That earned Ron a frown of his own. Hermione continued: “And as the one celebrating his birthday, such attention was to be expected, at least to some degree,” she added, probably in response to the look Harry gave her.

“You would say that since I bet that you picked half the guests,” Harry said.

“I merely made a few suggestions,” she retorted with a grin. “It’s all on Sirius’s head.”

“And Dad and Percy’s,” Ron added.

Harry shook his head. “I hope it was worth it.”

“Oh, I think it was. A few appearances in the Wizengamot by the Vanquisher of Voldemort and Malfoy should be cut down to size. Once you get your Order of Merlin, you’ll be a member as well.”

“Malfoy’ll be neutered,” Ron said.

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “Even if he wasn’t going to get an Order of Merlin of his own, he’s got several families backing him no matter what. It’ll take more than a few defeats in the Wizengamot to remove him as a political force.” She pursed her lips. “Especially as long as Fudge remains Minister, the man is simply too corrupt.”

“If only he’d contract a gold allergy,” Luna said. “But his bowler hat keeps the Niffler ghosts away.”

Harry wasn’t going to ask. And Ron would already know. Maybe…

“Niffler ghosts?” Ginny asked. “What are they?”

“The spirits of Nifflers who were used to find gold for their owners. Unable to satisfy their natural urges, but cruelly abused, forced to search for gold they couldn’t keep, they linger after their death to punish the greedy. But they can be driven off by bowler hats since those remind them of the traps used to catch them.” Luna sighed. “The poor dears suffer even after death.”

“I haven’t heard of any animal ghosts,” Ginny said.

“Many cultures have tales of spirit animals,” Hermione said, surprising Harry. “Those could be seen as ghosts.”

“A Niffler spirit animal?” he asked.

She shrugged. “It could be possible.”

Luna nodded. “We’re going to try and use the greediest muggle we can find as bait, to see if we can catch a few Niffler ghosts. It’s morally acceptable since muggle money is made from paper, so an allergy to gold won’t harm muggles.” She lowered her voice and leaned towards Hermione. “If you want, we can give them to you, and you can ‘accidentally’ knock off Fudge’s hat before setting them loose in the Ministry.”

“Thank you for the offer, Luna,” Hermione said, “but I think we’ll abstain from using such methods to deal with Fudge.”

“Alright!” Luna nodded. She turned to Harry. “Did you invite Susan and Hannah for this party too?”

Harry shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know either of them well enough to invite them to my birthday party.”

“Susan seems to want to change that,” Ron said with a grin.

“And a party is a great way to get to know someone, Daddy always says,” Luna added. “Especially if they drink too much.”

Harry wasn’t the only one who was staring at her. Did she just…

She blinked. “Didn’t you know that drunk people often let slip things they wanted to keep secret?”

“Ah.” Harry smiled. “I’m not planning to get the niece of the head of the DMLE drunk at a party.” Especially not if she had a crush on him. He clapped. “Now, let’s call the others and get this started.”

It was time to have fun.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, August 8th, 1997

“...and in recognition of your personal bravery in this battle, and with great pride and pleasure, I hereby award you the Order of Merlin, First Class!”

Harry Potter smiled when the Minister finished his speech. To his surprise, Fudge hadn’t rambled on but had delivered a short and quite succinct speech. He’d have to ask Sirius if he knew who had written it. And maybe ask if they could give Hermione a few pointers - his best female friend was one of the smartest people he knew, but writing speeches wasn’t among her talents. Her drafts read as though they were meant to become a book.

He banished those whimsical thoughts as Fudge approached him, the cushion upon which the medal was resting floating at his side. It wouldn’t do to giggle in the middle of the ceremony; Malfoy would use that to paint him as an immature teenager.

So he kept his expression serious as he lowered his head so Fudge could place the Order’s ribbon around his neck. “Thank you, sir. I’m honoured.”

Then he turned to the Wizengamot’s seats and pulled out his notes for his own speech. “Honoured members of the Wizengamot! I am very proud to be here today, and to be elevated into the ranks of such a prestigious Order. I will do my utmost to do such an honour justice, and will strive to keep protecting our country against all enemies, both those from within and from abroad.” He resisted the urge to glance at Malfoy, who was waiting for his own award, as he spoke those lines. “However, I feel that on this occasion, we should also honour and remember everyone else who fought Voldemort. Especially those who gave their lives in the battle.” He hadn’t wanted to use such a euphemism for ‘getting brutally killed’, but Sirius and Hermione had teamed up to convince him that he’d do better to follow the usual phrases in the Wizengamot. “They came from all stations of life, muggleborns, half-bloods and purebloods, gathered and led by Albus Dumbledore, united by their courage and determination not to let the Dark Lord enslave our country. I will wear this Order for them as well. I’m no Dumbledore myself, but I will do my best to follow in his footsteps. He had a vision for our country - a Wizarding Britain where everyone who could work magic, regardless of the circumstances of their birth, was treated equally. And I’ll do my best to turn that vision into reality.”

As expected, the applause was a little one-sided. Harry didn’t mind.

*****​

An hour and Malfoy’s own award ceremony later, Harry Potter was in the Atrium, trying not to be too obvious about checking the food that was being served for curses and poison.

“We’re now officially colleagues!” Sirius told him. “You being not just an adult, but now also a member of the Wizengamot.”

Harry snorted. “Non-hereditary.” The Old Families wouldn’t introduce any new ones, no matter how brave. Not even Dumbledore had been granted a hereditary seat. “And in three weeks, I’ll be back at Hogwarts for my seventh year. No more politics for me!”

Sirius snorted. “You’re allowed to attend the sessions, you know.”

“Yes. You told me that yourself. But you don’t need me for anything but the most important votes,” Harry said. “I’d rather hex than talk to half the people here,” he added, glaring at the group surrounding Malfoy.

“Consider it training for your future career as an Auror. You’ll have to work with these people.”

Harry clenched his teeth. That was something he wasn’t looking forward to as an Auror. “Where’s Hermione?”

“Off to powder her nose,” Sirius said.

Before Harry could ask if Sirius was joking, he noticed Madam Umbridge walking towards them and barely kept himself from drawing his wand. That witch was among the worst in the Ministry.

She cleared her throat before smiling overly sweetly at them. “Good evening, Mr Potter. Mr Black. I would like to congratulate you.”

“Thank you, Madam Umbridge.” Harry’s smile was as fake as hers. Sirius’s looked more like a snarl.

But the witch wasn’t so easily deterred. “I’ve heard you’re planning to become an Auror after Hogwarts.”

“That’s true.” It wasn’t exactly a secret.

“Aren’t you afraid that the demands of such a career will prevent you from fulfilling your duties as a member of the Wizengamot? The responsibility of such a position cannot be underestimated.”

Harry kept himself from glaring at the witch. “No, I’m not afraid. I’ve had very good teachers.” He nodded at Sirius. “Not just my godfather, but also Dumbledore himself. He did his best to teach me all I need to know.” Not that the Headmaster had spoken much about politics, but she didn’t need to know that.

She was all but glaring at him over her forced smile. “And have they prepared you as an Auror as well? Many who apply are rejected, and more are found wanting during the probationary period.”

Harry laughed, then chuckled at her expression. “Mad-Eye Moody trained me too. I don’t think I’ll have any problems there.”

“I see.” Her smile had almost disappeared now.

Harry couldn’t resist. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Did you think I was a mere pawn? Just a child who was acting as Dumbledore’s figurehead? I was trained to face and fight Voldemort, Madam Umbridge.” He pointed to the repaired lift to muggle London. “My best friend and I fought our way through half a dozen Death Eaters there. They didn’t survive.”

To her credit, she didn’t flee right away. “Neither the Wizengamot nor the Ministry are places where you can fight your enemies like that, Mr Potter.”

He snorted. “We fought Voldemort to ensure exactly that, Madam Umbridge. Something I hope my enemies won’t forget.”

As the witch finally retreated, Sirius chuckled. “And you claim that you don’t have a talent for politics!”

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed. He was already sick of this - but someone had to stop Malfoy and his cronies from ruining the country. And, as the Boy-Who-Lived, he had both the power and the responsibility to do so.

*****​

 

Chapter 32: Suspicions

London, Merton, August 17th, 1997

Paul Simms wasn’t a violent man, but there were times when he wanted to hit his two best friends. Like today. They were supposed to watch that Japanese sci-fi movie Mark had bought - so bad it was good, Philip had described it - but they were nagging him about his girlfriend instead.

“You know she’s cheating on you with her employer. Classic set-up, man.” Mark shook his head. “You know how she always gets weird when we ask her about him? ‘He’s not that old. He’s just eccentric, but a good employer’,” he tried to imitate Hermione.

Paul clenched his teeth. “She’s not sleeping with her employer.” Hermione wasn’t that kind of girl. He knew her better than that.

“Paul’s right. She’s working as a call girl,” Philip said. “The ’eccentric independently wealthy gentleman’ doesn’t exist. He’s her pimp. That’s why she was so evasive about that club he’s running.”

“What?” Paul stared at him.

“You’re an idiot,” Mark said. “She’s not pretty enough to be an escort!”

“What?” Paul turned to stare at Mark.

“Don’t be fooled. I bet she cleans up really well if she makes an effort - Paul would know,” Philip said with a grin that Paul wanted to wipe from his friend’s face with his fist.

“No. Even if you were right - and I’m not saying you are - she’s too smart for that. She’d rather be the mistress of an old rich guy. Safer, pays more and it’s much more socially acceptable. That’s why her parents are covering for her,” Mark declared.

Philip shook his head. “No. Brainy birds like her work as escorts because they are smart, and so their clients can pass them off as lovers - and take them into respectable hotels.”

“Are you both crazy?” Paul all but yelled. “Hermione’s not like that! And if you continue slandering her, we’ll have words! But with my fists!”

Mark held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, calm down. We’re just taking the mickey!”

Philip nodded. “We’re not serious.”

Paul stared at them for a moment longer, then sat down again. “It’s not funny.” It wasn’t the first time they had crossed lines they shouldn’t in one of their arguments without realising it until afterwards.

He saw his two friends glance at each other. “We’re just curious why Hermione won’t tell us anything about her employer,” Philip said.

Mark nodded. “She doesn’t have to tell us his name, but what about a few stories?”

“After all, working in such a position for a girl her age is pretty remarkable,” Philip added.

“She told us that her employer requires her to be discreet and that she could lose her job if she gossips. We should respect that,” Paul said. Not for the first time. But the more he said it, the emptier it sounded to him.

He shook his head. “Now, let’s watch the movie.”

“You’ll love it!” Mark said. “It’s a classic. They even made an anime prequel!”

“What? We need to watch that first, then,” Philip said.

Mark shook his head. “No, the movie came out first, so it’s fine to watch the prequels later. You’ll see spoilers otherwise!”

“That makes no sense,” Philip retorted. “The prequel is supposed to come first.”

“No, no, that’s not how it’s done. If you start with the prequel, then it’s not a prequel, but the first movie of a series. It’s only a prequel if you make it after it’s nominal sequel.”

“That still means it should be watched first.” Philip dug in his heels.

“Can we just watch the movie, please?” Paul said. He needed a distraction or he’d keep wondering what Hermione was hiding. And why she didn’t trust him enough to confide in him at least a little.

*****​

But hours later, when his friends had left and Paul Simms was lying in his bed, he was still wondering. And worrying. The movie hadn’t been captivating enough to serve as an effective distraction. Not with his two friends arguing over every little detail.

Paul knew that he wasn’t a jealous man. He wasn’t like those insecure men who couldn’t tolerate their girlfriends being friends with another guy. He winced, remembering how bad Philip had been with his first girlfriend.

Paul also wasn’t the sort to suspect his girlfriend of cheating on him just because she didn’t share everything she did with him. It wasn’t as if he reported everything he did with his friends either.

But his friends were correct - if Hermione didn’t have anything to hide she wouldn’t keep everything related to her work a secret. She’d at least trust him with something. And she did find older actors attractive.

He sighed, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. He loved her. She was smart, pretty and witty, and didn’t expect him to pay for everything just because they were sleeping together. He smiled, remembering their nights, then frowned. Despite all that, they couldn’t go on if she didn’t open up to him. He couldn’t stand the doubts. The worrying. The secrets.

He clenched his teeth. He would do it. He would confront her. And she would answer his questions.

*****​

London, Merton, August 29th, 1997

“Of all the movies we could’ve seen, you had to pick this one,” Hermione Granger said as she sat down in the theatre.

Paul chuckled, though it sounded a little forced to her.

She glanced at him. “Feeling a little guilty for abusing your power?” she said, keeping her tone light - they had a rule that each of them alternately picked the movie for their Friday dates. It avoided arguments over which movie they’d watch. It had worked very well so far, but maybe Paul was trying to change it? He had been a little tense during dinner, too, Hermione recalled.

He shook his head. “No. But maybe a little afraid.” He turned his head towards her. “Of your reaction, not the movie.”

She huffed. “Just wait until next week. I’ll pick the worst movie I can find. Even if we have to travel two hours to a derelict theatre all the way out in zone six.”

He laughed. Whatever he had been about to reply remained unsaid as the lights started to dim and the movie began. Hermione silently sighed. Horror movies weren’t among her favourites, to say the least.

*****​

“I didn’t like that movie,” Hermione Granger said as soon as they stepped out of the theatre.

“Were you scared?” Paul asked, as he slipped his arm around her waist. He hadn’t dared do that during the movie.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Please. Scared by special effects and a plot that so badly combined sci-fi and horror?”

“The effects were good,” he retorted. “And the horror elements were well done.”

She snorted. She had faced a vampire, and lived. Some cheesy American movie wouldn’t scare her. Unless they induced a flashback to that horrible moment when she had been at the mercy of that monster. She shuddered as she remembered how the vampire had bared his fangs at her, right before Sirius killed him.

“Seems like you were a little scared,” Paul said.

“I just remembered something scary,” she said.

“Oh?”

“An embarrassing moment from my childhood,” she lied. “Something I don’t like to talk about.”

“Ah.”

She saw him frown for a moment, before he nodded, accepting it. She smiled as they walked towards his flat.

“I bet you chose this address just because it’s so close to the theatre,” she joked as they reached his home.

He laughed. “Leaves more time after the date, if we don’t have to travel far.”

She grinned. “You have to make up for wasting two hours of my life.”

She expected him to smile and say he’d do his best, as he usually did, but he simply nodded and held open the door for her.

She held her tongue until they were inside his flat - which was a little hard, after staying quiet for an entire stupid and disgusting movie - but as soon as he closed the door behind them, she spoke. “What’s troubling you? You’ve been acting unlike yourself for the entire evening.” When she saw him flinch, she feared the worst.

“We need to talk. Let’s sit down.”

That sounded like he was breaking up with her. She pressed her lips together and nodded. Neither of them said anything as they went to sit down - she on the couch, he in the matching seat, facing her. She tensed up even more.

“So.” He took a deep breath. “We’ve been together for over half a year now. I like you very much. I love you”, he added. “Don’t you think I’ve earned some trust?”

She clenched her teeth. “I assume this is about my job.”

He nodded. Stiffly. “Yes.” He held up his hand to stop her and continued: “I know that you can’t reveal your employer’s secrets. I understand that. But I can’t understand why you won’t even tell me your employer’s name. Or what he does.”

She drew a hissing breath. “I’ve told you before that he requires me to be very discreet.”

“But your parents have met him.”

“Yes.” She knew where this was going.

“So why can’t I even know his name?” He shook his head. “Don’t you trust me at all?”

“It’s not my decision,” she said.

“Rubbish!” he retorted, leaning forward. She noticed his hands gripping his knees rather tightly. “You make it sound as if he dictates your entire life. And I know that you’re not the kind of girl to let anyone dictate her life!”

He was correct, of course - but also wrong. It was illegal to tell him about magic. And while Hermione didn’t have the greatest respect for the law, to say the least, she wasn’t about to casually break any law related to upholding the Statue of Secrecy. That was akin to committing high treason, as far as the wizarding world was concerned. A much more serious crime than mere murder.

She could understand that Paul was fed up with being kept in the dark - Hermione certainly wouldn’t have tolerated that herself. But as much as she liked him - despite his recent antics - she wasn’t certain if she liked him enough to involve him, even peripherally, in that part of her life. She didn’t love him. Not as she wanted to love a partner. But she liked being with him. And he deserved better than her breaking up with him over this. Not to mention that he might start rumours.

“I’ll arrange a meeting with my employer.”

If coached extensively, even the dog should manage not to mess up too badly. At least she hoped so. There was always Obliviate, if things went wrong. And she could hex the dog.

Paul smiled, as did she, but things were still tense enough that she went home instead of staying the night.

*****​

Oxfordshire, Bones Manor, August 30th, 1997

When Harry Potter arrived at her home, Madam Bones was waiting for him in the entrance hall of her manor. “Welcome, Mr Potter.”

“Hello, Madam Bones.” He had a feeling that asking her to call him ‘Harry’ wouldn’t go over well. He looked around - they were alone.

“Susan’s not expected for another hour.” There was a hint of a smile; she probably had noticed that he was relieved. “If you’ll follow me to the living room?” She gestured to the open door to her left.

He nodded and followed her. “You have a nice home,” he remarked as they passed through a hallway lined with portraits and a few tasteful pieces of art complementing the interior.

“It’s been the family home for centuries,” she said. “Not unlike your own home, I presume.”

He could point out that the Potters hadn’t been an Old Family, and that their home had been destroyed by Voldemort, but she was correct that now Grimmauld Place was his home. “Yes.”

The living room, too, was arranged perfectly, with the furniture matching the room’s walls and paintings. If not for the stack of newspapers and books on the side table, and the row of knick-knacks and photographs on a shelf, he would have wondered if the Boneses actually used the room for anything other than receiving guests.

He had barely sat down on the couch when Madam Bones spoke. “You said that you want to join the Auror Corps after you finish Hogwarts, Mr Potter.”

She looked at him as if he were a suspect, Harry thought. “Yes, Ma’am.” He nodded.

“Why?”

“Why do I want to become an Auror?” She nodded. Curtly. “Because I want to help make Wizarding Britain a better place,” he said.

“Do you think it’s a bad country?” A house-elf served them tea, but Madam Bones didn’t even glance at the creature. All her attention seemed focused on Harry.

He cleared his throat. “It could be better. Voldemort had far too many supporters. And we didn’t get all of them.”

“‘We’?” She took a sip of her tea without taking her eyes off him. No wonder she had managed to impress even Moody as an Auror, Harry thought.

“The Order and everyone else who fought the Death Eaters.” Harry wanted to take one of the scones, but that would mean either breaking eye contact or else risking fumbling about for it.

“Dumbledore founded his Order because he believed that the Ministry couldn’t defeat the Dark Lord. Whether he was correct or whether he would have done better to support the legitimate forces of the government is a question that may never be answered. You’ve alluded in some of your conversations that you might be considered his heir.”

It seemed that Madam Umbridge had been telling tales. He frowned. “I mentioned that I was personally trained by the Headmaster, although that’s no secret. I never claimed to be his heir.”

“Dumbledore apparently spoke very highly of your talents.”

Should he act modest or try to use this? He couldn’t read her expression. So he shrugged. “He said I was quick to master Occlumency, but he might just have been reassuring me so I wouldn’t lose my nerve.”

“You mastered Occlumency?” She sounded surprised.

Harry inclined his head. “According to Dumbledore.”

He saw her narrow her eyes, as if she doubted him. “That’s a rather bold claim. Very few adult wizards ever master that skill. And why would Dumbledore have trained you in it?”

He didn’t think mentioning his connection to the Dark Lord would be a good idea. “Voldemort was a master Legilimens. We couldn’t risk me giving the plan to defeat him away with a careless glance.”

“Are you a Legilimens as well?”

He shook his head. “There was no time to learn that. And it wasn’t needed either.” The visions he’d had of the Dark Lord had been enough. Fortunately.

“There are alternatives to Occlumency if you want to protect your mind.” Bones still sounded doubtful.

“Dumbledore didn’t think that they were enough. Not against Voldemort.”

“When exactly did he start training you?”

“In my fifth year.” Harry suppressed the urge to shrug.

“I see. And how long had Dumbledore known that the Dark Lord hadn’t died?”

“Known?” Harry shook his head “I didn’t ask. But he must have suspected right after Halloween 1981.”

“I see.” Now she was frowning again. “And will you follow in his footsteps? Waging your own private war against Malfoy while paying lip service to the law?”

“I intend to ensure that the law’s enforced equally, on everyone,” he said.

“Do you think this is not the case now?” She was glaring at him.

He didn’t flinch. “No.”

“I assume that you are talking about your muggleborn friend’s conviction.”

“She was framed. And instead of exonerating her, she was pardoned.” He almost spat the words out. “Expediency before justice. And those who falsely accused her escaped justice yet again.”

“So did those who dosed Draco Malfoy with Veritaserum.”

He shrugged. “As his victim, I am too biased to comment on that investigation. And of those who might have taken illegal actions on my behalf, both Dumbledore and Snape are dead.”

“According to what I’ve heard, Snape would have been more likely to poison you than help you.” Her lips showed a faint, cynical smirk.

“He died fighting the Dark Lord at my side. That should tell you enough about his true loyalties.” The thought that praising Snape like that was a means to deflect suspicion away from Harry and his friends let him speak without grimacing.

She shook her head slightly. “If you want to become an Auror, you’ll have to follow and enforce the law. I won’t tolerate anyone, not even the ‘Vanquisher of Voldemort’, pursuing a personal vendetta.”

He nodded. Curtly. “I’ve seen what corruption leads to. We almost lost the war against Voldemort because of it. I won’t be party to such actions.” He took a sip from his now lukewarm tea.

“I’ll hold you to that, Mr Potter.”

Contrary to his expectations, Harry was relieved when Susan arrived early and the interrogation ended.

*****​

London, King’s Cross Station, September 1st, 1997

“Enjoy your last year at Hogwarts! Have fun!” Sirius winked at Harry Potter, then hugged him, hard, and whispered: “It’s your last year of freedom!”

“Bon voyage, ‘Arry!” Jeanne smiled and kissed him on both cheeks.

“Don’t wait until the last moment with revising for your N.E.W.T.s!” Hermione said, but she was smiling. And, after a moment, she hugged him.

Harry Potter didn’t want to let her go. “You should be on the train with me,” he whispered, his face hidden in her hair.

“We’ve been over this, Harry,” she whispered back, and he knew she was pursing her lips.

“I know,” he said, then released her. “Keep Sirius in line, will you?”

Hermione and Jeanne nodded while Harry’s godfather acted as if he was hurt.

Then Harry got on the Hogwarts Express and found himself a compartment. And locked the door with a few spells before settling down with his copied Auror’s Handbook. He didn’t expect Ron, Luna and Ginny to arrive until a quarter to eleven at the earliest.

And he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, anyway.

*****​

“Hi, Harry!”

“Hello!”

“Hi, Ron. Luna.” Harry Potter nodded at his two friends as they entered the compartment. He grinned - as expected, less than ten minutes remained until the Express’s scheduled departure. And, judging by how close to each other the two were sitting down - Luna was all but crawling into Ron’s lap - it was obvious that they had had a much better month than he had. “Where’s Ginny?” he asked, once he realised that Ron’s sister hadn’t arrived with them.

“She’s sitting with her roommates,” Ron replied.

“She said she didn’t want to watch us snog each other for the entire trip,” Luna added. She leaned into Ron’s side, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

“Ah.” Harry didn’t want to watch them snog either. Not after watching Sirius and Jeanne flirt and kiss at home, and knowing that Hermione spent every Friday night with Paul the Boyfriend.

“Yeah.” Ron shrugged. “She’ll come around. She wasn’t happy that she was basically alone with Mum and Dad until we returned yesterday.”

“And she doesn’t have a boyfriend, so she feels left out,” Luna added.

“Did you find a Niffler ghost?” Harry tried to change the subject.

“Well, we did find the perfect bait - a very greedy muggle, an ‘investment banker’ - but, unfortunately, the Niffler ghosts were smarter than expected,” Luna said. “They avoided all of our traps.”

A muggle investment banker? Traps? “What did you do?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“We found a whole building full of ‘investment bankers’, in the middle of New York!” Luna said, beaming. Then she pouted. “We had some trouble getting inside, though.”

“Yeah. The muggles didn’t want any visitors.” Ron shook his head. “But we managed to get inside anyway. With a little magic, it was easy.”

“And we prepared traps for the ghosts, but we didn’t catch any,” Luna told him.

“Maybe there weren’t any ghosts?” Harry said. “They might not like muggles.”

“There were ghosts!” Luna said, nodding emphatically. “The traps kept getting triggered. And even the muggles knew that there were ghosts!”

“Yeah. They wrote in the muggle newspaper about the ghosts haunting the place,” Ron said. “They called it ‘The Haunted Bank’.”

“Exactly! But what they described weren’t normal ghosts - instead of a cold feeling, the muggles described getting ‘zapped’, whatever that means,” Luna explained. “And they noticed that their things were moved during the night - something normal ghosts can’t do either.”

Harry had a suspicion about the ‘ghosts’. “How exactly do you trap a ghost?” He hadn’t heard about anything like that in Care of Magical Creatures.

”Well, normally, you’d need a necromantic ritual to do that,” Luna said.

“Which is illegal and something we’d never do,” Ron cut in.

“Yes.” Luna nodded. “But, since Nifflers aren’t like normal ghosts, and are attracted to greed, Daddy found a way to trap them using a magical version of what muggles call ‘aversion therapy’.

“I see,” Harry said. “With electricity?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a chance that the muggles could have triggered those traps?” Harry asked.

“Not unless Daddy made a mistake with the spell,” Luna said with an expression that clearly stated this wasn’t the case.

And Ron was nodding, which either meant he agreed with his girlfriend or simply wanted Harry to stop questioning Luna - faulty spells were a very touchy subject for her after her mother had died when an experimental spell went awry.

Harry nodded.

“So, what did you do while we were in the New World?”

Harry sighed. “Dealing with politics.” And feeling like a fifth wheel at home, he added silently.

“Ah.” Ron winced. “Percy bothering you to endorse his proposals? He mentioned something before we left.”

Harry chuckled, though he wasn’t amused. “No, it’s not that. I don’t mind helping your family and Sirius. But all the others, who either act as if they were my best friends, or else try to trap me...”

“Trap you?” Luna asked, her eyes wide.

“Make me lose my temper, say something that they can twist around to accuse me…” He scoffed. “It’s like dealing with Slytherins when Snape’s lurking around the corner.” He winced. “Was lurking around the corner, I mean...”

Luna nodded. “Yes. He can’t do that any more since he’s dead.”

“And Slughorn doesn’t tolerate that,” Ron added with a grin.

Harry scoffed again. “Slughorn’s an opportunist. If Malfoy were controlling the Ministry, he’d let Draco do as he pleased.”

“Still better than Snape ever was,” Ron said.

Harry didn’t disagree with that. He noticed that Luna was frowning, though. “Luna?”

She looked startled, then shook her head, “It’s nothing.” With a bright smile, she asked: “So, did you visit the Boneses?”

Harry winced. “I did,” he said. “Madam Bones was very impressive.” He’d call her scary, but compared to Voldemort, Susan’s aunt wasn’t anywhere near as terrifying. “She told me a lot about working as an Auror.”

“Oh?” Ron perked up. “Share!”

Harry sighed. “Well, I didn’t get to ask many questions - she was grilling me about Dumbledore and the Order, and my plans as an Auror.” He shook his head. “It was more an interrogation. Or a lecture.”

“Really?” Ron looked as if he couldn’t believe him.

Harry shrugged. “She didn’t like it when I implied that the Ministry wasn’t perfect.”

“It should have been obvious that the Ministry wasn’t perfect when the appalling lack of any defences against Nargles was revealed!” Luna chimed in.

“Yes.” Ron smiled at her. “But they fixed that.”

She nodded happily and leaned her head against his shoulder. Harry tried not to think of how Romilda had done that too. “Anyway,” he said, “while I didn’t get to ask questions, I did find out that she’ll be keeping an eye on us, to see if we’re ‘conducting a personal vendetta instead of enforcing the law equally’.”

“I thought she wasn’t in Malfoy’s camp.” Ron sounded concerned.

“She isn’t. But as far as I can tell, she really hated that Dumbledore didn’t work with the Ministry when he fought Voldemort.” Or for the Ministry. Harry snorted.

Ron scoffed. “That would have been a disaster. Dad and Percy told me all about how the Ministry was riddled with spies. Might as well have told Voldemort all our plans directly.”

“Maybe she wanted to use that to fool the Dark Lord?” Luna asked.

Harry doubted that. “Doesn’t sound like her style. I think she’s projecting her anger at the Ministry’s deficiencies on to Dumbledore,” he said.

“Or she’s simply too proud to admit her mistakes.” Ron shrugged, then apologised to Luna for almost dislodging her head in the process. “Sorry!”

“It’s OK,” she answered, smiling sweetly at him.

Harry cleared his throat when he saw Ron raise his hand to cup Luna’s chin. “Anyway, that’s the gist of it.”

“Did you talk about Hermione’s conviction?” Ron asked.

“I mentioned that she was framed. She didn’t comment on that, but I think she might suspect that we dosed Malfoy with Veritaserum.”

Ron winced. “That’s not good.”

“I mentioned that Dumbledore and Snape both had the means and motive to do it.“ Harry shrugged. “Anyway, Sirius and Tonks were correct: Bones wants everything done by the book.”

“But what if the book’s wrong?” Luna asked.

“Well, Sirius and Percy and Ron’s dad are supposed to correct the books,” Harry answered. He hoped that would be enough.

“We’re still going to be Aurors, right?” Ron asked.

“Of course.” This was too important to let an unpleasant boss scare him off. He’d had Snape as a teacher for almost six years anyway, so he knew how to handle worse.

A knock at the door interrupted whatever Luna was going to say next. “Harry?”

That was Susan Bones’s voice. Harry winced again.

“Yes?” he replied.

A moment later, Susan opened the door and stuck her head inside. “There you are!” she said, beaming at him before she stepped inside. “I’ve been looking for you all over the entire train.”

“Ah,” Harry nodded as Hannah followed Susan into the compartment. “Hello, everyone.”

“Hi!” Luna said, beaming at the two witches. “Did you have a nice summer?”

Susan blinked, then nodded. “Yes. We went to Ireland for two weeks, visiting a distant relative of ours, then Hannah and I went to her parents’ cottage on the coast for another two weeks.”

Hanna nodded. “It was great! We visited the muggle beach too - there were so many people, I thought they would have to take shifts to go into the water!”

The two Huffelpuffs, prompted by Luna and Ron, went into a detailed tale of their adventures with the muggles. Harry listened, more amused than he had expected. It all sounded so… he wasn’t sure. Naive? Innocent?

“...and then we had some muggle ice cream.” Hannah made a face. “Fortescue’s is so much better!”

“But it was hot, so we ate it anyway,” Susan chimed in. “It was still a fun excursion.”

“We went on an expedition to the New World,” Luna said. “We hunted Niffler ghosts!” And she proceeded to recount everything she and Ron had done in great, but not very structured, detail. Susan’s smile started to look slightly strained after a few minutes, Harry noticed.

Unlike their two visitors, he had heard the story already, so he had no trouble following the narrative, as Hermione would say. He wondered if the Hufflepuffs’ obvious ignorance of muggle America made it easier or more difficult for them to understand what Luna and Ron had done.

“...and we came back right on time to return to Hogwarts, although if the muggle aeroplane had been even later, then we might have had to go straight to the station from the airport,” Luna finished her tale, her hands still showing how the plane had circled before landing.

“That’s nice,” Susan said. “I still wouldn’t fly in those muggle aeroplanes.” She shuddered. “I’d be too afraid.”

“They’re safer than cars,” Harry said.

“Really?” Hannah stared at him.

Susan, though, smiled. “You’d know, Harry. You grew up in a muggle family, didn’t you?”

“Until I moved in with Sirius,” Harry said.

“Why did you leave your family?” Susan asked.

“They were afraid of magic,” Harry said. And they hated magic, too, which had started to extend towards him, but he didn’t say that.

“Oh.” Susan looked as if she couldn’t imagine that.

Harry shrugged. “We’re both happier now. Sirius is great.”

“Will you be holding your next birthday party at your home?” Hannah asked. “The party at The Burrow was great, but we were curious about your home.”

“I don’t know,” Harry lied. “The Burrow has more space - my home’s in the middle of London. We couldn’t play Quidditch there, either, even if we had the room.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that,” Susan said. “I thought the Blacks had a manor like we do.”

“The had several,” Harry said. “But they lost them all over time. The last one was destroyed in a family dispute over who should inherit it, back in the eighteenth century. After that, they stuck with this house. At least that’s the official story.”

“Ah.” Both girls nodded - apparently, the Blacks’ reputation made that easy to believe.

“Oh, I wanted to apologise once again for my aunt, Harry,” Susan said after a moment. “To make it up to you, I would like to invite you to my home.” She beamed at him.

Of course she would, Harry thought. Before he could think of a way to politely refuse the invitation, Luna cut in: “Oh! Are you planning to sneak out of Hogwarts together? Since, you know, we won’t be allowed to leave for months, and you don’t live in Hogsmeade.”

“What? No, no. I meant during the holidays.” Susan shook her head.

She was actually blushing slightly, Harry noticed with a sinking feeling. Yes, she still had a crush on him. She was nice, he had to admit. And friendly. And pretty.

But he had no intention of dating the niece of his future boss. That wouldn’t end well.

*****​

London, Merton, September 2nd, 1997

“Remember: don’t mention magic!” Hermione Granger said in a low voice as she and Sirius walked towards the café in which they were meeting Paul.

“I know,” Sirius replied, in that too familiar tone that meant he was humouring her.

She clenched her teeth and glared at the dog, but he wasn’t looking at her. “Don’t hint at it, either. Don’t joke about our relationship.”

“We have a relationship? Oh, my!” Now he was looking at her, with that grin of his.

She refrained from hexing the dog. They were in public, and he wouldn’t learn his lesson anyway. After taking a deep breath, she reiterated: “Just be a muggle.”

“An eccentric, rich and handsome muggle, please!” He grinned at her.

She should have never told him how she had described him to Paul. “Just not too eccentric. Please,” she added through her teeth.

“I still think we should have taken Jeanne with us; me having a hot fiancée would show him that I’m not sleeping with you,” Sirius said as they reached the crossing.

Hermione shook her head. “Paul’s been to France. He’d ask her where she’s from, and Jeanne doesn’t know enough about muggle France to fool him. The goal of this meeting is to make Paul less suspicious of us, not more,” she said with a toothy smile. The dog just wanted to show off Jeanne.

“There are a few spells that would easily resolve that issue,” Sirius remarked.

“No,” she spat. “I won’t do that to him.” That would be as bad as using a love potion on him. She was better than that. And his friends would suspect something, anyway.

“So, Sirius the eccentric, handsome and rich muggle gentleman will have to save the day!” He beamed at her. “Don’t worry; I’ve read up on muggle gentlemen. Paul won’t suspect a thing!”

“You’ve read up on muggle gentlemen?” She blinked. She hadn’t seen him reading any muggle books. Not even newspapers. “What did you… No.” He couldn’t have.

He nodded happily. “I told you I was reading them for the articles.”

He had! “We need to reschedule this meeting!” Hermione said, paling. “I’ll make up an excuse. An accident.” She could even take pictures of the hurt dog.

“Hermione! There you are!”

That was Paul’s voice! Hermione froze.

Sirius didn’t. His face lit up with a wide smile, and he had reached Paul before she could react. “Hello! So, you’re the fine lad who nabbed this bird, huh?”

“And you’re Sirius Black! The man who spent ten years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit!” Paul exclaimed with wide eyes.

*****​

“You know, I now perfectly understand why you didn’t want to tell me about your work,” Paul said an hour, and a dozen moments when Hermione Granger had been about to hex the dog and damn the consequences, later. “Sirius Black! The man framed for mass murder, then imprisoned for ten years until he broke out and managed to clear his name! It’s straight out of a movie! The media would be hounding him if they had even a hint about his new life.” After a moment he added: “And he is still stuck in the seventies.”

She looked at him with her best long-suffering expression.

He nodded. “You know, for a while, I thought he was acting. That this was an elaborate prank.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you!” she blurted out.

“I know, I know.” He shook his head. “It was just a thought when he told me that I was a nice man for dating ‘a seven’.”

Hermione nodded. The dog would pay for that remark.

“But when he tipped the waitress a hundred pounds, I realised that he was serious.”

She glared at him. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that stupid pun?”

“I can imagine.” He sighed. “I’m sorry for, you know, my attitude. I thought you were lying to me.”

“It’s OK,” she lied. If only he knew how right he was...

“But you know what this means?”

She frowned. “No?”

He grinned widely. “We must watch Austin Powers this Friday!”

*****​

Hogwarts, September 12th, 1997

Harry Potter stopped and tapped his glasses, activating their enchantment, when he heard voices from the corridor around the corner. Voldemort was dead, the Death Eaters were hiding and no one had been following him - or should be expecting him here - but that didn’t mean he should be careless; Moody might not have been joking when he had told Ron and Harry that he would be checking if they were slacking off.

It was Parkinson’s clique, probably coming back from the library. He grinned. They were no threat. Quite the contrary. He deactivated the enchantment and turned the corner.

Parkinson was talking but stopped when she saw him. She stopped walking, too. Greengrass took a step to the side as if trying to hide behind Bulstrode. The others tensed up and stared at him.

Harry shook his head. “Is something wrong?”

Parkinson spat: “What are you doing here?”

“Just passing through,” Harry said, with a grin. “Did I scare you? If so, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to.”

She glared at him. “Off to a rendezvous? What would your muggleborn lover say if she knew you were cheating on her?”

“She would wonder who would be so stupid as to believe such baseless rumours,” he answered, a little sharper than he wanted - he was sick of that rumour. “But only for a moment - then she’d realise it would have to be you and your friends.”

She huffed. “First you threaten us, now you insult us? Do you think you’re above the law?”

Had such a rumour been the reason for Bones’s interrogation? He shook his head. “No one’s above the law. Least of all you.” He nodded at her and walked past them. He had some research to do in the library for his essay.

But when he entered the library a few minutes later, he ran straight into Susan and Hannah; he should have checked first with his glasses.

“Harry!” Her face seemed to light up as she saw him.

“Hi, Susan. Hannah.” He nodded at the two witches.

“Are you here to work on Slughorn’s essay?” Susan asked.

For a moment, he considered lying. Then he nodded. “Yes, actually.”

“That’s why we’re here, too!” She beamed at him. “Want to work together?”

“Sure,” he lied.

*****​

“We finished our essays!” Susan cheered as soon as Harry Potter and the two Hufflepuffs had left the library and the looming presence of Madam Pince, who was even more protective of her library than Hermione was of hers - that technically neither the Hogwarts library nor the Black Family library belonged to either of them didn’t change that.

“You were a great help,” Hannah added, smiling. “You’re good at Potions.”

“Of course he is,” Susan said. “He’s studying to become an Auror, and they need to have a N.E.W.T. in Potions.”

Harry nodded. “Even though that’s a relic from the time when Aurors were expected to brew their own potions.”

“Oh? I didn’t know that. Maybe I should ask a few questions of my own to Auntie Amelia.” Susan giggled.

“I thought you didn’t want to become an Auror,” Hannah said.

“I don’t.” Susan shook her head. “But I can’t look bad when Harry visits, can I?” She giggled.

Harry felt like wincing. “Speaking of that, Susan - I’d like to talk to you, privately,” he added with a glance towards Hannah.

“Oh.” Hannah blinked, then nodded. “Of course. I’ll go back to the dorm.” She smiled at Susan and left.

He saw Susan bite her lower lip as she watched Hannah go, but she smiled at him when she turned back to him.

Watching her hopeful but nervous expression almost hurt. He took a deep breath. “I’ve noticed that you seem to like me,” Harry started.

She swallowed, then nodded. “Yes. I mean, yes, I like you. I was rather obvious, wasn’t I?”

He nodded. “A little.” He took another deep breath. Stalling. “The thing is,” he started to say, “you’re a very nice girl.”

Her face fell and she interrupted him. “But you already have a girlfriend, right? You’re with Hermione; the rumour’s true.”

“What? No,” he said. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“But…” She trailed off and bit her lower lip.

“But I don’t think it would work out between us,” he said.

“Why?” She wasn’t crying. Yet.

“Because your aunt is the Head of the DMLE.”

“What?” She gaped at him. “Did she threaten you?”

“No, no. She didn’t say anything about you,” he said quickly, then winced when he considered how that sounded. “But I’m going to be an Auror, and having a relationship with my boss’s niece would be… problematic. People would accuse me of profiting from the relationship.”

She blinked, and he thought he saw traces of tears in her eyes. “I didn’t think of that. But… we’ve only just started our last year.”

He nodded. “Yes. But I’m thinking of the future.” That had sounded less lame when he had been thinking of what to say.

“I understand,” she told him.

He stared at her for a moment, unsure what else to say, and nodded.

She swallowed again. “Hannah’s waiting for me.”

“Alright,” he said.

But it wasn’t.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, October 17th, 1997

“...and it is exactly because the Dark Lord perverted and abused our traditions that we need to strengthen them. We cannot abandon our heritage because of the actions of one madman and his followers.”

Sitting behind Sirius in the Wizengamot Chamber, Hermione Granger kept her expression neutral as Malfoy went on at length about the need to emphasise pureblood traditions. She glanced at Umbridge. As expected, the witch was gloating. Umbridge had resubmitted her proposal to test new employees on their knowledge of pureblood traditions - ‘adjusted to take their blood status into account’. Which meant that the examiners would be given a lot of leeway. Leeway Hermione had no doubt Umbridge would see used to fail whoever she wanted.

If the proposal were to pass. Which it wouldn’t. Malfoy might be nigh-untouchable in the Wizengamot after his ‘brave and heroic’ actions against Voldemort, but that didn’t extend to his views. Fortunately.

As soon as Malfoy had finished, Sirius rose. He cleared his throat. “My esteemed colleague Mr Malfoy talks about how Voldemort abused our traditions - and yet he proposes to do the very thing he condemns: Abusing our traditions to push an agenda of pureblood bigotry. He talks a lot about how important it is that the wizards and witches of our fair country know our heritage - but Madam Umbridge’s proposal isn’t about actually teaching our children our traditions. He says nothing about a new course at Hogwarts. Nothing about textbooks, either. It doesn’t even cover testing standards.”

Hermione saw a number of Wizengamot members reread the proposal. Or, as she suspected, read it for the first time. Umbridge wasn’t smiling any more, she noted.

“So, essentially, this proposal would have the Ministry test new employees on their knowledge of our traditions, without either defining what they need to know beforehand, nor how they could learn it.” He sneered. “It’s a blatant attempt at discrimination!”

Some members nodded in agreement, Hermione saw. Many didn’t react, though. Sirius continued: “Now, some of you might not care about the muggleborns being barred from employment in the Ministry. However, as I pointed out, this proposal is worded so that whoever is conducting those tests can fail a candidate at will.” He bared his teeth. “So ask yourself: Do you trust that your relatives, your children, will be treated fairly? That your rivals and enemies will not influence the examiner? I would wager that whoever controls this exam will become very wealthy in short order.”

Hermione noted many glances being directed at Umbridge, who looked livid.

Hermione hid her smile behind her notes.

*****​

Hogsmeade, November 29th, 1997

Harry Potter was skimming through the latest Quidditch Weekly in Spintwitches when he noticed a Hufflepuff witch walking towards him. He didn’t know her name, but he had seen her at Hogwarts before. She had to be a sixth year - she had been talking with Ginny about Defence once, he remembered. That didn’t mean she couldn’t be a threat, of course. Polyjuice Potion, the Imperius Curse, or simply a relative killed while fighting for Voldemort… He put the magazine back - he could read the article about the Harpies later - and drew his wand, covering up the action by casting a cleaning charm on his robes.

“Hi, Harry!”

“Hi.” He inclined his head. “You’re in sixth year, aren’t you?”

She nodded, smiling widely. “Yes. We met when you were helping Ginny.”

“Ah.” He nodded - that had been shortly before their break-up. He hadn’t thought much about that time. Or about Ginny. But he could. Easily. “Daria, right?”

“You remembered!”

He smiled and nodded. Occlumency didn’t grant an eidetic memory, but it made remembering something easier. Knowing your mind included your memories, after all. When he saw her put her hands behind her back, he tensed. He ran his left hand through his hair and used the gesture to subtly activate his glasses’ enchantment. She wasn’t drawing her wand behind her back.

“So…” She cocked her head to the side. “I’ve noticed you’re not here in Hogsmeade with anyone.”

He nodded. Ron and Luna were on a date. They hadn’t called it that, but Harry knew when he would be the fifth wheel. And Hermione was with Paul the Boyfriend. In London.

Daria brushed her long brown hair - darker than Hermione’s mane - back behind her right ear, and he glanced at her left hand, just in case that was a distraction. “You know, there’s a rumour that you’re dating your muggleborn friend. But Hannah said that that wasn’t true.”

His smile grew a little more polite and a little less friendly. “We aren’t dating, no.”

“Are you dating anyone?”

He blinked at the question. That was far more direct than he had expected. Or experienced. “I’m currently single,” he answered. And he saw her smile widen.

“Hannah said you turned down Susan because you were thinking of your future.”

Apparently, Hannah had been saying a lot of things about him. He didn’t say that but nodded again. “Yes. It wouldn’t have worked long-term between us.”

“Well, I’m not looking for anything long-term, just so you know.” She lowered her head just a little, and looked up at him as she spoke, smiling.

She was pretty, he thought. She looked in good shape too. He almost focused his glasses on her robes, to check, but refrained from doing so. And had she just proposed what he thought she had? Sirius had mentioned this, he remembered. “So, you’re just looking for some fun without commitment?” Harry quoted his godfather.

She nodded, and he saw her tongue quickly wet her lips. “Nothing long-term.”

“Ah.” He slowly nodded. That sounded… quite attractive, actually. No baggage. No regrets. He nodded more firmly and put on his best smile. “Shall we head to the Three Broomsticks? My treat.”

Her arm was around his as soon as he offered it, and by the time they reached the pub, he had remembered to ask her family name as well. Abbott - but unlike Hannah, not a member of the main branch of the family. But it would explain why Hannah had been so talkative.

An hour later, they were snogging in a side alley.

*****​

Hogwarts, November 29th, 1997

Harry Potter used his glasses to check out the room Daria had described - apparently, it used to be the club room of the Hogwarts Horse Association, which had been dissolved a few decades ago. He didn’t spot an ambush, nor any traps. Just Daria, on a bed in the middle of the room. Wearing a rather skimpy piece of lingerie. So skimpy, even his glasses’ enchantment wouldn’t do much if used on her.

He still checked for curses and poison with spells before actually entering although he almost forgot - Daria was even more attractive without her robes. And the way her face lit up when he stepped inside the room… “Hey!”

“You came!” She sounded a little surprised. And very delighted.

“Of course.” He was briefly at a loss for what to do. Should he strip down as well? He couldn’t ask her, of course. He sat down on the bed, next to her. “I didn’t know there was anywhere like this in Hogwarts,” he said.

“It’s mostly been used by the Hufflepuffs. We leave the cupboards to the Gryffindors,” she said, grinning. “You probably like the thrill of risking getting caught by the teachers or prefects.”

“Some probably do,” he said.

“You don’t?” she asked as she sat up and slid over, straddling his lap.

“I’ve faced Voldemort,” he said, and felt her shudder at the name, “That was dangerous enough.” That had sounded better in his head, too.

But Daria seemed to like it. Love it, even, judging by how she snogged him. If not for his training by Moody, he wouldn’t have noticed how she stripped him at the same time. For a moment, he wondered if this was an elaborate trap. He had mentioned to Ron that he was meeting her, and where. But he hadn’t asked Ron to keep an eye on him - that would have been, well, not something he could ask of his friend. Or should. Would this be the first time he’d have to actually use his training in grappling?

But then she pulled off her skimpy top and Harry stopped worrying. And talking. For hours.

*****​

Hogwarts, December 13th, 1997

‘No commitment’ sounded much better in theory than in practice, Harry Potter thought when he saw Daria enter a carriage to Hogsmeade arm in arm with some sixth-year Ravenclaw boy. He knew what she had said, what they had agreed upon. Just some fun. And it had been fun. Loads. They hadn’t just stuck to the room, either - he had invited her to a cupboard the next day, just to prove a point. The room was more comfortable, though. And more fun. Oh, the memories.

But he wanted more than just some fun. And he very much didn’t want to see his… she wasn’t his girlfriend. His lover? He very much didn’t want to see Daria with another boy. Why would she, even, when she had Harry? He hadn’t disappointed her, either, or they wouldn’t have done it so often.

And Daria had said that she was looking forward to doing it again. Harry wasn’t. Not just, at least. He wanted to do it again with her. But not if it only meant seeing her with someone else later.

He knew what Sirius would tell him: to just enjoy it. Or her. To not expect more than what had been agreed. And Harry tried to heed that advice.

But he couldn’t. He was just too jealous. Hermione would say that his ego couldn’t handle it. She would be right.

But that didn’t change anything.

*****​

Rye, East Sussex, Britain, April 2nd, 1998

“Let’s do this ‘heist’ before we fall asleep. Harry’s coming back from Hogwarts the day after tomorrow, and if we keep doing nothing, we’ll still be here then.”

Behind her mask, Hermione Granger rolled her eyes at the dog’s whining. Just because this wasn’t an Old Family’s manor but an old smuggler cottage was no reason not to take it seriously. Mr Fletcher didn’t pick easy targets for these ‘exercises’. The cottage looked rather unimpressive, but it had been a wizard’s home for centuries, dating back to Rye’s heyday as a smuggler’s port. The wards she had spotted were old, powerful. Not on a manor’s level, but strong all the same.

And yet they wouldn’t serve the owner at all.

“Chéri, focus.” Jeanne was on the ball, though. Hermione had no doubt that once they were married in the summer, the French witch would keep a tight leash on her husband. She blinked - that would make a nice wedding gift! She still owed the dog more payback for the ‘seven’ comment! She was certainly no seven! No cat was a seven!

“Stop complaining and start moving,” Mr Fletcher said. “Show me what you’ve got.”

The dog perked up. “Oh?”

Hermione hissed. “If you make a joke about this, I’ll hex you.”

“You’d have to manage to hit me, first,” he retorted.

Oh, she’d show him. After this. “Shut up and follow my lead!” she said instead and changed. A second later, a graceful brown cat was dashing across the field surrounding the cottage, chased by a clumsy dog barking as loudly as he could.

They raced around the cottage, avoiding the wards, Hermione always staying ahead of her pursuer. No one came out to deal with them. She changed back as soon as they returned to their hiding spot. “Looks deserted.” As expected.

“Cadbury was caught working for Voldemort. He won’t be back,” Mr Fletcher said. “Good to test that, though.”

Hermione nodded. That left the wards. Which, while impressive, hadn’t been maintained as well as they should have been. She had spotted a few weaknesses already. “This shouldn’t take too long,” she said, drawing her wand.

*****​

An hour later, Hermione Granger finished breaching the wards. “Done,” she announced. “We can enter on this side, through any of those windows.”

“I thought you said it wouldn’t take long,” the dog complained again. “That took hours!”

“One hour,” she corrected him, more than a little annoyed - the wards had taken longer than she had expected, but not too long. “And that’s a good time for old wards like these.”

He scoffed. As if he would have managed to go through them!

“Let’s go, then!” Jeanne said. She sounded a little too eager in Hermione’s opinion. But she was right - they didn’t have all night.

And with the wards dealt with, and the owner away, all that was left was the searching for the loot.

She grinned with anticipation.

*****​

London, Merton, April 26th, 1998

“Are you hurt?”

Hermione Granger flinched when she heard Paul’s question. She wasn’t hurt - her ribs had been healed after the dog had gotten lucky with a Bludgeoning Curse during training. But she was a little sore anyway. Right where Paul liked to rest his hand when they were walking arm in arm. Which they hadn’t been since they had left the theatre. “No. Just a little sore. I was at the gym yesterday and sprained a muscle.”

“On your side?”

“It happens,” she answered. It was possible, at least.

“You might be overdoing your training. I’ve noticed that you’ve been sore a lot lately.”

She winced. Sirius had stepped up her Defence training. Considerably. And apparently, Harry was still better. By quite some margin. “It’s not that bad,” she said.

He snorted and, when she glanced at him, she saw that he was frowning. And not looking at her. “You’ve been ‘sore’ in very unusual spots for months now. Bruises too - faded ones. Bruises that should have been noticeable for a long time before they faded.”

She tensed and knew that he felt that, too. She hadn’t considered that since they were intimate, he would see much more of her body than her parents. And he’d have a much closer view, too. Magical healing was great, but not always perfect. And he had noticed.

He was looking at her while she tried to come up with an answer. “They’re not fading bruises. Just micro-bruising. From training.”

“Is that even a word?” He laughed. But he didn’t sound amused.

“Bruises so light, they don’t form fully. Like micro-fractures.”

He stared at her. She stared back.

“You’re lying. I know you well enough to tell.”

“I’m not hurt,” she insisted.

“But you were.”

She clenched her teeth.

He waited a moment, then nodded. “My first thought was that someone was abusing you. But it didn’t add up. It made no sense, either. I’ve been to your gym, too.”

She hissed. “You’ve been spying on me?”

He ignored her remark. “They didn’t remember you visiting very often.”

“I usually run for exercise. You know that.” She refrained from biting her lower lip.

“You don’t get hurt like that running. Unless you keep running into things.”

“It’s possible.”

He scoffed. “Hermione! Don’t try to treat me like I’m a fool!” He shook his head. “You lied about your gym visits. You lied about not being hurt.”

“I’m not hurt.” She wasn’t lying about that.

“You lied about not having gotten hurt then,” he spat.

She pressed her lips together.

“What are you hiding?”

She swallowed. “Is this another ultimatum? Spill my secret or we break up?” she said, glaring at him.

“Is that what it’ll take?” he shot back.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. They just stared at each other. She couldn’t tell him. Not about magic. And she realised that she didn’t want to tell him, either. Not after hearing how he had spied on her. And had harboured this suspicion for apparently months. This wasn’t a visit as a cat on a lark. This was serious.

“I can’t tell you,” she finally said. They weren’t married. They weren’t going to marry, either.

“You mean, you won’t.”

“I’m not allowed to tell you,” she corrected herself, baring her teeth at him.

“Is someone experimenting on you? A corporation? The government? Some experimental healing method?” he suddenly blurted out.

“We’re not in a movie, Paul.”

“Then tell me what’s going on!” he insisted. “I deserve to know.” He raised his hands, as if to grab her shoulders, then let them drop and took a step back.

She bit her lower lip until it hurt, then took a deep breath. There was only one solution. “You want the truth?”

“Yes!”

She scoffed. “You can’t handle the truth. But you’ll get it.” She grinned at him. “Magic is real. I’m a witch. And I was hurt in magical self-defence training, but my wounds were healed. With magic.”

He laughed as he shook his head. “We’re not in a movie.”

She drew her wand. “I know.”

“Is that your magic wand?” He chuckled.

“Yes.” She was smiling, though she felt like crying. She knew what she had to do, knew there was no way back. But she hated it. And, right at this moment, she hated herself as well.

“Obliviate.”

*****​

“Hermione?” her mum said when Hermione Granger entered her home. “Did something happen?”

“We broke up.” She wasn’t crying. Not any more. Not yet. She wasn’t sniffling, either. But she took a deep breath.

“Oh!” Mum didn’t say anything else. She didn’t ask any questions, either. She just hugged Hermione.

And Hermione cried on her shoulder.

*****​

 

Chapter 33: Wedding Blues

Kent, Smith Manor, June 14th, 1998

“You lost your foot to a dark curse? How dreadful!”

Mundungus Fletcher nodded, his expression grim, as Mrs Smith clasped a hand to her gaping mouth.

“How did it happen?” Michael Smith, on the other hand, leaned forward, looking almost eagerly at Mundungus’s outstretched artificial foot.

Before Mundungus could answer, the Head of the Smith Family reprimanded her son. “Michael! Show a little decorum!”

“Sorry, mother,” the little pissant said with a perfunctory glance at the witch before staring at the peg leg again.

Mundungus wasn’t wearing his enchanted muggle prosthetic, of course - it would be too easy to connect his cover identity to that of the washed-up guttersnipe if both were sporting the same peg leg. Even so, this visit was likely pushing it - but he couldn’t abandon the Smith identity. It was his best means of infiltrating the social circles of the Old Families. And that was needed if Hermione were to succeed with her revenge.

“It’s alright,” he said, smiling politely. “It was my fault, after all. I foolishly thought that, with the recent war between the Free Republic of Maine and Québec over, it would be safe to visit my parents’ country.” He winced. “I had not counted on the Québécois leaving cursed traps behind - one of them in what was left of my ancestral home.” He shook his head and sighed, almost smiling when he saw Mrs Smith shudder in apparent empathy.

“Savages!” she hissed with obvious outrage on his behalf.

“Actually, the savages would be the Red Indian tribes out west,” her husband corrected her. “The correct term for the wizarding enclaves on the East Coast of the New World would be ‘colonials’, I believe.”

She frowned at him, but while reprimanding a boy barely out of Hogwarts - or at least, a boy who wasn’t behaving any more maturely - was acceptable in a semi-private gathering with extended family members, such latitude didn’t extend to one’s spouse.

“Oh, yes. I heard they skin their captives and use the skins for dark rituals!”

Michael sounded far too enthusiastic, in Mundungus’s opinion, about such a disgusting practice. He smiled politely, though, as he responded: “I think you or whoever told you that misunderstood the tales of the Skinwalkers.”

“Skinwalkers?” For once, Michael didn’t hide his ignorance.

Mundungus nodded, glad that he had extensively studied the New World for this role. And had listened to Black for once. “Oh, yes. Skinwalkers are shamans who use the skin of an animal in a ritual to grant them the power to assume that animal’s form.”

“Is that another way to become an animagus?” Mr Smith asked.

“Some claim that,” Mundungus said. “But it’s a very dark and unsafe method - often, those who undergo that ritual end up behaving like werewolves during the full moon.” All three Smiths shuddered.

“A ghastly thought,” Mrs Smith declared. “Who would choose to do such a thing?”

Your son might, Mundungus thought after a glance at Michael’s expression. Maybe he shouldn’t have told this particular tale. He shrugged. “Deranged people already too close to an animal, I would think. Fortunately, when the natives were pushed back west, so were the Skinwalkers. Some enclaves still kill animagi on sight.”

“And werewolves?” Michael asked.

“They’re generally treated the same in those places,” Mundungus replied.

“That’s a policy we should adopt,” Mrs Smith said, nodding. “At least for werewolves. Rabid beasts, the lot of them. Worse than muggles!”

Mundungus smiled politely as the witch voiced her opinions about both.

*****​

Mundungus Fletcher’s fake smile disappeared as soon as he entered his flat in London and was replaced by a scowl. Hermione was already waiting for him - she must have heard him on the steps; he’d have to make sure that she didn’t overly rely on such clues without checking.

“What happened? Didn’t they fall for your act?” The way she fidgeted, he knew she was barely restraining herself from casting a few spells to check on him.

He shook his head. “No, they bought it hook, line and sinker.” He scoffed. “And, as a result, I spent half an hour listening to Eleanor’s bigoted views on muggles.”

That put a scowl on his pupil’s face. “I see.”

He wasn’t sure if she did. “Mind you, the Smiths aren’t like Malfoy and his cronies. They don’t rant about blood purity. But muggles and pretty much anyone other than wizards and witches? Beneath them. And, of course, while muggleborns are among the real people, they’re not quite as civilised as the Old Families, which a well-bred wizard has to take into account when interacting with them.”

She was clenching her jaw; he remembered teaching her to hide that when she didn’t want anyone to know she was angry. “That’s barely better than the blood purists!”

He shrugged. “That’s the Old Families for you. They look down on everyone.”

“Maybe we should take them down a peg or two.”

She had that glint in her eyes again. Like his daughter had had, when she had tried to convince him to slip her some sweets behind his wife’s back.

Mundungus shoved the memories away. That part of his life was over. Hermione was his pupil, not his daughter. Even if he was as proud of her as if she were. He chuckled. “Save them for last - they’re our key to the Old Families. If they are ruined, their supposed peers will shun them quicker than a Nundu can strike.”

She pouted, which made her look younger - or rather, made her look her age. Not that he’d tell her that. He shook his head. “You’ve waited years, you can wait a little longer.”

“I guess so,” she said. She’d been as stubborn as a mere second-year witch.

He grinned. “Trust me. Now, show me your Ancient Runes homework. You’re sitting your N.E.W.T’s in a week, after all.”

“Oh, yes!” She quickly turned back to the table with her notes. “I think I got it all, but there were a few questions I’m not sure if I answered correctly…”

He smiled at her back and wondered, not for the first time, how she would behave had she remained at Hogwarts. And hoped that her future wouldn't change her too much.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 6th, 1998

Harry Potter looked at the letter in front of him, which a cranky owl had just delivered in the middle of breakfast. His N.E.W.T.s. Seven years at Hogwarts, two weeks of exams, distilled - or broken down - into one letter. He almost didn’t want to open it. Even after he had checked it for curses and poisons.

“Open it! Come on! Aren’t you curious?” Sirius prodded him from across the table. “Are you nervous? You know you did great!”

Harry Potter snorted. “This letter is supposed to define and shape my future and you want me to rip it open as if it were a Quidditch supplies catalogue?”

“Well, I’m curious, and it’s not as if the results matter that much, do they?” Sirius said. “You’re the Boy-Who-Lived; only a fool would judge you by your N.E.W.T.s after what you’ve done.”

“A fool, or Umbridge,” Harry retorted. “She’d love an excuse to stop me becoming an Auror.”

Sirius scoffed. “I’d like to see her try! In fact, I could probably use such an attempt to reform the Ministry’s hiring practices - Umbridge’s attempts to manipulate the Wizengamot haven’t gone over well with many members.”

Harry shook his head. “No. I don’t want to enter the Auror Corps thanks to your influence.” That would undermine his plans right from the start. He couldn’t fight against corruption if he benefited from nepotism.

Sirius frowned, then shrugged. “I’m certain that you did well anyway.” He grinned. “So, come on, open it!”

Harry sighed and sliced open the envelope with a flick of his wand. He wasn’t really nervous. He knew he had done well, especially in the practicals. Still...

He looked at the results and grinned. Then frowned when he caught how relieved Sirius looked. “I thought you were certain that I did well?”

Sirius winced. “Well… I was mostly certain. So, how did you do?”

Harry shook his head and handed the letter over. Sirius all but ripped it out of his hand.

“Outstanding in Defence - of course, that was a given. Another in Charms. Like Lily.”

“Mostly thanks to all the Charms used in Defence,” Harry admitted.

“Ah. Exceeds Expectations in Transfiguration? James was great at it.”

Harry suppressed a frown. He wasn’t his father. Nor his mum. But he knew that Sirius couldn’t help making comparisons. Especially today. “The test didn’t really cover the Transfigurations used in combat,” he said.

“Outstanding in Potions?” Sirius blinked.

Harry grinned. “I might have overcompensated for that weakness.” Slughorn was a far, far better teacher than Snape, too. And since he had been single for the rest of the school year, he had spent more time than usual studying.

“Exceeds in Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology and History of Magic.”

Harry nodded. Hermione had told him that he should pay more attention to his study of history if he wanted to change its course. Or something like that.

“And Acceptables in Astronomy and Divination, both of which no one cares about.” Sirius beamed at him. “Well done, Harry! This calls for a celebration!”

“A private one,” Harry said quickly.

Sirius laughed. “Last year was an exception - you only turn seventeen once in your life, after all. This year you’ll have a smaller party. Not as small as you want, though - can’t snub too many people by not re-inviting them after last year.” He handed the letter to Jeanne. “But you need to get used to that anyway, now that you’re starting your career in the Ministry,” he added with a grin.

“I can get used to that at your wedding,” Harry pointed out with a grin of his own.

Sirius frowned, then turned to Jeanne. “Chérie, let’s elope!”

Jeanne looked up from Harry’s results and gave Sirius a flat stare. “Out of the question. It’s just one day, and it’ll do a lot to keep my father happy enough to not meddle further with our lives.”

Harry glared at him. “You made me suffer through all the planning sessions for your wedding! You’ll attend the ceremony, even if I have to drag you there in person!”

“Wouldn’t that be Remus’s duty as the best man?” Jeanne asked.

“Remus wouldn’t betray me like that!” Sirius exclaimed.

“He wouldn’t want to give Tonks ideas, you mean,” Harry corrected him. He scoffed. Remus should man up and either break up with Tonks or marry her.

Sirius frowned at him - they had talked about this before. “Remus has his reasons.”

But they weren’t good reasons, Harry thought. He shrugged. “He should be glad there’s a witch who loves him.”

“They’ll work it out,” Sirius said.

“Once Remus stops hiding at Hogwarts,” Harry said. “We can but hope that at your wedding Tonks doesn’t get him drunk and then drags him off to the altar.”

“Andromeda would stop her. She wants a big wedding for her girl,” Sirius told him, smiling. “A classic Black wedding. Just without the dark curses.” He frowned. “Unless Skeeter dares attend, of course.”

Harry nodded in agreement as he reheated his tea with a quick charm. That witch wouldn’t even be allowed near the wedding.

*****​

London, Merton, July 20th, 1998

The mail was late, Hermione Granger thought with a frown. It was past nine - the letter with her N.E.W.T. results should have arrived already. “The stupid owl is probably taking a break on the way,” she mumbled under her breath. You couldn’t trust birds; they were too flighty.

“If you stare any harder at the window, it’ll break.”

She glared at her dad who was smirking at her; this wasn’t the time to tease her.

He chuckled. “After seven years, a little delay doesn’t really matter.”

“It’s the principle of the thing!” she said, frowning. It was bad enough that she had to take her N.E.W.T.s after the Hogwarts students, but to wait even longer… “Harry’s letter arrived during breakfast. At eight,” she added before her dad could say something about how that wasn’t an exact time.

He did it anyway. “Technically, you haven’t yet finished your breakfast.” He pointed at her cup of tea.

She rolled her eyes and took a sip. After reheating it with a quick charm.

“At least you’re impatient, not nervous,” Mum chimed in, taking a seat on the couch.

“Shouldn’t you be at work already?” Hermione asked.

“We took the morning off,” Dad said. “Your mother thought you could use the company.”

“Really?” Hermione wasn’t twelve any more. “I’ll have you know that I was perfectly composed when I received my O.W.L. results,” she said, pursing her lips.

Her parents glanced at each other. Her mum sighed. “We just want to be there when you officially finish school, dear.”

“It’s an important moment. Our little girl, all grown up,” Dad added.

Hermione gasped. Of course her parents would want to be here when her N.E.W.T. results arrived - this was the closest they would have to a graduation ceremony! “I’m sorry,” she said, “I wasn’t thinking about that. I forgot that, with me having been expelled, there wouldn’t be...” She clenched her teeth; remembering how she had been forced to leave Hogwarts didn’t just made her angry, it also still hurt, even after all these years.

Mum sighed and stood, then walked over to Hermione, patting her shoulder. “We know, Hermione.”

Hermione nodded. “Thanks, Mum. Dad.” Her parents were the best.

“Of course,” her dad said. “Now, should we let the owl come in? It’s been staring at us through the window for a while now.”

“What?” Hermione turned around. Yes, there was one of those useless birds, looking at her as if it was Hermione’s fault that the owl was too stupid to make itself known. But it had her letter. Her N.E.W.T. results.

Hermione apparated to the window.

*****​

“Outstandings in Charms, Transfiguration, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes,” Hermione Granger summed up. She had expected that. “Exceeds Expectations in Potions, Herbology and History of Magic.” Having more time to study those had helped. Not enough to make up for not having gone to Hogwarts, of course. And an Outstanding in Potions would have caused more love potion rumours, she thought. Although History of Magic she really should have done better in. But she had had to focus on subjects more useful to her career. “Acceptable in Defence and Care of Magical Creatures.” And no Muggle Studies - she wouldn’t take that exam until the Ministry corrected their tests!

“That’s great, Hermione!” Her mum hugged her while her dad read the letter.

Hermione nodded, even though she knew that it was, at best, great for someone who hadn’t gone to Hogwarts. If Malfoy hadn’t framed her… She clenched her teeth. He would pay for that. She would see to it.

“These are excellent results, Hermione. With those grades you shouldn’t have much trouble finding a good job,” he said.

“I have a good job,” Hermione answered, more sharply than she had intended. If this was another subtle inquiry about whether she might want to consider a job where she wouldn’t have to lie to a muggle boyfriend… Once more, she felt guilty for obliviating Paul, but forced the emotion away. She and Paul would have probably broken up over mundane issues anyway, seeing as he spied on her for months. “It pays very well and the hours are very reasonable, and leave me with ample time to read,” she added with a grin to lessen the sting of her rebuke.

“We know that,” Mum said, releasing her. “But are you certain that it’s what you want to do with your life?”

“You were quite determined never to become a secretary when you were little.” Dad smirked at her.

Once she had learned what a secretary did, Hermione remembered. She smiled. “I’m the Personal Assistant of one of the most influential members of the Wizengamot. I help shape the country’s future.” It wasn’t a lie - Sirius did listen to her. Not always, of course. And probably not often as he should, she added to herself, thinking of Harry. But she did co-write most of his proposals.

“Well, as long as you are doing what you want,” her dad said, “we’re content.”

“And proud,” her mum added and hugged her again.

Hermione hugged her back and tried not to feel too guilty. Her parents didn’t know her real plans. They couldn’t know.

Now that she had finished her education - her official education, of course; Mr Fletcher still had things to teach her - she could focus on her future. Her future career as a thief.

And on her revenge.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 22nd, 1998

“Aurors are allowed to use dark curses if they are granted a special exemption,” Harry Potter said with his eyes focused on a plant in Mr Biggles’s terrarium. Then he looked straight at the snake. “Did you understand that?”

“I don’t understand why you want to learn how not to talk to me,” the little snake responded. “It makes absolutely no sense.”

Harry sighed. “I told you: When I’m talking to you, my family doesn’t understand me. I want to learn how to talk to them in your presence.”

“Just don’t talk to them when I’m with you.”

Harry closed his eyes. His pet was so demanding and vain, Mr Biggles should have been born a cat. “Did you understand me or not?”

“I didn’t understand you,” Mr Biggles answered - in a rather petulant tone. Harry smiled. He had finally done it! Then the snake asked: “What’s an ‘exemption’?”

Harry sighed and tried again. “A special exemption can be granted by the Minister for Magic or a majority of the Wizengamot. If the Minister grants a special exemption, he needs the approval of a majority of the Wizengamot within seven days.” At least he could use the time spent trying to ignore Mr Biggles to study for the Auror entrance exams.

Hedwig barked from her perch behind him. He sighed again. His owl had a definite opinion on how to solve his problem. If Harry had known how jealous Hedwig would be, he’d have stuck to conjured snakes for this.

“You should get rid of the bird,” Mr Biggles said, as Harry had come to expect.

“I’m not getting rid of Hedwig,” Harry said. She had been his first pet. And in a way, his first friend.

“But she wants to eat me.”

“She won’t eat you. I won’t let her.” Harry glanced over his shoulder at the owl, but Hedwig showed no sign of understanding him. He frowned. “I know you heard me.” She ignored him and kept staring at the snake. He sighed and turned on his seat towards her. “It’s not my fault that you can’t talk.”

Hedwig barked at him, and he didn’t need to speak Owl to understand that she disagreed with him. He turned back to his notes and the terrarium. “I really wish my pets would listen to me.”

“What did you say?”

Harry froze for a moment. “You didn’t understand me?”

“You weren’t talking properly. You just made those weird noise, like the others.”

Harry focused on the terrarium again. “All humans talk like that.” Those of them who spoke English, at least, Hermione would correct him.

“What did you say?” Mr Biggles asked again.

Harry smiled widely. He had done it! He had finally managed not to talk in Parseltongue in Mr Biggles’s presence! “Yes!”

“Hmph.”

“What?” Harry looked at Mr Biggles. The snake was sliding under the long branch in the centre of his terrarium. “What are you doing?”

“If you don’t wanna talk to me, then I don’t wanna talk to you either!” came the reply.

And now the snake was ignoring him. Harry sighed again. He simply couldn’t win with his pets, or so it seemed.

*****​

She shouldn’t be doing this. Hermione Granger knew it. Knew it very well. Harry had forbidden it. And she perfectly understood his reasons, even though they were based on a faulty assumption.

But right now the sun was shining directly into Sirius’s study, right on to his favourite armchair. Which was, as Hermione knew very well, the perfect spot a cat could choose for a short nap in the morning. And she was alone. Sirius and Jeanne were off checking with the caterer for their wedding - the dog would probably sample every dish - and Harry was revising for his exams in his room. Experience had taught her that he wouldn’t come down until he had finished studying for the day. That gave her plenty of time.

She grinned and stood, locked the door for good measure, then changed. A few seconds later, she was comfortably arranged in her seat and basking in the sunlight.

“Why did you lock the door… you!”

Hermione jerked awake at the loud voice. Harry! And he sounded angry. She whirled around and looked for whoever had made him mad. Then she realised that he was staring at her and ducked her head.

“So that’s why she locked the door… to keep you from exploring the house,” Harry said, shaking his head.

Hermione looked at the window. Closed. But if she was quick enough, she could dash past Harry and out of the door.

Then Harry closed the door. “But I told her, and she agreed, not to let you into the house any more.”

Hermione glared at him, her fur bristling. She was perfectly safe for his stupid pet! As if she’d lower herself to hunt it!

“Don’t stare at me like that; I’m really fed up with haughty pets right now.” Harry took a step closer. “Hedwig, Mr Biggles, and now you, the stray.”

She tensed, getting ready to make a dash to freedom - or at least to the door - but Harry had his wand drawn. “Go ahead, make my day.”

She blinked. Did he really...?

He picked her up. Not roughly, but not gently either. And she couldn’t squirm out of his grip - she tried as he carried her out of the room, down the stairs, to the kitchen. No, to the back door. He wouldn’t actually throw her out, would he?

He did. Not literally, at least - he simply put her down outside the door. But he closed the door and left her on the porch.

Hermione closed her eyes and cursed herself. She could make up an excuse easily enough - a quick trip to the next shop for some supplies, or a magazine. But Harry would likely tell Sirius about this.

And she knew that the dog wouldn’t let her live it down.

*****​

“No, really, you threw out the stray?” Sirius seemed to be struggling not to laugh out loud.

Harry Potter narrowed his eyes at his godfather. “Yes, I did. I don’t understand why you think that’s funny, though.”

“Well, you don’t know how nasty that cat can be,” Sirius said, with a glance at Hermione. “The number of times she clawed my nose…” He shook his head.

Hermione glared at him in response, and Harry could see her clench her teeth together before answering. “I’m sure that each time she had a very good reason. You probably teased her.”

Sirius waved the comment away.

“That’s not the point,” Harry cut in, shaking his head at the two. “I told you that you couldn’t let your cat in the house any more.”

“She’s not my cat,” Hermione said. “And she was perfectly safe - the door was locked, after all. She was just taking a nap in one of her favourite spots.”

“She shouldn’t have been in the house at all. What if she had attacked Mr Biggles?” Didn’t either of them care about his snake?

“She wouldn’t have attacked your snake. She knows better than that.”

“She doesn’t know not to sleep in my study, though,” Sirius added. “Or how to avoid Harry. It’ll be good training for when you’re ordered to chase down missing familiars as a rookie Auror.”

“Well, I don’t think he’d have such an easy time when the familiar’s not locked up in a room,” Hermione said. “Unless it’s a dog; those are easy to catch or trick.”

“Dogs wouldn’t run away from their family in the first place,” Sirius shot back.

“They would probably get lost chasing after a rat or trying to scrounge up food,” Hermione retorted.

Harry sighed and looked at Jeanne, the only other sane person at the dinner table. His future step-godmother, as Sirius called it, seemed amused rather than annoyed by the antics of the other two, though. He shook his head and turned to Hermione and Sirius. “Stop it, both of you.” He really had better things to do than to listen to the two of them argue over pets. Especially after having to deal with two difficult prima donna pets himself.

Hermione sniffed but nodded. Sirius was about to have the last word, but a glare from Harry made him shut up as well.

Although, as Harry found, the awkward silence following his intervention was only marginally less annoying than the row he had stopped. Fortunately, Jeanne spoke up: “I wanted to ask, Harry: Are you certain that you want to start your career as an Auror this autumn? I did the Grand Tour when I was your age, after graduating from Beauxbatons.”

Harry would like to do the Grand Tour - travel the world, visit the various wizarding countries, experience the different cultures - but that would be irresponsible. He shook his head. “I want to enter the Auror Corps as quickly as possible, before Malfoy gets entrenched in the Ministry.”

“I think we have him under control,” Sirius said.

“Stalled is more like it,” Hermione corrected him. “And he’s not abandoning his efforts to gain more influence. Fudge must be getting rich from all the bribes.”

One more reason to become an Auror right away, Harry thought.

His godfather frowned. “It’s not as bad as you make it out to be. If Harry wants to do the Grand Tour, we can manage. I didn’t do my own, seeing as we were at war and I was needed in Britain.”

Harry nodded. They weren’t at war any more, but he was needed as well.

“What about you?” he asked Hermione.

She frowned at him. “I’m needed here.” She nodded towards Sirius. “Who knows what he would get up to without me keeping him in line.”

Jeanne laughed. “I think I could take over,” she said.

“No, you’d enable him,” Hermione retorted.

Sirius pouted, but Harry was happy to hear that Hermione wouldn’t be changing jobs, now that she had her N.E.W.T.s. He was also happy that she had broken up with Paul the now Ex-Boyfriend, but that wasn’t a subject that was talked about at home.

*****​

Finchingfield, Essex, Britain, August 22nd, 1998

Despite herself, Hermione Granger was impressed by the opulence of the wedding. Not surprised, of course - she had known that for all his talk about spurning conventions and eloping, Sirius wanted to show off. And not just because the prestige that he’d gain from such an expensive and traditional wedding would help him in the Wizengamot, but because, for Sirius, only the best was good enough for his wife-to-be.

In a certain way, it was endearing, Hermione thought. And the whole ceremony was fascinating. There was no priest and no religious rites; the bride and groom in a British wizarding wedding simply took their vows in the presence of their families. And yet the similarities to a Christian ceremony were obvious to her, from the seating arrangement to the way Sirius was waiting at the, well, altar, for Jeanne to arrive in the company of her parents. Of course, Christianity had built their own ceremonies on pagan rituals in order to replace the pagan faith, so maybe the roots of this went back further than the Christian era in Britain. On the other hand, Hermione was certain that until the Statue of Secrecy went into effect and the magical world hid from the muggles, all wizards married as Christians in England. So the absence of a priest had to be a deliberate decision.

Harry’s cough interrupted her thoughts. She glanced at him, and he whispered. “Jeanne’s arriving.”

The music should have clued her in. Hermione blushed a little; she hadn’t been ‘lost to the world’ like this, as her dad called it, in a long while. Jeanne looked resplendent in her decidedly French robes, which formed a marked contrast with her father’s very conservative and very British dress robes. Something the journalists from Witch Weekly and the Daily Prophet were certain to remark upon, Hermione thought - although the fact that Mr Selwyn was walking with his daughter should put a stop to the rumours of a rift between them.

The music faded as soon as Jeanne reached Sirius and Mr Selwyn, the only parent present, her mum not having forgiven her for leaving for Britain, took a step back as the couple faced each other. At the same time, Remus and Marie, a cousin of Jeanne’s, took a step forward from where they had been waiting, to formally bear witness as Sirius and Jeanne drew their wands.

Sirius went first. “I, Sirius Orion Black, take you, Jeanne Dubois, to be my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, with magic as my witness.”

That was a dramatic wording, Hermione thought, but about as magically binding as any muggle wedding oath.

“I, Jeanne Dubois, take you, Sirius Orion Black, to be my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, till death us do part, with magic as my witness.”

“Lumos!” they spoke simultaneously, the tips of their wands lighting up in unison.

Hermione leaned forward. This part was fascinating. Sirius and Jeanne touched their wands, then handed them over to each other. The lights didn’t dim perceptibly, and Hermione heard some of the older guests whisper - probably commenting on the good omen for the marriage. Remus and Marie drew their own wands, casting Wand-Lighting Charms as well.

Then Harry and Hermione rose, together with everyone else in attendance, and added their own lights - she had to squint in order to avoid getting blinded, so bright was all the light - as the couple kissed each other, quite passionately, before they took their first symbolic step into their life together.

And, to her surprise, Hermione found herself crying. And more than a little envious.

*****​

“...and Finchingfield is said to be one of the most beautiful villages in England. Of course, I think many villages claim that, and it’s not as if it’s a legally enforceable claim. Did you know that the Blacks had a house here, dating back to the early twelfth century? And kept the land after it was destroyed in the seventeenth century, hiding the entire area from the muggles?”

Standing in line at the buffet, Harry Potter smiled. Hermione in a lecturing mood was a familiar and comfortable sight. “Yes. He told me so.” Several times - his godfather had been a little nervous about his choice of venue for the ceremony. “Ironically, the Blacks suspected that the Selwyns were responsible for the destruction.”

She frowned. “He didn’t tell me that.” She pouted, slightly. “And I helped him organise this!”

“Sirius didn’t tell me. Kreacher did,” Harry said.

“Oh.”

He nodded. She knew as well as he did that Kreacher wouldn’t have told her. The house-elf was as bigoted as Sirius’s mother had been. Surprisingly, he had warmed towards Harry after Voldemort’s defeat, but Hermione… Well, he didn’t insult her. Not any more. But it was obvious that he considered her beneath everyone in the house - including himself. And probably Mr Biggles, too.

“Sirius should let the elf go,” he heard her mutter under her breath, and he was glad he had - reflexively - cast a privacy charm before they joined the line. He looked at her, and she scoffed. “I know, I know. You don’t let elves go, or you’ll never get to hire another elf.”

“I’d tell you that if you get him fired, you’d have to take over his duties, but we both know we’d starve in that case,” Harry said. She frowned at him but dropped the subject.

Just in time, too - they had reached the buffet, and the spread of delicacies deserved their full attention. The very best of British and French cuisine. More French than British, of course. Much more.

*****​

“So, are you and Hermione dating now?”

Luna’s question surprised Harry Potter. He quickly swallowed his mouthful of scrimp salad so he could answer. “No, we aren’t. In fact, neither of us is dating. Right now, I mean.” Which was why they both had attended the wedding without a ‘plus one’.

“Oh.”

Ron grinned. “Told you so.”

She pouted. “I was certain. You arrived together, after all.”

“Well, we left Grimmauld Place together, too,” Harry said.

“I thought she was living with her parents,” Luna said.

“She stays the night a few times per week,” Harry explained.

“Oh?” Luna blinked.

“When she works late,” Harry said before the witch could speculate.

It didn’t stop her, though. “She could apparate home, though. There has to be a reason she’s all but living in your home!”

“She probably doesn’t want to live full-time with her parents,” Ron said. “I wouldn’t, if I had the gold for a home of my own.”

“You can live in the Rookery!” Luna exclaimed, beaming. “With me!”

Ron shook his head. “But you’d be at Hogwarts for the next year. And when you’ve finished, I’ll be working as an Auror.”

“Oh. That’s true, I suppose.” Luna frowned. “And we can’t have you living at Hogwarts; people would notice. Although perhaps with Polyjuice Potion… Do you think anyone would notice if there were two Mariettas?”

“I think the amount of Polyjuice Potion we’d need would be more expensive than renting a flat,” Ron said, as if he were taking this proposal seriously.

Not for the first time, Harry wondered if Ron being with Luna was a good thing. Fortunately, she hadn’t managed to convince his friend to abandon his plan to become an Auror together with Harry and become a reporter for the Quibbler instead.

“That is true as well. I guess we’ll have to suffer being apart for a year. Where is Hermione?” Luna suddenly asked.

Ron pointed behind Harry. “She wanted to talk to Bill about his work as a Curse-Breaker.”

Harry frowned as he turned. Hermione wouldn’t be considering that line of work, would she? She had the grades for it, but everyone knew that it was a very dangerous job. Then he saw her standing with Ron’s brother at the edge of the area warded off for the wedding and frowned even more. Bill was being far too friendly, in his opinion. He was almost ten years older than her, too, and from what Ron had told Harry, Bill was also a ‘player’.

*****​

“Oh, risk is part of the job. Every Curse-Breaker knows that.”

Hermione Granger nodded at Bill’s words.

He smiled at her. “Of course, the pay makes up for the danger.”

He had a nice smile, a nice body under his dress robes, as far as she could tell, and was very attractive. But his slightly patronising attitude put her off. She wasn’t a silly girl he could impress with tall tales about robbing Egyptian tombs - she was an accomplished Curse-Breaker herself, not that she could let him know it.

Of course, getting him to talk shop instead of trying to impress her with his job would have been easier if she didn’t have to maintain her cover. Or if she hadn’t let Jeanne persuade her to dress up more than a little for the occasion. But she wouldn’t let that deter her. “But the danger is just one reason for the high wages, right? A Curse-Breaker has to be very skilled in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, after all, and such skills are in demand.”

“Yes.” He hadn’t lost his smile. Nor his attitude. “Although the next best paying job, Spell Creation, isn’t exactly safe either.”

“But at least no one’s intentionally trying to kill you when you’re creating spells,” she retorted. “Anyway, I’ve been reading Arithmancy Monthly when I was studying for my N.E.W.T.s, and there was this fascinating article about cascading wards. Though the article wasn’t from a Curse-Breaker’s perspective.” What she really wanted to know was whether the Curse-Breakers in Gringotts’ employ had found an easier or quicker way to deal with such wards, but Sirius’s private secretary wouldn’t be asking that.

“Ah, yes, I remember the article.”

“You do?” She beamed at him. “Have you encountered such a ward in your work?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m mostly dealing with ancient tombs, and those wards are a relatively new invention.” He grinned. “Gringotts frowns upon breaking and entering as a side-job, you know.”

She forced herself to laugh at his joke. “I was asking because Sirius is considering updating the wards on his home.” Which was even true.

“Ah.” He rubbed his chin, then pushed a stray lock of his long hair that had gotten free of his ponytail out of his face. “I think trying to adapt old wards to such a new array would be more trouble than it’s worth. You’d almost certainly have to weaken the original protection in some way to fit the new spells in, and the interference between the two triggers would certainly have to be taken into account.”

Hermione smiled. This was what she had wanted. She nodded emphatically. “I thought that, too. But wouldn’t the cascading wards still be protected from being dispelled by the older wards’ curses?”

“In theory, yes. But the interference would weaken the whole array and make the spells harder to conceal, which could be exploited by a skilled Curse-Breaker.”

She nodded. That was what Mr Fletcher had told her as well, but it was good to hear it confirmed. “So it would be a bad decision to upgrade the wards like that?”

“Barring special circumstances, yes.” He nodded firmly. “I would advise against it.”

“And what about replacing the old wards entirely?” At his expression, she added: “The article seemed to suggest that a cascading array was superior to the old spell arrays.”

His smile grew more patronising once again. “In theory, yes. But that doesn’t take into account how wards grow more powerful with age.”

She had known that, of course, but she wanted more of his insight into cascading wards. So she nodded. “I see. But when choosing wards for a new home, you’d pick the new array?” She asked, then noticed Harry approaching them followed by Ron and Luna.

“There you are!” Harry said, smiling at her. “Hi, Bill,” he added with a nod. “I hope she hasn’t been badgering you too much about your work.”

“Hi, Harry.” Bill returned the greeting while Hermione pursed her lips at her friend. She hadn’t been badgering Ron’s brother! “No, no, we were just discussing the best way to protect a new flat or house.”

“Why?” Harry looked at her. “Are you planning to move out?”

“I’m not going to live with my parents forever,” she pointed out.

“But you can live with us!” he said.

Bill laughed. “That would put a cramp on her love life, I think.”

Harry didn’t have to look so surprised, Hermione thought, glaring at him. Not that he noticed.

*****​

Her love life? Harry Potter shook his head. “I don’t think that will be an issue,” he said. After all, Hermione had had a boyfriend for months while living at her parents’ home and at Grimmauld Place.

“Really?” She was glaring at him, as if he had said something wrong. And Bill was laughing.

“Well, it didn’t affect your relationship with Paul, didn’t it?”

She was still glaring at him, though. “Other than that, ultimately, the need to keep magic a secret made us break up, you mean? Because I had to obliviate him so he thought we broke up for other reasons.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he retorted. He should have known better than to mention Paul the Ex-Boyfriend. “Just that you can have relationships just fine while living at Grimmauld Place.”

“Of course I can.”

“Do you have a room free?” Luna chimed in.

“What?” Harry blinked.

“Do you have a spare guest room? You could take in Ron, in that case.”

“Luna!” Ron whispered through clenched teeth.

“What? You heard Harry; we can have a relationship just fine there.” Luna looked puzzled. Not an unfamiliar sight.

“I didn’t want to beg for a room, Luna. I can pay for my own as soon as I start working,” Ron said.

“You didn’t beg; I asked,” she pointed out. “And since our friends are not dating, you wouldn’t be the third wheel.”

“Fifth wheel, Luna,” Harry corrected her.

She frowned. “That makes no sense. With Ron, you are three, not five. Unless you count Sirius and Jeanne, I guess. But would they count?”

“It’s a figure of speech,” Hermione explained.

“Well, someone needs to check that figure, I think,” Luna retorted.

Bill was still laughing. Harry ignored him and addressed Ron. “We’d love to have you, Ron. I would have offered before, but I thought you had things planned out with Luna.” His friend did seem to spend most of his free time with her, after all.

“Oh, we have!” Luna cut in. “Plans, I mean. We just need to sort them out and tell each other.”

Which seemed to indicate that they didn’t have plans, at least in Harry’s opinion. But Ron nodded. To Harry, he said: “I’ll have to consider this.”

“Alright.” Harry nodded.

“Say yes,” Bill said. “Mum’ll understand.”

“Really?” Ron stared at Bill as if he had lost his mind.

“Unlike me, Charlie or Percy, you’ve got a witch you’re going steady with,” Bill said. “She’ll understand, trust me.”

“OK.”

“Good! Let’s tell Sirius and Jeanne that you’re moving in!” Luna said, dragging Ron away.

“Mrs Weasley will think that they’re about to marry, won’t she?” Hermione said as soon as Ron was out of earshot. She sounded like when she was talking about Sirius, Harry noticed.

“Yeah,” Bill replied, grinning widely. “But it’ll be good for Ron.”

Harry nodded in agreement. He had been thinking that Ron was spending too much time with Luna, and not enough with Hermione and himself.

*****​

Hermione Granger wasn’t at fault. She firmly told herself that as she saw Luna and Ron approach the happy couple. That was all Harry’s doing. And Bill’s and Luna’s. Not hers, in any case. Not that inviting Ron to live with them at Grimmauld Place was a bad thing - on the contrary. But there were better times to spring that on Sirius than the wedding reception.

On the other hand, she thought with a grin, it wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve to taste a little of his own medicine. See how well he dealt with ‘some spontaneity’.

Quite well, as it turned out - at least she interpreted Sirius smiling and clapping Ron on the shoulder as hearty approval. Well, she should have expected that - Sirius would do anything for Harry.

She excused herself from Harry and Bill, who were swapping stories about the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and made her way towards the buffet again. She shouldn’t stuff herself; there was an entire banquet in the evening, but the food was just too delicious not to indulge now, at least a little.

She wasn’t the only one who felt that way, she found when she saw Mr Selwyn refilling his plate. “Did you try the shrimp salad?” she asked him, taking a portion for herself.

“I don’t particularly like seafood,” he answered.

She didn’t know if his curt manner was due to her blood status, or the rumours of her having an affair with both bride and groom - Skeeter hadn’t taken her exclusion well. But she wasn’t planning to antagonise him; Jeanne didn’t deserve even more strain on her relationship with her father. So she nodded, picked up two slices of pâté, foie gras to be precise, and left Selwyn at the buffet to mingle with the other guests.

Especially those bigots who, as she knew from her appearances as Miss Merriweather, would not normally lower themselves to talk to a muggleborn like her, but were forced by custom to be polite to her on this occasion. Like Michael Smith, Zacharias’s older cousin.

“It is a very beautiful wedding, don’t you think so, Mr Smith?” she asked with the best fake smile she could manage.

“Yes. Quite impressive,” he responded with a rather forced-looking smile.

“Did you know that on this field once stood a manor of the Blacks?” More like a fortified estate, but she didn’t think he cared much about actual history.

He blinked. “No, I wasn’t aware of that.”

She nodded. “It was destroyed in the seventeenth century - by the Selwyns, according to the records of the Black Family.”

“Ah.”

She nodded again. “Very ironic, and yet somehow fitting, to hold the wedding here, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, quite.” He was looking around, searching an excuse to leave her.

“And to think some people thought Sirius would eschew traditions. He doesn’t; he adapts them.” She nodded slowly.

“Ah.”

He didn’t seem to be listening to her any more. She was tempted to sprout nonsense and see how long it took for him to notice, but this was Sirius and Jeanne’s big day; she wouldn’t cause a scene. Even if he was ignoring her, despite her tighter than usual robes. He was a bore, anyway - his mother didn’t even take him to the Wizengamot to teach him the ropes; otherwise they could at least have talked about politics.

She spotted Andromeda and Ted Tonks in a corner and went over to them. “Are you enjoying the reception?” she asked once she reached them.

Sirius’s cousin smiled at her - in a very similar way to how Sirius himself did when he was pulling a prank, Hermione noticed. “We’re currently enjoying my daughter’s attempts to use the occasion to persuade Sirius’s friend to propose to her.”

“She’s enjoying it; I’m merely observing,” Ted corrected her.

Andromeda snorted. “You just don’t want to admit that the whole situation is funny.”

“I think that Mr Lupin has clearly shown that he doesn’t want to commit himself to a relationship, much less marriage.”

Andromeda shook her head. “That just means Nymphadora will try harder. Look at them!”

Hermione did. Remus looked like a cornered deer, in her opinion. Quite pathetic for a grown man. Literally cornered - he had his back to the wall and Tonks in his face. “Did she change her robes?” She didn’t remember Tonks’s dress being that low cut.

“After she saw what Jeanne’s friends were wearing, yes,” Ted said. “As if that would make him change his opinion!”

“It usually works with wizards,” Andromeda said with a smirk that hinted at a story.

“Emphasis on ‘usually’.” Ted shrugged. “As much as I agree that only a fool would spurn the advances of our precious daughter, I don’t believe that marrying a fool is a wise choice.”

Hermione shrugged. “I do think that he likes her, but Sirius said that he has some personal issues dating back to the last war.”

Ted scoffed. “Sirius had worse issues, I think, and look at him now.”

There wasn’t much Hermione could say to that. But perhaps she could talk to Remus.

Not today, of course. It could wait until after the wedding.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 23rd, 1998

Harry Potter was usually the first up in the morning. The only other regular resident of Grimmauld Place who was an early riser was Remus, and judging by how much the man had drunk yesterday after Tonks had apparently blown a fuse, Harry doubted that he’d wake up before noon. Hermione wouldn’t rise before nine unless Harry woke her. And it went without saying that he didn’t expect Sirius or Jeanne to leave their bed any time soon.

So he was the one who had to answer when Kreacher informed him of a Floo call from the Ministry. He already knew it would be important - no one would be calling from, much less working in, the Ministry on a Sunday morning if it wasn’t.

“Hello?”

“Mr Potter?”

That was Shacklebolt. A veteran Auror and a member of the Order. “Yes?” Harry inclined his head as he sat down in front of the fireplace.

“Would you mind letting me visit? I need to talk to Mrs Black in person.” Shacklebolt sounded very serious.

Harry frowned. “You know that Jeanne and Sirius just got married.” And therefore had started their honeymoon.

“I am aware of that, yes.” Shacklebolt sighed. “But I need to inform her that her father has been murdered.”

*****​

 

Chapter 34: A Black Beginning

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 23rd, 1998

If there was one part of his duties as an Auror that Kingsley Shacklebolt hated more than paperwork, it was telling someone that they had lost a loved one. Although, he thought as he stepped out of the fireplace in Black’s home, it remained to be seen if that description was accurate when it came to Mrs Black’s father. He had heard rumours that their relationship, his presence at her wedding notwithstanding, were rather strained.

The entrance hall was more modern than he had expected - the rumour that Black was cut from a different cloth than the rest of his family was apparently true. He hadn’t compromised on security, though - Kingsley couldn’t even spot the hidden passages for the house-elf who had taken his call.

Potter was standing in the centre of the room, nodding at him. “Good morning, Mr Shacklebolt.”

Kingsley nodded back. Under normal circumstances, Potter’s lack of an obvious reaction to the grave news would have made Kingsley suspicious, but this was the boy who had fought and killed the Dark Lord. With a lot of help from Albus, granted - but then, Kingsley was also aware of the half a dozen Death Eaters Potter had killed on his way to the Dark Lord. Mad-Eye hadn’t been boasting when he had told Kingsley that Potter was already better than most Aurors. At least at fighting - being a good Auror was more than just killing dark wizards, after all.

“Sirius and Jeanne are still in bed. If you’ll wait in the living room while I fetch them?” Potter gestured towards a door.

“Thank you.” Normally, Kingsley would have preferred to talk to people before they had time to compose themselves and come up with a story, but this wasn’t how things were done when the Old Families were involved. An Auror who treated a member of the Wizengamot as if they were just another suspect was likely to see their career ruined.

Not that Kingsley thought Black was a suspect - Albus had trusted the man, after all. But Mrs Black née Dubois? For a bastard daughter of an Old Family raised in France, she had risen in status very, very quickly. Married to one of the richest wizards from one of the Old Families, and now, presumably - Kingsley hadn’t yet seen the will - the heir to another Old Family?

Many people would kill to achieve that, Kingsley knew. It remained to be seen if Mrs Black were one of them.

Although, he mused silently as he followed Potter through a hallway lined with portraits and other art, she’d certainly fit in well with her husband’s family if she did.

*****​

“Please take a seat; we’ll be with you in a minute.” Potter inclined his head just enough to be polite - the boy had the forms of an Old Family member down. “Kreacher will provide you with light refreshments, should you wish.”

Kingsley Shacklebolt nodded back. “Thank you, Mr Potter, but I’ll be fine.”

He looked around after the boy had left. He had been in many Old Families’ manors, and few of them could match the casual wealth displayed in the Blacks’ living room. And fewer, still, looked as if people actually lived there. There were no portraits, but that didn’t have to mean anything - the landscapes displayed on two walls would provide any of the portraits he had spotted in the hallway with ample opportunities to watch him discreetly. And Potter had announced that there were passages for their house-elf.

He took note of the magazines stacked next to the couch. Various muggle magazines mixed with Quidditch Weekly and Arithmancy and Ancient Runes periodicals as well as copies of La Sorciére and Witch Weekly. The newspapers stashed in a basket on the other side showed the same mix of muggle and magical publishers. There were far more books than he’d expected, unless the Blacks didn’t have an actual library, and he didn’t recognise half the knick-knacks on display, other than the muggle car models arranged in what looked like a miniature racetrack on the reading table.

His observations were cut short when the door opened and the Blacks arrived, followed by Potter and, surprisingly, Granger. Some of the rumours Skeeter had published might not be too far off, Kingsley thought, if the girl was living here.

“Mr Shacklebolt?” Mrs Black sounded composed and her makeup was perfect, but her eyes looked a little wet. Magic could easily fake that, of course. “I was told you had grave news about my father.”

He nodded. “He was found murdered this morning in his bedroom.”

“Murdered?” Black cut in. “How?”

“A dark curse,” Kingsley answered. He noted how the other man’s eyes narrowed at his lack of details.

“What kind of curse?” Potter asked.

“We’re still investigating.” Officially, they were waiting for the report, but the Aurors already knew which curse had taken Selwyn’s life. And Kingsley was certain that Potter knew it as well, judging by the way the boy frowned. Tough, Kingsley thought. If the boy wanted to become an Auror, then he had to learn that you didn’t share information with suspects.

And the Blacks were suspects. They had the means and the motive to murder Selwyn. And, unless another rumour of Skeeter’s turned out to be not quite as ridiculous as he thought, they didn’t have an alibi either.

That didn’t mean that they were guilty, of course. But it was ample reason to investigate them.

*****​

“When did you last see your father?” Shacklebolt asked, a Dictaquill writing on a roll of parchment next to him.

Harry couldn’t help thinking that Sirius and Jeanne would have to answer more than the ‘few questions’ they had agreed to.

“When he left the wedding dinner,” Jeanne answered. She was sitting on the couch, back straight and head held high, with Sirius holding her hand as she faced the Auror, but Harry had seen her gape and cry when he had told her, so he knew how she really felt - shocked and miserable.

“When was that?” Shacklebolt asked. He seemed to be ignoring both Harry and Hermione, who were seated to his left and right, respectively.

“I believe it was around ten,” Jeanne said.

“Yes,” Sirius confirmed. “I checked the clock because I had a bet going.”

Harry suppressed a wince when he noticed Shacklebolt reacting to that. “A bet?” the Auror asked, cocking his head to one side.

“Yes. How long he’d stay past the first opportunity to leave without appearing rude.” Sirius shrugged. “He stayed an hour longer than I expected.”

“That sounds like your relationship wasn’t too cordial,” Shacklebolt commented in a mild voice.

Sirius shrugged again. “We had an understanding,” he said, smiling at Jeanne, “but our political differences were well known.”

Shacklebolt nodded. “I see.”

Harry didn’t. He clenched his teeth so he wouldn’t blurt out a question of his own. He wanted to know so much more. Which curse had killed Selwyn? Who had found him? When had he died? Who had last seen him alive? But he wasn’t an Auror. Yet.

“What did he say when he left?”

“He said ‘good night’,” Sirius answered, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes,” Jeanne confirmed, and Harry saw her squeezing Sirius’s hand. “We didn’t talk much during dinner.”

“Why not?” Shacklebolt asked.

“Because we had talked extensively during the days before the ceremony and, at the wedding, there were a lot of old friends and acquaintances whom we hadn’t seen in a while. We talked to them,” Jeanne replied, her tone growing sharper.

“Ah.” Shacklebolt nodded, without showing much of an expression.

Harry wanted to ask if the Auror really believed that Sirius or Jeanne had killed her father - Shacklebolt had been in the Order, hadn’t he? And he had fought in the Atrium. On the other hand, the man was simply doing his job. Madam Bones had made it clear that she wouldn’t tolerate any favouritism. Still, the Auror could be a little less confrontational. Sirius hadn’t forgotten what he had experienced at the hands of the DMLE, and Harry saw that his godfather was far angrier than he outwardly looked.

“Is that all? Or do you wish to ask what we were doing during our wedding night? Our last position, maybe?” Sirius snapped through clenched teeth.

Yes, Harry thought, this isn’t going to end well if Shacklebolt continues. He glanced at Hermione. She was looking tense, too - probably remembering her own experiences with the DMLE.

The Auror shook his head. “No, thank you. You’ll likely be asked to give a formal statement to the DMLE in a day or two.”

“Really? Oh my, how things have changed! Back in my day, people were simply thrown into Azkaban on the slightest hint of suspicion.” Sirius snarled.

Harry winced at that. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if Sirius managed to get into a fight with an Auror.

To Harry’s relief, Shacklebolt didn’t take the bait. “Madam Bones has changed regulations and procedures to prevent such miscarriages of justice since she took over as the Head of the DMLE.”

“I’m not impressed so far,” Sirius spat.

Whatever Sirius was about to add was cut off when Jeanne stood. “Thank you, Auror Shacklebolt, for informing us of my father’s death. However, I need some privacy to deal with this.”

“Of course.” Shacklebolt nodded at everyone present.

“I’ll see you out, Auror Shacklebolt,” Hermione said, in what Harry had dubbed - privately - her ‘secretary tone’.

As soon as the door had closed behind her and the Auror, Sirius exploded. “What does that pillock think he’s doing, interrogating us in my our home? He’s acting as if he suspects us!”

Harry hoped that the privacy charm on the door kept the Auror from overhearing his godfather. “He has to cover all the bases,” he pointed out. “I don’t think that he actually suspects us.”

“Perhaps not you,” Sirius said, baring his clenched teeth. “But I’d make a convenient scapegoat for the Ministry.” He turned to Jeanne, who was staring at the floor. “Or her. Her ‘dear family’ would like to get rid of her, and this would be a good pretext.”

“Then it’s even more important that an Auror we can trust is leading the investigation,” Harry said. “And if he were too friendly with us, he’d get reassigned.” Any Auror investigating the death of a Wizengamot member would be watched very closely - and not just by Madam Bones.

Sirius scoffed and shook his head, but didn’t contest the point. Instead, he sat back down and hugged Jeanne, whispering in her ear.

Harry almost tried to listen in, but forced himself to turn away. He didn’t want to see Sirius and Jeanne like this.

He should have gone with Shacklebolt. Maybe the Auror would have let something slip on the way.

*****​

Hermione Granger kept her face expressionless as she walked back to the entrance hall with the Auror. She didn’t know him, not personally, but according to Harry, Moody had said the man was a good Auror, which was high praise from that paranoid old man. She’d have to ask Mr Fletcher later if he knew the wizard.

He certainly looked competent, she thought, as she stole a glance at him. Tall, dark and handsome, as some of the novels she had read in secret would describe him. And perceptive, she added to herself when his eyes met hers and she caught a faint grin on his face.

“Your employer doesn’t seem to have a high opinion of the DMLE,” he remarked.

“He has his reasons,” she retorted, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Anyone who has suffered what he has gone through would be less than impressed of the DMLE.”

“Such as yourself?”

“Being framed for theft and expelled from Hogwarts hardly compares to being tortured for over a decade in Azkaban,” she replied, with a hint of a sneer. If he thought she’d mention the pardon, then he would be mistaken.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Is this an interrogation?” she asked, tilting her head to the left.

“Of course not. That would be against regulations.” He had lost the hint of a grin, but his tone was just a little too mild.

It grated on her nerves. “My opinion of the Auror Corps and the DMLE would be higher if I trusted them to follow regulations, instead of the orders of the rich and influential.” She smiled sweetly at him.

“Your employer is among the rich and influential,” he shot back, although he was smiling politely.

“And that’s a good thing,” she said. “If he weren’t, he’d be the perfect scapegoat for this murder. A role he has been cast in before.” They had reached the entrance hall with the fireplace.

“He has also killed before,” Shacklebolt said.

“Death Eaters. Not family.”

“Some of his relatives would fall under both categories.”

“But not Mr Selwyn.” She gestured at the bowl with the Floo powder. “Help yourself.”

He didn’t move, though. “You seem certain of that.”

She didn’t ask if he meant Sirius’s innocence or Selwyn’s views. She simply nodded. “Yes, I am.”

He nodded at her, and finally walked away. She watched him until he disappeared in the green flames - he was travelling to the Ministry, she noted - then returned to the living room.

There she found Sirius and Jeanne hugging each other while Harry awkwardly tried to give them some privacy. She shook her head. “He’s left.”

“Damn pillock,” she heard Sirius curse. “Did he accuse you as well? Did he mention that you were once a suspect in the ‘attack’ on Harry?”

“No. Although he did mention my criminal record.” She shrugged. “Just trying to get a reaction, would be my bet.”

“Do you think he honestly suspects us?” Harry asked.

She shook her head. “Not unless the murderer planted false evidence to frame us. But I think they’d have taken us in for questioning in that case. Though Malfoy will certainly use this against us.”

“Bloody Death Eater,” Sirius cursed again. “Should have killed him in the battle!”

“But who would kill Jeanne’s father?” Harry wondered.

“Apart from half his family for accepting Jeanne as his heir?” Hermione replied.

“They’re not that bad,” Jeanne said. “I don’t think that more than a third of my relatives would be willing to murder mon père.” She made a noise that was half a sob and half a laugh.

Hermione nodded and forced herself to smile at the joke. She looked at Harry, then back at Sirius and Jeanne. “We’ll prepare breakfast.”

“Yes,” Harry was quick to agree.

They’d take their time doing that. Until Jeanne and Sirius had regained their composure.

And then they’d start unravelling this mess.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 24th, 1998

“She should be here already,” Harry Potter muttered as he paced in Grimmauld Place’s entrance hall. “Her shift ended at six, and it’s now half past.”

“An Auror can’t just up and leave their work - ‘the case takes precedence’,” Hermione commented from where she was sitting on one of the benches lining the wall to the back of the hall. She didn’t add ‘you told me so’, but Harry could hear the quote marks in her sentence.

He frowned at her. “She would have sent word if she couldn’t make it.”

“Unless there’s an emergency,” Hermione responded. She sounded far too calm for his liking.

He clenched his teeth. “If there were an emergency, she would certainly have sent word.” Unless the DMLE was about to arrest Sirius and Jeanne and had ensured that Tonks couldn’t warn them. If he had to arrest a member of the Wizengamot, or another prominent member of an Old Family, he’d certainly ensure that they wouldn’t be tipped off by one of their friends or relatives. The DMLE might already be moving in. Standard procedure was to cover the area with Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey Jinxes, lock down the Floo connection, then start on the wards.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Just impatient,” he said. Or perhaps paranoid.

She narrowed her eyes. “No, it’s not just that.” At his look, she added: “I know you too well. So?”

He pressed his lips together before answering. “What if she isn’t here yet because the DMLE is moving to arrest us?”

“After the murder of Bagnold and Crouch, I don’t think the DMLE would do such a thing without solid evidence - which they wouldn’t have since we’re innocent,” she answered.

“Evidence can be faked,” Harry retorted. Witnesses could be manipulated, things stolen and planted, documents forged...

“And everyone knows that - especially the Wizengamot. Can you imagine what would happen if the DMLE arrested Sirius on trumped-up charges? He’s one of the richest men in Wizarding Britain, he’s a prominent member of the Wizengamot, a known hero of the war against Voldemort, and he has been wrongfully imprisoned in Azkaban without trial for over a decade. Any Auror who tries to charge him would be destroying their career.” Hermione snorted. “I’d even bet that he could murder someone and get away with it unless he confessed.”

Harry didn’t know if he should feel reassured or horrified, or both. After all, as far as most of Wizarding Britain was concerned, the same went for Lucius Malfoy, with the exception that he hadn’t spent time in Azkaban.

Before he could comment on that, though, the fireplace lit up and he drew and aimed his wand. Just in case it wasn’t Tonks.

*****​

Hermione Granger was tempted to tell Harry that if he truly thought that the DMLE was trying to arrest them, greeting them with his wand drawn wouldn’t be the best course of action, to say the least. But that would be nagging.

And, anyway, she wasn’t as confident as she was acting for Harry’s benefit. While she knew that Sirius and Jeanne were innocent and was quite convinced that the DMLE wouldn’t be able to make anything stick, things would get a little dicey if they searched the house and found their collection of loot in the basement. Unlike Sirius, Hermione wasn’t a known war hero, nor a pureblood member of the Wizengamot.

They needed to move the loot to a safer place, she thought. But they might be well-advised to wait until they weren’t under such scrutiny - the Daily Prophet had been speculating wildly about the murder - right after the wedding of the year, that had to be expected - and part of that had been aimed at Jeanne, Sirius and even herself, courtesy of Rita Skeeter. Who would pay for that.

“Harry? It’s me. Can I come through?” she heard Tonks’s voice from the fireplace.

“Yes,” Harry said. But she saw that he was still tense. And hadn’t stowed his wand.

Then Tonks stumbled out of the fireplace, almost falling to the ground.

“I don’t think someone impersonating her would be able to match that entrance,” Harry commented, lowering his wand.

“I know a few spells which could help you with that,” Tonks shot back. She shook her head. “And stash the wand.” Hermione heard her mutter something about Mad-Eye under her breath.

“We’re all a little on edge,” she said. “What with the DMLE apparently suspecting us of having murdered Jeanne’s father.”

“Yeah, about that.” Tonks shook her head. “They actually don’t suspect you. Not seriously.”

Hermione thought that for such good news, Tonks looked far too grim.

“Shacklebolt certainly acted like it,” Harry said, scowling.

The Auror shrugged. “He likes to cover all angles.”

“But why didn’t they tell the Prophet that?” Hermione asked.

“Better: Why don’t they suspect us?” Harry said before Tonks could answer. “We all know that we didn’t do it, but there is an obvious motive to consider.”

“Because Selwyn was killed in a dark ritual,” Tonks said. “Blood magic. Like the Dark Lord’s murders three years ago.”

Hermione froze.

*****​

Harry Potter drew a sharp breath. Voldemort’s murders. Voldemort’s blood magic rituals. He remembered his visions of those atrocities. Even though he had only caught fragmented impressions, they sometimes appeared in his nightmares. But… He shook his head. “It can’t be Voldemort. We - Dumbledore and I - killed him.” He tapped his scar. “I’ve got proof, too.”

Tonks shook her head. “Well, the Unspeakables are investigating it. If this is the Dark Lord, we should know soon.”

“They took over the case?” Harry blinked; that wasn’t covered in the handbook.

Tonks shrugged. “Technically, they’re ‘lending their assistance to the DMLE’, but in reality, they’ve taken over the case.”

“Ah.” Harry nodded. That made sense. He didn’t like it, though. “Moody said that the Unspeakables value their secrets more than helping the DMLE.”

“I think they’ll make an exception for the Dark Lord,” Tonks said. “I heard Croaker worked with Dumbledore against him before.”

But Dumbledore was dead, Harry thought. “Why didn’t they tell us that?”

“They want to avoid a panic,” Tonks said. “Until they have solid information - and a way to deflect blame away from the Ministry, I guess.”

“The internal affairs of the Ministry are a fascinating subject, but haven’t we a more important question to consider?” Hermione cut in. “Namely: If this wasn’t done by Voldemort, then who did it?” She wasn’t quite glaring at them, but it was clear that she was upset.

“Shouldn’t we discuss this with Sirius and Jeanne?” Harry shot back.

She bit her lower lip, presumably at his tone, but nodded. “Right. Let’s go get them.”

Tonks blinked, then agreed. “Yes. I don’t want to go over this twice.”

They found Sirius and Jeanne in Sirius’s study, reading books. Harry was sure that Hermione was as surprised as he was.

“Tonks finally arrived?” Sirius asked as soon as they opened the door.

“Yes, I did,” Tonks said. “Though if you’re going to be rude, I can leave right away.”

Jeanne stepped in before Sirius could snap back at Tonks. “Please - we’re all stressed. Let’s not fight each other.”

Sirius nodded. “Sorry.”

Tonks was a little slower but nodded as well.

Harry exchanged a brief, relieved smile with Hermione before closing the door behind them.

“So, what does the DMLE know that they haven’t told us?” Sirius asked, crossing his arms.

Tonks clenched her teeth, but Jeanne put her hand on her arm and glared at Sirius. “Chéri.”

Once more, Harry’s godfather relented - at least his huff sounded vaguely like ‘sorry’.

Tonks repeated what she had told Harry and Hermione.

And Sirius started to curse up a storm.

“But I thought…” Jeanne began.

“Voldemort’s dead,” Harry said, with as much confidence as he could muster. The Dark Lord was dead. For real. His scar healing was proof of that. Dumbledore had said so as well. And his plan had worked. “It has to be someone else.”

“It could be a copycat killer,” Hermione said. “Among muggles, there have been criminals who try to imitate infamous murderers.” She frowned. “But that would require inside information in this case. And quite the skill in the Dark Arts.”

“Or it could be a die-hard Death Eater,” Sirius said. “But why did he wait so long to strike? The last time Voldemort was defeated, Bellatrix and her friends struck right away; they didn’t go into hiding.”

“That presumes that Voldemort let others know what he was doing when he committed those murders three years ago,” Hermione said. “And who would he have trusted so much?”

“All of his inner circle are accounted for - dead, in Azkaban or living in Malfoy Manor,” Sirius said.

Harry blinked. There was something… He closed his eyes and focused on his mind. His memories. His first vision, of that bloody murder he had seen parts of. Then he gasped.

“Harry?”

“Did you have a vision?”

He shook his head. “I need to use the Pensieve.”

“You’ve got a Pensieve? Why didn’t you tell me?” Tonks exclaimed.

But Harry was already rushing for the door.

Twenty minutes later, he withdrew his head from the rune-covered basin.

“So what did you see?” Sirius asked.

“Not what I hoped,” Harry said. He closed his eyes. All that blood…

“And what did you want to see?” Hermione asked.

He sighed and looked up. “The face of Voldemort’s accomplice.”

*****​

“He had an accomplice for the murders?” Hermione Granger asked. A bit more loudly than she had intended. “You didn’t mention that before.” Dumbledore hadn’t mentioned anyone either. But then, her group wouldn’t have needed to know that.

“I’m not sure that he had one, actually,” Harry admitted, “but it would make sense. We know that he recruited followers for a long time before Dumbledore lured him out into the open.”

She pondered this, but before she could say anything, Tonks butted in: “Did you see anyone in your vision?”

Harry shook his head. “No. I didn’t see anyone other than Voldemort and his victims. But that doesn’t prove anything - I had a very fragmented vision.”

Hermione cleared her throat and refrained from glaring at Tonks. “He might not have wanted to let anyone know anything about these rituals - not even his trusted followers. Malfoy didn’t know about them, did he?”

Sirius, who was holding Jeanne’s hand, scoffed. “He claims that he didn’t know anything.”

“Dumbledore would have told us if he had more information about the rituals,” Harry said. “And I don’t think he let Malfoy lie to him. More importantly, though: If Voldemort took no one into his confidence, then how would any of his followers know about this ritual? I don’t think he hid his notes in easily found locations.”

“They might not know about it,” Tonks said, “and this could simply be an attempt to copy him without actually using the same spells and rituals.”

“Which poses the question: What’s the goal of the murderer?” Sirius said. “Why did he kill Jeanne’s father? Is this another attempt to frame me?”

“If it is then they did a rather bad job,” Tonks said. “Other than the motive, there wasn’t anything pointing at you.” She must have noticed the glares from everyone else since she quickly added: “And the motive itself is weak as well, of course.”

“It’s only weak if you don’t think like my family,” Sirius said. “Mother would have approved of killing the in-laws to inherit their wealth. Still doesn’t excuse Shacklebolt, though.”

Hermione wasn’t sure if Sirius was joking or not. She bit her lower lip. “If it’s not an attempt to frame you, then it means that Jeanne’s father was the target. Of course, they could still try to frame someone for their crime.”

“Did your father have enemies?” Harry asked. He sounded like a detective, Hermione thought.

Jeanne sighed. “He was the head of an Old Family, so of course. His acknowledgement of me wasn’t very popular among my relatives.”

“But killing him at this point makes no sense,” Hermione said. “His wealth will go to you, not to his next heir.” And should Jeanne die, her heirs - her mother - would be the next in line.

“They might simply be after the position of Head of the Selwyn Family,” Sirius said. Which, Hermione knew, Jeanne couldn’t inherit. Not married to another head of an Old Family. Which meant she’d inherit her father’s personal wealth, but not the family fortune. Of course, there were ways around that restriction - but they required time. “Jeanne’s cousin Martin is in line for that, last I heard,” Sirius went on, “but he’d be a fool to commit murder.”

“My cousin isn’t that stupid,” Jeanne said.

“Could it be someone else in line hoping to implicate Martin and replace him?” Hermione asked.

“Unlikely,” Tonks said. “It would take a conviction to remove Martin.”

Or another dark curse, Hermione thought. After her experiences in the fight against Voldemort, she didn’t doubt that many members of the Old Families would be willing to go to such lengths.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think so either. This murder draws far too much attention for such a plot. They even called in the Unspeakables. No, I think this is the work of a follower of Voldemort. Someone who helped him with his rituals. Someone who wants to scare Britain by using the Dark Lord’s own spells and rituals. And who has a grudge against us for killing his Master.”

Hermione nodded - she had to admit that Harry had a point there.

“And against Malfoy,” Sirius pointed out. “He betrayed Voldemort, after all. Cursed him in the back. I wonder if Malfoy will push for more Aurors working on this case.”

Tonks snorted. “I bet he’s already talking to Fudge.”

“Back to the case,” Hermione said. “How did the murderer reach his victim?” She knew that the man’s manor would have been protected by old wards. Old and powerful - and lethal ones. “Did he break through the wards? Or did he have help? Or did Mr Selwyn know him and let him inside?”

“The Corps is still investigating,” Tonks said.

Hermione noted that the Auror hadn’t said if she would share the results of that investigation with them. She might have to look into alternative ways to access that information, if Tonks proved uncooperative. But that could wait. And speaking of waiting… “If this was a trusted Death Eater, why did they wait so long until the murder? Did any of the Death Eaters escape the battle?”

Sirius shook his head. “None of the Death Eaters who fought escaped. But some suspected spies went into hiding.”

“He might have been busy planning this. Preparing his revenge,” Harry said. “Which means that this is just the start.”

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, August 26th, 1998

Harry Potter wondered if it would be considered a faux pas to cast a cleaning charm on the seat in the Leaky Cauldron before sitting down. Even after years of living with Sirius, he still didn’t know everything about wizarding etiquette. For all his vitriolic remarks about his parents and his tales of teenage rebellion, Sirius had been raised as a pureblood scion of an Old Family. As a result, Harry knew how to behave among the tiny upper class of Wizarding Britain, but his knowledge of how to act in places like the Leaky Cauldron without appearing to be a snob was somewhat spotty. That almost everyone in the pub was staring at him didn’t help, of course. Sometimes his fame wasn’t as helpful as it should be.

And he didn’t want to get his robes stained and acquire a reputation as a slob or fool, either. Fortunately, Moody’s training helped. He drew his wand to cast a cleaning charm on his glasses and used that as cover to discreetly clean his seat as well.

Fortunately, the glasses and silverware looked clean. Or cleaner. He still frowned at Tonks when she appeared.

“What’s wrong?” Tonks asked. “I’m only five minutes late.” She looked at the clock on the wall, then at her watch. “Alright, ten minutes.”

“It’s not that,” Harry said, after ordering and casting a privacy charm. “I’m just wondering why we couldn’t have met in Grimmauld Place.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that this is good training for you since Aurors often eat their lunches here?” Tonks beamed at him.

“No,” Harry said and narrowed his eyes at her.

She sighed. “Moody ruined you. Future rookie Aurors are supposed to be gullible when talking to grizzled veterans like me.”

He didn’t take the bait and remark that she was but a few years older than he was - the last time he had done that, she had changed her appearance into a female version of Moody. Instead, he simply looked at her. “So, why are we here?”

“Well, I like their Wednesday special meat pie,” Tonks said. “But honestly? I wanted to avoid Sirius. His temper’s showing and I don’t want to take the blame for whatever Shacklebolt has done wrong in Sirius’s opinion.”

Harry nodded. Sirius had been in a bad mood ever since the murder - understandable, but unpleasant.

“And I wanted to tease the rookie a little,” she added with a grin.

He snorted. “There should be plenty of other rookies to pick from and on.”

“More than expected,” Tonks said, grinning. “As soon as he heard that the murder was very similar to the Dark Lord’s killings, Malfoy’s been pressuring Fudge to increase the number of Aurors.”

Harry leaned forward, gently pushing his glass to the side. “Does that mean that the Unspeakables verified the curses used?” He already knew that Selwyn had been discovered by his house-elf, who had also been the last one to see him alive.

She shook her head. “No. They haven’t had any results yet. Or so they claim. But the mere possibility was enough for our ‘brave pureblood hero’ to completely reverse his stance on hiring. Now he’s pushing for additional funding.”

“Madam Bones must be ecstatic,” Harry remarked.

Tonks grinned widely. “Ah, there’s the rookie mistake I expected! No Auror calls her ‘Madam’ unless it’s to her face. It’s always ‘Bones’ when she’s not around.”

Harry nodded.

“Of course, it won’t help you fit in that much,” Tonks went on. “You’re the Boy-Who-Lived - you won’t be just another Auror.”

“I don’t want to be just another Auror,” Harry said. He saw her eyes widen in surprise. “I don’t want to be another cog in the Ministry, either getting greased or blocked by whoever controls the Wizengamot. I want to ensure that what happened to Sirius and Hermione won’t happen to anyone else. And that gold can’t buy an acquittal.” He smiled. “And I think my fame will be helpful there.”

Tonks snorted. “And Sirius’s gold.”

He shrugged. “Sirius alone won’t be able to deal with Malfoy. He can check him in the Wizengamot, but that won’t be enough to bring him to justice.”

“He got a pardon for his spying for Dumbledore,” she pointed out.

“For his past crimes. Do you think he has really turned over a new leaf?” He raised his eyebrows.

She snorted. “No. But whatever he’s doing, he’ll have it buried so deep, you won’t uncover it easily. He’s got friends in every department and most people think he’s a brave hero.”

Harry shrugged. “Voldemort had spies in the entire Ministry and most people thought that he was invincible.”

“Malfoy won’t be as stupid as to openly attack you in the Ministry,” Tonks retorted.

“Not with his wand, at least,” Harry said. “But I know that. I’m not planning on duelling him.”

Tonks grimaced; obviously, she didn’t have that much confidence in him.

“Anyway,” he said after a moment, “did you make inquiries to France and Prussia about similar murders?”

“I think that if there had been any such murders, we would have read about them in the Tribune Magique or the Hexen-Anzeiger,” Tonks said.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Harry leaned forward.

“You’re already acting far too much like Moody,” she complained. “Whoever gets to train you won’t be happy.”

He shrugged. “They can complain to Moody.”

Tonks shook her head. “I can tell things will be interesting with you in the Corps.” She sighed. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. I really shouldn’t.”

He didn’t grin, though he felt like doing so. He slowly nodded instead.

“Shacklebolt has sent formal inquiries to Prussia, France and whatever passes for Ministries in the Balkans,” Tonks said. “Don’t expect much, though - international cooperation has suffered greatly since Dumbledore’s death.”

“Why did that happen?”

“To be precise, international cooperation with Britain has suffered; I don’t know how other countries’ relations with each other have fared.” Tonks spread her hands, almost knocking over her own glass. “It seems some countries are glad that Britain doesn’t have the most powerful wizard in the world around any more. His views of the Dark Arts weren’t that popular at Durmstrang, for example, but no one was willing to stand up to the wizard who had defeated Grindelwald.”

“Great,” Harry muttered. “Politics again.”

“Get used to it, rookie,” Tonks said. Her smile looked forced, though.

Then lunch was served, and Harry discovered that he really didn’t like the special meat pie. At least his reaction made Tonks laugh.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, August 28th, 1998

Hermione Granger smiled when the lift which had carried her from the Wizengamot opened into the Atrium. She didn’t feel like smiling, but appearances had to be upheld. Sirius’s personal secretary - and co-author of his policies - had to appear confident, composed and polite at all times, or his enemies would try to use such a perceived weakness.

Her smile grew rather cold, though, when she spotted Skeeter waiting in the Atrium. And when that odious witch started walking towards her, she clenched her teeth and reminded herself that she couldn’t curse the witch, no matter how justified her grievance was.

“Miss Granger, a word!” the witch called out as soon as she was near Hermione.

“I’m sorry, Miss Skeeter, but I’m not at liberty to comment on my employer’s policies. Or his private life,” she said, her own smile as fake as Skeeter’s.

“And what about his past? Are you willing to comment on the fact that he is once again a suspect in a murder case? And my sources tell me that there are chilling similarities to other unsolved murders for which he was a suspect - the same curses were used!”

Hermione frowned. She should just refuse to comment - it wouldn’t be the first time Skeeter would twist such a refusal into a near-confession of guilt. “The DMLE doesn’t suspect Mr Black.”

Skeeter smiled patronisingly. “Not officially, at least.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Are you accusing the DMLE of colluding with a suspect? I believe that Madam Bones would be interested to know on what evidence you base your accusation.”

“It’s merely an obvious suspicion in light of the unusual secrecy surrounding this case. That is usually a sign that someone powerful is involved. Given your close personal relationship with him, which has continued even after his marriage, you would know, wouldn’t you?” Skeeter’s smile grew sickly sweet. “I’m speaking of your position as his secretary, of course.”

Hermione scoffed. “If your sources are as high placed as you claim, then you’d know the reason for the secrecy.” The Minister wanted to avoid causing a panic about a possible return of the Dark Lord. It was a doomed effort and, as Skeeter demonstrated, the attempts at secrecy would only worsen the situation.

“And do you know the reason?” Skeeter looked so eager, Hermione almost expected her to drool.

“No comment,” Hermione replied and walked past the witch, towards the Floo connections. As if she were stupid enough to tell Skeeter anything! If anyone were to break the secret publicly, it wouldn’t be her; Sirius’s enemies wouldn’t be able to pin that on her.

As soon as she stepped out of the fireplace in Grimmauld Place her smile vanished. Skeeter! Hermione hissed. She wanted to turn the evil muckraker into a rat and hunt her down. Play with her until she was too exhausted to fight any more, then snap her neck with a quick bite…

She shook her head. Such bloody fantasies were useless. She wouldn’t kill Skeeter - she would ruin her.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 29th, 1998

“And this is your room,” Harry Potter said as he opened the door. “It’s rather bare right now, but Sirius has a stash of furniture in the attic if you want anything.”

“Or I can conjure it,” Ron said as he put down his trunk and looked around. “But it looks like it has all the essentials - bed, desk, armoire, bookshelves and plenty of space for posters.”

Harry laughed. “I told Sirius that we should have turned the walls orange.”

“Yes!” Luna exclaimed. “Orange walls - we could make them look like a sunset.” She jumped on the bed and laid down on her back, limbs spread. “It’s couple-sized!” She beamed at them. “We will sleep much more comfortably here. Although I’ll miss using you as a pillow,” she added with a frown.

“You can still use me as a pillow whenever you want,” Ron said, smiling at her.

Harry felt a stab of jealousy. Those two were just so… He clenched his teeth. He wanted a relationship like that as well. Not the sex. The closeness. The trust. The love.

“No, I can’t!” Luna said.

Harry blinked. What?

“In two days, I’ll be at Hogwarts and you’ll start your Auror career.” She frowned. “You should become an undercover Auror at Hogwarts!”

“I don’t think they let rookie Aurors pick their own investigations,” Ron said with a smile as he sat down on the bed.

“But any experienced Aurors would be too old to pass as a student.” Luna sat up and hugged Ron from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Can’t you do something, Harry? Use your fame to get him assigned to Hogwarts? Or at least Hogsmeade?”

Harry laughed, even though he wasn’t sure just how serious Luna was. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I can do anything about it either.”

“It’s just a few months until the holidays,” Ron said, turning around and pulling her into his lap. “And I’ll visit every Hogsmeade weekend.”

“Unless we’ve got a weekend shift,” Harry cut in.

Luna gasped and Ron glared at him. “We’ll trade shifts in that case. Even if we have to offer double shifts, I’ll be in Hogsmeade for you.”

Harry wanted to protest but held his tongue. What was a little overtime compared to the happiness of his friends?

Footsteps outside - no one had bothered to close the door - made him turn around. Who would… Ah!

Hermione entered with a smile that matched his. She was still in her work robes, he noticed. Expensive, but not too stylish. And not tight enough, he thought - as long as that murderer remained at large, they needed to be ready for an attack. He’d have to talk to her about more defence lessons. He should have done that as soon as he had seen her N.E.W.T. results.

“Hi, Ron. Hi, Luna. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you arrived - work ran late at the Wizengamot. I brought biscuits, though.” Hermione presented a tray. “Kreacher made them,” she said before Harry could ask. “He is very happy to have proper pureblood guests in the house. He told me that twice,” she added with a frown.

Harry hoped he would be present when the cantankerous old elf discovered just how ‘proper’ Luna and Ron were. He smiled as he imagined Kreacher’s reaction. On the other hand, if he thought of what he had heard about the ‘eccentricities’ of Sirius’s ancestors… maybe Kreacher would consider them a proper pureblood couple.

He couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing and pushed the thought away. Now that Hermione had arrived, he didn’t feel like a fifth wheel any more.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 1st, 1998

“I don’t want to go!” Luna whined.

“I don’t want you to go. But you have to.”

Ron was still hugging her. Or again - they had been at it for ten minutes already. Hermione Granger had checked. She was just about to clear her throat and tell the loving couple that the Hogwarts Express would have already left if they didn’t finish when Luna blinked and said: “I don’t think that I really have to, actually. I could stay here and study - Hermione did that, too. I could study with her tutor!”

Hermione struggled not to wince. That would be a disaster. She shook her head. “As much as I hate to say it, a tutor can’t replace Hogwarts. You will not do as well at your N.E.W.T.s if you skip this year, Luna. No matter how hard you study, trust me.” Not that she thought the witch would study that hard if she stayed in London with Ron.

“But I think it would be worth it!” Luna retorted. “A year with Ron, instead of a year at Hogwarts without him…” She sighed and looked so miserable, even Hermione considered her proposal for a moment.

Only for a moment, though. “He’ll be very busy with his job. New employees, especially in such positions, are usually given a lot of work and the worst shifts.” Mr Fletcher had taught her to plan heists so they happened during shifts usually taken by the inexperienced new Aurors. Which meant the graveyard shifts. She leaned forward. “And since my tutor wouldn’t be teaching you at night, when Ron’s often likely to be working, you wouldn’t have much more time here than if you were at Hogwarts.” She glared at Ron so he wouldn’t contradict her.

Fortunately, Harry chimed in, supporting her. “She’s right. We’ll be buried in work.”

“Really?” Luna said, sounding as if she were close to tears.

“Really,” Harry confirmed. “Now let’s go - we have a train to catch.”

Luna perked up. “You’re coming with us to Hogwarts?” She beamed at them.

Hermione closed her eyes as Harry tried to explain what he had meant. Ron was one of her best friends, and anyone with a heart had to like Luna once they knew her, but together, they were a little much at times.

Especially for a witch who was - currently, mind you, not forever - single. Not that she would have time for a boyfriend with her work, her real work and now that murderer to worry about. She glanced at Harry while Luna and Ron hugged each other again. Knowing that he was in the same situation as herself made her feel a little better, no matter how selfish that was.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, September 2nd, 1998

This is it, Harry Potter thought, as he and Ron entered the Ministry. This was the day they’d become Aurors. Rookies, of course, but still members of the Auror Corps. They just had to take the entrance exam. Which would be a breeze - they had been trained by the best Auror in the Ministry. The most experienced as well. They had studied for over a year for this. Both of them had earned Outstandings in Defence N.E.W.T.s. They had actual combat experience. There was no reason to be nervous. None.

And yet, he was nervous. The exams might be rigged to keep them out of the Ministry. It wasn’t very likely, but Harry was sure that Umbridge would try such a ploy if she thought she could get away with it. It wouldn’t work, of course - Sirius would be able to set things straight - but Harry and Ron would be known as the Aurors who had had to call on a Wizengamot member to enter the Corps. And that reputation wouldn’t help him achieve his goals at all.

“Calm down, mate,” he heard Ron whisper, despite their privacy spell. “We’ve got this.”

Harry glanced at his friend. Ron was smiling, but… he wasn’t really smiling. “You’re nervous too, aren’t you?” Harry whispered.

Ron snorted. “Of course I am. So much is hanging on this. Our plans, our careers, maybe our very lives - I don’t know what Mum would do if I failed this right after I moved out. Granted, I could work for Xenophilius, but…” he grimaced. “We better pass, you hear me?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah.” He checked the letter he had received in response to his application. “We’re to go to the third floor, to the main conference room.” He snorted. “Wanna bet that they use the same uncomfortable chairs they did for our N.E.W.T.s?”

Ron just laughed.

They reached the room with a few minutes to spare - Hermione had wanted them to head to the Ministry half an hour early so that they wouldn’t be late no matter what might happen, but neither Ron nor Harry had fancied sitting in the examination room for that long, waiting and growing more and more nervous.

As expected, there were other candidates present. And, as expected, most of them were a year or two older than Harry - even though not everyone did the ‘Grand Tour’ any more, many wizards and witches still took a year off between leaving Hogwarts and entering the Ministry. Mainly those who could afford it, of course.

The one candidate from their year was a surprise, though.

Theo Nott. Slytherin.

For a moment, Harry wondered how to handle this. If Nott passed the exam, then they’d all be Aurors instead of a Slytherin and two Gryffindors. Perpetuating their school rivalry didn’t seem smart or mature to Harry. Nott hadn’t been with Malfoy that often anyway.

That didn’t mean that they had to be overly friendly, of course. “Nott.” Harry nodded at him.

“Potter. Weasley.” Nott didn’t quite sneer, but he came close.

“Nott. Fancy seeing you here,” Ron said. “Didn’t think you wanted to become an Auror.”

“Didn’t you want to become a reporter?” Nott retorted. “Or did you break up with Lovegood because she’ll be at Hogwarts for her seventh year?”

“Who do you think I am? Zabini?” Ron shot back. He didn’t look mad, to Harry’s relief.

“No, I think you’re Potter’s shadow.”

Harry clenched his teeth. What was the git implying? That Harry would do such a callous thing? He would… Harry narrowed his eyes at Nott. “Trying to provoke us into hexing you so you can get us thrown out?” He shook his head. “Seems you didn’t learn anything from Slughorn. Pity.” He turned away.

“Well, we’re off to a great start,” Ron said as they took their seats. “Bloody Slytherins.”

Harry shrugged. At least he wasn’t feeling nervous any more.

They’d show the git soon enough just what they’d learned from Moody.

*****​

 

Chapter 35: Baptism of Fire

London, Ministry of Magic, September 2nd, 1998

“This concludes the practical part of the exam. Thank you, Mr Nott,” Archibald Brocktuckle said with the ease of long practice as he gathered the notes he had taken during the young wizard’s test.

“When will we receive our results?”

That, too, was a question almost everyone asked. Archie smiled. “You will be informed within a few days.”

Nott nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer. Nott was from an Old Family, so he was likely aware that Archie wouldn’t be spending most of that time grading the tests of the ten candidates, but rather dealing with all the people who wanted to talk to him about one candidate or another who might have been a little too nervous when taking the test. They were usually important and generous people. And so Archie usually understood quite well that a slightly less than impressive showing at the entrance exam didn’t mean that a candidate was actually unfit for the position - after a few years in the Corps, even the somewhat less skilled wizards and witches could do their job well enough.

He looked at the next name on the list and sighed. Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. The Vanquisher of Voldemort. And the most controversial candidate this year. Madam Umbridge had been quite clear that the boy should receive no favouritism due to his fame or family. Which meant she wanted Archie to fail him.

He snorted. As if he’d sacrifice himself for Umbridge’s plots. If he failed Potter, Archie would be wrecking his own career. Umbridge certainly wouldn’t lift a finger to help him, and Black would crush him. Maybe literally - Archie shuddered, remembering the rumours about Selwyn’s murder.

No, Archie would even be quite understanding if the boy should not live up to his reputation - although, given what Archie had heard about the boy’s N.E.W.T.s, that was very unlikely. And he’d keep a copy of his paperwork sealed and filed. Just in case there were discrepancies. After all, Umbridge would be aware that she couldn’t actually stop Potter from becoming an Auror - but she could damage the boy’s reputation in the process.

He arranged his notes, then stood and went to open the door. “Mr Potter?”

The Boy-Who-Lived stood. “Yes.”

“I’m ready for you now.”

*****​

Archibald Browtuckle stared at the remains of the target dummy, then at Potter. “Why did you break it after hitting it with a Stunner?” He had asked for a non-lethal takedown of a suspect, not a kill.

Potter looked puzzled for a moment. “Well, it didn’t have actual limbs to break after stunning it.”

“What?”

“Breaking the target’s limbs means that even if an ally revives them, they’ll still be neutralised as a threat.” Potter nodded. “That’s standard procedure when dealing with dark wizards.”

Archie blinked. That most certainly wasn’t the standard procedure!

He was about to tell the boy that when Potter went on. “Well, it’s not in the book, but it’s what Moody taught me.”

“Moody? Mad-Eye Moody?” Archie managed to maintain his composure - with an effort. He had heard that rumour, but had dismissed it. “He taught you?”

Potter nodded. “Me and Ron - Ron Weasley.”

The next name on the list. “What exactly did he teach you?”

Potter smiled. “Everything.”

Archie felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

*****​

An hour later, Archibald Brocktuckle was done with the exams and made his way to the floor’s break area. He needed a cuppa. Badly.

“Hey, Archie! Already done with the kids?”

Archie turned his head and suppressed a groan. Dawlish. “Yes,” he replied.

“How did it go? Did Potter live up to his reputation?”

Archie snorted. “Whoever gets to show him the ropes is in for a treat,” he said.

Dawlish frowned. “Why? Is he as arrogant as some claim?”

Archie shook his head. “No. Quite polite and respectful, actually.” He waited a moment, then cut Dawlish off right before the other man could ask another question. “But he was trained in how to be an Auror by Mad-Eye.”

Dawlish started to curse quite colourfully. Archie didn’t mind - he used the opportunity to get his cuppa. And he was very happy about the fact that as a desk-bound Auror - unlike Dawlish - he wouldn’t have to deal with Potter.

*****​

London, Greenwich, September 2nd, 1998

“Hello, Mr Fletcher,” Hermione Granger said as she entered her tutor’s flat.

“Hi, Hermione.” Fletcher frowned. “I guess there’s no news regarding Selwyn’s murder.”

Hermione frowned. “Was I that obvious?” She had thought that she had hidden her frustration at the DMLE’s lack of progress well.

“No.” He grinned. “But I know you - if there had been any progress, you would have already told me everything.”

Hermione couldn’t dispute that. But she consoled herself with the thought she wasn’t a bad actress - her tutor simply knew her too well. She sighed. “No, there isn’t any news. The Unspeakables still haven’t released any information, and the DMLE hasn’t found out anything. We checked multiple sources,” she added before he could ask. “Jeanne has asked her mother if there have been similar crimes in France, but she doesn’t recall hearing or reading about any.”

He nodded. “Unfortunately, I haven’t had any luck with my contact in Prussia either.” He shrugged. “Of course, he isn’t exactly working for the Ministry, so the DMLE’s formal enquiry might have more success.” He shrugged. “As I told you, Shacklebolt is a good Auror. Pain in the ass, and too smug for his own good, but competent. He might be able to get help from them.”

Hermione doubted that, knowing what she did about international politics. But perhaps the Prussians were still ashamed enough of how easily they had fallen to, and then in with, Grindelwald to cooperate when it concerned the Dark Lord. Perhaps. She shrugged. “What about the rest of Germany?” Apart from Magical Prussia, there were a lot of other magical countries in Germany, after all.

He laughed. “Bavaria is the only other country there that has an effective Ministry. The others…” He shook his head. “They’re far too small. But their rulers would loathe surrendering their power to the Prussian or Bavarian Governments.”

“Typical,” Hermione said, shaking her head. Politics were the same everywhere. “So all we can do is hope for the best.” She sat down at her usual place at his table and tried not to show how much she hated this. Not that it would fool her tutor.

“Your friends are taking the Auror entrance exams today, right?”

She looked up from her magazine. “Yes.” And both of them had been more nervous than they had been willing to admit, in her opinion.

“Black boasted that Potter would blow the testers away.”

“Probably literally, if a duel is part of the test,” Hermione said. Which, according to all the information she had helped gather, had gone out of style in the last few decades. “He’s that good in Defence, and Ron’s almost as good.” And she wasn’t, as much as she hated to admit that - even to herself.

He nodded, slowly. “Good enough to be a problem for you, once you go after Malfoy?”

Hermione shook her head. “No.” They were better in a fight, but that wouldn’t help them - Hermione wouldn’t be seen in the first place. And it was unlikely that they would even be assigned to that case, anyway. “And Harry will be more interested in investigating Malfoy than a thief, anyway.”

Mr Fletcher nodded, but Hermione couldn’t help noticing that he didn’t look like he was entirely confident in her assessment - she knew him well, too, after all.

She’d show him, though. She was a cat - born to prowl in the night. No dog or Auror would ever catch her.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 2nd, 1998

“Hi, Harry! Hi, Ron!”

“Hi, Hermione.” Harry Potter didn’t draw his wand, but he came close as his best female friend suddenly appeared in the hallway.

“Oi! Don’t ambush us like that!” Apparently, Ron had almost drawn his wand too.

Hermione dismissed the complaint with a gesture and a grin. “I trust you not to curse me. How did your entrance exams go?”

Ron muttered something about priorities, but Harry nodded and said: “They went very well. I think we impressed the examiner.”

Ron chuckled. “You said he paled when you told him about Moody training us.”

“He did,” Harry confirmed. “I would have expected that to be known, though.”

“He might not have taken it seriously,” Ron said, shrugging. “Or someone lied to him about it - Percy complains about that a lot. Says people keep trying to sabotage him.”

“They’ll try that with you as well,” Hermione pointed out.

“Trust no one, as Moody said.” Harry snorted. “But it’ll probably go beyond the usual rookie hazing.”

“They’ll try,” Ron said as he shrugged again.

“Aren’t you supposed to trust the other Aurors to have your back?” Hermione asked.

“Moody said that that’s a good way to get killed,” Harry explained. “Even if someone doesn’t plan to curse you in the back, odds are they’re incompetent.”

“Moody’s standards are a little high, though,” Ron cut in.

“And he sounds more than a little paranoid,” Hermione added with a frown.

“He’s still alive after two wars against Voldemort. And he taught us to stay alive,” Harry retorted. “Incidentally, we’ll need to step up your training, too.”

“What?” Hermione stared at him.

“Selwyn’s murderer could go after you next. You need to be ready to defend yourself,” Harry said.

“I am.” Hermione pursed her lips and glared at him. “You trained me, remember?”

“Yes. But I couldn’t finish your training, so Sirius took over. I didn’t push the matter after Voldemort and most of his followers were dead, but now?” Harry shook his head. “You only received an Acceptable in your Defence N.E.W.T.”

“That’s unacceptable,” Ron added, with a grin.

Harry glared at him. This wasn’t a joking matter. He looked at Hermione. “Come on! We can do some training before dinner. You’ll need to change into more closely fitting clothes, too. Those robes are far too loose.”

At least she had the right attitude, he thought, when he noticed how she clenched her teeth and glared at him.

*****​

If she ever got the drop on that murderer, she would kill him herself, Hermione Granger swore as she found herself once again sprawled on the stone floor of Grimmauld Place’s duelling chamber - which, she noted, should be renamed the ‘torture chamber’. It was all that unknown killer’s fault that she was currently being tortured. His, and her well-meaning, but mistaken, best friend’s. Who was in danger of losing that title if he continued hitting her with his uncannily accurate Stinging Hexes! She knew that even if she hadn’t been sandbagging, she would have been hit far too often for her comfort. Far too often for her pride, too.

“That was better, but not good enough,” Harry said. “Let’s try that again.”

She closed her eyes and groaned. “I’ll be too sore to eat dinner.” She wasn’t whining. She was just expressing her pain and misery. Who would be so callous as to keep torturing her like this?

Harry, apparently. “You’ll be fine,” he said, and when she raised her head to look at him, he was smiling at her and offering her his hand.

She smiled back and reached up, but then froze before she actually touched him. “This isn’t one of those ‘never trust your opponent’ lessons, is it?” she asked with narrowed eyes. The dog had done that and had said Moody was training Harry like that. If Harry were copying him...

He shook his head. “No, no. Not even Moody went that far. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“You already did,” she mumbled, but she took his hand and let him help her up.

He had a surprisingly gentle grip, she noticed, for someone who had spent the last ten minutes hexing her in various ways. It seemed not even a paranoid old Auror like Moody could change him too much. The duelling robes he was wearing suited him well, too. Much better than the Auror robes he’d soon be wearing, she was certain.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, his smile slipping a little at her words. “I just want you to be safe.”

She felt guilty - he just wanted the best for her. “I know, and I understand,” she said, squeezing his hand to reassure him before she released it. “I’m just griping. It’s all Sirius’s fault anyway.”

He tilted his head slightly, looking confused. “What do you mean?”

She tried to sound as honest as she could. “If he had trained me properly, you wouldn’t have to do this now.”

That would teach the dog to lie to her about Moody’s training methods!

*****​

“And I’ll have words with him about that, trust me,” Harry Potter said to his best female friend. “But you aren’t blameless, are you?”

“It’s the teacher’s responsibility to ensure their students learn what they need.” She pouted at him, which was a surprisingly cute expression on her.

He was used to that look, though, if not from her. Parvati had pouted too. And Romilda. He forced the memories of his ex-girlfriends away. “So, when you helped us study back in our first year, it was your fault when we didn’t do better on the tests?”

Now she was frowning at him, and he chuckled. “Technically, I wasn’t your teacher.”

“Tutor, teacher…” Harry shrugged. He quickly grew serious again, though. “It doesn’t really matter whose fault it was, though. What matters is that we do it properly this time.” He wouldn’t leave her unable to defend herself with a murderer on the loose.

“We?”

“You and me,” he answered. Ron was busy talking to Luna through the mirror Sirius had given them and Harry had a feeling that his friend would be doing that in his spare time quite often. But that was OK - Harry didn’t really need help training Hermione anyway.

She nodded. “It’s a good thing we’re doing this in private,” she said. “If people heard that we were spending our evenings together like this, there would be even more rumours about us having an affair.” And with a surprisingly saucy grin, she pointed at her clothes, which had been slightly torn up during their last bout, and added: “Especially if you keep wrecking my clothes in training.”

Harry managed to swallow the first response that he thought of - if he used one of Sirius’s lines on Hermione… Instead, he shook his head. “Technically, you damaged them while you were attempting to dodge my hexes.” On a whim, he drew his wand and mended her robes. “But they’re fixed now.”

He was slightly annoyed to discover that she didn’t seem to trust his skill with the Mending Charm and proceeded to pat herself down to check if he had missed a rip or tear. Annoyed, but also distracted - Hermione really looked far more attractive in tighter robes.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, September 8th, 1998

“...do hereby swear to faithfully serve and defend Wizarding Britain and uphold and maintain the laws of our country as an Auror, with magic as my witness.”

Harry Potter lowered his wand from where he had held it in front of him in a salute.

Bones gave him a hard stare as she nodded at him. “Rejoin the formation, Auror Potter!” she ordered, and Harry took a step back into the line formed by the other new Aurors.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley!” Bones called the next - and last - new Auror.

Harry glanced to his right as Ron took a step forward, saluted their new superior with his wand and held his pose.

“Mr Weasley, do you swear to faithfully serve and defend Wizarding Britain and uphold and maintain the laws of our country as an Auror?”

“I, Ronald Bilius Weasley, do hereby swear to faithfully serve and defend Wizarding Britain and uphold and maintain the laws of our country as an Auror, with magic as my witness.”

Having heard it nine times now from Bones, and eight times from his fellow Aurors, the oath didn’t sound as impressive any more or, at least, Harry thought so. He didn’t show even a hint of that, of course. Not when Bones was paying such close attention.

“Rejoin the formation, Auror Weasley!”

Bones let them wait for a few seconds, looking them over, before she spoke. Harry thought that she was probably trying to make them nervous. But she was no Moody.

“You are now Aurors, sworn to uphold and maintain our laws. You will do your duty no matter the cost. Faithfully, diligently and honestly. You will neither favour nor discriminate against anyone, but conduct yourself in the impeccable manner expected from every member of the Auror Corps. As long as you are wearing those red robes, it doesn’t matter who your parents are, nor does it matter which house you were in at Hogwarts. You’re Aurors first and foremost - and you will not let your comrades-in-arms down. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Harry answered, together with everyone else - not that he was looking at them; he was keeping his attention on Bones.

“Very well.” She gave them another brief nod. “Head Auror Scrimgeour will give your first assignments. Dismissed.”

As soon as Bones and the Ministry clerks who had served as witnesses had left the room, one of the other new Aurors - Elton Smith, who was not part of the main branch of that family, as far as Harry knew - spoke up. “Wow, talk about a warm welcome. I thought she would curse us all if we didn’t agree as loudly as we could.”

“She’s uptight, but not that bad, or so I heard,” Nott said. “Something, or someone, must have provoked her.” He made a point of looking at Harry.

Harry smiled at him, showing his teeth. “Unlike some others, she probably hasn’t forgotten just how many Death Eaters were found amongst the Ministry’s ranks last year.”

“I thought she was downright friendly,” Ron added with a grin. “Compared to Moody, at least. He would have sent a few curses at us just to test our reflexes.”

Nott rolled his eyes in a rather theatrical fashion. “Couldn’t go for five minutes without mentioning how you defeated the Dark Lord, could you? Or how you were trained by Mad-Eye Moody himself?” He scoffed.

Harry raised his eyebrows at the former Slytherin. “Really, Nott? You’re the one who keeps trying to make this all about me.” He shook his head. “This is exactly what Bones was telling us: Stop acting as if we were still at Hogwarts. You’re an Auror now, not a Slytherin trying to impress his friends by taunting the Gryffindors.”

“And we’ve got far more important things to worry about than your fragile ego. We’re dealing with murderers and dark wizards,” Ron chimed in. “You think Bones was angry?” He snorted. “Did Snape coddle you lot that much? We’re not at school any more. If you can’t deal with Bones not inviting you to tea and pumpkin juice, then you might not be cut out for this job.” He scoffed. “And you can bet that she won’t tolerate that kind of attitude.”

“Bones also won’t tolerate you trying to take the law into your own hands,” Nott shot back. “Don’t think being the Boy-Who-Lived will protect you.”

“I’m not going to take the law into my own hands,” Harry replied, staring at Nott, “but I’ll be doing what we all just swore to do: Enforce the law no matter who is involved.”

Nott clenched his teeth - Harry could see his jaw muscles twitch - but he couldn’t say anything against that.

Bathilda Meringworth, one of the new Aurors who had been a year above Harry at Hogwarts, cleared her throat. “So, how about we don’t keep the Head Auror waiting?”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “Otherwise we risk getting even worse duties than new Aurors usually do.”

“Oh?” Nott didn’t quite sneer like Malfoy, but he came close. “Afraid that you won’t get special treatment?”

“Shouldn’t that be your line?” Ron shook his head. “Let’s go before Nott makes us all late.”

“Yeah.” Harry followed his friend while Nott protested that it wasn’t his fault but theirs. But Harry didn’t think many were listening.

A few minutes later, Bathilda knocked on the door to the Head Auror’s office.

“Enter!” Harry heard Scrimgeour briskly call through the door.

Bathilda hesitated for just a moment, then opened the door.

“Ah, there you are!” The Head Auror was smiling at them, but in a polite, not a friendly, way. He stood as they lined up in front of his desk - a little like gathering in the Headmaster’s office, Harry thought. Although he’d never been there with so many others. “Welcome to the Corps!” Scrimgeour said and came around his desk to shake their hands. He had a firm grip, but his smile never really grew warm. “I’m glad to see so many promising young wizards and witches joining us.”

“We’re glad to be here,” Harry said.

“I’ve no doubt about that.” Scrimgeour nodded at him, then at Ron. “You two, more than anyone else, are aware of what becoming an Auror ultimately means - the willingness to risk your lives fighting dark wizards.” His smile vanished. “We do a lot more than hunting dark wizards. We patrol the streets, we help when disaster strikes, we investigate thefts and other petty crimes and we intervene when things in a pub or at a Quidditch Match get out of hand. But the odds are that all of you will be facing another wizard trying to kill you at some point in your career. As the last conflict proved, you can’t even count on being safe inside the Ministry.” He nodded again. “That means every Auror is expected to train regularly to keep sharp. I don’t care if you end up in supply or the archives - as long as you wear these red robes, you will live up to what they stand for.”

“Yes, sir!” Harry and Ron said in unison, followed a fraction of a second later by the slower rookies.

Scrimgeour didn’t comment on their ragged performance. “The Corps has regular training sessions you can attend during your working hours. And you’ll be regularly evaluated.”

“What happens if we fail the evaluation?” Smith asked.

Scrimgeour’s smile turned rather sardonic. “Then you’ll receive special training until you meet our standards again - in your free time. And it’ll affect your promotion prospects.”

“Ah.” Smith nodded as if that hadn’t been obvious.

“Now, before we go over your first assignments, there’s something else you’ll need to know and take to heart: I’m the Head Auror, which means that you’ll be following my orders. Even the Minister and Bones herself have to go through me to order you around. Unless I’m telling you to follow their orders, you don’t. We’re the Auror Corps, not the Wizengamot’s helpers. Understood?” He glared at them.

“Yes, sir!” This time, everyone answered more or less together.

“Good. Now, about your first assignments. You’ve passed the entrance exam, but you still need to learn how the Corps works. For your first week, you’ll follow around an experienced Auror who’ll show you the ropes. After that, you’ll get your first assignment.”

“Knockturn Alley night shift,” Harry heard Smith mutter. The man really wasn’t the brightest of their group.

Scrimgeour fixed Smith with a glare. “Who told you that?” Before Smith could answer, the Head Auror went on: “It’s wrong. Dead wrong. We don’t send rookies into Knockturn Alley - that’d be a recipe for disaster.” He shook his head. “You’ll be assigned posts according to your qualifications. There won’t be any special treatment, either - I don’t care who your relatives are.” With a grin, he added: “But as rookies, you’ll get the graveyard shifts - ten in the evening to six in the morning - more often than not.”

Harry frowned when he heard several of his colleagues groan at that. What did they expect? That they’d only have to hunt criminals during office hours? He glanced at Ron, who seemed to share his sentiments.

Scrimgeour chuckled. “Every one of us went through this. In a year or two, you’ll be smiling at the next bunch of rookies.” He tapped a piece of paper on his desk with his wand. It folded itself into a paper aeroplane and flew out of the office. “I’ve sent a message to Auror Dawlish that he can now take over your introduction to the Corps. He’ll also be answering any questions you might have.”

Harry wanted to groan. Of all the Aurors available, it had to be Dawlish!

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, September 8th, 1998

“And here’s the break room. Regulations state that you can take a break for a quarter of an hour per half-day.” Dawlish grinned. “Of course, no one’s going to time you, unless you overdo it and start living in the break room.”

Harry Potter smiled politely as most of the group laughed at Dawlish’s feeble joke. He wasn’t feeling too kindly towards the man after Dawlish had started their introduction to the Auror offices by pointing out where the bathrooms were and telling them a story about a rookie Auror who couldn’t find them and was consistently given the wrong directions by anyone he asked for help.

“Did anyone actually try that?” Smith asked, triggering another bout of laughter and a derisive sneer from Nott.

To Harry’s surprise, Dawlish only chuckled once and then nodded. “Well, back in the war - the first war against the Dark Lord, back in the seventies - so many were murdered in their homes, a number of us started to live in the Ministry.” For a moment, he seemed to look at something no one else could see. “Of course, with so many spies inside the Ministry, it wasn’t that much safer. But it helped.”

No one was smiling any more. Nor saying anything. Dawlish cleared his throat. “Anyway - no one’s going to time you, but no one will let you slack off either. As far as the Corps is concerned, you’re all fresh meat, and you’ll have to earn our respect. Every one of you.” He was looking straight at Harry as he said that part.

Harry didn’t show any reaction. He had expected that. Especially from people like Dawlish. The Auror might have fought in the last war, and he might not be as much of a moron as Hermione’s description had made him out to be, but he hadn’t really impressed Harry either.

Nor Ron, if his friend’s careful lack of expression was any indication. Nott, on the other hand…

“Of course, sir,” Nott said with an - in Harry’s opinion - obviously fake smile. “We’d be fools to assume that we’d know better than an experienced Auror.”

“Exactly.” Dawlish nodded. “It takes more than the ability to fight to be a good Auror.”

Once more he looked straight at Harry.

And this time, Harry narrowed his eyes when he stared back.

*****​

“Alright, it’s time for lunch,” Dawlish announced two hours later. “The Ministry has a mess hall and, today, we’ll eat there - so you’ll understand why we usually eat in Diagon Alley.”

Harry Potter snorted. That was actually - if only slightly - funny. Unlike most of Dawlish’s jokes.

“If the food is so bad, why does the Ministry keep the mess hall?” Smith asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to close it?”

“It’s mostly for the Hit-Wizards,” Dawlish said. “They can eat there for free.”

“And we need to pay?” Nott asked with a frown.

“We get paid more than them,” Dawlish said with a grin. “Even as rookie Aurors.” He tapped his temple. “Aurors need to be smart. Hit-Wizards just need to fight.” He shrugged. “And they pretty much can’t do anything but fight, so they’re not too useful.”

Harry clenched his teeth together. That was another barb aimed at Ron and him. But he wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction of seeing Harry lose his temper. He had suffered through five years of Snape - and Dawlish wasn’t nearly as bad as the Potions Master had been.

And when he saw who was approaching them from behind Dawlish’s back, he couldn’t help smiling.

“You would think that, Dawlish, wouldn’t you?” Moody growled, and Harry had to struggle not to laugh out loud when Dawlish let out a gasp and whirled around, obviously startled. The old Auror scoffed. “When you barely know one end of your wand from the other when it comes to fighting, you shouldn’t talk about Hit-Wizards like that.”

As Dawlish gasped again - out of anger this time - Moody stepped past him and looked the group over. “You’re the new lot, huh.” His artificial eye was spinning madly, and his scarred face twisted into a familiar grin. “I’m Mad-Eye Moody. You might’ve heard of me.”

A number of their group had grown pale, Harry noticed with a frown. Moody was impressive, but not that scary. Or, perhaps, he and Ron had just grown used to the man.

“Yes, sir,” Bathilda said.

“Potter and Weasley been telling stories?” Moody asked, his good eye glancing at them while the other kept spinning.

“No, sir,” Bathilda said.

The old Auror snorted.

“What do you want, Moody?” Dawlish spat.

“Just keeping an eye on the fresh meat,” Moody answered. “Constant Vigilance!” he suddenly yelled, causing more gasping among the new Aurors. He scoffed again. “And I’ll be borrowing Potter and Weasley for lunch.”

“What?” Dawlish said. “You…”

“It’s a private matter,” Moody cut him off, then turned to Ron and Harry. “Come on, you two.”

“Alright!” Harry said with a smile. That kind of special treatment wouldn’t do him any good with Dawlish, or with Nott and the others, he knew, but, right then, he didn’t care.

*****​

London, Soho, September 8th, 1998

“A muggle fish and chips shop?” Harry Potter didn’t bother trying to hide his surprise. Of all the possible places Moody could have taken him and Ron for lunch, he had picked this shop in muggle London?

Moody snorted. “Did you expect me to eat in the Leaky Cauldron? Didn’t you use your glasses to check the kitchen there? I wouldn’t touch anything their cook has gotten their hands on.”

Harry grimaced and vowed never to eat there again. And to get back at Tonks for meeting him there.

“Did you randomly pick a muggle fish and chips shop from the phone book?” Ron asked while Harry tried to find his appetite again.

“Good thinking, Weasley!” Moody twisted his scarred face into a smile. “No, I picked it at random from a list of the best fish and chips shops in London. Certainly beats the mess hall in the Ministry.”

Harry couldn’t tell if the old Auror was serious or not - it sounded a little too predictable to be true. Or it could be misinformation. So he simply nodded as he took a seat. “Thank you. I wasn’t looking forward to eating while Dawlish prattled about how experienced Aurors knew best how to use the silverware and how every rookie should pay attention.”

Moody guffawed. “Sounds like him.”

“But now Nott’ll be running his mouth about us getting special treatment on account of Harry’s fame,” Ron said once they had ordered their meals. “And the other rookies will probably be jealous. That’ll make working with them more difficult.”

Moody scoffed. “I’ve kept an eye on that lot. You won’t be working with them anyway.”

“Bones was quite clear about cooperation,” Harry remarked.

“Of course she was. She has to be, or the idiots filling the bottom ranks would make an even greater mess. But at the end of the day, results matter. And you two won’t get any results trying to fit in with a bunch of morons who couldn’t fight or find their way out of a paper bag.”

“They’re not all like that,” Harry said. Smith, probably. And Nott. Maybe Anderson too. Tuckleton hadn’t exactly asked smart questions either.

“Most are. And the rest don’t seem smart enough to realise that Dawlish’s full of hot air.” Moody took a deep gulp from his water. “Mind you, he usually is a good fit for our new recruits - most of them need to be told that there won’t be any special treatment for them, no matter whose child they are. But he doesn’t understand that there are people who deserve special treatment.”

“We’ll be stepping on many toes, though,” Harry pointed out.

“You’d do that no matter how much you tried to act as if you were ‘normal’. You two fought the Dark Lord. Few have done that and lived. Just don’t behave arrogantly, don’t make enemies out of them - they can do you some harm - but don’t try to fit in with them. It won’t work. People will be jealous anyway. Malfoy’s got his helpers in the Corps, and I just know that the Dark Lord has a few moles left we missed in the purge. They’re unlikely to expose themselves, but they’ll try to sabotage you and spread rumours about you.”

“Great,” Harry muttered. “It’s like Potions with Snape and the Slytherins again.”

“Be glad if it doesn’t get worse than that,” Moody said. “Anyway, I’ve already talked to Scrimgeour about your next assignment. Don’t worry about getting bored.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he should be happy or afraid, seeing the man grin. “You didn’t drag us out of the Ministry just for that, though,” he said.

“No, I didn’t.” Moody nodded. He looked around, then continued: “I’ve heard back from some old friends in Prussia. Nothing official, mind you. But generally solid information. They’ve told me about a few suspicious deaths in Hanover. Rituals, but no blood magic - or so they claim. Failed rituals.”

“Failed rituals?” Ron asked.

“The sacrifice was done, but the ritual didn’t work - of course, that presumes that whoever’s acting as the expert in that country did their work thoroughly and wasn’t too inept to spot the traces of a successful ritual.”

“The sacrifice?” Ron asked, munching on a chip.

“Human sacrifice.” Moody lowered his voice. “And judging by what my friends heard, what the Hanoverians could reconstruct from the sites matches what the Unspeakables think the Dark Lord’s first rituals were like. The ones that granted him a body.”

“Someone’s trying to bring him back?” Harry said.

“It’s hard to tell since they tried to erase their tracks. But it seems they tried several times but failed every time. No surprise, of course - the anchors are gone.” Moody showed his teeth. “Now, what do you think a Death Eater loyal enough to attempt to resurrect the Dark Lord several times will do once he has to admit that his master’s dead?”

That was an easy question. “He’s going to avenge him,” Harry said.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 9th, 1998

“Hermione? Are you decent?”

Hermione Granger rolled her eyes at Sirius’s question as she pivoted in her swivel chair to face the door before unlocking it with a wave of her wand. “Come in.”

Sirius entered, followed by Jeanne. Hermione checked her watch. Harry wouldn’t be back for another two hours. She cast a privacy charm anyway.

“I’ve just heard from Tonks that Malfoy’s asking for a protection detail,” Sirius said as soon as the slight humming of the spell filled the air.

Hermione nodded. She had expected that as soon as the information about the rituals and blood magic got out. “You didn’t ask for guards as well, did you?” If he had, she’d hex the dog.

“No.” He shook his head. “That would interfere with our life and our plans. Although I’d like to improve our security.”

“We should hunt the murderer down and kill him,” Jeanne said. “That would improve our security considerably.”

And it would let the witch avenge her father, Hermione thought. For all her problems with him, Jeanne had taken his loss more seriously than anyone, probably including herself, had expected. “Tempting,” Hermione said, “But even if we call up the Order - and I don’t know if that would work - what can we do that the DMLE can’t? A number of the Order members are Aurors, after all.”

“We can break the law to get the murderer,” Jeanne said. “We don’t have to wait for sufficient suspicion or even proof.”

“For that, we’d need to find the murderer first, which is kind of difficult,” Hermione retorted. “I think the DMLE has the better chance of succeeding at that than we do.”

“And Bones would not be pleased if we acted like vigilantes,” Sirius added. “Harry told me she warned him off again yesterday.”

“So if we try to hunt the murderer ourselves, we’ll probably end up distracting or even hindering the DMLE,” Hermione added. And she didn’t want Bones to start investigating them. She bit her lip, hesitating for a moment, then decided to make the suggestion - she had been a Gryffindor. “There is one thing we could do that the DMLE can’t do, but I would strongly advise against it.”

Jeanne’s eyes widened for a moment. “You mean using ourselves as bait for a trap?”

Hermione nodded.

“Out of the question,” Sirius barked.

“I agree,” Hermione said. “We don’t know anything about the murderer or what he’s capable of. It would be too dangerous.”

“But I want to do something!” Jeanne protested, baring her teeth.

“Mr Fletcher’s acquaintances are looking into the matter. It’s not like we’re doing nothing,” Hermione pointed out. “On the other hand, Malfoy pushing the DMLE to hunt the murderer down at all costs also creates an opportunity for revenge.”

“Malfoy will be protected far better than before,” Sirius said. He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’ve been holed up in your room for the last few days, barely spending time with any of us. What are you planning?”

Hermione felt a stab of guilt for neglecting her friends - and especially Harry, whose first week at work was turning out a little more difficult than he had expected - and brushed back behind her ear a lock that had fallen into her face. “With the DMLE focusing on hunting the murderer and protecting a panicking Malfoy, there is a great opportunity to strike at those targets who aren’t going to be protected.”

Sirius started to grin. “Umbridge or Skeeter?”

Hermione grinned back. “Neither. Borgin.”

That rat would pay for what he had done to her. With interest.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 11th, 1998

Hermione Granger resisted the urge to summon the newspaper when she heard Sirius curse after picking up the Daily Prophet. Instead, she asked: “What’s wrong?”

Sirius held up the front page. Half of it was taken up by a large headline:

IS THE DARK LORD BACK?

“Skeeter couldn’t resist, then,” she said, pursing her lips.

Sirius shook his head as he skimmed the article. “No, she couldn’t. Full of speculation and fear-mongering - she mentions that it could be a Death Eater in hiding, but cites the fact that the Unspeakables haven’t found any proof of Voldemort’s return as proof that his return can’t be disproven and is therefore possible.”

“I hope Malfoy buries her for this,” Harry said. “Most of his friends will drop him like a cursed wand if they think Voldemort is back and coming for him.”

“Oh, yes. Lucius won’t be happy at all - Skeeter mentions that ‘his insistence on being guarded by Aurors now has an explanation’.” Sirius grinned in a rather feral manner, then read on. “Merlin’s buttocks! She even speculates that the murderer might be one of the Death Eaters incarcerated in Azkaban who escaped after the Dementors were removed and that the Ministry is keeping it a secret so the people don’t lose faith in them!” He snorted. “I don’t know if I should be offended that she’s trying to undermine my fame as the only one ever to escape Azkaban.”

“How exactly did you manage that?” Harry asked. “You never told us how you did it.”

“With good reason,” Sirius said. “If the secret were out, others could do it as well.”

“What if someone did?” Harry asked.

Sirius shook his head. “The new changes after they removed the Dementors would have prevented that. Besides, all of my former fellow inmates are accounted for - trust me, not even the guards there are so inept as to lose a prisoner without noticing, no matter what you’ve heard about Hit-Wizards from the other Aurors.”

“Still, how did you escape?” Harry pressed.

Sirius shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it, Harry. I’m trying to forget my time there.”

Hermione saw Harry’s eyes widen at hearing that, and she pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t scold the dog for making her friend feel guilty like that. She took a deep breath to calm down. “We should focus on the consequences of this article. This will scare a lot of people. And if they think the Ministry is at fault...”

Harry groaned. “Great. I hope they’re too scared to start a riot.”

“If they aren’t, it’s all Skeeter’s fault,” Ron muttered. “Luna loathes her, you know. And it takes a lot to make her feel that way about anyone.”

“If we were in France, we could have duelled her long before this,” Jeanne said, frowning. “But you had to go and outlaw them.”

“They’re illegal in France as well,” Hermione pointed out.

“But nobody enforces that,” Jeanne replied.

“Well, I’m glad that in Britain, people can’t pay a killer to duel a rival,” Hermione said. Malfoy would have abused that terribly.

“They can’t do that in France either!” Jeanne protested. “That would ruin their reputation.”

“Malfoy wouldn’t care,” Harry said. “Or he’d deny his involvement.”

“Of course, he could be duelled as well,” Ron said, grinning.

“It’s not that easy,” Jeanne explained. “There are rules about duels. You can’t just insult someone until they challenge you. Although if the British abuse duels like that, no wonder they have been outlawed.”

“Oh, yes,” Sirius chimed in, “my family removed a number of their rivals through duels. Of course, we usually didn’t have to pay anyone to fight for us - if you couldn’t fight, you wouldn’t last long as a Black anyway.”

Harry cleared his throat. “I hate to interrupt this fascinating discussion about the merits of duelling, but Ron and I need to go, or we’ll be late for our shift.”

“I really hope people will be too scared to riot,” Ron added as he stood, grabbing another croissant - presumably to eat on the way.

Hermione bit her lower lip, then stood. “Wait!”

Both boys turned. “Yes?” Harry asked.

She didn’t say anything, just hugged him. “Stay safe,” she whispered into his ear.

“You too,” she added, hugging Ron.

If anything happened to them because of that article… She clenched her teeth until they hurt.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, September 11th, 1998

You could almost feel the fear, Harry Potter thought as he walked through the Atrium to the lifts. Fewer people, and those he saw were all acting as if they expected a Death Eater to attack them at any moment. Even the Hit-Wizard guards were nervous - so nervous that Harry surreptitiously drew his wand, just in case they started casting at shadows and he needed a quick Shield Charm. Fortunately, they reached the lifts without incident.

“Merlin’s beard!” Ron cursed. “I think they were less scared when Voldemort had invaded the Ministry.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, he died then. This is new.”

“Bloody Skeeter,” Ron mumbled. “And people call The Quibbler untrustworthy!”

Harry didn’t comment on that. “So, we’re doing filing and archiving today. Can’t wait.”

Ron scoffed. “I’d rather do a night patrol through Knockturn Alley than that. Dawlish must have selected it just to torment us.”

“I don’t think so - for all his needling remarks, he hasn’t actually tried to treat us differently,” Harry said.

Ron shook his head. “He behaves towards Nott as if he were Snape and Nott Malfoy. I don’t trust him.”

“Well, according to Moody, we won’t have to trust Dawlish,” Harry said as they reached their floor.

And were greeted by a yelling Dawlish. “Potter! Weasley! Get over here! Right now!”

The Auror was at the back of the entrance, surrounded by most of the other rookie Aurors. Other Aurors were rushing out, some still adjusting their robes as they passed Harry and Ron on the way to the lifts.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked as soon as they reached Dawlish.

“There’s a riot in Diagon Alley. And they fear that it’ll spill over into Gringotts, or muggle London.”

Harry hissed. Either would be a catastrophe.

Dawlish nodded with a grim expression. “Exactly. We’re going to stop it.”

“Us?” Smith asked, looking both confused and frightened at the same time. The others didn’t look any better, Harry noted - even Nott had lost his sneer.

“Not us alone!” Dawlish snapped. “We’re going to support the other Aurors. We’ll be behind them, dealing with anyone who manages to get past the first line.” He took a deep breath. “Keep a Shield Charm up at all times. Don’t use any lethal spells - Stunners only. I don’t care what you think the rioters are doing, don’t kill them. Understood? If you see anyone behind our lines who isn’t an Auror, stun them. Otherwise, follow my lead. We’re travelling by Floo to the Leaky Cauldron. Follow me!”

A minute later, they were in the Atrium again, rushing towards the Floo connections. Once Dawlish stepped into one and vanished, Ron leaned towards Harry. “Stunners only?” he whispered.

“As long as it works,” Harry whispered back. He wasn’t about to die because of such orders. “You know what Moody said.”

Ron nodded - the Auror had said it often enough: ‘Kill them before they kill you, if that’s what it takes.’

Then it was their turn.

*****​

The Leaky Cauldron was packed with red robes and a few civilians. Scrimgeour was there, directing a mixed group of Aurors and Hit-Wizards. “Go out, get in the air, and reinforce the Aurors holding the line in front of Gringotts. Hold the line no matter the cost! Go!”

As the group rushed out, nearly trampling another civilian who fled inside, Harry heard Nott curse. “Why protect the goblins? They’ve got guards of their own!”

“Because their guards are just waiting for an excuse to kill wizards!” Dawlish snarled at Nott. “If a rioter tries to break into the bank, they’ll consider it an attack and massacre everyone nearby.”

Which would lead to war.

“Dawlish!” Scrimgeour had spotted their group. “Take the rookies and form a line outside the Cauldron.”

“Yes, sir!” Dawlish bellowed. “Follow me, everyone!”

“Wait!” Scrimgeour held up his hand. “Potter! Weasley! You’ve got your brooms?”

Harry refrained from yelling that he always had his broom with him. “Yes, sir!”

“Fly to Gringotts and help the Aurors there!”

“Yes, sir!”

He and Ron rushed out of the Cauldron and unshrank their brooms. Moments later, they were in the air.

Diagon Alley looked terrible, Harry thought as he sped towards the bank. Smoke rose from several locations, obscuring the fires beneath and parts of the street. He heard screams and explosions and spells passed him from below as he flew in a weaving pattern.

“What is wrong with those people?” He heard Ron yell as they closed in on Gringotts. “Do they think Voldemort’s hiding among the goblins?”

Harry didn’t get to answer - the roof below him suddenly blew up, and he saw rocks and splinters hit his Shield Charm. Someone was moving there, too - but they were already past. And they had their orders.

The situation at the bank looked grim, Harry thought as he dived down to minimise his exposure while landing. The goblins were ready - he saw them standing in formation, blades and shields gleaming in the sunlight. Just waiting for an excuse, indeed.

And in front of them, with their backs to the goblins, stood about two dozen Aurors, their shields flaring under the impact of hexes and curses as they tried to keep the mob at bay. A mob that outnumbered them significantly.

There was no time or need to ask for orders. Harry simply touched down and rushed forward, shrinking his broom as he ran towards a gap in the line where an Auror had fallen to the ground. “Check him!” Harry yelled to Ron as he took the man’s spot.

The rioters were standing about twenty yards away - far enough that aiming was a challenge for most of them, Harry noted - and had taken cover behind rubble, upturned carts and conjured walls. He was tempted to blow up their cover - but they weren’t Death Eaters; he couldn’t just kill them.

But he could conjure some cover for himself, as a few other Aurors had already done. Too few, in his opinion.

A few waves of his wand later, he was crouching behind a thick steel wall as spells flew past or hit the wall. He sent a few Stunners of his own back, but with the exception of one wizard who had exposed himself too much, he didn’t hit anyone. It would be far easier if he were allowed to kill them, he thought. Or at least risk their deaths.

Ron joined him, wand drawn. “I’ve stabilised the guy,” he yelled. “But he’ll need to get to St Mungo’s. Soon.”

More spells hit the wall, the ground in front and, presumably, Gringotts behind them. Harry glanced over his shoulder. The goblins were still there. They hadn’t taken cover. Hadn’t even closed the doors. They really were that eager for an excuse to start a war, he realised.

And for a moment, he was tempted to give them their war.

But then the yelling from the rioters grew in volume, and, moments later, he heard screams from the Aurors. “Here they come!”

Once more Harry had to keep himself from using a Blasting Curse to lay waste to the attackers. Instead, he started to cast Stunners as fast as he could. One fell, followed by another. Ron took out a third but missed the fourth when the wizard stumbled over the others and fell to the ground. Harry caught him with another Stunner. And, all along the line, others met with the same fate - dozens of wizards and witches collapsing.

The Aurors didn’t escape unscathed, though - he saw one collapse near him, and another rolled on the ground, screaming and burning, until someone doused him with water. And then the remaining mob hit the line at one point, then at another, crashing into the Aurors there.

Harry cursed and conjured walls to block their way to Gringotts while Ron started stunning them as they bunched up. It wasn’t that difficult - few of them had cast Shield Charms. And, so far, no one seemed to have thought of reviving the stunned ones.

But the mob changed direction - and rushed straight towards them, rolling up the Auror line between them and Harry and Ron. Harry met them with a Water-Making Spell that swept the first ranks off their feet from the sheer force of the jet of water. Ron used the opportunity to stun the struggling attackers as fast as he could.

A group of them had cast Shield Charms, though - and Harry’s spells splashed harmlessly against them. He grit his teeth and hit the first with a Bludgeoning Curse that shattered his shield and bowled him over. Ron took out the next with a quick Piercing Curse and Stunner, but the third jumped over their cover and crashed into Harry.

Both his and the attacker’s shield shattered under the impact, and Harry was slammed into the ground, his breath knocked out of him. Reflexes took over, and he hit the man with a Bludgeoning Curse that threw him back a few yards.

Harry rolled over his aching shoulder, suppressing a scream at the pain that caused, and came up in a crouch, wand ready.

But there were no attackers left.

“Are you OK?” Ron asked, breathing heavily.

Harry nodded. “But that other one isn’t,” he said, pointing at his last attacker.

Ron scoffed, but nodded and went to stabilise the guy. Harry ran his wand over his shoulder until the pain lessened, then looked around. The ground was covered with people, both Aurors and rioters, with the dozen Aurors still standing doing their best to heal the wounded.

And the goblins were sneering at them from the bank’s entrance.

*****​