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

[Starfox5]

Based on feedback, I added a new scene to the chapter, for those who don't want to re-read it, it's here:

Spoiler: Scene

Hogwarts, June 1st, 1995

"What are you thinking about?"

Sitting in the Gryffindor common room, Harry Potter looked up from the Daily Prophet article - the latest on the 'Dumbledore scandal' - at which he had been scowling when he heard his girlfriend's question. Had Parvati already finished her essay? She had asked him to read it to check for mistakes. A glance told him that she hadn't. She was looking at him with a rather intense expression, though.

"I'm wondering why Skeeter hasn't been fired yet," he said. As Sirius had taught him, honesty was the best policy if you hadn't done anything wrong.

She tensed - after talking to her he now believed that she hadn't talked to the insufferable witch, but it still was a sore subject - she hadn't reacted well to him suspecting her. And he hadn't taken well to her reaction. "She's just reporting what others said."

"Have you read the article?" he asked, a little sharper than he had wanted.

She shrugged. "Yes."

"It's full of veiled accusations and rampant speculation about what crimes Dumbledore might have committed," Harry spat. "Malfoy probably paid Skeeter for it, just like he paid her to ruin Sirius's and Hermione's reputations!" As soon as he said the words he regretted them - Parvati glared at him, and he winced when he saw how thin her lips now were.

"It's always about Hermione, isn't it? Dumbledore, Sirius, no matter what, it's always about her!"

"No, it's not! But she is a part of this. This whole thing started with Malfoy framing her." That was the truth!

"No, you just think it's about her! Malfoy didn't like Dumbledore long before Hermione had even heard of Hogwarts, and the Bagnold letters were written twenty years ago!" Parvati was almost snarling. "Don't you care about anyone or anything else?"

"Of course, but she's my best friend. Best female friend," he added. "Obviously she's important to me."

"And I'm your girlfriend!"

"They didn't mention you in the article," he pointed out, logically.

"So? Don't you care for me? Am I not important to you? Don't you love me?" She stood up, her hands on her hips.

He noticed everyone in the room was staring at them. "I do. But that doesn't mean I'll neglect my friends."

"But you're neglecting me!"

"I'm not!" He was sitting with her while she did her homework, after all!

"You are!" Her chest was heaving. Then she huffed and raised her chin - he noticed that he had stood up as well during their argument. "I told you before: I'm not sharing you! Choose! Either her... or me!"

He gaped at her. How could she ask, no, demand that of him? He looked at her, noticed her expression, the way her eyes had narrowed, the way her mouth was set. She was serious, he realised. Well, so was he. He stared straight into her eyes.

"If that's what you want," Harry said in a flat voice, ignoring how her eyes widened in surprise, "then I choose her."

*****​

 

[Prince Charon]

Yeah, Parvati screwed up, there, and I'm not sure she even understands how.

 

[Starfox5]

Yeah, Parvati screwed up, there, and I'm not sure she even understands how.

Click to shrink...

Sure she does - it's all Hermione's fault!

 

[Starfox5]

Chapter 9: Investigations

Outside Stafford, Staffordshire, Britain, June 22nd, 1995

Amelia Bones returned the greetings of the Aurors guarding the crime scene, but her attention was on the house in front of her. Or rather, on its wards. Her enchanted monocle might not be as powerful or versatile as Alastor's artificial eye, but it was more than able to show her that the house's defences were still active. Whoever had murdered Alphons Bagnold hadn't broken through the wards. Which meant that someone had let the killer inside. And seeing as Alphons had been living alone, odds were that it had been him.

A quick survey of the garden told her that the Aurors had the scene covered; she didn't see any blind spots. She almost grinned - she had been the Head of the DMLE for years, but she still thought like the Head Auror. And the Corps knew it, of course.

Her successor knew it as well. But Rufus ran a tight ship - even tighter, or so she had heard, than her own, back in the day. Which would serve both of them well in dealing with this latest mess.

She entered the house and wished she had cast a Bubble-Head Charm - the smell of blood was overwhelming. She didn't let any discomfort show on her face, of course - she had a reputation to maintain. Although… the smell shouldn't be that strong, she thought - not hours after the deed. The blood should have dried up already.

Frowning, she turned to the Auror casting detection spells in the entrance hall. "Where's the Head Auror?"

The witch turned around and gasped - Amelia made a note that the Auror had apparently missed her presence, too focused on her work. Not the best habit for someone working in the field. "Ma'am! He's in the basement. Where the murder happened."

Amelia gave her a curt nod, then went downstairs. Rufus was there, as was Alastor - as she had expected. Both were standing on a floating board so they wouldn't disturb the pool of blood the ground had been turned into. Alastor was grinning at her despite - or because of - the gruesome scene.

"I was right, Amelia! That's Outterridge blood there." He pointed his wand at the blood. "Some of it, at least. Quite the mess."

"That's an understatement," Rufus said. The Head Auror was frowning at Alastor - by custom, in this situation subordinates didn't speak up until asked. But the old Auror didn't care much about custom, and he was too experienced and valuable to be disciplined over it. "We've called in the Department of Mysteries, but according to preliminary investigations" - he glanced at Alastor - "this contains the blood of at least half a dozen individuals."

"And the liquified remains of Alphons Bagnold," Alastor added.

"Liquified?" Transfiguring a corpse into blood wasn't that difficult, however she knew of only one spell that could do this to a living human.

"Aye." The old Auror lost his smile. "I checked the residue three times. The murderer used the Bloodfall Curse."

She drew a hissing breath, uncaring of the stench now. There was only one person who had used that spell in the last war. She looked at Rufus. "Check if Bellatrix Lestrange is still in her cell."

Rufus nodded. Alastor scoffed. "Not even the Hit-Wizards are so incompetent as to miss another escape. That wasn't Lestrange's work anyway. It's too neat."

"Neat?" Rufus stared at his nominal subordinate, then pointedly looked at the gory liquid covering the floor.

"Yes. Neat. No signs of excessive torture. No blown up furniture. No torn off limbs. Just a big puddle of blood." The scarred Auror shook his head. "Not her style. And that was before she was sent to Azkaban." Amelia had to agree - Lestrange had been unhinged even then, and wouldn't have gotten better. Alastor went on: "This here was done by someone else who knew the spell. And there aren't many left alive who were ever taught it."

"Black," Rufus said. "It's a family spell. But he has an alibi." They would have checked that already, of course. And the alibis of the remaining Blacks.

"Dumbledore's vouching for him again?" Amelia asked.

"Not just him. Apparently, Potter had an accident at school last evening, and Black spent the night in the infirmary there," Rufus said.

"Could be Polyjuice Potion, of course," Alastor cut in, earning him another glare from Rufus, "but I doubt that Albus would have let that fool him. He isn't that old yet." He chuckled.

"He could have taught the spell to someone," Rufus said. That Black had sent hired wands after Bagnold and Crouch was one of the more popular theories in the Corps.

"If he's making the effort of using someone else to commit murder so he has an alibi, making them use a Black family spell would be a rather dumb move," Alastor pointed out. Given how paranoid the man was, Amelia suspected he was just playing advocatus diaboli to ruffle Rufus's feathers.

"Unless Black is trying to be too clever, and expects us to assume that," Rufus shot back. "He spent over ten years in Azkaban - he can't be sane. And," he added with a sneer, "he still hasn't told us who helped him escape. Anyone who'd spring Black from Azkaban would commit murder as well."

Amelia had to agree, at least partially, there - you couldn't trust Black. His claim that he couldn't remember how he had disappeared from Azkaban was a laughably transparent attempt to protect his helper. Who, she suspected, was Lupin. Or even Dumbledore himself - the Chief Warlock had lately shown a rather antagonistic attitude towards the Wizengamot's justice.

Alastor shrugged. "I'm not gonna drop him as a suspect. But I think there's more to this than just revenge. Or at least, it's not Black's revenge."

"Who else could it be?" Rufus scoffed. "Some hitherto unknown Death Eater who has waited until Black escaped from Azkaban to frame him?"

"I'm not even discounting the Dark Lord himself - or his ghost." Alastor grinned. "He certainly would have the motive."

Amelia would have dismissed this as a joke, or a paranoid delusion, if not for the fact that Alastor was one of Dumbledore's oldest friends.

But she didn't know what was more dangerous - a returned Dark Lord, or a Chief Warlock trying to fake such a threat to regain the influence he had lost since the last war.

*****​

Hogwarts, June 22nd, 1995

Harry Potter woke up with a headache. A terrible, pounding headache - he hadn't felt that bad since… He drew a hissing breath and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He hadn't felt a pain this bad since his first year. Since Voldemort had tried to kill him.

"Harry?"

Sirius! He opened his eyes. His godfather was sitting next to his bed - he was in the infirmary - and Sirius looked almost as bad as Harry felt. Disheveled. Exhausted. And his expression…

"Did… did anyone die?" Harry asked.

"What? No." Sirius shook his head. "You collapsed during the Victory Feast. And your scar split open and bled all over…" He shook his head. "Pomfrey fixed you up, though."

The Victory Feast. Harry had been eating, next to Ron, and suddenly… He winced. Yes, there had been blood. On his face, on the table, and on the floor. Pools of blood. No… that hadn't been in the Great Hall. That had been… he didn't know where. He hadn't been there before, that much he knew. But… he touched his forehead and discovered that a bandage covered his scar.

"Pomfrey couldn't close the wound. But the bleeding has stopped now," Sirius explained. "She was quite miffed that she had to use 'muggle methods'."

"I can imagine." Harry forced himself to chuckle, then hissed at the pain that caused.

"Do you want a potion for the pain?" his godfather asked.

"Will it do anything?" Harry had his doubts. This reeked of the Dark Arts.

"It shouldn't hurt," Sirius answered.

That sounded less than reassuring, Harry thought. On the other hand, he doubted that he could get any worse. Short of dying, of course. So he nodded. "Yes, please."

"Don't worry, it'll stay our secret. You can tell the witches that you toughed it out." Sirius grinned - though it looked very forced to Harry - and handed him a small vial.

Harry downed the vial and to his surprise, the pain receded until it was a dull ache. He sighed and closed his eyes again for a moment.

"Did it work?"

"Yes." Harry started to nod, then froze when that caused the pain to flare up. "I'm feeling better, but not well yet."

"Good. I wouldn't have liked having to buy muggle remedies. Did you know that you need permission to buy muggle medicines?" Sirius scoffed. "And they threatened to call the police when I tried to offer them more gold."

"What did you do?" Had his godfather been mistaken for a drug addict, or worse?

"Oh, I wanted to buy some muggle pills. Lily had told me that they worked… something." Sirius blinked. "Or was it… some sex pill? Something like that." He nodded. "They didn't want to sell me the pills, though."

Harry was certain that his godfather was mixing up memories again, but nodded anyway. "Do you know what happened?"

"Dumbledore said the Dark Lord affected you through your scar." Sirius was looking at him.

Harry almost nodded, but stopped in time. "Something like that. My scar hurts like it did after he attacked me in first year."

Sirius mumbled a curse under his breath that Harry didn't quite catch. "How could he do that? Was he among the guests? Or the students? Dumbledore said he had strengthened the wards!"

"I don't think so. It felt... " Harry sighed. "He wasn't at Hogwarts. I don't think so. I saw blood. Lots of blood."

Sirius looked grim and bared his teeth. "Merlin's balls! There was a murder last night. A bloody murder."

"What? You said no one died!" Harry hissed when his forehead hurt again.

"Not at Hogwarts. But Bagnold's nephew was killed. Apparently with a Black Family curse that turns the victim to blood. On Solstice."

"When I collapsed?"

Sirius nodded. "We have to tell Dumbledore at once. I'll get him." He patted Harry's arm, then left.

Sirius didn't take long - he returned with the Headmaster after a few minutes. "Good afternoon, Harry," Dumbledore said, with his usual smile.

"Afternoon?" Harry turned his head, hissing at the pain that caused. It was true - the sun was in the west already. "I was asleep that long?"

"You needed the rest," the Headmaster said. "Poppy and I agreed on that." He sat down in the chair Sirius had vacated. "How do you feel?"

"Better." Harry took a deep breath. "I think I saw Voldemort murder someone - I don't remember much, or all that clearly, but there was a lot of blood. It was… a basement, I think. There was another man, too." He was remembering a few more details as he spoke. "The floor was… covered in blood." His scar was hurting again, but he pressed on. "There was a body on the floor, and…" He clenched his teeth. This was important, but he couldn't remember exactly what he had seen.

"Don't force yourself, Harry," the Headmaster said in his calm, gentle voice. "It appears that you saw Tom murder someone."

Harry closed his eyes. That sounded… "I'm not sure…" He now knew how Sirius must so often feel, he realised, and snorted.

"There is a way to check your memories," Dumbledore went on. "You can copy them with your wand, and they can be observed by others with a special device. I hesitate to ask this of you, but…"

Harry stared at him. They would need his memories to foil whatever the Dark Lord was doing.

"Tell me what to do!"

*****​

Half an hour later, Harry felt sick. It was one thing to remember what he had seen, it was another to see it happen again. All that blood… He managed not to throw up as he withdrew from the Headmaster's Pensieve, where his memory had been placed, but it was a near thing.

Even Dumbledore looked grim now when he and Sirius withdrew as well. "While the memories were rather fragmented, they were enough to confirm what I suspected," he said. "Voldemort has regained a real body and is no longer limited to possessing victims."

Sirius almost seemed to growl. "Well, at least we can clear my name. Bellatrix must have taught the Dark Lord the spell."

"We can't use this," Dumbledore said.

"What? Why not? It's not too detailed, but you can see the spell being cast. It proves that it wasn't me!" Sirius bared his teeth again.

"Using Harry's memories would also reveal his connection to the Dark Lord," Dumbledore pointed out.

Harry felt a chill run down his spine. If Voldemort found out about this… that he could be affected through the scar… "But... I collapsed in in the Great Hall," he pointed out. "In the middle of the Victory Feast." That must have been a spectacle.

"Indeed - outside Hufflepuff's dorms, your unfortunate incident is probably the talk of the school," Dumbledore said. "We might have to fabricate a cover story, to explain how you collapsed at the same time as Bagnold was killed. Fortunately, the Solstice is a traditional time for rituals of all sorts, so it shouldn't be too suspicious that this happened at the same time as the Dark Lord's ritual."

"Can we frame Malfoy?" Harry asked. "He already poisoned me in second year."

Dumbledore chuckled. "As fitting as that might be, I think the risk that Lucius would be able to clear his son of such an accusation would be too great. It would be better to blame unknown assailants."

"Sic the Aurors on those 'imperiused' Death Eaters. They might even uncover some actual crimes," Sirius said.

That sounded like a great idea, Harry thought. Some good might come from this bloody murder.

*****​

London, Merton, June 22nd, 1995

If Hermione Granger had been a cat, then the two people who had just rang the doorbell would have caused her hackles to rise. She observed them through the spyhole. A man and a woman, young to middle age, in clothes that were a tad too conservative for their age - she would have pegged them as the police, if not for the lack of a car in the drive.

Aurors then. Probably. If she acted as if she wasn't at home they might simply enter - there were no wards to stop them. She could flee, of course - her escape tunnel hadn't gone past the planning stage; she needed the plans of the neighbouring houses to dig it without destabilising any of them - but she had a broom stashed in her room, ready to fly out of the window. But they might be expecting that.

And, she told herself as she opened the door - her wand in hand, though - she hadn't done anything illegal since her expulsion. Well, not anything really illegal.

She put on her best smile. "Yes?"

"Miss Granger?" the woman asked.

"Yes?"

The woman tapped her jacket, and a badge appeared. "I'm Auror Bracken, this is my partner, Auror Fawley." Pureblood names, Hermione thought. Bracken wasn't an Old Family, but Fawley was - but of course, the Auror might not be from the main branch. "We would like you to come to the Ministry to answer a few questions."

"Questions?" She tried to sound naive and dumb. "About what?"

"A possible crime," Fawley cut in, in a rather curt tone. He made a good 'bad cop', Hermione thought. But then, he could be a bad cop.

She narrowed her eyes. "Am I under arrest? Is someone trying to frame me again?"

"You're not under arrest, but we would appreciate your cooperation," Bracken said, with a polite smile. "It concerns your friend Mr Potter."

She felt as if her stomach tied itself into a knot. "Has something happened to Harry?"

"We cannot discuss this in the middle of the street," Bracken said.

"Or in your home," Fawley added, with a sneer.

She wanted to go to Grimmauld Place and ask Mr Black, but he wouldn't be there if anything had happened to Harry. And Mr Fletcher had been clear that cooperation with the authorities was the best course of action, as long as they didn't have anything on her. And while she couldn't dismiss the possibility of another attempt to frame her, she doubted that they would use Harry for that. "Of course. But I'll need to inform my employer that I'll be absent today, or he might get worried. It'll only take a minute to send him an owl."

They knew, of course, for whom she was working. And they didn't like that fact, but they couldn't do anything about it.

It was almost funny, Hermione thought as she wrote a note for Mr Black - she hadn't expected to be arrested even before she actually stole anything.

*****​

"Where were you yesterday between six in the evening and midnight?"

"At home. I've told you that already. Twice." Hermione Granger didn't bother refraining from rolling her eyes. Bracken and Fawley had at least been professional, even though Fawley might not actually have been faking his apparent dislike of her. But Dawlish, who had taken over her interrogation, was repeating his question for the second time. She couldn't think of what he might plan on accomplishing by doing this.

"Did you cast any spells?" He sounded boring as well, and spoke just a smidgen too slowly for her taste.

"No."

"Really? You spent the entire evening without casting a single spell?"

"I'm a muggleborn. We do that all the time." She smiled sweetly at him.

"You replaced your wand, though." Dawlish didn't seem to notice her mood.

"Of course. I'm a witch, after all."

"That would imply a desire to cast spells." He acted like a dog too dumb to realise that a plastic bone wasn't edible.

"I'm underage." She was propping her head up with one arm. "And I wasn't with my tutor yesterday evening."

"Your wand is free of the Trace." He glared at her.

"I bought it like that. Perfectly legal." Which she was certain other young wizards and witches with the means to buy a second wand were aware of as well. "Are you accusing me of breaking the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery? I thought this was about whatever happened to Harry. Which you still haven't told me anything about." She was getting more and more worried. What had happened to her best friend?

"You claim you didn't cast any spells but your wand shows that it was used."

"Yes. I used it to cast spells while with my tutor." She bit her lower lip before she openly insulted the man. Maybe that was his game - to get her angry and frustrated enough to lose her temper and slip up. She might have to revise her estimate of him if that was the case.

"Can anyone confirm your claim?"

"You can ask my parents."

"They're muggles."

"Yes. I'm a muggleborn." She almost asked if he was a blood purist.

"They might not have noticed magic, or they might have been obliviated."

"To hide underage magic?" She scoffed at him. That was absurd! "Just what kind of spell do you think I cast?"

"That's classified."

"I didn't cast any spells. I have told you that several times. Unless you have a question you haven't asked before, I want to leave now. I need to find out what happened to my friend!" She stood up, glaring at the man. If Harry had been hurt, and they had kept this from her because of stupid prejudice and bigotry...

"Your friend was struck by a dark curse yesterday evening."

"What?" She gasped. Harry! "Where is he!"

"That's classified."

She wanted to hex the man, but she didn't have her wand on her. So she glared at him, raised her chin and crossed her arms. "I want to leave now."

"There are still a few more questions you need to answer…" Dawlish trailed off when the door opened.

"Let the lass go, Dawlish," an old, scarred man said. "Her wand's clean and she's got an alibi." He had an artificial eye, Hermione noticed. She stiffened and felt her stomach drop a little. This was 'Mad-Eye' Moody. Mr Fletcher had told her a lot about this Auror. One of the best in the Ministry, and no one knew exactly what his enchanted eye could do.

"She's a suspect," Dawlish retorted.

"Even if Skeeter's articles weren't utter rubbish, the lass's too young to be able to curse anyone through the wards of Hogwarts." Moody chuckled. "And Skeeter's claiming that she cheated for her grades anyway." The witch would pay for that, too, Hermione thought. "Merlin's arse, Dawlish! I didn't think you were dumb enough to take the Daily Prophet's slander as evidence!"

"What?" Dawlish stood up, sneering. "And who was the one who hexed two post owls because he thought they were disguised assassins?"

"Constant vigilance, Dawlish!" Moody retorted, tapping his eye. Hermione resolved not to approach the man in animal form, should she manage to become an animagus.

"That's what I'm doing!" the other Auror protested. "I'd have expected you to back me up here!"

Moody scoffed. "I checked her wand, I checked her clothes, I checked her hair. No residue of any dark magic. Dumbledore and Black also vouch for her." His face broke into a frightening grin. "Besides, we have a list of other suspects to investigate and interrogate. People with the experience to cast dark curses, even. Now, send the lass on her way so she can check up on her friend before she curses you. She looks like she really wants to, too." He chuckled again. "The boy's fine, lass."

He was half-right - Hermione wanted to curse them both. That old Auror had used his eye to spy on her! Mr Fletcher had told her that Moody could see through robes. But she knew better than to start anything in the middle of the Auror offices, of course - even if she had had her wand.

And she needed to get out of here so she could see how Harry was doing! She knew just how bad 'fine' could be when it was about Harry!

*****​

Hogwarts, June 22nd, 1995

"Harry!"

Harry Potter looked up from the game of chess he was playing with Ron when he heard a familiar but unexpected yell. Hermione had arrived in the infirmary. And she was headed straight for him with a rather worried and worrying expression on her face. "Hello, Hermione," he said quickly. "I'm fine." It had been the wrong thing to say, he realised a second too late.

"Fine?" she all but growled, only taking her eyes off him for a moment to return Ron's greetings. "You said that when you were half-dead in our first year! Or when you had half your bones broken in our second year!"

Harry heard Ron mutter "Blimey!" as his friend grabbed the chessboard and put it on the side. "I'm going to be fine?" he said, turning it into a question almost against his will. "Honest! They'll release me tomorrow." Which meant it wasn't as bad as the two times she had just brought up.

She huffed and sat down, mumbling something he didn't quite catch. "So what happened? All I've been told is that you were cursed."

"Dumbledore said it was some sort of pain curse." Harry drew his wand. "I bled because I hit my head on the table when I collapsed from the pain and it ripped my scar open." A nice explanation that made it harder to connect him to the blood spilled by Voldemort - or Sirius's family. He cast a privacy spell. "That's the cover story."

Hermione frowned. "And what really happened?"

Harry tapped his forehead - next to the bandage. "My scar's a link to Voldemort. He went through a really dark ritual to get a new body, and I was affected by the dark curses he used." When he saw her horrified expression, he quickly added: "It was just a vision, very fragmented, of what he saw. A few seconds. My scar bled, but that was all."

"And it hurt a lot, or the Headmaster wouldn't be claiming that it was a pain curse." She narrowed her eyes at him. Busted!

Harry winced - his friend was too smart to be deceived like that. He shrugged. "I've had worse."

She snorted, but didn't pursue the topic any further. "As long as you're safe. As safe as you can be, with the Dark Lord back in a body. It's not simple possession then?"

Harry shook his head. "No. My mother's protection should still keep me safe, but the scar's a weakness."

"Well, it also serves as a Dark Lord detector," Ron said, grinning. "If it hurts, Voldemort's close."

Harry snorted. They had found that out in their first year. "Yeah."

Hermione, of course, didn't see the humour. "Really."

Ron shrugged. "Yes. A bit of pain can save his life."

"That's what Sirius says about training, too," Harry pointed out. Then he blinked when he suddenly thought of something. "Are you allowed to visit? You know, with you…" He trailed off.

Hermione scoffed. "I'm not actually certain whether visits are allowed or not. But I snuck in through a tunnel Mr Black showed me. Officially, I'm not here. If any Aurors ask, I'm at Grimmauld Place."

"Why would Aurors ask about you?" Ron looked puzzled.

"Apparently, I'm a suspect in the case," Hermione said with a sneer. "They already questioned me."

"What?" Harry shook his head - it didn't hurt any more - and scoffed. "That's absurd!"

"I bet it was Malfoy!" Ron cut in. "Trying to frame you for his own crimes. Lucius Malfoy," he added.

"It's possible. Auror Moody seems to have squashed the investigation, though," Hermione explained. "He's a friend of Dumbledore's, so he might know what really happened."

Harry smiled - at least the Headmaster was still looking out for Hermione. "Yes. Tonks told me stories about 'Mad-Eye' and his enchanted eye."

"Can it look through clothes?" Hermione asked quickly.

"I'm not certain. It can look through walls, though…" Harry trailed off, considering the implications of that.

"Blimey! That would be really useful!" Ron said. When Hermione glared at him, he added: "I mean to spot if someone's hiding something. Or ambushes."

Hermione didn't look convinced. "Well, we don't have an enchanted eye," Harry said. "And even if we had one, I prefer using my own eyes." Even if he needed glasses. "Not to peep on anyone, of course. And certainly not on you, believe me!" He wouldn't do that to his best friend.

She didn't look any happier, though - quite the contrary, actually. But before he could reassure her, the door to the infirmary opened.

He aimed his wand at it, just in case, and Ron moved in front of Hermione, but it was just Ginny.

"Harry?" she asked. "Oh, hi, Hermione!"

"She's not here, if anyone asks," Ron said. "Especially if it's an Auror."

"Oh." Ginny nodded, then looked determined. "Of course."

"Whatcha doing here?" Ron asked, not quite glaring at his sister, Harry noted.

"I just wanted to visit Harry." Ginny looked at him. "But I can come back later, if you want to be alone with your friends."

"We might be here until curfew," Ron said.

"So?" Ginny raised her chin slightly, meeting her brother's eyes.

"No, no, you can stay, of course," Harry quickly said. He didn't want them to argue. And it would be terribly rude to send Ginny away after she had come to visit him.

Ginny beamed at him. "Thanks, Harry."

Harry noticed a bit belatedly that there were just two chairs for visitors. Before he could summon a third, though, Ginny had already sat down on his bed. "How are you doing, Harry?"

"I'm fine. Pomfrey's letting me out of here tomorrow morning," he said. She nodded - apparently, not everyone had to question him.

"Good, I was very worried. No one told us anything." She pouted at Ron.

"No one knew anything," Ron said. "Dumbledore had to investigate. Someone cast a pain curse at Harry."

Ginny gasped, and Harry was quick to assure her that he wasn't in pain any more. It was nice to see someone other than his closest friends care about him. Especially if it was a pretty girl.

Ginny had filled out a little, or more than a little, since last summer, too, he realised. And she also got along well with Hermione. "Do you want some Honeydukes?" he asked. "Sirius brought some for me this afternoon, but he bought too much." As usual. They still had a few dozen boxes of Mars Bars at Grimmauld Place, after Harry had mentioned that he liked them.

"Oh! Thank you!" She beamed at him again.

Both Ron and Hermione didn't look happy, though, he noticed. Of course - he should have offered them chocolates as well. He quickly corrected his oversight, but judging by their slightly forced smiles, he wasn't entirely successful.

*****​

London, Merton, June 23rd, 1995

"Hermione?"

Sitting on the couch in the living room, Hermione Granger looked up from her book when she heard her mum call her name. "Yes?"

"You've been reading a lot of books about cats. Magazines too."

Hermione nodded. She had to research her future spirit animal, after all - knowing as much as possible couldn't hurt when she was about to become an animagus. But her parents didn't know that. "I'm interested in cats."

"We noticed," her father cut in, lowering The Times. "But we've also noticed that you haven't asked us if you could have a cat. You're not hiding a kitten somewhere, are you?" He grinned, but she didn't think he was entirely joking.

"No, I'm not." She shook her head.

"But do you want one?" Her mum asked. "We certainly could accommodate a pet."

"And you're old enough that you won't forget to feed it," her dad added.

She scowled at him - she had forgotten to water her first plant, but she had been four years old at the time! She sighed as he laughed. "I'm not certain, actually. I wouldn't see much of it, not between my studies and my work." And didn't that sound weird, to talk about her work when she hadn't even taken her O.W.L.s yet?

"So, you're studying cats without actually wanting one?" Her mum sounded rather doubtful.

"I'm still trying to make up my mind. I want to know more about cats before deciding whether or not I want one." And she wasn't entirely convinced that having an actual cat when she was planning to turn into a cat herself was a good idea - at the very least, the poor thing would be terribly confused. What if it suddenly thought she was another cat, and not its owner? The thought of having to establish a pecking order with her pet seemed absurd.

"Just don't mix it up with your psychology studies," her dad said, "or you might start to think like a cat."

Hermione forced herself to laugh - that was exactly what she was trying to do, after all.

"And act like a cat, too!" Her dad went on with an exaggerated look at her mum: "Can you imagine the size of her hairballs?"

It wasn't funny, Hermione thought as she glared at her parents. Not funny at all!

*****​

London, Merton, June 27th, 1995

Her research had confirmed what she had already known, Hermione Granger thought as she put down her last book on cats on her desk and looked over her notes. Cats were widely known as agile, flexible, graceful and elegant.

She was agile and flexible as well - thanks to Mr Fletcher's training. Not on the level of a cat, of course - that was physically impossible. But she could run over most roofs these days, like a cat on the prowl. And, she thought with a satisfied smile, she was graceful and elegant when she wanted to be. Miss Merriweather had proved that.

Stretching in front of her mirror, even striking a few poses, she nodded. Those aspects of a cat she had down pat. Or, she added to herself with a sigh, her secret identity as a budding thief had them. Hermione Granger was decidedly lacking in grace and elegance as well as athletic ability. Or so everyone but her tutor and her employer thought. Even and especially her best friends.

At least the cat's reputation for fastidiously keeping itself clean fit her perfectly. And the curiosity for which cats were notorious aligned well with her own desire to know as much as possible about everything. And, she added with a frown, her frustration at not being able to study all of the subjects offered at Hogwarts.

She glanced at the books on psychology she'd read. They hadn't proved to be as useful as she'd hoped, but at least autosuggestion should work - while she had her doubts about the method's effectiveness for physical ailments, she merely needed to affect her subconscious, which should be easy.

Easy, she thought with a glance at the cat toys she had spread out on her bed, but potentially embarrassing as well. If her parents caught her doing this, they'd never let her live it down. At least she was too old to accidentally turn herself into a cat. That wouldn't just be embarrassing, but very dangerous as well.

But her parents were at work and wouldn't barge in on her. So she sat down on her bed, surrounded by the cat toys, closed her eyes, and thought like a cat. Or tried to. It still felt silly to her, no matter how often she told herself that it was useful and necessary. She also found herself wondering what Harry and Ron were up to. They had exams this week at Hogwarts. Had they studied enough? With all the troubles and distractions at Hogwarts?

Such as Ginny. Ron's little sister couldn't have been more obvious in her attempts to seduce Harry if she had thrown herself at Hermione's friend. And the witch probably would have done just that, Hermione thought, if Harry hadn't been hurt.

At least Ginny wouldn't try to come between Harry and his friends, Hermione thought. If the little witch knew what was good for her. Then Hermione blinked. She was certainly feeling rather catty when thinking about Ginny.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 2nd 1995

"You know," Harry Potter said, catching his breath after he had just been slammed - again - into the wall of the training room Sirius had installed in their home, "most people don't use their summer holidays to study and train harder than they did at school."

His godfather snorted. "Most people aren't the personal enemy of the Dark Lord."

"I'm not exactly doing well against you right now, so how can I beat the Dark Lord?" Harry took his time getting up, rolling his right shoulder to check if it had been hurt. He stiffened and winced, the probed it with his left hand.

"Are you alright?" Sirius asked, suddenly concerned. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" He stepped closer.

Just what Harry had been hoping for. "I don't know… it hurts when I move…" He flicked his wand up. "Stupefy!"

"Wha…" Sirius's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth, but Harry's spell hit him before he could react and he dropped to the floor, unconscious.

Harry smiled widely - he had finally managed to get his godfather.

*****​

"That was a dirty trick," Sirius complained a few minutes later, after Harry had woken him up.

Harry shrugged. "You've told me often enough that there are no rules in a real fight."

"That trick won't work on Voldemort," Sirius retorted.

Harry shrugged. "I wouldn't say that - he struck me as the gloating type." Admittedly, he hadn't met the Dark Lord that often, but still. "But everything else wasn't working against you, so I doubt that it would work on him either."

"You're still learning - and you've made a lot of progress. I doubt there's anyone in your year who could beat you," Sirius said. "Or in the year above you."

"Great. I can defeat teenagers." Harry scoffed. "Let's hope that Voldemort sends Malfoy after me."

"You mean his son?"

"Of course."

"I think your owl could beat him," Sirius said, grinning. "Lucius must be wondering what went wrong with his son."

"He isn't that bad," Harry said, "he knows a number of curses, but unless he has been sandbagging in Defence for the entire year, he doesn't know how to fight."

Sirius looked confused for a moment, then he nodded. "I doubt that he managed to fool Remus." He reached over and ruffled Harry's hair. "But don't forget that you're protected by Lily's blood - the Dark Lord won't be able to harm you directly."

Harry snorted. "Ron and Hermione came up with a dozen ways to hurt me indirectly."

"And that's why we're training so hard." Sirius nodded with an exaggerated smile. Then he grew serious. "And you already knew all that. What's bothering you?"

Harry sighed. "It's a girl." He sat down on the bench at the side of the room.

"You're bothered by a girl?" Sirius asked with a grin, sitting down next to him.

Harry scowled at him. Could he be serious for once? "No. I like this girl, but I'm not sure if I should ask her to be my girlfriend."

"Why not? Do you think she doesn't like you?"

"No, no." Harry shook his head. "I think - actually, I'm pretty sure - that she likes me as well." At least he didn't think he had misread her interest.

"So what's the problem? Is she already taken?"

"No. She's Ginny Weasley." Harry looked at the floor.

"The cute redhead? Ron's sister?"

"Yes. And that's the problem." Harry sighed again. "What if this goes wrong, and she ends up hating me like Parvati?"

"I told you, I don't think Parvati really hates you. She hasn't tried to curse you, after all," Sirius said.

Harry shot him a glare. "She isn't a Black," he said curtly. "But I'm not worried about curses." No matter what stories Ron told about Ginny. "I'm worried about making visits to The Burrow awkward, and how a breakup would affect me and Ron."

"You're afraid that if you break up with Ginny, Ron will stop being your friend?" Sirius sounded incredulous.

"Yes," Harry pressed out. He was worried - Ron was his best friend, but Ginny was Ron's sister - wouldn't he naturally side with her, instead of with Harry?

His godfather shook his head. "Don't worry. Unless you cheat on her, or do anything similarly stupid, Ron will back you."

"But she's his sister!" Harry almost yelled. "Family."

"Ah." Sirius took a deep breath. "That's not how it works."

"You said family comes first," Harry retorted. And the Weasleys were a very tight-knit family.

"And that's true - for serious things and problems." Sirius shrugged. "Unless you get her pregnant, this isn't really serious. You're teenagers, after all. And Ron knows her - he'll understand, and back you." He grinned widely, showing his teeth. "You were an only child, so you don't know what it's like to have siblings. Trust me, I'd have backed any witch who broke up with Regulus. And not just so I could console her and show her that not all Blacks are that bad," he added with a rather lecherous expression.

Harry would have mentioned that Regulus had been a Death Eater, but Sirius's family was a touchy subject, one only worsened by his godfather's memory problems, so he simply nodded.

"Of course, Molly will take her little girl's side, so you'd probably have some trouble at The Burrow anyway, for a while," Sirius added, almost as an afterthought. "But then, that's no reason not to try your luck with Ginny. She's a redhead; you'll probably get into trouble if she likes you and you don't like her back. Witch scorned, and all that." He nodded sagely.

Harry pressed his lips together. He needed another opinion. His godfather's wasn't very helpful right now. And he certainly couldn't talk about this with Ron. And he didn't think Remus had much experience with teenage relationships, not according to Sirius's stories.

That left his other best friend. He nodded - Hermione would be able to help him.

*****​

London, Greenwich, July 2nd, 1995

"Well, at least the downward trend has been stopped." Hermione Granger didn't quite sigh, but she felt like doing so as she dropped the letter with the results of her 'exams' on the table in her tutor's kitchen. Technically - she had taken fewer subjects, after all.

Mr Fletcher picked it up. "Outstandings in Charms and Transfiguration, Exceeds Expectations in Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and History of Magic. Acceptables in Potions, Care for Magical Creatures and Defence."

"Those don't count," she snapped. "Snape hates muggleborns and didn't grade me fairly, and I had to hold back in Defence." She frowned at him - he had ordered her to do that.

"Yes, and for very good reasons. If Black managed to see through your disguise then you have to be even more careful."

"Not even Harry recognised me - and Mr Black only recognised me because I was with you at the ball." She scoffed and poured herself some tea.

He grinned, acknowledging her point. "Yes. But if he can make the connection, then so can others. Which is why you need to have a very different appearance and manners as Miss Granger."

"Frumpy, plain, unfit for Quidditch, and a little bit of a nag, I know." This time she did sigh.

"Just don't overdo it either. Your friends might grow suspicious."

"My friends would grow tired of me if I overdid it." And she had her pride, too - she was a witch, after all! "But at least Skeeter has been completely fooled," she added, clenching her teeth together. That witch would pay for her lies!

"I've read the article too. You should be happy about it," Mr Fletcher said. He wasn't grinning, but she was certain that he found this amusing. "She completely absolves you of any involvement in the attack on Potter."

"Because I'm 'too incompetent to handle such advanced magic' and had 'obviously cheated to earn my grades at Hogwarts'," Hermione spat. She forced herself to relax her grip on her cup before she spilled - or even broke - it.

"To be thought stupid and incompetent is a great cover. I'm working on establishing that Mr Smith isn't very good with a wand myself," he said as he grabbed a cup of tea for himself.

"But you aren't thought a cheat and a failure."

"That wouldn't be helpful for my cover. Good families wouldn't send their daughters and sons to be tutored by me if they thought ill of me."

"And my reputation helps my cover? I'm supposed to be Mr Black's secretary."

"Black's a rogue and a rake. Of course he'd hire a witch like you."

"That doesn't exactly make me appear innocent."

"You don't need to appear innocent. Just incompetent."

Which, Hermione realised, would be harder than she'd thought.

"Now stop frowning - it's time for your practical exam."

Hermione had expected that, after last year's surprise exam. But she still felt nervous when she saw her tutor's grin.

*****​

Cuxton, Kent, Britain, July 2nd, 1995

As she was finding her balance after once more having experienced Side-Along Apparition, Hermione Granger reaffirmed her vow to master Apparition this year. Even if it was supposed to feel as unpleasant as Side-Along Apparition, at least she would have some control over it.

She took a deep breath and looked around. They were at the coast, on a hill. She looked around. East Coast. Kent or Norfolk, probably, since the sea was to the north, and it was too warm for Scotland.

"Welcome to Cuxton, Kent," Mr Fletcher confirmed her guess. "Home to a few thousand muggles - and one wizard family of modest means." He pointed at a very old looking farm house at the foot of the hill. "The Allisters. Pureblood, but not of the Old Families - their ancestors married too many muggles. Kind of like the Weasleys."

"That doesn't sound as if they are bigots."

"Oh, they aren't. Decent folk. Farmers - potion ingredients. Not on the level of the Longbottoms, or the Malfoys, but they make a living."

She studied the house, waiting for Mr Fletcher to explain what he expected of her. He couldn't want her to steal from decent people, could he? That would go against his own rules.

"Now, your task is to break into the house without triggering the wards and steal something they won't miss. Something they will think has been disposed of or mislaid."

She drew a breath through clenched teeth. A real theft, this time. In a real house. "Do I have to case the joint?"

He shook his head. "No. That would take too much time. I did it for you. The inhabitants of the house are Margaret and Andrew Allister. Married, two children - who have already left home. Since it's a Sunday afternoon, Margaret is off having tea with her friends and Andrew is using the opportunity to listen to muggle music, which his wife can't stand." When she glanced at him, he chuckled. "I gather that she means rock 'n' roll."

"Ah." Hermione nodded, her attention focused on the house below. One wizard, distracted by listening to music. He'd be in the kitchen or living room. Which meant the best route would be to enter through the roof, after getting through the wards. "When will his wife be back?"

"She usually returns in time to cook dinner. Six o'clock."

She checked her watch. That meant she had three hours. Plenty of time, if the wards were weak. But this was an old house. The wards wouldn't be that weak. Still… he wouldn't set her a task that she couldn't do. She could do this. She just had to apply what she had learned. She studied the lay of the farm. If the wardline followed a traditional pattern, then… there!

Hermione shrugged out of her robes, leaving her in a black turtleneck and matching jeans. She pulled a balaclava on, hiding both her face and her hair - just in case her spells failed. Then she twirled her wand around herself, casting a Disillusionment Charm. A moment later she was on her way down to the target. When she turned around to look back, her tutor had vanished. Probably disillusioned himself, to watch her work.

She hadn't seen any sign of a dog, and Mr Fletcher hadn't mentioned one either, but she still drank a potion to suppress her scent before approaching the area. This would be an expensive test, she realised. But she wanted to impress her tutor. Show him that she was ready for a real heist. At least ready to help him.

The fence surrounding the yard was no obstacle; she dropped to the ground and crawled under it. Then she used the - she hoped former - outhouse as cover to approach the house. She was disillusioned, but it never hurt to be extra careful.

She cast her detection spell at twenty yards from where she expected the wardline to be - they would have buried stones, at the time the house was built, instead of anchoring the wards to the walls. It took her a minute to sneak close enough with that spell up to confirm her guess. Both her guesses, actually - these were old wards. Not as powerful - and, so she hoped, not as lethal - as the wards protecting the Old Families' manors, but they were composed of many layers, making them far more difficult to circumvent than the wards Mr Fletcher had set for her last exam.

But she could do this! She would do this!

She took a deep breath to calm down, then focused on the layers of the ward. An Alarm Spell was the most obvious. It probably served to announce visitors. The Muggle-Repelling Charm she could ignore. The same went for the Vermin-Repelling Charm. But the Shocking Spell and the Banishing Charm… whoever had cast them had known what they were doing. They were linked; dispelling one would trigger the other.

She had learned how to deal with linked charms, though dispelling them wouldn't be a good idea - the goal was to sneak in and out without the Allisters realising that she had been there, and dismantling the core of their wards would certainly alert them to the break in. Licking her lips, she started to adjust the spells, twisting and prodding them, tweaking and pulling, until she had created a blind spot she could sneak through.

Blinking, she realised that she was sweating and breathing heavily - that had taken more out of her than she had expected. A glance at her watch told her that it taken her more time, too - almost an hour. She forced herself to calm down. She still had plenty of time before Mrs Allister returned.

She waited until she was breathing normally, then crawled forward. When her hand crossed the wardline she tensed - but nothing happened. No alarm, no spark, no sudden flight back out of the warded area. She had done it! She was inside the wards!

Now she just had to break into the house.

It took another five yards crawling on her belly to reach the wall - which, she checked, wasn't protected by spells. The windows were, though - basic alarm charms and locking spells. Someone had not trusted the ward, or maybe Mrs Allister had been used to doing those spells in her home before moving into her husband's. It didn't matter - Hermione had learned how to deal with those over a year ago.

A flick of her wrist conjured a plank underneath her. She tapped it with her wand, disillusioning it, before levitating it - and her with it - upwards. She could have climbed as well, but this was quieter, and would leave fewer traces.

The attic had a small, dusty window - but Hermione would fit through it without the help of spells. There were no spells protecting this window. Maybe her hypothesis that Mrs Allister was simply in the habit of 'locking up' the house as if it had a more modern ward scheme was correct. She would have to ask Mr Fletcher afterwards.

She didn't use a spell on the window either - she opened it with a few tools a skilled muggle burglar would have been familiar with and stuck her head inside. The floor was covered with dust; walking on it was out, then. She carefully maneuvered her floating plank through the window, with her on it, then closed the window before floating to the trapdoor leading downstairs. That wasn't protected with spells either and the hinges looked well-oiled, so she reached down and slowly opened it until she could peer through the gap.

Below was a dark stairway. She could hear loud music now as well - as Mr Fletcher had predicted. Although it wasn't rock 'n' roll; it was punk. The Sex Pistols. She closed the trapdoor again and looked around. She was surrounded by knick-knacks and other things usually dumped in the attic instead of being disposed of. For a moment, she remembered going through her old home's attic, and throwing away so many things, then she refocused on her task. She could simply grab a knick-knack here; judging by the dust covering everything, the Allisters didn't use or need anything up here any more, and didn't care enough to protect them either.

But… she bit her lower lip. That would be easy. Too easy. She wanted to excel. To impress her tutor. Show him that she had what it took to do real heists. Nodding slowly, she opened the trapdoor again, opening it fully this time. The stairway was clean, so she left her plank floating in the attic and carefully closed the trapdoor behind her, then snuck downstairs.

The music came from the living room. The door was halfway open; she could see crossed legs, one foot whipping, from her spot. She moved towards the kitchen, holding her breath as she crossed the open door. She made it! The kitchen was similar to the one in The Burrow. Ice Box. Stove. Cupboard. Pantry. Where… there! The saucer filled with Knuts, for the Daily Prophet. Grinning, she checked for spells, then grabbed one Knut and stuck it in her pocket.

She turned around, and her eyes widened: Mr Allister was just leaving the living room - and headed towards the kitchen! She almost gasped, but held her breath. She had to get out of his way, and hide - her charm might not fool him if he got too close. But where? The pantry? The door might creak - it was an old door, and…

It was an old house - with a low ceiling! She climbed on the table, reaching up to touch the ceiling. Two quick, silent Sticking Charms later, she was stuck to it, her heart racing while she struggled to breathe silently.

Mr Allister entered the kitchen, his head whipping back and forth. He was even singing along! She saw him reach for the teapot and held her breath. If he set the pan on the stove and left… He didn't. He sat down and waited.

By the time Mr Allister had finished brewing his tea, and left for the living room again, Hermione wanted to hex him for his off-key singing.

Five minutes later, when she was floating out of the attic window, down to the weak spot she had left in the wards, her heart was still racing.

That had been exhilarating!

*****​

Her tutor was indeed impressed, both by her plan and her quick reaction to Mr Allister heading to the kitchen. He was also, or so Hermione thought, impressed by her decision to steal a single Knut - which she would mark with a spell and keep as a souvenir. She would even have turned it into a necklace if that wouldn't have been suspicious.

But he wasn't terribly impressed, not at all, that he had been able to watch her without her being aware of his presence. Apparently, he had, while preparing her exam, attuned himself to the wards so he could slip in and out without being detected. Something, Hermione had to reluctantly agree, she should have expected. It was only logical, after all.

He still gave her an Outstanding, but, as he put it, it was a little closer to Exceeds Expectation than she liked.

Hermione vowed to do better next time.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 3rd, 1995

"Hermione! I've been waiting for you!"

Hermione Granger was both surprised and pleased by Harry's enthusiastic greeting when she entered Mr Black and Harry's house. "Hi, Harry!" She beamed at him. "You've been waiting for me?"

He nodded. "Yes. I need to talk to you." He glanced around and added: "In private."

If not for her training under her tutor, Hermione would have gasped at that. He wanted to talk to her, in private? Had he finally realised that she was a pretty witch too? Then she reminded herself that that would mean that she had failed in her disguise. Which would be a very bad thing. Even though Harry would certainly keep her secret - it was Sirius's too - and maybe that would let them grow even closer…

By the time they had reached his room, Hermione had almost convinced herself that this - obviously hypothetical scenario - wouldn't be a bad thing. Not really.

"So," she said, sitting down on Harry's bed, "you wanted to talk to me?" He looked slightly nervous - which was a good thing, too, or so she thought,

He nodded several times, taking a seat in his chair. "Yes. You're the only one I can talk to about this."

That… didn't sound good. "Yes?" she prompted him, feeling her stomach drop.

Harry took a deep breath. "I think I fancy Ginny." Definitely not a good thing, Hermione thought. "And I think she might fancy me."

The girl was all but throwing herself at him, Hermione knew. Harry really was clueless - which had to be the fault of his relatives. And probably Mr Black's. She nodded slowly.

"And you and her get along well. Much better than with Parvati," Harry added.

That wasn't a high bar, Hermione thought. And she wasn't certain that she and Ginny would get along well if the other witch became Harry's girlfriend. She didn't say either, though, and nodded again. She had learned to lie, after all. "So, you fancy each other." And to smile even if she didn't feel like smiling. He couldn't be asking what she thought he was, could he?

"Yes. Probably." He took another deep breath. "But… she's Ron's sister. And I don't know how he and his family will react should we break up. Me and Ginny, I mean." He smiled at her. "So, I wanted to ask you for advice. Should I ask her out anyway? Do you think Ron would be angry?"

He was! Hermione wanted to hex him. Instead, she asked: "Do you mean that he might get angry at you for dating his sister, or angry at you for - hypothetically - breaking up with her?"

"Ah… both? I've never had a sibling, you know. I don't know how that works."

She didn't point out that she was an only child as well. Or that it wasn't a good sign that he was already thinking about a breakup before he had actually asked the witch out. Her best friend had asked her for her advice, and she owed him both honesty and her best effort. And maybe a jinx or hex for asking this of her.

She pushed a stray lock out of her face as she answered: "Well, I think that your fear of another bad breakup isn't a sufficient reason to stop you from entering a new relationship. As long as you're honest with her, then the Weasleys and Ron shouldn't hate you if things don't work out between you and Ginny." They shouldn't, but that didn't mean they wouldn't. With the obvious exception of Ron, she didn't know the Weasleys that well. "Of course, if you cheat on her, or treat her badly, take her for granted, or simply want to sleep with her…"

"Of course not!" he exclaimed, but she noted he was blushing as well. "I wouldn't do that to a girl!"

"You'd better not," she said, a little more sharply than she wanted. "Ginny's got a temper too."

"Oh, I know." His expression didn't look like he thought that that was a bad thing. He stood up and moved towards her. "Thank you! I'll ask her to be my girlfriend tomorrow, when I go over to The Burrow."

"I'm glad I could help," Hermione lied with a smile as he hugged her.

Maybe she could ask her tutor to use Harry for her next practical exam?

*****​

 

[macdjord]

That left his other best friend. He nodded - Hermione would be able to help him.

Click to shrink...

Oh, that's just cruel. What did Hermione ever do to you, Starfox5?

 

[Starfox5]

Oh, that's just cruel. What did Hermione ever do to you, Starfox5?

Click to shrink...

She'll get him back, don't worry.

 

[turbinicarpus]

he could slip in and out without being undetected

Click to shrink...

Typo.

Maybe she could ask her tutor to use Harry for her next practical exam?

Click to shrink...

"For this exam, you are to steal Harry Potter."

"What do I steal from Harry?"

"Not from Harry. You are to abduct Mister Potter, and then return him twenty-four hours later, unharmed. What you do with him in the interim is entirely up to you, but you will be graded on style, among other things."

 

[Starfox5]

Typo.

Click to shrink...

Ack. Corrected.

"For this exam, you are to steal Harry Potter."

"What do I steal from Harry?"

"Not from Harry. You are to abduct Mister Potter, and then return him twenty-four hours later, unharmed. What you do with him in the interim is entirely up to you, but you will be graded on style, among other things."

Click to shrink...

Hehe.

 

[turbinicarpus]

Hehe.

Click to shrink...

So, I started writing a snippet that would have had Harry (in the infirmary) narrating his misadventure to Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. He had been kidnapped by a crazy witch, who had him all tied up and was expounding on her plans to keep him prisoner and ravage him, all the while cackling viciously. At the last possible moment, he managed to get loose, got his wand back, and in the duel that ensued, she ended up stealing a kiss before running away, cackling.

Ron would think that the whole thing sounds kind of hot, and Ginny would be terrifyingly murderous --- toward the kidnapping witch. Hermione would be sympathetic, until Harry started talking about how dumb the crazy witch was, letting him get loose and get his wand back. At that point, Hermione would point out that the witch had probably just been playing with him, clearly intending for him to get away, since she wouldn't have left his wand where he could see it otherwise; and if the witch truly meant him harm, she would have cursed him instead of kissing him. At which point, Harry would comment that the witch was the worst kisser of all the girls he'd had the occasion to kiss. Hermione would not have an answer to that, but she would be oddly miffed.

Then, I decided that since I wouldn't find funny a description of a female character kidnapped, tied up, and threatened with sexual assault by a male character --- even if it's a prank, and she is meant to get away, I shouldn't perpetuate the double-standard. So, no snippet.

 

[Starfox5]

"Did you kidnap me just to have dinner with me?"

"I was hired to take you out of commission for 24 hours. Would you prefer to spend the time hungry and in a cell, Mr Potter? Or do you feel threatened by an attractive witch having dinner with you?"

"I feel threatened by a masked witch holding me at wand point. And sticking me to my chair. Which is stuck to the floor."

"Those are just sensible precautions, Mr Potter. You have a certain reputation, after all. I wouldn't want to lose my virtue."

*Cough* "What?"

"Please don't waste the wine like this - it was a very expensive vintage. I haven't actually paid for it, of course, but it's the principle of the thing."

 

[Starfox5]

Chapter 10: Summer of Change

Hogwarts, July 4th, 1995

"Thank you for coming, Remus, Sirius. Please have a seat."

Remus Lupin nodded at Dumbledore in return and sat down in front of the Headmaster's desk. Sirius was a little more vocal: "You couldn't keep us out of this war if you tried!" he declared. The two of them had acted just the same on those occasions when they had been called into the Headmaster's office as students.

"That is not my intention, I assure you." Dumbledore smiled at them.

"Although I would have expected a meeting of the entire Order by now, seeing as the Dark Lord's back in a body of his own," Sirius added. "I don't think everyone else has suddenly lost their nerve."

Remus agreed with his friend. The Order of the Phoenix had suffered serious casualties during the last war, but there had been over a dozen left last he knew.

"No, they have not. I am happy to say that they are as committed to fighting the Dark Lord as they were twenty years ago." Dumbledore sighed. "But, as you two know, there is always the danger of someone, willingly or not, betraying us. I have therefore decided to re-form the Order as a group of smaller cells, each of them only being in contact with myself, but not with the others. That way, the effect of any treason will be limited."

"A little late," Sirius commented. "We already know most of the surviving Order members." And knowing that, it wouldn't be that hard to spot new members, Remus thought.

"You are correct. But you don't know the new members. And you will not know what the other cells are doing," Dumbledore said.

"That might be a mixed blessing," Remus said. "We might inadvertently hinder others." Or worse.

"I can only ask you to trust me that I will do my utmost to minimise that danger. Although I am not infallible." Dumbledore sighed. "But I do not see a better way."

"There's ways to keep people from talking. Willingly or unwillingly." Sirius was talking in a casual tone, but Remus knew him well; he could see the tension his friend was trying to hide.

"And we will not stoop to such measures," Dumbledore retorted. "Some prices are too high to be paid."

"Well, seeing as the Dark Lord hasn't used such measures himself, yet, I guess I can't argue with that." Sirius nodded. Remus tried not to show that not knowing what Sirius and Dumbledore were talking about irked, no, hurt him. He didn't like being excluded. He was already forced to suffer that as a werewolf. Always hiding part of himself, always afraid his secret would get out and those he had thought his friends would turn away in disgust, either because he was a Dark creature, or because he hadn't trusted them with his secret…

"For a cell we're a mite small, though," Sirius continued, interrupting Remus's thoughts. "We're both very skilled and talented, of course, but I guess you want us recruiting? Even if only so we can both order someone around?" He grinned widely.

"With the utmost caution only. Your task is the most crucial of all." Dumbledore had lost his smile.

Remus was confused. "I would have expected to serve as the Order's contact to the werewolves, to prevent the Dark Lord from recruiting them." That's what Dumbledore had asked from him in the last war, although Harry's defeat of Voldemort had ended that mission before Remus could begin it. "I assume that the Dark Lord's primary goal will be to build up his forces."

Dumbledore shook his head. "While I share your opinion about Voldemort's priorities, I do not think that sending you to contact the werewolf community would be a wise course of action."

"Why not?" It would have been the first time his curse would have been good for something, Remus thought.

"Back in the last war, you were just another werewolf. You had gone to Hogwarts, unlike most of those who share your affliction, but not many would have recognised you. But since you are the teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, the first in decades to stay on for longer than a single year, that is no longer the case." Dumbledore sounded almost apologetic. "The risk that you would be exposed in order to force you to resign, further weakening my position, or simply out of envy of your good fortune, is too great."

"Yeah, Moony. We can't afford to lose you," Sirius chimed in.

"But that means leaving the other werewolves to Voldemort." Remus knew how hard it was for a werewolf to make a living - even if no one knew that he was afflicted, he had to keep his curse a secret, and lived in constant fear of being revealed as a dark creature. But those known to be werewolves had it even worse. And if the werewolves led by that rabid beast Greyback once again joined Voldemort, then every werewolf would suffer for it.

"I have no intention of ignoring them," Dumbledore said, "but your talents are needed elsewhere. Further, as long as the Dark Lord believes that we are unaware of his return, he will have to be very careful himself when recruiting followers."

He wasn't even a good enough werewolf to deal with others of his kind! Remus wanted to laugh at the bitter irony. "So, who will be contacting the werewolves?"

"An acquaintance of mine," the Headmaster answered. Which meant he wouldn't tell Remus.

"So we will protect Harry, then." Remus tried not to sound bitter. He wasn't certain that he succeeded.

Sirius at least acted as if he hadn't noticed. "Of course. And train him."

"He is the key to winning this war once and for all," Dumbledore stated. "Unfortunately, the Dark Lord is aware of this as well, although he hasn't yet realised that they share a deeper connection than he must have already suspected. That is why we cannot reveal his return yet. And while Harry is protected from Voldemort's spells and curses thanks to his mother's sacrifice, ordinary Death Eaters are not so hindered."

"And they know where to find him." Remus shook his head.

"Fortunately, my family has always been rather concerned about completely unprovoked attacks on them, so Grimmauld Place should be safe enough. And I took precautions in case Narcissa or Bellatrix should try anything." Sirius's grin was positively feral.

"Hogwarts's defences are not quite as lethal as those of your home, but they will rebuff even the Dark Lord himself," Dumbledore said. "Although he might plan to circumvent that by recruiting among the older students."

"Bloody snakes," Sirius muttered through clenched teeth.

That explained the focus on training, Remus thought. Harry would soon be able to deal with any attacks by students - provided they didn't use any dark items, of course.

"While it is very likely that a sizeable part of Slytherin house's students have sympathy for the Dark Lord's cause, it would be fatally shortsighted to assume that only Slytherins will heed the Dark Lord's call," Dumbledore said. Remus exchanged a glance with Sirius. They knew that all too well. "To quote an old friend of mine: Constant vigilance is needed," the Headmaster went on. "I am sorry to have to say it, but Harry will have to be very cautious. More cautious than others of his age."

Remus agreed. He only hoped that Harry would be mature enough to realise that too.

*****​

Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, July 4th, 1995

Harry Potter told himself that he didn't have to be nervous. Ginny liked him. He was certain of that. She was always happy to see him and talk to him, and she smiled at him in that special way, and… he couldn't actually recall any other solid evidence that she liked him. He just thought she did, but maybe she was just being friendly to the best friend of her youngest brother? Then again, she didn't seem to particularly like Ron. And yet… if she liked him, wouldn't she have said something when he had been with Parvati? Or showed some jealousy? Of course, she had exchanged a few catty remarks with Parvati, but so had Hermione.

He sighed. What if Ginny didn't like him? What if she turned him down? Or worse, what if she laughed, thinking it was a joke?

"Mate, what's wrong? You've been staring at the shed for almost a minute," Ron's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Did you even hear me?"

Harry sighed. "Sorry Ron, I was… thinking," he finished lamely.

"Thinking? About, you know?" Ron asked, glancing back at the porch of The Burrow, where Tonks was chatting with Ron's oldest brother Bill, who was strengthening the wards over the summer.

"No, it's not about that, nor Voldemort," Harry said. Although he should consider that too, shouldn't he? Any girlfriend of his would be in danger, since Voldemort wanted him dead and wouldn't spare her. On the other hand, the Weasleys were among the most famous 'blood traitors', and Ron was his best friend, so Ginny was already in danger…

"So, what's this about? Better talk about it before you fly into the ground or get hit by a Bludger because you're distracted." Ron shouldered his broom.

Harry drew a hissing breath - he didn't really want to talk about this with Ron. On the other hand, maybe he should talk with Ron before he asked Ginny out. His friend might get angry otherwise. Or think Harry didn't trust him. He sighed, then cast a privacy spell.

Ron tensed at once and looked around for eavesdroppers, flicking his wand back and forth. "Looks clear," he announced after a few seconds.

Here goes nothing, Harry thought. "I'm thinking of asking Ginny to be my girlfriend."

Ron blinked at him, then sighed. "Oh." He sounded… almost resigned? Was that bad?

Harry quickly went on. "Yeah. I think she's cute, and she knows me, you know, and she seems to like me, and she's friendly, and she gets along well with Hermione." Ron seemed to be nibbling on his lower lip like Hermione right then. "Do you think she likes me?"

His friend wasn't answering. Harry could see his jaw muscles move, but Ron had stopped looking at him.

"Ron?" Harry asked, a little louder.

His friend didn't startle, though, unlike Harry earlier. But he sighed too. "Yeah. I reckon she likes you, mate."

Harry felt a weight lift from his shoulders. "You do? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Ron didn't sound altogether happy, though, Harry thought.

"What's wrong?" he asked. Did Ron fear that Harry would drop him and Hermione for Ginny? Or was he jealous that he hadn't found a girlfriend yet?

"Look, mate, just…" Ron sighed again. "It's nothing. Just don't get weird, alright?"

"Weird?"

"You know, snogging. In public," Harry's friend added quickly. "Some things I don't want to see Ginny doing."

"Ah. Of course not." Harry nodded. He wasn't much for public snogging either.

"Alright. So, let's fly a bit, until Ginny's back from Luna's." Ron mounted his broom and leapt into the air without waiting for Harry's answer.

*****​

"Harry! Hi!" Ginny beamed at him. She was wearing a casual robe, quite tight, Harry Potter noticed. And slit up to her knees, perhaps a little higher. A 'broom riding cut', as Parvati had once explained to him, for those witches who didn't ride side-saddle.

He buried the memory. He didn't want to think of his former girlfriend. Not now. Not ever. "Hi, Ginny." He tried to sound casual. Ron had said that she liked him, after all. There wasn't any reason to be nervous. "You've been at Luna's?" Smooth, he thought. Really smooth.

Fortunately, she didn't seem to notice. "Yes. Since Mum's not allowing us past the wards, I had to travel through the Floo network, but I wanted to visit her. She's going on an expedition with her father in a few days."

"Ah." Harry was a little envious. He was pretty much stuck at home or The Burrow, or similarly warded places, until it was time to return to Hogwarts. On the other hand, he would miss his friends, especially Hermione. "Do you think they'll manage to catch one of the animals they're looking for?"

Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. They haven't found any so far."

"Ah," Harry said eloquently. "So…" he looked around. Ron was pointedly reading his Quidditch magazine. Tonks winked at him from the couch, over whatever book she was reading. Apparently, she knew what he was about to do. Or wanted him to think she did. And Mrs Weasley was in the kitchen talking to Bill.

"So?" Ginny asked, with a slight grin. Or perhaps it was a smile.

He took a deep breath. "Let's go out on the porch? It's a bit loud in here."

"Loud?" She blinked. Then her eyes widened. "Ah… of course!" She nodded enthusiastically and was out of the door in a second.

Harry followed her outside, taking a few deep breaths. He could do this. It was easy. He just had to ask her without sounding like an idiot. Or like Zabini the smarmy git who Parvati was now fawning over. "So… I was wondering…"

"Yes?" She was licking her lips. She had put on a little makeup, he noticed. A year ago, he wouldn't have.

Here goes, he thought. "Well, I think you're cute, and nice, and a great flyer. And I like hanging out with you." He swallowed. "So… would you like to go out with me?"

"Yes! I mean, yes, I would."

Harry hesitated a moment, then took a step closer and opened his arms. She hugged him almost as hard as Hermione, and he wondered why he had ever doubted that she liked him.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 6th, 1995

Waiting at the door of Mr Black and Harry's home, Hermione Granger realised that despite working there for a few months now, she still lacked a key for the house. Which was a little weird, given the fact that the wards allowed her inside. Not that the lack of a key would stop her, if she really wanted to get inside, she added to herself with a faint grin. All the dark curses on those windows, however, would.

After about a minute had passed since she had rung the doorbell, Kreacher opened the door. The elf had probably been waiting more than half that time right by the door, Hermione thought. Mr Black had had to order him to stop insulting her, but the little cretin had found other ways to try and make her feel unwelcome.

He wouldn't succeed, though. "Hello, Kreacher!" she called out with an extra wide smile, and, as expected, he was scowling fiercely when he stepped aside to let her enter. "Is Mr Black in his study?"

The elf nodded, almost slamming the door closed.

"Thank you, I know the way." She nodded at him as she passed. Maybe she should pat his head next time? One way or another, the elf would learn to respect her.

Mr Black was sitting behind his desk as she entered, but stood at once - manners had been drilled into him with hexes and curses, he had once explained to her. "Hello, Miss Granger. As usual, it's a pleasure to see you," he said as he bowed to her as if they were at a reception hosted by one of the Old Families. His grin was out of place, though.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr Black." She curtseyed in return. Ever since her last refusal to call him Sirius, he had started to overdo the Old Family airs in an attempt to make her give in. She wouldn't, of course.

"Please, have a seat!" he said, gesturing at the couch. "You're here as my guest, after all, not as my secretary. Although," he added with a frown, "there are some notes I think you might go over after we're done."

"Of course, Mr Black." She sat down gracefully, crossed her ankles and folded her hands in her lap.

Mr Black narrowed his eyes slightly, then grinned again. "You wouldn't be as formal if Harry were around," he said as Kreacher entered with a tray.

Of course not - she couldn't act like Miss Merriweather when she was with Harry! Unless she was acting as Miss Merriweather. "He's not here, then?" she asked, with her head tilted to the side. "No sugar, please," she added when Kreacher tried to turn her tea into syrup while serving her.

"He's at The Burrow. Visiting his new girlfriend." Sirius sighed theatrically. "Ah, young love!"

"Ah." Hermione kept her expression neutral. Ginny was a nice girl, and would treat Harry right. And it wasn't as if she wanted Harry to be at home when Mr Black was teaching her illegal magic.

"Is that a hint of jealousy I detect?" Mr Black was grinning widely.

"No. As a matter of fact, I told Harry that he should ask Ginny out." She smiled politely.

"You also tried to seduce him under the very eyes of his last girlfriend."

"I was merely testing my disguise and acting skills," she replied, perhaps a little stiffly. Was he implying that she couldn't have seduced Harry if she had wanted to?

"Of course." His amused expression didn't change. He was!

She swallowed her first retort, and simply nodded. She wasn't here to talk about Harry. Or his new girlfriend. Harry did enough of that when he was around. "I've decided to pursue the Spirit Animal Path," she said.

"A wise decision." Mr Black nodded. "I and my friends decided the same, after all." His 'wise mentor' impression needed some work, Hermione thought - he was smiling too widely. "Now, as a responsible tutor, I have to ask: Are you aware of all the legal, magical and mental risks this will incur?"

"Yes." Compared to her decision to rob entire Old Families blind, becoming an illegal animagus wasn't really much to quibble about. And Hermione was certain that she could handle any mental or magical challenges.

"Good! Now, a few ground rules: You don't try to change without me present. Partial transformations are not something to take lightly. Especially if they involve your wand arm."

He seemed to be speaking from personal experience. Hermione nodded - that made sense.

"Further, you don't talk to anyone about this. You don't show off to anyone, either. Not even to Harry."

That made sense too, even if she didn't like it. "My tutor might have to know, once we start doing real work."

"Maybe. I'll decide once we reach that point."

Once she was an animagus, it wouldn't be his decision any more. Hermione nodded anyway. "Haven't you told Harry about your own animagus form?" The way Mr Black doted on Harry, and loved to tell the stories he remembered of his friendship with Harry's parents, she would have expected him to inform Harry about such an important part of his past.

He shook his head, sighing. His shoulders slumped, too. "I wanted to, but Dumbledore warned me off before I even met Harry for the first time after my breakout. Harry just thinks I'm some nosy dog who likes him."

"He warned you?"

"Yes. He said Harry should be trained in Occlumency first, so as not to endanger me." He scoffed. "I bet he knew - or at least suspected - about Harry's connection to the Dark Lord!"

"I hadn't heard that Harry was to receive such training." Had Harry been holding out on her? The thought hurt, even though she was keeping secrets from him as well.

"No. He was a little too young. Still is, actually, but we'll start next school year anyway."

She could understand that after hearing about Harry's collapse on the Summer Solstice.

He straightened. "Well, we've gathered here to teach you how to turn into an animal. You know the theory already." Of course she did. "You know you can't choose your spirit animal." She nodded. But she could influence her own self-image. Which should influence whatever form her spirit animal would take. Or had taken. "That said, everyone imagines themselves as a certain animal anyway. Sometimes it even turns out to be the right animal. What did you choose?"

"A cat."

He seemed surprised. "A cat? Not an owl? You know, symbol of wisdom, flight, and very inconspicuous thanks to the abundance of post owls?"

She had thought about that, of course. "I can use a broom if I need to fly." Or climb, or levitate. "But an owl wouldn't be too useful since people are aware of their magical nature - and of the dangers they can cause. Most of the places I would want to break into will be warded against owls."

"That's true. Kreacher fetches our own mail from the perch outside, after all. Still, a cat?"

He shouldn't sound so sceptical, she thought, then shrugged. "I've always loved cats. They're graceful, elegant, good climbers, very agile - and most people love cats too." And she wanted to be a cat, not a bird.

"And vain. And catty." He grinned widely again.

She didn't deign to respond to that. "And will you show me your animal form?" After all, he would need to demonstrate the transformation, if he truly wanted to teach her, instead of simply providing her with notes and advice.

Instead of answering, his form blurred, and Hermione was faced with a huge, black dog grinning at her from Mr Black's seat and showing a row of large, gleaming white teeth.

A familiar dog, she realised, remembering the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. "You! It was you! You slobbered all over me!" she exclaimed.

The dog barked, then grinned again, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, before jumping off the seat and trying to sniff her hand and leg.

If Hermione had been a cat, she would have raked her claws across his nose!

*****​

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Lose your sense of self. Lose the trappings of your consciousness. Focus on your soul, on what you are when reduced to your soul. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Hermione Granger was sitting cross-legged on the floor in Mr Black's study, with her back straight and her eyes closed. Just as the books on meditation she had read had said.

Focus on your soul. On your essential self. Shed all the trappings of society. Forget all the desires brought on by others. Focus on yourself. Focus on your innermost self. Focus on your essence. Your spirit. Your centre. You.

Just you.

She folded her hands in her lap, her thumbs touching. She felt herself breathing, slowly. Regularly. Nothing else mattered. There was just she, and she alone.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

"So, any progress? Do you feel furry yet? Catty? Any cravings for cream, or chasing rodents?"

She whipped her head round and glared at Mr Black. "No. I'm still working on finding my centre."

"Well, you'll need to postpone that. Harry's going to be back soon."

"What?" She stared at him with wide eyes, then blinked. "What happened?" Had there been an attack?

"Nothing. It's time for him to return home, so I can take him to the Dursleys for the night."

"What?" She looked at her watch. He was correct. She drew a deep breath. More than an hour had passed, without her noticing? That had to be a good sign, Hermione thought.

Then she noticed the rubber mouse on the floor and narrowed her eyes. "Very funny," she said in the most flat voice she could manage.

"Oh, that's not meant to be funny. It'll help you. We had a lot of such toys, back in the day. I found my animal when I woke up with a rubber bone in my mouth." Mr Black chuckled. "My friends made fun of me for weeks. Couldn't eat a meal without someone trying to sneak a dog treat on my plate. Or transfiguring the food into a chew toy." He rubbed his chin. "Of course, if you turned out to be an owl, you'd attack the toy too, I think."

She wouldn't. She would be a cat. A graceful, elegant feline.

*****​

Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, July 23rd, 1995

"Watch out!"

"Block him!"

"How?"

Harry Potter barely heard the shouts from the other players as he dove towards the rings, Quaffle tucked under his right arm as if he was playing rugby. Fred flew towards him, trying to intercept him, but Harry flew straight at him, rolling at the last second when the other wizard flinched, his boots missing Fred's head by inches.

He finished the roll in the perfect spot for a throw, and let the Quaffle fly - straight at Ron, as it turned out. His friend had no problem blocking the shot.

And Ron passed the Quaffle to George, who passed to Ginny, who took off like a rocket - her slim build might be a disadvantage when jostling against another player, but it meant she was faster than anyone else on the same broom.

Even faster than Harry, not that he didn't try to catch her anyway - she looked great when flying, even from behind. Those slightly too tight Quidditch robes, and her back…

He was grinning as he gave chase, despite the fact that he knew he couldn't stop her, not with the lead she had. He came close, though, when she slowed down a little to aim. Unfortunately, she sent the Quaffle at Percy's rings before he reached her, and Percy was no Ron - he missed his block.

"Yes!" Ginny raised her fist in triumph. "That's five-two for us!"

She was just so beautiful, Harry thought, when she was smiling with a flushed face, the wind causing her long hair to fly, and pressing her robes against her chest...

"Well, that's what you get when you turn a Seeker into a Chaser," George complained.

"Oh, he's chasing Ginny alright," Fred retorted with a chuckle. "It's just that he's focused on her and not the Quaffle."

Ginny glared at her brothers. "You cut that out! We won fair and square!"

"Sure, Ginny," George said. "And he isn't staring at your backside right now either, hm?"

She glanced over her shoulder, and Harry smiled, hoping his blush would be attributed to the exertion of the game.

"Well, you two insisted on splitting up Harry, Ginny and me," Ron cut in, pulling his helmet off and running his hand through his hair. "Just because we trounced you twice in a row."

"That's just because we're playing without Bludgers. We can't really play to our strengths like this," George said.

"I blame Percy, actually," Fred objected. "He's almost as bad as Hermione."

"Must be all the studying," George said, sagely. "Ruins any talent for Quidditch."

Percy rolled his eyes at them. "I blocked most of your shots, Fred."

"So you admit to going easy on her!" Fred quickly said.

"No, I don't. I just pointed out that I wasn't the reason for our loss," Percy retorted. The twins weren't listening, though, and he quickly gave up. "So, that's it for me. I wouldn't want to be late for dinner."

"Oh, better not! She made it extra-specially for you!" George said. "The lost son, returning home, after he cruelly left his family!"

"I'm visiting every Sunday," Percy pointed out. "And unlike Bill and Charlie, I even stayed in Britain!"

"But you never call, or visit as often as you could!" Fred shook his head. "Probably having a sordid affair with a stack of parchment in London!"

"I'm taking my work seriously, and not as a joke!"

"But jokes will be our work!"

"That joke isn't funny."

Harry chuckled as he followed Ron and Ginny to the Burrow, leaving the bickering older Weasleys behind. This was his best summer ever! He had a great girlfriend, he saw his best friends almost every day, and in a week, he wouldn't have to sleep at the Dursleys any more either.

And judging by the glance and smile Ginny shot at him when they landed, they'd meet for a little snogging later!

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 25th, 1995

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on your soul. Focus on yourself. Focus on your inner spirit. Your inner cat. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in… Sigh.

Hermione Granger slumped, then leaned back against the wall in Mr Black's study. She wasn't getting anywhere. She wasn't seeing even a hint of progress. She wasn't even certain that she was getting better at meditation - the frustration she was currently feeling seemed rather counterproductive.

"You know, we took months to find our spirit animal," Mr Black remarked, seemingly without looking up from the magazine he was reading on the couch in the room.

His presence, even if needed to deal with any magical mishaps, not that this was likely given her lack of progress, wasn't helping, in her opinion. What self-respecting cat would appear in a room with a very large dog? A dog with a very bad reputation, too! She sighed, unwilling to admit that she had expected to be quicker. Judging by his wide grin, he wasn't fooled anyway.

"You'll get there, don't worry. After all, James and I managed as well." His tone was encouraging, but his smile carried a hint of a rebuke.

Hermione didn't pout in return. "It's just that… I would have expected something to happen by now. Even a mishap. Anything."

"Maybe your spirit animal isn't a cat? You might be barking up the wrong tree. Although, with cats, it would be miaowing down from the wrong tree."

She rolled her eyes at his mangling of the metaphor and started to meditate again. At least she had enough time, seeing as Harry seemed to be living at The Burrow these days.

And she could only imagine what he and Ginny were up to during those visits. Realising that she was clenching her teeth, she forced herself to relax again. Just like her books said.

*****​

Near Blagdon Hill, Devon, Britain, July 29th, 1995

Hermione Granger held her breath as she pushed the shaft of her broom down, entering a steep dive. Five hundred yards to the target. Five hundred and fifty to the ground. Or so she guessed - but she had trained to estimate distances.

Four hundred yards. She saw something move near the target, and started to roll. Two red flashes flew past her - colour jinxes. Disillusioned caster. She pushed the shaft further down, rushing almost vertically downwards. Three hundred yards to the ground. Two hundred. One hundred and fifty. She started to pull up and her muscles strained against gravity and inertia. For a horrible moment, she feared that she had overestimated her strength. The ground was rapidly coming closer. Much quicker than she had thought.

But she managed to level out her broom in time - fifty yards above the ground. Right at the same height of the target, even. Panting through clenched teeth, she leaned forward, lowering both air resistance and her profile, and pressed forward, banking left and right and rolling as more colourful flashes flew towards her. Some came uncomfortably close, but none touched her shield.

Almost there! Less than a hundred yards! She did another barrel roll, avoiding the next volley, then released the shaft with her right hand. A flick of her wrist later she was holding her wand. A whispered incantation, and the Chameleon-Tongue Spell shot towards the target, a sticky line wrapping itself around a small red box as she veered hard to the right.

As she had expected, a volley of jinxes cut through the air right between her and the target - if not for her manoeuvre, she would have been hit by at least one of them. Though none hit the box either, as a quick glance over her shoulder confirmed as she sped away, diving another twenty yards towards the ground.

But the glance also confirmed that the jinxes were not letting up - and coming closer. Their caster was on a broom as well! She gritted her teeth and started to jink and roll. She just had to reach that tree on the hill, and she'd win.

But the direct path was too open. If she flew evasively, she wouldn't be able to keep her distance. And the closer he got, the better her pursuer's chance were of hitting her. Taking a deep breath, she veered to the right, towards a copse of trees.

Trying not to think of the Star Wars speeder chase, she flew around the copse, then, once she glimpsed an open path, through it. No spells flew past her, so her pursuer would be trying to gain the height for a dive at her.

But she hadn't slowed down, and by the time she left the cover of the trees, he was too far behind to catch her.

Hermione raised her fist in triumph when she flew past the finishing line, smiling widely as she slowed down and turned around in time to greet her pursuer.

Mr Fletcher was shaking his head as he dismounted his broom. "That was a little bit too darin' for a mere test, girl."

She shrugged as casually as she could manage while still high on adrenaline. "I didn't actually fly through the copse; I simply skirted its edge."

He snorted. "No wonder ya were sorted inta Gryffindor. But it wasn't just the detour through the woods. Your first dive was cuttin' it fine too."

"I had it all planned out," she lied. Then she looked back at the 'track'. "I guess we'll need to clean up the splashes left by the spells."

"Yes. This area is covered by Muggle-Repelling Charms, and very few wizards and witches know about it, but you know the rule."

"Leave no trace," she answered.

"Yes." He looked at the small valley himself. "Hasn't changed much, I guess."

"You've been here before?" she asked. "I mean, before you prepared this for my test."

For a moment, he seemed to freeze, and when he answered in a rougher voice than usual, he wasn't looking at her. "Yes. It's been a long time, though. Damn long time."

For a moment, she wanted to ask when he had been here the last time. Had he grown up here? Or had he trained another thief here? But his expression…

Hermione nodded, and then mounted her broom. Those spots and stains wouldn't clean themselves. Good training for the field, though.

*****​

Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, July 31st, 1995

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Harry! Happy birthday to you!"

Harry Potter stared at the cake. Mrs Weasley - he had trouble thinking of her as 'Molly', as she asked - had outdone herself. The cake was massive. Easily large enough, in his opinion, to feed double the number of guests present. Fifteen candles burned brightly - the twins' attempts to tamper with them had been foiled by Mr Weasley - and everyone was singing, off-key in most cases.

He didn't mind the cacophony at all - it reminded him of the school song at Hogwarts. He took a deep breath, then blew all the candles out at once, to the applause of everyone present.

"Well done, mate!" Ron said, clapping his shoulder. Hermione nodded in agreement.

"Thanks," Harry said, but his attention was on Ginny, who had wrapped her arm around his waist. He returned the gesture and pulled her closer while Mrs Weasley started to cut the cake.

The first slice went to him, slowly floating towards him on a small plate. He offered the first piece to Ginny, though, and, before he realised it, they were feeding each other. He was about to wipe away the speck of whipped cream that had ended up on the tip of her nose with his index finger when Neville addressed him.

"Harry?"

"Yes?" He wasn't annoyed at the interruption, just… slightly miffed, maybe.

"I wanted to thank you for your invitation," Neville said. "Yeah, thanks!" Seamus and Dean chimed in, waving their forks. Between them, the Gryffindor Quidditch Team and the Weasleys, maybe the cake was just the right size, Harry thought.

"Of course, guys," Harry said.

"I just wish you had invited more birds," Seamus said. "And all of them are already taken," he added with a nod towards the porch, where the twins were flirting with Angelina, Alicia and Katie.

"You know, a girl doesn't have to be taken to turn you down," Dean pointed out with a grin.

"Leave me to my delusions!" Seamus elbowed his friend.

Dean sighed and turned to Harry. "He asked out every pretty witch present. And all of them shot him down. That has to be a new record."

Seamus scoffed. "As long as I keep asking girls, sooner or later one will say yes."

"Or hex you."

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

The two left them, probably to get another slice or two of the cake. Neville and Ron had wandered off as well, leaving Harry and Ginny by themselves. "I'm so happy I've got you," Harry whispered, pulling her close again.

"You should be!" Ginny said, then giggled and hugged him. "I'm happy to have you too."

"Although…" Harry looked around, then lowered his voice. "I do feel a little guilty, being so happy when Ron and Hermione haven't found anyone."

"It's not your fault." Ginny shook her head, then pouted at him.

"It actually is," Harry said. "Apparently, being my best friend means he wouldn't work out with Lavender." Who was Parvati's best friend.

"Ron asked her out?" Ginny blinked.

"Well, what he he told me was that Lavender thought he was cute, but she picked Parvati over him."

"Good!" Ginny was scowling fiercely now. "She isn't right for him!"

Harry fought not to wince. If she felt that strongly about this... "I can't really fault her for picking her best friend over a potential boyfriend." He had done the same, after all.

"What? No, not that. But Ron wouldn't be happy with her," Ginny declared in a tone that brooked no dissension.

"Why do you think that? Because she's so close to Parvati?"

Ginny shook her head. "She's just not right for him." She looked away. "She doesn't like Quidditch, for example."

"I've seen her read Quidditch Weekly," Harry said. Back when he had been with Parvati.

"She likes Quidditch Players," Ginny said. "Not Quidditch." Harry thought that would help Ron's chances, seeing as he was about to succeed Oliver as the team's Keeper - there certainly wasn't anyone better around in Gryffindor - but before he could voice that thought Ginny pulled on his arm. "Come on, let's get a game started!"

That was another advantage of The Burrow had over Grimmauld Place, Harry thought - you could play Quidditch here.

*****​

Picked last, and put into reserve. For a moment, Hermione Granger had felt as if she had been back in primary school. Once again, she had been picked last for every team in P.E. As if being smart meant that you were bad at sports!

Well, she actually hadn't been very good at them. But that had been back then. Before she had started to train as a thief. Nowadays? She narrowed her eyes as she studied the two teams playing above her on the Weasleys' pitch. Well, she wasn't as good as Harry. But no one was. The twins said Charlie might be, but without seeing the man fly, she wouldn't be able to tell. And Hermione's training hadn't focused on playing Quidditch, so she certainly couldn't expect to beat people who had been training for years in the hope of becoming professional players.

But if she were playing seriously, she certainly wouldn't be a liability! Not that she could, of course - her tutor's orders had been clear. If she broke her cover over such a small thing, then she certainly wouldn't be ready for a real heist.

But it was so annoying, to hold back and play the clumsy old Hermione!

"Hey, Hermione!"

Almost as annoying as Seamus, she thought as she turned her head. "Yes?"

The boy sat down next to her. "You're a reserve player too, huh?"

"Yes," she said, curtly.

"Don't take it to heart," he said, in a rather patronising tone, in her opinion, "all of them are maniacs who want to win at all costs." He was sitting a little too close as well, she noticed.

She shrugged and lied. "I don't mind. It's fun to simply watch, too. They rarely have enough guests for two full teams."

"Yeah. It's more fun to watch in good company, of course." He smiled at her. "You know, we all miss you at Hogwarts."

She wanted to groan at his transparent attempt to butter her up. "Well, apart from Parvati and her friends. And the Slytherins. And some of the Ravenclaws."

"Ah… yes." He didn't lose his smile. "But those who count are missing you."

"I would certainly hope so." She looked up. Alicia had scored again. Ron was doing well as Keeper, too. Even Harry and Ginny were playing seriously, and not flirting with each other. Or feeding each other cake as if they were on honeymoon.

Her curt tone obviously hadn't managed to dissuade him. Either he was that dense, or he simply didn't care. "So… do you have a boyfriend?"

She considered lying, but discarded the thought. It wasn't worth the trouble. "No."

"Ah, I thought so. Most boys just care about appearances, you know." He nodded slowly at his own words. "I'm not one of them, though. I care about a girl's personality. I think we would make a nice couple."

She almost couldn't believe it - he called her ugly and asked her out in the same breath! She wanted to hex him badly. No one would judge her for it! No witch, at least. But… she smiled sweetly as she had a better idea. "I'm sorry, but between my work and my studies, I don't have time for a relationship," she said and patted his shoulder.

"Not even for the summer?" He smiled at her. "One month. Consider it a holiday?"

Her smile grew less sweet. "No, not even one month," she said, her tone leaving no doubt how she meant that.

He shrugged. "Ah, well. I tried."

As he stood up and walked back to the house, Hermione patted her pocket, which now contained most of the money from his wallet.

*****​

Hogwarts, September 3rd, 1995

"Occlumency is often touted as the art of protecting your mind from intrusions - the counter to Legilimency. But just as Legilimency does not exactly let you read someone's mind, this definition of Occlumency is somewhat incorrect."

Harry Potter frowned at the Headmaster's explanation. "Incorrect?" he asked, seeing as Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for a question.

"Yes. Many describe Occlumency as building a wall around your thoughts. That is simply a mental construct - a sort of crutch. At its core, Occlumency does not protect your mind - it allows you to know your own mind. The protection it provides stems from the fact that a skilled Occlumens will know their own mind so well that they can detect any intrusions, no matter how small or subtle. In theory, at least," Dumbledore added with a wry smile. "In practice, no one is perfect. Not even I, despite decades of experience."

"That doesn't sound very promising, sir," Harry said, then pressed his lips together. He didn't want to sound ungrateful - the Headmaster was spending a lot of his time to help him with this, after all - but he had hoped for something more… effective. He had to deal with the Dark Lord, after all.

"Oh, it is effective. I have no doubt that it will adequately protect your mind from Tom's intrusions. But it's not perfect, lest you grow complacent."

There was no danger of that, Harry thought. He'd have to learn Occlumency first to grow complacent. Not that he would ever fall into that trap knowing that the Dark Lord himself was after him. "I've also heard that you clear your mind with it."

"Another mental crutch, I would say. Ultimately, both a wall and a clear mind make it easier to detect an intrusion - by spotting a hole in the wall, to use the metaphor, or by removing any metaphysical cover, so to speak, which an intruder could use." He smiled. "For a mental art, those are quite the physical images, are they not?"

"Yes." Harry nodded. What else could he say?

"But that is the very reason why such mental crutches result in defences with inherent weaknesses. In a battle between minds, everything is possible. Limiting your imagination by using such physical metaphors is not a good course of action." The Headmaster sighed. "That so many practitioners of the art use them is likely because so few really wish, or can stand, even, to truly know their own minds."

Harry wasn't quite certain that he wanted to know his own mind that well either. Some of the dreams he had had lately were very embarrassing. Exciting, but embarrassing. Weird too, at least sometimes. "It isn't as if I have a choice, though."

Once more Dumbledore sighed, before smiling sadly at him. "No, I do not suppose that you do. Shall we start then?"

Harry swallowed dryly, then nodded.

*****​

London, Merton, September 18th, 1995

Hermione Granger tossed the rubber mouse through the air and watched it bounce on the floor once. Her inner cat remained unaffected. Not that she had expected anything else - she wasn't making any progress in her 'spirit quest'. Combing her hair several times a day hadn't brought her any closer to feeling like a cat either, although it seemed to have helped with taming her hair - unless that was simply the first sign that her mum hadn't been lying to her when she had told Hermione that she would grow out of her hair troubles. Which, in retrospect, seemed like a pun worthy of Mr Black.

Napping in the sun felt nice, if she managed to forget her troubles. Otherwise it was just time lost. At least meditating helped her to keep a positive outlook. Mostly. She sighed and leaned back on her bed, stretching a little. She didn't feel the urge to hunt anything, either. Well, she often wanted to hex Kreacher, but that was because the elf still sneered at her whenever they met. Which, fortunately, wasn't that often now that she had a key to Grimmauld Place.

Unfortunately, with Harry back at Hogwarts, she didn't see him any more either. Hermione frowned - she hadn't seen him that often anyway, not since Ginny had become his girlfriend. Harry had practically started living at The Burrow, even though he would see his girlfriend every day once they were back at Hogwarts. Was seeing Ginny every day now, Hermione corrected herself, frowning.

At least she'd see him next weekend in Hogsmeade. They might even celebrate her birthday. Her wistful smile disappeared when she imagined watching Harry and Ginny feed each other cake again. That wasn't what she wanted on her birthday! They could show some restraint, instead of showing off like that. That was something she would have expected Parvati to do, not Ginny.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Mum?" She looked up as her mum stepped inside her room.

"You're still in your pajamas?"

"It's still early," Hermione defended herself. And she liked wearing them too - sleek, black silk pajamas which felt wonderful on her skin.

"It's almost noon," her mum said dryly.

"What?" Hermione stared at her clock. She could have sworn it was earlier…

"Anyway, get dressed, lunch will be ready soon." Her mum knelt down to pick up the discarded toy mouse, then looked at her with her eyebrows raised.

Hermione met her mum's eyes until the older woman turned away.

*****​

"Dear, we think it's time for you to get a cat," her father said at the table.

"I told you, I don't want to get a cat," Hermione said.

"Hermione, you bought more than a dozen books on cats, more cat toys than that, even, and you spend entire afternoons at Mrs Attenborough's who owns three cats," her mum said as she gathered the plates on the table.

Hermione had done that to observe cats and get more insight into their behaviour. She clenched her teeth. "I like her cats." Mrs Attenborough was a terrible bore, but her cats were nice. Spoiled, though. And they were warming up to her, but that might have just been because of the treats she brought them.

"You even bought cat treats," her father cut in.

She winced - trying those had not been one of her better ideas to get closer to her inner cat.

"Dear, it's obvious that you want a cat of your own. And despite your past experiences, I'm certain that you can handle one. Even with your studies and your work, it wouldn't be neglected either - they sleep most of the time anyway."

"Not all cats do," Hermione protested. Cats weren't lazy!

"Well, the ones my parents had did," her father retorted, picking up the casserole from the table. "Anyway, I don't know why you are so afraid of getting one."

"I'm not afraid, I'm just…" she trailed off. Why didn't she want a cat? Just because she feared that things could go wrong once she was one herself? Of a territory dispute with her pet? She shrugged. "It's a big responsibility." She gathered the glasses and carried them over to the dishwasher.

"You're a responsible girl," her dad said.

"Well, apart from sleeping until noon lately," her mum added. "It's a good thing neither Mr Smith nor Mr Black expects you to start working early in the morning."

Hermione sniffed. She got up early enough, and she was working diligently. That she didn't have to leave her bed for it wasn't her fault! "And you think I should get a cat."

"It would make sense," her mum said, putting the rest of the silverware into the dishwasher. "You're acting like someone who wants to swim, but won't get into the water."

"We're a little concerned, you see," her dad added. "If you're bent on becoming a crazy cat lady at your age, you should at least have a cat."

Hermione glared at him. "I'm not trying to become a crazy cat lady, thank you very much!" Although maybe she should have been a tad more discreet with her attempts to become more cat-like. She sighed. "But you might be correct." Having a cat of her own might help her with her plans. If she was honest with herself, her fear of trouble with her pet was irrational. She would just have to be ready to deal with any unforeseen consequences of her inevitable success. "But," she added, "we'll buy one in Diagon Alley. They're used to magic."

"Why is that a concern?" her dad asked.

"I'm not going to stay a teenager forever," Hermione said. "And when I move into a flat of my own, it'll be a magical flat." She had a room of her own already, at Grimmauld Place, but this wasn't the time to mention that.

"Ah." Her parents exchanged a glance, but didn't comment on whatever they were thinking. Did they expect that she would keep living with them? She didn't need the telly so much that she would keep living like a muggle forever.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, September 19th, 1995

He - definitely a he - was the ugliest cat she had ever seen. He was fat, squat, with a face that looked like it had been squished as a kitten and stuck that way, orange-brown fur that seemed to be sporting half-hearted attempts at stripes and wasn't short enough nor long enough, and he had legs that were slightly bent, and a little too short for his size. He was also larger than any other cat she had seen in the Magical Menagerie, or anywhere. And he was staring at her from the shelf he had jumped on, unconcerned about the boxes of pet food that had fallen down as a result.

"No! Get down! Miss, don't step any closer - he has a nasty temper and likes to scratch customers! How did he get loose, anyway?"

Hermione Granger ignored the clerk's yelling and stepped up to the tomcat, craning her neck to look straight into his eyes. He didn't move and returned the stare.

"Miss! Watch out!"

"Hermione?" Her mum sounded worried.

She didn't care. He was the most un-catlike cat she had ever seen. Almost like a miniature bulldog in a cat's fur. Nothing like the kitten her mum had pointed out, or Mrs Attenborough's purebred cats. He was neither elegant nor graceful, if his jump was any measure.

But she knew for certain that she'd buy him.

"I'll call you Crookshanks!" she declared, smiling widely.

The clerk looked astonished and her parents exchanged another of those weird, concerned glances. Hermione didn't care. She had found her cat!

*****​

London, Merton, September 20th, 1995

Crookshanks fit into the house as if he had been born there, Hermione Granger thought after a day with her new pet. He didn't care for all the toys she had collected, and he pointedly ignored the scratching post as well as the cushion he was supposed to sleep on. Hermione hoped that the tree in the garden would survive his attentions, and she was glad that her bed was large enough for the two of them.

But he acted as if he owned the house. When he strolled through the rooms after his arrival, he didn't seem to be so much exploring as conquering the place, Hermione thought. He might look like his father wasn't a Kneazle, as the clerk in the Magical Menagerie had claimed, but a bulldog - and an ugly bulldog, at that - but he acted as if that didn't matter at all. He strutted as if he was a prized purebred tomcat. When he smashed one of Mum's prized vases - which Hermione quickly repaired with the Mending Charm before her mum noticed - he looked at her as if that was her fault, and not the result of his own jump missing the mark. He certainly didn't lack confidence.

Which, she thought, watching him curled up on her bed, napping without a care, was a lesson worth considering.

As was taking a nap herself.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 25th, 1995

"You look different. Did something happen in Hogsmeade?" Mr Black asked as he opened the door to his study for Hermione Granger.

"No." She shook her head. They had celebrated her birthday, and while Harry and Ginny had been as obnoxiously sweet together as she had expected, it had been tolerable. Ron hadn't complained either - though her other best friend had been somewhat distracted by Luna trying to fit him with an 'Anti-Nargle-Device' which looked as if it had been made of Butterbeer corks and tinsel. Hermione had seen stranger things.

"Are you certain? No sudden revelations? Urges?"

"No." She glared at him, and he shrugged. He had been dropping such hints for a while now, and she had grown tired of them. "I have a cat now, though. A half-Kneazle, to be exact."

"Oh?" He cocked his head sideways as he closed the door. "A cute little kitten?"

She snorted. "Hardly. He's a grown tomcat. Adorable, though."

"I'll have to visit then, if only to meet the one male creature who finally managed to capture your heart!" Mr Black declared pompously.

"Not as a dog," she warned him. "Or you might get scratched. Crookshanks has a temper, and doesn't suffer fools lightly." It wasn't his fault that the stupid postman got scratched - you didn't just pet a cat. And you certainly didn't insult them!

"'Crookshanks'?" he grinned. "Now I definitely have to meet him. He sounds like my kind of cat."

"You're a dog," she pointed out.

"Why yes, I am." He transformed into a dog without ever losing his shameless grin and barked at her.

She rolled her eyes at him and unrolled the yoga mat she meditated on with a flick of her wand. She almost hoped that he'd try to sneak into her garden as a dog - Crookshank would maul him.

*****​

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Get in touch with your inner cat. Feel like a cat. Be a cat. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Hermione Granger's next breath was a sigh. This felt like another pointless evening spent sitting on the floor. She could do something else. Something more productive. Or something more relaxing. Why should she follow Mr Black's instructions, anyway? He was a dog, not a cat. Who'd ever heard of a dog teaching a cat anything?

She snorted. Maybe she could take a nap while sitting. It certainly would be a more productive use of her time, and she doubted Mr Black would notice anything amiss - he was a dog, after all. And what did she care if he noticed? She was doing this for herself, not for anyone else.

She sneered. He probably still thought she was an owl, the stupid dog. She wasn't an owl, though, nor any silly bird. She was a cat. Self-reliant, proud and smart. Unlike a dog, she didn't need either pack or owner, and certainly not a leash. She could do what she wanted, go where she wanted. If she wanted to take a nap, then she would do so.

And if she wanted to bloody that dog's nose, she would do so!

Hermione Granger blinked. She was… stuck to the wall? And Mr Black was holding his nose. Why were half his papers scattered around the room?

And… was that blood under her nails?

*****​

 

[john doe]

Thanks for the chapter. Wasn't sure if Hermione was going catty by convincing herself or from it being her animigus till the end

 

[macdjord]

"But you never call, or visit as often as you could!"

Click to shrink...

Call? As in, on a 'fellytone'?

 

[Starfox5]

Call? As in, on a 'fellytone'?

Click to shrink...

Floo calls, of course.

 

[turbinicarpus]

gleaming white, large teeth

Click to shrink...

I would suggest reordering the adjectives: size usually comes before colour. (E.g., "small red truck", not "red small truck".)

And… was that blood under her nails?

Click to shrink...

Her first transformation was less than purrfect. In fact, it was downright catastrophic! Sirius will be feline that for a long, long time.

 

[Starfox5]

I would suggest reordering the adjectives: size usually comes before colour. (E.g., "small red truck", not "red small truck".)

Click to shrink...

Fixed.

Her first transformation was less than purrfect. In fact, it was downright catastrophic! Sirius will be feline that for a long, long time.

Click to shrink...

Spoiler

That wasn't her first transformation - that was her mentally connecting to her inner spirit.

 

[turbinicarpus]

Spoiler

That wasn't her first transformation - that was her mentally connecting to her inner spirit.

Click to shrink...

I was unsure myself, but I couldn't resist the cat puns.

Out of curiosity, what would her animal had been pre-expulsion? What would it have been if she hadn't deliberately shifted to a housecat mindset?

 

[macdjord]

Out of curiosity, what would her animal had been pre-expulsion? What would it have been if she hadn't deliberately shifted to a housecat mindset?

Click to shrink...

Isn't her canon Patronus an otter? That would be my first guess.

 

[Starfox5]

Out of curiosity, what would her animal had been pre-expulsion? What would it have been if she hadn't deliberately shifted to a housecat mindset?

Click to shrink...

Isn't her canon Patronus an otter? That would be my first guess.

Click to shrink...

An otter would have required her to have a connection to them, and know some myths about them. That wasn't the case in this story.

 

[turbinicarpus]

Isn't her canon Patronus an otter? That would be my first guess.

Click to shrink...

IIRC, Otter was for Ottery St Catchpole, i.e., Ron; one's Patronus doesn't represent one's personality, it represents one's love and joy, to the point that falling in love can change one's Patronus to match that of one's beloved.

It might be different for animagi and others with animal forms, though, since Lupin's is a wolf, and it's not exactly a part of himself he likes; and those with animal forms seem to override those of their partners. (E.g., Lily's becomes a doe, Tonks's becomes a wolf.)

For that matter, if we're on semi-aquatic mammals, a beaver fits much better than an otter, IMO.

 

[Starfox5]

Chapter 11: Breakthroughs

Dunstable, Bedfordshire, Britain, September 25th, 1995

Standing in the street of the muggle town, Corban Yaxley was nervous. Afraid, even. He shouldn't be - he was a skilled wizard. He had fought in the Blood War and had proved his mettle there. He had escaped being punished for his actions after the war's end as well, together with the rest of the smarter Death Eaters. And his current position in the DMLE, as well as his connections, assured that few would dare to anger him.

But none of that mattered right now. Not with his Dark Mark burning. Calling him to this old house tucked away in the heart of the town. He rubbed his left forearm, but the gesture didn't bring any relief. Only compliance would - and not even that might be enough, should this be the Dark Lord calling. But he was supposed to be dead. Defeated by the Boy-Who-Lived. Of course, there had been rumours in the last few years. But they had been only that - rumours. To think that the Dark Lord could have actually returned from death! But who else could control his Mark? If another Death Eater had found a way to use the Marks…

Maybe the Dark Lord hadn't died, he told himself. Maybe he had just been grievously cursed, and had taken this long to recover. He couldn't blame Corban for lying low in that case, could he?

The pain from his arm was growing stronger - he couldn't delay any longer, Corban knew. The punishment for such defiance would be horrible. Steeling himself, and trying not to show any sign of the pain he was feeling, he approached the door.

It had a knocker, like every decent wizarding house. None of those muggle contraptions Weasley was so fond of. The door opened a moment after he knocked. No one was there, but he heard a voice call out.

"Enter, Corban."

He didn't recognise the voice. Maybe someone had managed to find a way to control the Marks. It was plausible - he didn't know all of the Dark Lord's followers, after all. But whether this was the Dark Lord, or someone else, didn't change anything - he had no choice either way.

The door closed behind him with barely a sound. He found himself in an entrance hall far too large for the building - strong Extension Charms had been cast here. Another sign of the power of whoever had called him.

"Come, Corban," the voice rang out again. Not loud, but it carried some distance. It was a smooth voice, too. Cultured. Like his memory of the Dark Lord's. But it wasn't his. Another door opened, revealing a dark hallway.

Swallowing, he stepped through. He set his jaw as the pain grew slightly stronger. A door swung open at the end of the hallway. The room behind it was well-lit - a noticeable contrast with the dark, windowless corridor. He continued, drawing his wand as he walked towards the door, and stepped inside with his wand raised.

The man sitting in a plush chair inside the lavishly decorated room seemed entirely unconcerned about this - even though he hadn't drawn his own wand, as far as Corban could see. He was far too young to be the Dark Lord, too.

Then the man smiled, and Corban's arm seemed to burn from the inside. Despite his best efforts, he fell to his knees, his wand clattering on the floor. A guttural groan escaped his lips as the pain overwhelmed him. Who was this wizard to best him so easily?

When the man laughed, he knew. And felt as if he been dipped into ice water.

The Dark Lord had returned.

*****​

"I can, of course, understand why you didn't declare your allegiance to me after I seemed to have been defeated," the Dark Lord declared a few minutes later.

Corban nodded, still trembling. The pain had been as bad as the Torture Curse. He had been tempted to cut off his own arm to escape it, not that he had been able to move his limbs.

"But to do nothing? To not even move a finger to find me, even though I told you that not even death itself would be able to stop me?" The Dark Lord shook his head, his smile vanishing. "Didn't you have any faith in my claim? Or were you more concerned with your own advancement?"

Corban drew a shuddering breath. "Forgive me, milord. I was weak. There was no sign of you, and everyone was acting as if you were dead…"

"You were weak indeed. But I think you were more selfish than gullible, weren't you?"

"Milord…" He clutched his left arm. "Please forgive me!"

The Dark Lord twirled his wand - not the wand he had used in the war, Yaxley realised - and seemed to consider his plea. "I will - provided you do not fail me again."

Relief filled him. "I won't, milord! I swear it!"

"You swore an oath to me before. It didn't stop you from denying me." The Dark Lord sighed. "But others failed me as well. Not many remained faithful and loyal." Corban waited, holding his breath. "It will fall upon all of you to earn my forgiveness - and my favour. You have a high position in the DMLE."

"Yes, milord."

"That will be useful. If we want to save Britain from the mudblood filth, the Ministry is the key. Who controls the Ministry controls the country."

"Yes, milord."

The Dark Lord tapped his chin with the index finger of his free hand. "But my old foe has his supporters in the Ministry as well. Blood traitors and mudbloods. They will oppose us - unless dealt with." He stared straight at Corban, who felt a chill run down his spine. "That is where you come in."

"Yes, milord!"

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 25th, 1995

"What… what happened?" Hermione Granger asked, staring at Mr Black from where she was stuck on the wall in his study.

He pointed his wand at his nose, which both looked crooked and was bleeding, and cast two spells. "You tried to take my nose off!" he answered, after the part of his face in question had been fixed.

"I don't remember that!" she protested. Although it would explain the blood under her nails, she thought. "And you banished me at the wall and stuck me here?" she added indignantly. The nerve!

"It was the quickest way to deal with you. You were acting like a cat - hissing and scratching. And pouncing," Mr Black added, with a nod towards his desk and the scattered parchment surrounding it.

"I was?" Hermione blinked. But that meant… "I did it!" she cheered. "I discovered my inner animal! I'm a cat!" A graceful, elegant cat!

"You're an animal, at least," Mr Black said - a little sulkily, she thought. "A bloodthirsty one. You ignored all the toys I had laid out, and went straight for my throat."

"For your nose," she corrected him as she used her wand to unstick herself from the wall, pushing herself off it and landing gracefully on her feet the moment the spell was broken.

"And why would you have done that?" He narrowed his eyes at her. "I wasn't even doing anything. Suddenly, you started hissing, and when I looked up from my reading, I had a crazy witch on my desk swiping at my face!"

"Obviously, my inner cat felt threatened by the presence of a large dog." She smiled sweetly.

"That sounds more like what a badger would do," he retorted. "Cats are supposed to be smarter than that."

"Any animal that feels threatened has a flight or fight response. And if flight seems impossible..." She shrugged. "I'm not sure if my inner cat knows how to open doors locked with spells." She would certainly hope that her animal spirit was smart enough to open an unlocked door - even normal cats could do that!

He didn't look convinced. "And why would your 'inner cat' feel threatened by a loveable, friendly dog such as myself?"

"Well…" She felt her cheeks grow a little warm. "I may have thought earlier that you might deserve a swat across your nose. And my animal spirit might have acted on it." She shrugged. "No harm done, anyway."

"No harm? You drew blood! Almost broke my nose, too!"

He was right - Hermione still had blood under her nails! A quick Cleaning Charm dealt with that. And even for an animal, she had reacted a tad violently, she added to herself, feeling guilty.

He rubbed the sides of his nose with two fingers. "You bloody hit harder than James did when I enchanted the mirrors in the girls' bathroom to project images."

Any guilt she had been feeling evaporated in the face of her indignation. "You peeped on the witches at Hogwarts when they were changing and showering?"

"No!" He shook his head and took a step back.

"Why did you enchant the mirrors then?" She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

"Well, I wanted to peep on them, but James didn't let me, so technically, I didn't peep." He smiled broadly.

She rolled her eyes at him. And the man wondered why any self-respecting cat would want to claw his nose off! Then she had a worrying thought. "I hope you're not trying to get Harry to do such things!"

"Don't worry, he would never do that!"

That sounded as if he had seriously considered it. But she could trust Harry, Hermione knew. And she had more important things on which to focus. She sniffed and shook her head. "Anyway - this is a breakthrough! I'm going to be an animagus!"

"You've taken your first step," he corrected her. "Now you have to learn how to change your form so it fits your spirit. Or there will be tales of a crazy witch acting like a cat." He rubbed his goatee. "Although I'm wondering how you, I mean, your 'inner cat' would have acted if Harry had been here."

She was wondering that herself, but this wasn't a subject she wanted to discuss with Mr Black. So she sniffed and pointed at the mess on the floor. "And I'm wondering how long you'll want to leave all your parchments in such disarray," she shot back.

"Well, sorting out my files and correspondence is what I hired a secretary for." He rubbed his nose. "Please take care of that while I go and check if my nose has healed correctly. After all," he added with a wide grin that showed his white teeth, "you scattered them when you jumped on the desk."

Even if she wanted to, she couldn't dispute that. Mr Black was such a lazy dog! But not even the rather daunting task of sorting out all the paperwork - again - could really dampen her spirits. She had done it! She had discovered her inner spirit animal! She would be an animagus in no time!

*****​

Hogwarts, September 29th, 1995

Harry Potter was standing in the middle of a wide, open field. A bare field. A bare field made of stone. Not even a mouse could be hiding here. Nothing could escape his gaze… unless it was behind him. He turned around. Nothing. He turned back. Then kept turning. He knew there would be an intrusion coming, but where? And when?

And suddenly, the Headmaster was standing there, next to him, smiling gently. Harry opened his eyes and scowled. "Failed again." At his exclamation, Fawkes trilled from his perch, then went back to grooming his wings.

"You have just started learning the art, my boy. Do not be too harsh with yourself," Dumbledore said from behind his desk. "I took a long time learning Occlumency myself."

Harry scoffed. "I bet you didn't make the very mistake your teacher told you to avoid." Visualising his mind as a real place.

"I did, actually - but because I, in a rather embarrassing bout of hubris, thought I knew better than a master of the art." The Headmaster sighed with a regretful smile. "Surprising the experts at my O.W.L. exams was, in hindsight, not an altogether beneficial thing."

Harry couldn't imagine the Headmaster making such a mistake - not really. He had trouble enough imagining Dumbledore as a young man, much less a student like him. "But you didn't have a mental link to the Dark Lord."

"I did not have to worry about Voldemort, no. But I had, although later in my life, somewhat similar trouble."

Harry frowned. What did the Headmaster… ah! "Grindelwald?"

Dumbledore nodded. "While we were not tied together by a scar, as you and Tom are, we had known each other before we finally met on the field of battle." He snorted softly. "But enough about the follies of my youth. I think we've made some progress today."

Harry shrugged. He would like to think so, but it didn't feel as if he had really learned anything this evening.

"Patience, Harry. You will learn Occlumency in time."

He scoffed. "I need to learn it before Voldemort comes after me."

"You will." Dumbledore sounded confident. Far more confident than Harry felt. But it was still reassuring to hear such words. "But before you go I'd like to take another look at your scar."

"My scar?" Harry blinked. "Of course." Maybe the Headmaster would find a way to sever the connection. He suppressed a shudder - thinking about how closely linked his and Tom's minds were was revolting.

"Thank you." Dumbledore drew his wand and stood up. "This might take a little while," he added while he was walking around his desk.

Harry didn't recognise any of the spells Dumbledore cast at his forehead. Too obscure, or too advanced, he guessed. Hermione would have loved to observe them, Harry thought, but she probably wouldn't have recognised many of them either. Maybe he should have bought her a book of exotic charms for her birthday, instead of the Defence manual Mr Lupin had recommended. But his friend had said that she wasn't doing that well in Defence Against the Dark Arts, hadn't she? His scar suddenly itching interrupted his line of thought. He clenched his teeth.

Dumbledore must have noticed, since the sensation faded quickly. "Did that hurt?" he asked.

Harry shook his head. "No. It itched, but that was all."

"Interesting."

"What did you find out, sir?" Harry asked. If the Headmaster had discovered something new about his scar…

His hopes were dashed, though. "It is too soon to know." Dumbledore smiled faintly. "But definitely interesting. Promising too, I think."

That sounded encouraging, Harry thought. If he could get rid of his scar… Of course, people said scars caused by dark curses couldn't be removed - but they had also said that you couldn't survive the Killing Curse. "It would be great if you could remove the scar," he said.

"It would also deprive us of a possible way to find out about the Dark Lord's plans," Dumbledore pointed out. "As with most things in life, nothing is entirely positive or negative."

Harry frowned at that.

Dumbledore sighed. "I have no intention of delaying any possible remedy to your condition, Harry. You have my word on that. To risk a child's life for such a questionable advantage…" He shook his head. "I was merely trying to point out that your current situation also offers something beneficial to us."

Harry nodded, if a little reluctantly. He wasn't a child any more, after all. And knowing what Voldemort was doing would be a decisive advantage, wouldn't it? Even if it was only limited to any rituals the Dark Lord might work, it would help. It might be worth the risk, he thought.

Since he was thoroughly sick of being unable to help others when needed.

*****​

London, Greenwich, September 29th, 1995

Walking down the street towards the house of her tutor, Hermione Granger felt both guilty and annoyed at having to hide her breakthrough from him. Guilty because it felt wrong to keep such a thing a secret from the man who was teaching her so much. And annoyed because she wanted to impress him. He still didn't think she was ready for a real heist!

Although the fact that she now had to keep secrets from her tutor was an annoyance in itself. She kept secrets from far too many people these days, Hermione realised. The person who knew the most about her true self was Mr Black. To think that Harry's exasperating godfather knew her better than Harry himself!

But she also knew that there were reasons for the secrecy. Sensible reasons. That didn't mean that she had to like them, of course.

She entered the flat, after checking the wards for signs of tampering, of course - Mr Fletcher had taught her that you should never apparate straight back to your home even if he hadn't taught her Apparition itself yet. Her tutor greeted her. "Hello, dear."

"Good afternoon." He looked… not exactly cagey. Certainly not agitated. But he was grinning, not smiling.

"Did something happen?" she asked as she put down her books on the table.

"You might say so." Definitely grinning.

"Something good?"

He slowly shrugged. "One might think so."

"That doesn't sound very reassuring. Or certain," she said, looking at him.

"Mr Smith was hired to tutor Mademoiselle Jeanne Dubois, the 'natural daughter' of Elias Selwyn, lest she embarrass the family when she makes her debut at the next New Year's Ball," Mr Fletcher explained. "She's French, you know."

"Oh." Hermione slowly drew a breath. "That will improve your cover, but it also means that you'll have to actually tutor her."

"Exactly." He nodded. "And I fear that I will have to combine your lessons on etiquette with hers, to save time."

Oh. "That means I will have to attend them in disguise myself."

"Yeah." He shrugged. "It's not ideal - but we can consider it more training, I think. And it'll improve your own cover."

"Should I use Miss Merriweather then?" That role was supposed to be a temporary cover only, Hermione knew.

"I think that would be best. Since you've left a memorable impression in some circles, I'd rather not have people ask my new student about my old one, and make her wonder why she never met her."

"Miss Merriweather could always return home," Hermione said. She was pleased to hear she left an impression, though.

"She could. But she's already established in Britain. I'd prefer to wait with introducing a new cover until I know Miss Dubois better, and can avoid possible trouble."

Hermione nodded in agreement. That made sense - it would be easier to create a new cover once they had the measure of Miss Dubois and, at that point, Miss Dubois could be used to strengthen the new cover identity.

But this new development also meant that she would have to keep even more secrets, Hermione realised - she would have to play a role even when studying!

*****​

London, Greenwich, October 2nd, 1995

"And this is Miss Merriweather, my first student," Mr Fletcher said, motioning towards Hermione Granger. "She's been a delight to teach, and she'll be able to give you her own perspective about fitting in British society."

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle," Hermione Granger said with a smile.

"Good afternoon," Miss Dubois responded, smiling as well.

The French witch had a slight accent, though not as noticeable as Hermione had expected. She was beautiful, if not in Delacour's league, and had apparently just finished Beauxbatons this summer. And the robes she was wearing… "Are those the autumn line from Madam Malkin's?" Hermione asked.

Miss Dubois nodded. "Yes. My father took me there as soon as I arrived. They are supposed to be the height of fashion," she added, though Hermione thought she sounded less than convinced.

She snorted. "The height of fashion, even in Britain, is the latest robes from Paris, of course. But that would probably emphasise your origin, which your father might not want." She was wearing British robes herself, though not from the same line.

Miss Dubois laughed. "He did talk a lot about all things British - and the unattached sons of his friends. I think I would have a better chance of attracting any of them with more fashionable robes, however."

More revealing, in other words. Hermione Granger, staying in character, nodded. "Oh, yes!"

Mr Fletcher, also staying in character, shook his head. "A witch of good breeding dresses for the occasion. You wouldn't wear duelling robes to a ball, and you would not wear ball robes for a tutoring session."

"Unless it's about how to behave at a British ball," Hermione cut in with a grin, "or your tutor is a young and attractive wizard," she added.

Mr Fletcher frowned at her, but Miss Dubois laughed.

*****​

"So, what do you think?" Mr Fletcher asked once Miss Dubois - Jeanne, the French witch had asked Hermione to call her - had left.

"I like her," she answered. "Friendly, witty, a sense of humour…" She shrugged. "I wonder if she'll be happy in Wizarding Britain." She looked at her tutor; Jeanne hadn't mentioned why she was moving to Britain.

Mr Fletcher picked up on her unspoken question. "Selwyn lost his daughter in the last war. Collateral damage, as the muggles call it, in a battle in Diagon Alley," he added before Hermione could ask on which side the witch had fought. "Her mum wouldn't let Miss Dubois go to Britain for a variety of reasons, as far as I know. But the girl apparently preferred being a pureblood heir in Britain to a poor bastard witch in France, so once she finished her education, she went to her father."

Hermione frowned. That sounded a little too calculating for the charming witch she had met. On the other hand, if she was planning to support her mother after she inherited, then that would be rather calculating as well. She sighed with sudden realisation. "She pretty much played me, didn't she?"

Her tutor grinned. "And that is today's lesson: Never assume that you're the only one playing a role. Although," he added, "she might genuinely like you anyway."

"She might genuinely like Miss Merriweather," Hermione corrected him. She didn't think Jeanne would like her real, muggleborn self. Not with the reputation Hermione had acquired among the Old Families.

"Keep that in mind - you don't want to grow too close to her; that tends to threaten your cover."

She knew that already. It would have been nice to have a female friend, though. At least one who wasn't busy snogging with her best male friend most of the time. She shook her head. "Speaking of dressing for the occasion," she said, "I've been thinking about what to wear on a real heist." He made a noncommittal noise; he still hadn't told her when he would take her on a real heist. "I'm thinking of a catsuit." Leather would be more durable than a turtleneck and trousers, and harder to get a grip on as well - while she didn't expect many Aurors to grapple with her, conjured animals and even plants had to be taken into account. And it would be more stylish as well.

"A catsuit?" Judging by his tone he was aware of the term.

She nodded with a sly grin. "And a mask." Something more stylish than a balaclava - Hermione wanted to look like a classy thief, not a bank robber. "Enchanted, of course."

She already had a few ideas for spells she wanted to use.

*****​

Hogwarts, October 4th, 1995

"Alright you lot!" Harry Potter heard Angelina yell as he flew another lap around the the pitch after having captured the last training snitch that had been released, "Gather round!"

He guided his broom down to the stands, where the other members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were already assembled, and handed the snitch over to Ron, who put it into the box with the other balls. Ginny moved to hug him, but after Angelina glared at both of them, she just stood next to Harry.

"Now that everyone's here," Angelina started, "let's go over the session."

"Let's not," Ginny whispered.

"I know we have a few new players," Angelina said, glancing at Ron and Ginny, "and our star Seeker doesn't have the time to train as much as he should, but that was abysmal! We need to improve a lot to win the cup this year! So, we'll be holding extra training sessions as soon as I can get the pitch reserved!"

Harry held up his hand, and she rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, Harry, I know you have all those 'special lessons' with Professor Lupin and the Headmaster. But we need to step up our training so we can flatten the other teams. Fortunately, you're our Seeker, so you can train by yourself if you can't attend all of the regular sessions. It's not ideal, but it's better than nothing."

"Ollie, is that you?" Fred asked and squinted in an exaggerated manner at their team captain before Harry could pointed out that learning how to defend himself was more important - it wasn't as if he could play Quidditch dead. "You look very different, but you sound the same. Transfiguration accident, or Polyjuice? I mean, we knew you were obsessed with Quidditch, but returning to Hogwarts in disguise to play for another year is perhaps a little excessive..."

"Very funny, Fred," Angelina shot back.

"Thank you, thank you!" Fred replied, smiling widely and bowing.

Harry had to snort at the sight, but noticed that neither Ron nor Ginny were laughing.

*****​

"What's wrong?" Harry asked half an hour later when the three of them were on their way back to the Gryffindor tower ahead of the rest of the team, with Ginny leaning into his side as they walked.

"I'm wrong!" Ron spat. "If the team's not doing well, then it's my fault. I'm the only new player. Angelina just didn't want to single me out."

"At least you're on the team!" Ginny scoffed. "I didn't even make the cut."

"You're a reserve," Harry pointed out. "The first since I joined the team. She wouldn't have done that if you were not good enough. The other Chasers are just better." He saw her scowling at him, and quickly added: "But they have more experience on the team - they've been playing together for years. Next year you'll be the second most experienced Chaser on the team."

Ginny snorted. "And I'll be playing with another inexperienced Chaser."

Harry pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. "And you'll be playing with me."

"And if the Slytherins put a player into the infirmary, you'll get to play," Ron added. He still sounded rather down.

Harry released Ginny and addressed him: "Don't take Angelina's rant too seriously. She's just trying to make us train harder. If she really thought you were a bad Keeper, she would have told you. Loudly."

Ron sighed. "I just know I'll make a mistake and cost us the game. First Percy, then me."

"What about Percy?" Harry asked.

"Oh, you didn't tell him?" Ron looked at Ginny.

"No. There was no time before training," she answered.

"Tell me what?" Harry asked again.

"Percy's in trouble at the Ministry. According to Dad, he's being blamed for the accidental destruction of crucial documents."

"Percy accidentally destroyed documents?" Harry shook his head. That didn't sound like the most uptight Weasley he knew.

"Well, he says it wasn't his fault, but everyone is blaming him," Ron said. "Or so Dad told us in his letter."

"I hope he can sort this out," Harry said.

Ron nodded and Ginny made an agreeing noise.

They walked the rest of the way back to their dorms in silence.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, October 7th, 1995

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on your inner animal. Focus on your soul. The soul shapes the body. Adapts it. Changes it. Form follows spirit.

Hermione Granger reached out to her inner animal again, trying to connect with it without having it take over. She needed to take it over instead. Force her body to conform to her spirit. Mind over matter, in a way. It should be easy, given that her mind was her greatest strength.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Force the body to adapt. Force form to follow spirit. Fur and tail, claws and fang. A lithe, lethal shape.

She suddenly felt as if a wave of warm water had swept over her, leaving her tingling and… changed! She opened her eyes with a gasp. Had she done it?

"Wow!" she heard the dog, Mr Black, say. "That's the biggest cat I've ever seen! Weirdest looking, too."

She looked at him, sitting behind the cage he had conjured around his desk 'for my own safety', then at herself. And gasped again. Her hands were covered in fur. Fur the colour of her hair.

And not just her hands. As she quickly found out, all of her skin was entirely covered in fur. But nothing else had changed. She hadn't turned into a cat. She had just turned into a furry girl.

*****​

"It's an impressive first step," Mr Black said, not bothering to hide his amusement as he ran his wand over her body. "I would have expected you to grow claws or fangs, first. James grew antlers - tiny ones."

"And you?" Hermione asked, jerking and glaring at him when he poked her belly with the tip of his wand. "What was your first physical change?"

"Tongue," he said, bending forward and cocking his head to look at her shoulder. At least she hoped it was her shoulder, and he wasn't trying to look down her shirt.

"Really?" That sounded… dubious.

"Well, I think so. It certainly felt different. James blamed it on the hangover we had and said he didn't see any difference." She groaned at that. Couldn't the man be serious, for once? "My nose was my first physical change," he added after a snort.

"Ah." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "So, can you reverse this?" If he couldn't, she'd have to go to St Mungo's. And that would probably lead to another article in the Prophet - judging by all the information Skeeter had, she must have a network of informants covering all of Wizarding Britain.

"I think so." He straightened and nodded.

"You think so?" She raised an eyebrow, or would have, had they not be replaced with fur.

"Well, if my Transfiguration skills are not up to the task, we can simply shave you. Those spells I know by heart!"

She growled at him - this was not the place or time for jokes.

"Oh. We might need to check your throat too. That sounded very animal-like." He was grinning widely again.

Hermione gritted her teeth. No wonder her cat spirit wanted to maul the dog!

*****​

Crookshanks was waiting for her when she got home, perched on the fence. He jumped off and landed with a thud on the pavement as soon as she got closer, then came over to her to sniff her legs - and her hand once she bent down to scratch his head.

"So, do I pass inspection?" she asked, smiling at her pet. He was rather jealous, Hermione had noticed, of other cats, and didn't like their scent on her. And if any other cat dared to enter the yard… the first time that had happened, he had woken up the entire family.

Crookshanks sniffed, then studied her, then sniffed her leg again.

"What's wrong?" He wasn't hissing, so that was a good sign, but usually, he'd go on to the door, expecting her to follow and feed him first thing once inside. Oh. Of course! "That's my fur you're smelling," she said. "Better get used to it."

He miaowed then turned around and walked to the door, tail held high.

Hermione hoped that that was a good sign as well. She'd rather not have to explain to her parents why her cat was suddenly jealous of her. Not after she had to defend her wonderful pet against her parents' unfair, judgmental comments. It wasn't his fault that he looked like he did!

With her hair, Hermione could certainly sympathise.

And she had healed the small scratches Crookshanks had left on her dad's leg after he had accidentally sat on him. And thanks to the Mending Charm, his habit of using her mum's favorite armchair as a scratching post was no trouble either!

It wasn't as if Crookshank damaged books, after all.

*****​

Hogwarts, October 15th, 1995

It was quite unfair, Harry Potter thought as he tried to spot his opponent. Sirius was using Harry's own cloak against him. And his godfather was having far too much fun in this training session - or 'lesson in constant vigilance'. Harry still didn't know exactly what was so funny about that.

Where was Sirius? It was hard enough to spot him in normal training sessions, when he was using conjuration to gain cover and concealment, but now… "Keep your eyes open!" he whispered.

"That won't help much," Ron, at his side, whispered back. We can't see him, remember?"

And Harry doubted that they could hear Sirius. If at least they could use the Human-presence-revealing Spell… "Watch the ground! He can't fly and use the cloak!" He whispered.

"Good idea!" Ron agreed. "If the dust gets disturbed…"

"We need more dust," Harry said through clenched teeth. A flick of his wand conjured motes of dust that floated in the air.

"Gotcha." Ron added lights that made the motes sparkle slightly.

Now they had just to watch for disturbances in the air. You couldn't move easily without at least displacing the air. Maybe if they added some colour effect to the dust… Something caught his attention. Dust moving in the air! "There!" Harry yelled, swishing his wand. "Stupefy!"

"Stupefy!" Ron's Stunner was half a second behind Harry's, and slightly offset. Both passed through the area without hitting anything. But Harry was already casting the next. If they cast enough spells they were bound to hit some…

He felt a spell hit him - from behind! - and everything went dark.

*****​

Sirius's smiling face was the first thing Harry saw when he regained consciousness. "Good idea with the dust, Harry. But you forgot something."

"What?" Harry groaned and shook his head as he recovered fully from the Stunner with which Sirius had hit him. "How did you do that?"

"It was a diversion," Ron answered. "He made the air move there, and once we started casting, we didn't pay attention to our backs any more. Right?"

"Yes," Sirius admitted. "I realised what you were doing, and so I created exactly what you were expecting. And you fell for it."

"Hook, line and sinker." Harry sighed.

"Don't feel bad," Sirius said. "You two did very well. You worked together better than some Auror teams I've seen in my time." He frowned. "Granted, that was in the last months of the war, and they probably had less training than you two… Anyway, let's do it again!"

Harry exchanged a glance with Ron, then nodded. This time, they'd beat Sirius.

They didn't. But it was close - at least in his opinion.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, October 17th, 1995

Hermione Granger was about to sit down on her mat in Mr Black's study when he spoke up. "Before we start with your next attempt to save the gold for a fur coat, I have an important task for you."

"What do you need, sir?" She was curious about what he considered 'an important task'. As her nominal employer, he usually let her sort and file his mail, so he didn't have to read all of it, and check his bills. That she still attempted to keep his schedule was a testimony to her sense of duty - he certainly didn't seem to care much about most of his appointments. Or he simply liked to rile her up by pretending not to care about his own affairs as much as she did.

He swished his wand, and a stack of parchment flew over to her. "I need you to check this for signs of forgery and tampering."

She blinked. Why would… "You mean, you want my tutor to look it over." She didn't have any practical experience with forgery, after all. His grin told her she was correct. "I can ask him, but I can't promise anything." Mr Fletcher had made his opinion of Mr Black, and of such attempts to use him, clear, after all.

"I know. Which is why I expect you to ask very nicely. It concerns your other best friend's family, after all."

"Ron?" She connected the dots at once. "These are from Percy's office?" She stared at the stack in a new light.

"Copies."

"That might make spotting magical tampering difficult." While the Doubling Charm could create perfectly identical copies, they started to degrade at once, even if the rate of degradation was usually far too slow to affect anyone using a copied item.

"A very skilled wizard cast the charm." Mr Black grinned. "Unless you take weeks to check the parchments, any irregularities you detect won't be due to the spell."

"Ah." That meant Dumbledore was directly involved. And it explained how copies of such important and supposedly secret documents had appeared in Mr Black's hand. "I'll do what I can," she said.

"Good! Now let's start turning you into a furry little troublemaker again!"

The glare she sent him only made his grin grow wider. Sighing, she sat down on the mat and started to focus on the change, as she called it, again.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Have the form follow the spirit...

*****​

She had a tail. A swishing, human-sized tail she didn't seem to be able to control as she craned her neck to look at her backside. Mr Black coughed and she saw that he had conjured a large mirror. She ignored it, of course - she wanted to look at her tail, and not at her reflection!

She reached to her back and gripped her tail, trying to make sense of the confusing sensations that caused. "Weird. I can sense it, and sense through it, but I cannot control it," she remarked.

"That's a cat for you," Mr Black said. "You should really use the mirror, though." He was talking far too loudly too.

She huffed. If she wanted a mirror, she'd conjure one herself! "I'm fine," she said, pulling the tip of her tail towards her face to study it.

"That won't work with your ears, unless you manage to pull them off," he said.

"My ears?" She turned her head to look at the mirror and froze at the sight. Her tail escaped her grip as her hands rose to the sides of her head, confirming what she saw in her reflection.

She had cat ears.

Unfortunately, she didn't have cat claws, or she would have taught the snickering dog a lesson.

*****​

London, Greenwich, October 18th, 1995

"So, Black wants me to check this for signs of forgery or tampering." Mr Fletcher looked at the stack of parchment sitting on his desk as if it was the most offensive thing he had ever seen.

"Yes, sir," Hermione Granger said, struggling not to bite her lower lip as she stood next to him - her tutor had told her a few times that such habits got thieves recognised, unless they used them consciously to enhance their cover.

He scoffed and sat down in his favorite armchair. "Figures. I've expected such a 'request' for some time. He hasn't changed at all."

Hermione's eyes widened a little as she wondered if she would receive another tidbit of information about her tutor's mysterious past. "I wouldn't be able to tell," she said carefully. "I've only known him since his exoneration."

"But you know him quite well by now, don't you? Or you think you do," Mr Fletcher added with a snort.

She couldn't deny that, so she inclined her head in agreement.

"He shared a secret with you, and you think he's your best friend." Mr Fletcher said, glancing at her. He hadn't asked her to tell him what she was learning from Mr Black, not outright, but Hermione felt as if he expected her to share the information.

"No. I'm aware that he's using me." She wasn't a naive young girl.

"And he is trying to use me as his personal thief. Too noble to do his own dirty work, is he?"

"It's not for him," Hermione said, choosing her words with care, "It's for Mr Weasley and his son."

"That's the only reason I haven't vanished the parchments. Arthur's a good man."

Which implied that Mr Black wasn't, Hermione noted. And that Mr Fletcher knew Mr Weasley as well. Which meant that Mr Weasley had been a member of that mysterious 'Order' as well. And probably still was. "Yes, he is. Although he hasn't shared any secrets with me," she added.

Mr Fletcher chuckled. "He wouldn't. He's one of the most dependable men I know. Not as reckless as Black - and not as careless either."

She couldn't help herself. "That sounds like you're speaking from personal experience."

"That's not my secret to share." His smile was very thin.

Hermione knew what he meant. She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. "That doesn't have anything to do with this."

"Au contraire," he said, with a fake French accent, "as our dear Jeanne would say. It's all connected. Although it might not be Black's plan. He's as subtle as a dragon come feeding time."

"I think he changed after Azkaban," she retorted - Mr Black could be subtle, in her opinion.

"Perhaps." His tone told her that he didn't think she was correct. "But I've already heard about this affair - Mr Smith's relatives were delighted with the opportunity to wreck Arthur's career. They were not as crass as to call him a 'blood traitor' in my presence, but their sentiments were clear."

She almost gasped. "I didn't think the Smiths were that bad." Arrogant, yes, but such bigots as to resent another pureblood for his more liberal views?

"They weren't - or hid it well. Things have been changing lately." Mr Fletcher looked at the stack again. "This might be part of it." He sighed. "You can tell your employer that I'll be looking into it. For Arthur - not for him."

She didn't like the way Mr Fletcher stressed 'employer', as if she was more loyal to Mr Black than to him, but she nodded anyway. The most important thing was to help Ron's family.

*****​

Hogwarts, October 20th, 1995

Sitting in the Headmaster's office, Harry once again imagined his mind as the centre of a wide, open area where nothing could approach without being seen. But that wasn't true, was it? he suddenly thought. Training with Sirius had proved that you could approach unseen. And the Headmaster had snuck past his defences with Legilimency as well. So often, in fact, during their 'lessons' that Harry could no longer stand hearing the constant claims that few had Dumbledore's skill and experience any more - as if Harry didn't know that Voldemort certainly was among them.

But then, he and Ron had found a way to counter Sirius's stealth attacks, hadn't they? The key wasn't to watch out for anything catching your attention, but to remain aware of everything. He couldn't focus on an intrusion, he had to focus on himself. As if he was trying to spot Sirius's - or Remus's - next attack.

Because someone was trying to enter his mind, not sneaking up on something he guarded. He wasn't standing in an open field - everything was him. He was the field, in a way. Or his mind was.

He focused on that thought. Focused on his mind. Imagined it floating, isolated. No, not isolated - it was just that there was nothing else. No space for an intruder to wait and plan. There was just his mind, and a foreign influence.

He hadn't closed his eyes, but he didn't see the Headmaster's any more. He didn't see, he sensed. No - he simply was aware. He didn't care how; that would only create a weakness anyway.

And for the first time since he had started training, he sensed Dumbledore without the Headmaster making it obvious.

*****​

"Well done, Harry! You detected me - that is quite a feat."

"Thank you, sir." Dumbledore's praise was genuine, Harry Potter thought - unlike the last few sessions. He smiled, proud of his success. "I finally managed to wrap my mind around this."

"You managed to free your imagination from the physical limitations we so often place upon it."

Of course, Dumbledore would realise what he had done. Harry nodded.

"That is the first step towards mastering Occlumency - truly mastering it," Dumbledore went on. Harry blinked. What was… "Now we will focus on pushing intrusions out of your mind."

Oh. Of course. Harry felt very stupid for assuming that he had actually accomplished a lot. Seeing an attack didn't mean he could counter it - Sirius's lessons had taught him that as well. He sighed. "I suppose we'll start on that then?"

"Unless you are too tired to continue."

He shook his head. "No, I'm good."

Voldemort wouldn't let him rest or prepare, after all.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, October 24th, 1995

"Mr Smith has finished his examination of the documents you provided," Hermione Granger announced as soon as Mr Black had closed the door to his study.

"Oh?" He cocked his head sideways in apparent surprise.

She sighed at his antics. "I did call ahead and say that I had urgent news."

Mr Black shrugged. "That could have been about anything - boyfriends, rivals, robes. I don't claim to understand the priorities young witches have these days."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I would never bother you about such trivial things." She had far more important things to care about.

"It wouldn't be a bother at all, believe me." He grinned widely at her. "It would be good to have another point of view in addition to Harry's."

"Not everything is about Harry," she said firmly. Not in the way Mr Black insinuated, at least.

His grin widened. "Of course not."

Trying to make him understand that he was wrong would be pointless, and only encourage him, so she pulled the documents out of her pocket and unshrank them. "They were tampered with. Magically altered by a very skilled wizard," she said as she put them on his desk. "Mr Smith didn't recognise the caster, though."

"You can call him Mr Fletcher, you know. I already know his real name," Mr Black said as he sat down behind his desk.

That didn't mean she'd say it, of course - the best way to keep a cover or a secret was to never let either slip, no matter how safe it seemed. "Percy's signature was copied to the forms with a custom spell."

He nodded. "As expected." Leaning back, he sighed. "I wish your 'tutor' were here. While I do not doubt your talents, I would prefer to discuss details with him."

"I can ask him to meet with you," Hermione said. That seemed sensible to her, seeing that both men already knew each other. Far more sensible than using her as a go-between. "Unless you're meeting him in the Order," she added, as if it was an afterthought.

He laughed. "Nice try, Miss Merriweather." He quickly stopped, though. "But I've learned, at great cost, that secrets shouldn't be shared with anyone who doesn't need to know them," he added, looking at the wall behind her.

She shrugged. She knew that as well, but it irked her that she didn't know about the past that her tutor and her employer shared. It made dealing with both more difficult, too. "So, will that be enough to save Mr Weasley's career?"

"It'll help," Mr Black said in a rather non-committal tone. "We can't exactly use them to prove Percy's innocence, but we can use it to acquire some leverage."

Hermione nodded - as she had learned to her own detriment, in Wizarding Britain, having leverage was better than having proof of your innocence.

Mr Black swept the documents in his own pocket with a swish of his wand and stood. "Now, let's see what amusing mishap you'll produce this evening," he said with a wide grin. "Neither James nor I ever managed to accidentally vanish our clothes, after all."

She glared at him, flush with both anger and embarrassment, at the reminder of that particular incident. "That won't happen again," she said in a clipped tone, not bothering to point out that an animagus's clothes had to vanish for the duration of their transformation, so that had been at least a partial success. Even if it had been very embarrassing.

At least Mr Black couldn't tell Harry about it. That would have been horrible.

*****​

Hogwarts, November 20th, 1995

"The coast is clear," Harry Potter whispered, looking around the corner of the hallway leading to the Astronomy Tower.

"What?" Ginny asked in a whisper, right behind him.

"No one is around," he explained. The prefect patrol was over, and the next wouldn't come near this area for an hour - if they even bothered; some prefects were rather sloppy when it came to nightly patrols.

"Good. Let's go then!" She pushed past him, then threw a glance over her shoulder at him. "Unless you've got cold feet."

He chuckled - as if! - but he glanced at his map once more to check that no one was near them before he followed her. By the time he caught up to her she had already unlocked and opened the door to the tower.

"You'd think they'd make a little more of an effort to lock up the tower," he whispered as he stepped on to the stairway.

She grinned. "Who said they actually try to stop anyone? I consider it more of a test - if you can get into the tower, you're old enough for the tower. It's a Hogwarts tradition, after all!"

Harry smiled widely - that was a tradition he wholeheartedly approved of. "Let's go, then!"

"That's my line!"

They reached the top faster than Harry had ever managed for an Astronomy lesson. It was the new moon, so only the stars provided light, but they hadn't come here for the view.

"So…" Harry said, "we're here."

Ginny nodded. "Yes." She was licking her lips, he could see that even in the dim light. Was she nervous? They had come up here to snog, after all - it had been her idea, too. Or should he say something more romantic? Use the cold as an excuse to embrace her - even though Warming Charms dealt with it?

He snorted. This wasn't their first date. He reached out to her, pulling her into his arms. She made a throaty, almost moaning sound before their lips met, and then it was like in the broom cupboard two days ago. Better - it didn't smell like cleaning supplies.

When they broke the kiss, her hands were inside his shirt, and his were under her sweater, on her back, and both were breathing heavily. Their eyes met, and then they kissed again, and their hands started to wander.

Then his scar erupted in pain, and he felt blood running down his face. Ginny's shriek sounded weirdly muted, he thought as he fell to his knees. Then she wasn't there anymore, and he was staring at a man - a dead man. Or dying. So much blood. But he sensed the connection. He wasn't overwhelmed like last time.

"Harry! Merlin's beard! You're bleeding! We need to call a teacher!" He felt her hands grabbing his arm, trying to lift him. She almost broke his concentration.

Despite the pain, he raised his hand. "Stop, Ginny!" he pressed out through clenched teeth. "We'll go to Dumbledore." As soon as this was over and he could walk again.

And then he retched at what he saw.

*****​

"You had another vision."

"Yes, sir." Harry Potter said as he pressed a handkerchief against his bleeding scar. "I wasn't knocked unconscious this time, though. I didn't fight it either." He raised his wand. "I can copy the memory for you."

"Very impressive," Dumbledore said, "but please do not strain yourself overly."

Harry would have shaken his head, but that would hurt too much, so he simply extracted the memory and let it float into the vial on Dumbledore's desk. The effort made him feel light-headed, though, and he sagged in his seat, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Harry!" he heard Ginny exclaim.

"Do not worry, Miss Weasley. The wound looks far more serious than it is." Dumbledore sighed.

"That wasn't a pain curse," Ginny said. "He didn't hit his head this time. His scar just started bleeding. And you expected this."

Harry didn't know exactly if she was talking to him or the Headmaster, or both - but she sounded angry.

"The secrecy was - and still is - necessary," Dumbledore said. "For Harry's sake. His life depends on it."

Ginny gasped. She looked pale, Harry though. She wasn't the one bleeding, though. "I think I need to go to the Infirmary," he said.

"Poppy has been informed," Dumbledore explained. "I think we shall claim you two had an accident during a rendezvous… on top of the Astronomy Tower."

Harry gasped, then groaned at the pain this caused.

"Did you spy on us?" Ginny asked. She was angry again, or still, he realised.

"It was simply an educated guess," the Headmaster explained. "I was a student once myself. Of course you'll have to serve detention for that as well."

Ginny gasped again, but Harry couldn't care less right then.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, November 20th, 1995

Hermione Granger slowly and carefully crept forward. She couldn't rush this - the roof she was on was slick with rain, and a slip could easily send her tumbling down two stories. Unless Mr Fletcher caught her. She buried that thought. This was her final test. She had to act as if she wasn't aware of her tutor's presence.

She reached the edge of the roof and peered down at the street below. At this time of the night, no shops or pubs were open - other than the Leaky Cauldron, which didn't seem to ever close - and so this part of Diagon Alley was dead, but there were still Aurors patrolling. Aurors who would take exception to a black-clad figure on a roof.

Even if she wasn't here to steal anything. This time. She just had to slip inside the wards and out again. She had done that before, and the wards on this building - which housed 'Henry's Hats' - weren't any stronger than those on the Allisters' house.

Below her was the window she had chosen as her point of entry. As she had found out during her preparations it led to a work room - no one would be there now. A last check of the Alley… she froze. Someone - two people - were walking down the street. Aurors? She knew their schedule, and they shouldn't be here.

For a moment, she was tempted to simply remain where she was. They couldn't see her from below, even if she weren't disillusioned. But she would be in range of a Human-presence-revealing spell. When on patrol, Aurors usually didn't cast such spells without a reason - but they usually weren't patrolling this part of the Alley at this time.

Silently cursing, she quickly climbed back to the ridge of the roof. She almost slipped in her haste, but managed to recover her footing, then pulled herself over the ridge and slid down the other side. She caught herself at the edge, then pressed herself against the tiles. Even if they cast the spell now, she wouldn't be in their range. And if she were, the marker wouldn't be high enough to be seen from the Alley side.

Or so she thought. She couldn't see the Aurors any more, but a quickly and silently cast Supersensory Charm let her hear them. As far as she could tell from their muttered complaints, their schedule had been changed to free up other Aurors for an emergency.

She sighed with relief - they weren't here for her - and waited until she couldn't hear their steps any more before returning to the other side of the roof. She had a test to pass, after all.

*****​

"Good thinkin' there," Mr Fletcher said an hour later, back in his flat. "Ya weren't careless, trustin' them to act as normal even though they had already changed their schedule."

Hermione nodded. As if she would be careless, after all his lessons about caution!

"Ya went through the wards quickly and without trouble, too."

"I had studied them beforehand."

"That ya did. And ya cased the joint thoroughly, and made a clear getaway." He smiled, though Hermione thought he looked a little sad. "I don't like to admit it, but you're ready to help with a real heist."

"Yes!" Hermione smiled widely, despite the qualification about helping. She had passed her tutor's final test!

"Don't get cocky, though," he added, shaking his head. "Especially since you haven't learned Apparition yet."

"I won't," she assured him. She had done it! She had passed!

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, November 21st, 1995

"What'll it be this time? Furry forepaws? A tail and cat legs? A cat's snout?"

Hermione Granger ignored Mr Black's prattle. She was close to mastering the change. She knew it. She had managed pretty much every body part so far. Just not all together, nor in the right size.

She closed her eyes and tuned the dog out. She was a cat. A graceful, smart, elegant cat. A cat who prowled the night. Like she had done last night. She remembered climbing on the roof, peering down at the stupid humans below her, a shadow in the night, too smart and too quick for them to see much less catch. She was a cat who went wherever she pleased and did whatever she wanted.

She… she blinked. The room had changed. The red and gold banner behind the dog was now greenish and gold. And the other colours seemed to have faded somewhat… She shot up - and found herself jumping. Higher than she had expected - and she landed on four paws. Gasping, she checked her body. She was a cat! A beautiful brown-haired cat!

"You did it!"

That was the dog. She looked at him. He was moving around his desk. His big, sturdy desk. With a gleeful yell, she jumped on the desk, startling him as she sent the parchment there flying as she moved towards him. She jumped off the desk as he stepped back and landed on his chest, her claws finding purchase on his shirt.

He even tried to shake her off, the dolt! But she dug her claws in - into his skin too - and held fast.

Then there was no shirt any more. Nor any wizard. Just a big, black dog. For a moment, they stared at each other.

And then the chase was on.

*****​

 

[turbinicarpus]

"We need more dust," Harry said through clenched teeth. A flick of his wand conjured motes of dust that floated in the air.
"Gotcha." Ron added lights that made the motes sparkle slightly.

Click to shrink...

"Have you ever wondered why the incantation for the dust spell is 'I swear on my magic'? And, why you need to say 'So mote it be' to make them sparkle?"

"No idea, mate. They usually sound like Latin versions of what they do. Hermione would know."

"That she would."

"You did it!"

Click to shrink...

"Now, have you gotten Crookshanks 'fixed' yet?"

"Why would we want to get Crookshanks... Oh."

 

[turbinicarpus]

Also, this shall be Hermione's nemesis:

 

[macdjord]

She looked at him, sitting behind the cage he had conjured around his desk 'for my own safety', then at herself.

Click to shrink...

That should either be 'for his own safety' or it should be in double quotes.

"The coast is clear," Harry Potter whispered, looking around the corner of the hallway leading to the Astronomy Tower.

"What?" Ginny asked in a whisper, right behind him.

Click to shrink...

That expression is old enough that even a pureblood ought to recognize it.


Also, Catgirl!Hermione sound adorable.

 

[Starfox5]

Chapter 12: Set-Up

London, Ministry for Magic, November 21st, 1995

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs Cornfoot." Auror Bertie Macmillan tried to sound as if he truly cared, even though he couldn't really be bothered sympathising with the recently widowed witch sitting across from him and crying into her handkerchief. Scrimgeour would be on his case if there was another complaint about his 'attitude'.

Mrs Cornfoot was frumpy, and had lost what appeal she once had - he remembered her being reasonably pretty at Hogwarts; she had been a year or two below him - in the last twenty or so years. No wonder her husband had gone looking for a good time in Knockturn Alley. He had found himself on the wrong end of a wand there, but such things happened.

True, the manner of the man's death had been rather more brutal than usual - they had taken more than a day to identify the victim due to the corpse's condition - but that was merely a detail. "But Knockturn Alley is a dangerous place for visitors. Your husband should have known better."

"But he knew that! And he wouldn't have gone to such a place anyway! Gregor wasn't like that!"

He disagreed, but didn't say so. In Mr Cornfoot's place, Bertie certainly would have preferred the company you found in Knockturn Alley's seedy pubs if he were saddled with a wife who was such a nag.

"He was a nature lover, Gregor was - we had a subscription to The Quibbler, you know! And he was so fond of looking for the rarest animals…" She broke down crying again.

"I'm certain he was," Bertie said, trying to sound sincere. The Quibbler… what a rag. It made the Prophet look good.

"Can I see him? They said they still needed his body…" She looked at him through watery eyes.

He almost said that she could have a piece or two as there were enough to go around, but that was a joke better saved for the Corps' break room. Civilians rarely appreciated such humour. "I don't yet know when the examination of your husband's body will be finished."

"Who would do such a thing…" She sobbed. "To him, of all people! He never hurt a fly!"

The ideal victim, then. Bertie personally thought it was a hag attack. Or a vampire trying to disguise his crime as one - you couldn't trust dark creatures. But that paranoid twit Brittlewinger suspected blood magic.

Bertie smiled with fake sympathy. "We'll do our best to bring the murderer to justice, Mrs Cornfoot." He wasn't lying - Bones herself was keeping an eye on the investigation, which meant Scrimgeour was riding the Aurors even harder than usual. Even Yaxley had poked his wand in. Bertie simply didn't think they would find anything. Vampires or hags, those kinds of creatures tended to disappear easily.

Well, he added with a glance at Macnair, who was apparently serving as an advisor for this investigation, maybe not that easily with the butcher on the case.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, November 21st, 1995

The dog had tried his best, but ultimately, dogs were inferior to cats - they couldn't climb. Hermione smirked at her nemesis from a safe perch on a shelf, far above his reach. Let the dog bark as much as he wanted - he was powerless!

Then the dog changed forms, and she hissed. That was cheating!

"I think that's enough," the dog said. "Not that I care, but Kreacher will have to work hard to repair everything that we wrecked."

She hissed again - what did she care about a creature barely above a mouse?

"I don't speak cat, but that didn't sound like you agree with me," the dog went on.

She sniffed in response. Was it her fault that the dog was too stupid to understand a civilised language? Then her eyes widened - the dog had just drawn a stick. And not the kind they liked to chase! She crouched, then jumped off the shelf just as the dog started to wave the stick around, landing on the nearby table. A swipe of her paw sent a vase tumbling - that should distract him - and she was off again, towards the doorway beckoning to her. Two yards, one yard… one yard… her paws had lost traction, she realised - she was floating!

And the dog was coming towards her. "I said enough, Miss Granger. Time to change back."

She hissed at him, her tail standing up and her ears laying back. She didn't want to change back! She was fine as she was!

He sighed. "Then you leave me no choice." He ignored her challenge to fight fairly and walked over to one of the shelves he hadn't toppled in his wild chase, making her float after him in the most undignified way possible. "Now where is it… there!"

He held up a book. "If you don't change back I'll burn this copy of 'Hogwarts: A History' from 1754!"

She gasped. How could he threaten that poor innocent book! The fiend! That was an irreplaceable copy! Then she blinked. Why did she care? She was a cat! No - she was a witch. An animagus. And Mr Black was threatening to burn a book!

"No!" she yelled, thrashing around. Where was her wand? There! A flick of her wrist had it in her hand, and she was about to cast when he cancelled his spell.

Unlike a cat, she didn't land gracefully on the floor. Painfully was a more correct description.

"There you are, Miss Granger! I almost feared that something went wrong and you had lost your mind."

"That's no reason to threaten a book," she retorted.

"Whatever works," he shot back with one of his infuriating grins. "James was never this much trouble - then again, he was a stag, not a cat."

"What do you mean?" Hermione Granger asked as she stood.

"We usually played outside."

Looking at the thoroughly devastated interior of the living room - apparently, she had managed to get the door of the study open - there wasn't much she could offer in her defence.

He sighed. "I think we need to talk about the mental effects of the change again."

Hermione nodded. That sounded like a very good idea.

*****​

While Mr Black was apparently unconcerned about the mess they had made, Hermione Granger cringed at the sight. They had left a trail of devastation leading from the study to the living room. Shelves had been toppled, shards from broken vases and knick-knacks covered the floor, a potted plant had been shredded…

"Almost looks like when my mother lost her temper after she heard that I was sorted into Gryffindor," Mr Black remarked as they passed the toppled umbrella stand - a disgusting hollowed out troll leg. "No, wait," he said, stopping suddenly.

Hermione froze and looked around, but she couldn't spot any threats. Then she glanced at Mr Black and saw that his eyes had lost their focus.

"No, that was what I imagined it to look like when my uncle told me. He promised to give me a copy of his memory, but…" He sighed. "He died before he managed."

Hermione made a non-committal noise - offering her condolences for a death more than twenty years past would have been weird, even if Mr Black seemed lost in his memories for a moment.

"Ah, well," he said, straightening, "shouldn't take Kreacher more than half the night to fix the place up."

"I wasn't aware that house-elves could use that sort of magic," Hermione said. "Mending Charms," she explained when she saw his puzzled look.

He laughed. "Oh, he can't do those. I'll decide in the morning what I'll mend, and what I'll get rid of. He'll probably try to glue some of the stuff left by my mother together and keep it." He must have caught her confusion - she had to work on her tells some more - since he added: "He worships my mother. He has a shrine to the old hag in his den. If he could do magic, he probably would try to raise her from the dead using some of the more vile rituals in our library."

Hermione hoped that he was joking. "And I broke some of those things…" she muttered.

"Oh, dont worry. He'll blame me, as usual. I think so at least."

That wasn't very reassuring. She'd have to watch her steps around the elf. Which would be good training, she tried to console herself.

They had reached the study, and she winced.

"Yes, if I didn't know better, I'd think you used the opportunity to thoroughly express your - utterly wrong, of course - opinion of my taste in interior design." Mr Black snorted.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I recall you causing most of the destruction," she said curtly.

"Well, I was chasing you, so it's your fault."

"What?" She glared at him, but he just laughed and righted his chair with a flick of his wand. She grudgingly followed his example.

"Now," he said, suddenly acting as if they were in class and he were the teacher, "what do you think happened?"

"I was overwhelmed by my inner animal following my first full transformation and instead of helping me, you decided to chase me as if you were a dog," she primly answered. A massive dog who had done most of the damage, too.

"You're correct - almost. You weren't overwhelmed by your inner animal, but by the instincts of your form." He leaned back. "When we change, those instincts allow us to move in our animal form as if we had been born like that. We don't have to learn how to walk, run, climb - or fly - as an animal. Simplified, we know how to act as an animal without having to think about it."

"It sounds like simply another name for the same effect." She had been correct, then, and so had her books.

"In a way," he admitted, grinning widely. "But the important point is that if we don't think, we'll act as an animal. A panicking animagus tends to act like a panicking animal."

"I wasn't panicking," she retorted. The dog might have significantly out-massed her slender form, but she hadn't been afraid of him. He was far too slow and clumsy to catch her.

"No? It certainly looked like that to me, chasing you," he said, chuckling. She sniffed in response. "But you were surprised by the change, probably confused as well, and let your instincts take over."

Which was generally a bad idea, as Hermione knew very well. "That doesn't explain your reaction," she said.

"I was just having fun chasing a pesky cat." He chuckled, presumably at her expression. "Both cats and dogs are predators. We like to chase things." She could imagine the dog chasing a car. "You'll have to watch out for string and mice."

"Pardon?"

"I'm not joking - not entirely," he added. "In our animal form, we're always just one slip away from acting on our instincts. Let your thoughts wander, and you'll find yourself eating a mouse."

"Speaking from experience?" she asked, grinning when he coughed. Then she remembered under what circumstances he had probably eaten mice. "Sorry."

"Huh?" He waved her apology away. "Anyway, you shouldn't have too much trouble controlling yourself, normally."

He made that sound as if it was a bad thing, Hermione thought. She nodded anyway - she wouldn't let her animal instincts get the better of her. Not again, at least.

"Now, change again, and let's see if you can keep your wits."

She sniffed at him - of course she would! - and focused on her transformation again. This time, it didn't take her more than a minute until she found herself sitting in a suddenly far too large chair. For a moment, she wanted to flee the dog's presence - not that he could catch her, anyway - but she controlled herself. She wasn't a cat, she was an animagus. A witch.

She looked at herself. She had brown semi-long fur, probably the same colour, or close, to her hair - cats saw colours differently. It looked like it had a slight green tone, so that would appear red to humans. Chestnut, maybe? She couldn't make out what breed she was. Probably mixed, she thought. She a very long and slightly bushy tail. Very attractive. She raised a forepaw and unsheathed her claws, studying them. They didn't need to be sharpened, not yet. She dug them into the seat anyway, to check how that felt.

A coughing noise from the dog interrupted her introspection. Her anger at the presumption was mollified, though, when she saw that he had conjured a large mirror for her, and she jumped off the seat to look at her reflection.

She was a fine cat. A very fine cat. Slender, with a thick, well-tended coat, long whiskers and pretty ears. Elegant and graceful, as she had known she would be. Perfect.

Then a far too large dog suddenly barked, far too close, and she was on top of the last shelf still standing in the room and hissing at the dog before she realised what had happened.

The dog changed into a sniggering wizard. "I think you need to work on not being startled so easily and losing control. But that shouldn't take long. Not with my help."

She wanted to scratch his nose again.

*****​

London, Merton, November 21st, 1995

Sitting on her bed in her pyjamas, Hermione Granger stared at Crookshanks. Her cat hadn't acted any differently towards her since she had returned home from Grimmauld Place. The tomcat was currently occupying her pillow and, by all appearances, enjoying a nap. She hadn't really expected anything else, of course - animals couldn't sense animagi, Mr Black had told her that - but Crookshanks was a half-Kneazle, and those were magical animals. And he was her familiar. Or should be - she hadn't found a clear definition of what made an animal a familiar, other than their owner stating so.

She sighed. Her parents didn't know what she had achieved - they couldn't know, of course, for their and her safety - and she couldn't tell anyone else either. Not Harry or Ron, nor Mr Fletcher. And now she couldn't even share her exploits with her cat.

She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. She could transform, of course. She had done it several times this evening, without any serious issue. And without taking Mr Black's nose off. But he had warned her against changing without his supervision for another week or two. And he was the expert.

But she wanted to see Crookshanks's reaction to her transformation. Would he be confused? Or take it in stride? Or, she thought, wincing, would he react as he had reacted to other cats intruding on his new territory?

Maybe changing without supervision really wasn't a good idea…

She sighed again and grabbed her notebook. She should revise the theory of Apparition again - Mr Fletcher had said he'd start to teach her soon. And she suspected that even though he had pronounced her ready to help with a real heist, she wouldn't get to do anything actually important or dangerous until she could apparate.

Unless she could demonstrate another way to escape from a sticky situation… She bit her lower lip. Mr Black expected her to keep his - and now her - secret. But Mr Fletcher was her tutor.

If only the two men would get along!

*****​

Hogsmeade, November 25th, 1995

"Oh… these dress robes would be perfect! What do you think?" Ginny asked, holding up green dress robes with gold trim.

"I think they look great," Harry Potter said. They did, too - but then, everything looked great on Ginny.

"They look a little too much like Slytherin's colours to me," Ron commented from the back of the shop.

"I wasn't asking you," Ginny snapped. "I'm not going to the New Year's Ball with you! And this is not Slytherin green!"

"I said it wasn't Slytherin's colour - it's just a little too…" Ron trailed off, apparently searching the right word.

"Too green?" Hermione asked.

"Yes. No!" Ron frowned at their friend. "You know what I mean!" he added when the two witches laughed.

Harry didn't laugh - Ron deserved some support - but he smiled. Unlike Parvati, Ginny didn't have a problem with his best friends. Well, she and Ron fought a little, but that was normal - they did that at The Burrow too. And Hermione liked Ginny.

"This is not some school event," his girlfriend pointed out. "This is a real ball. People won't think I'm wearing house colours."

"I bet Malfoy will say something." Ron frowned.

"He'll say something no matter what I'm wearing," Ginny retorted. "And I won't let him and his friends influence what I'm wearing to the ball! I want this to be perfect!"

"Even Malfoy might manage to behave at the New Year's Ball," Hermione cut in. "Making a scene would reflect badly on his family, after all."

"If he behaves then I'd check him for Compulsion Charms," Ron muttered.

This time, Harry laughed with everyone else. The thought of Malfoy being magically forced to behave by his parents...

"It would be just another sign of their hypocrisy, of course," Hermione said once they had stopped laughing. "They spread the worst rumours behind your back, and then act as if they are innocent in public."

"Yeah," Ron chimed in. "Dad said that Malfoy father's now claiming that Dumbledore lied for Percy."

"Is he still trying to get them fired?" Hermione asked. "I thought the Headmaster proved that the documents were faked."

"I heard from Percy that there's a rumor that Dumbledore copied the files, then altered them himself," Ginny said.

Harry nodded. "Sirius told me the same. And Malfoy's friends are acting as if they believe that, just to put pressure on Dumbledore." He looked at Hermione. "Didn't he tell you that as well?"

She frowned. "We don't talk about the Wizengamot's politics that often."

"I thought you were his secretary," Ron said.

"I only work part-time," Hermione explained. "I'm still spending most of my time studying." Of course she was, Harry thought. "And when I'm working for Sirius, I'm usually doing his correspondence, not rumour-mongering," she added with a little sniff.

"You shouldn't just study, though," Ron said. "It's not healthy."

"Well, I'm not studying now, am I?" Hermione retorted.

But she probably wasn't having much fun either, Harry suddenly thought - seeing Ginny pick her dress robes for the ball while she couldn't attend. Well, Ron wasn't invited either, but that was different. Balls were important for witches, for all witches, not just for the likes of Parvati, Ginny had taught him that. "I could ask Sirius if he could take you to the ball," he said.

"What?" Hermione was staring at him. Ron and Ginny too, he realised.

"Well, he's going alone anyway, and you missed the Yule Ball, and…" He shrugged.

"Do you realise that if I went to the ball with your godfather, the Prophet would claim that I was sleeping with him the very next day?"

"They did that already." Harry remembered that article well.

"They speculated. But if I show up on his arm, people will actually believe it," Hermione said.

"Well, they wouldn't talk about me chasing Harry's gold in that case," Ginny joked.

Judging by her expression, Hermione apparently didn't think that that was funny. "Not that I want to go to the ball anyway. And I don't think that he would want to go with me. That would curb his flirting with all the young and impressionable witches." Harry winced - she wasn't wrong there. "No," she continued in that prim voice of hers, "I'll enjoy the New Year's Eve in muggle London."

With a book, Harry thought. He knew better than to say that, of course.

*****​

London, Merton, December 25th, 1995

"Open it, Crookshanks!" Hermione Granger smiled as she held out a small package to her cat. "It's your gift!"

"One of his gifts," her father muttered.

She ignored him. This was Crookshanks's first Christmas, at least the first with her family, so it was only right and proper that his gifts made up for the years he had missed. She watched expectantly as he sniffed the package. But instead of tearing it open with his claws - he had demonstrated his ability to do so several times with her mum's shoe boxes - he miaowed and looked at her.

He probably feared he'd damage the contents, she thought. She petted him before opening the package herself and presented the bag of cat treats to him. As soon as he saw the bag, he ripped it open - he was such a smart cat!

"It was your idea, dear," she heard her mum say.

Hermione turned her head while Crookshanks gorged himself. "What was his idea?"

"To get you a cat," Mum replied.

"And it was the best idea you ever had!" Hermione nodded emphatically. Crookshanks wasn't just the best cat a witch could have, but he had also been crucial in her learning how to become an animagus.

"I'm not quite so certain of that anymore," her father said.

She frowned at him. "I repaired your armchair." And his shoes. And even that ugly tie that should have been disposed of long ago.

"There's also the matter of my cigars."

"Smoking is bad for your health!" Crookshanks was obviously looking out for her dad.

Her mum snickered in agreement. And Crookshanks ripped open a package.

"Oh, Crookshanks! That was the wrong one! This is yours - that one is for Dad." A quick Mending Charm later, she held the package out to her father with a smile. "He must have smelled the wool and thought it was for him!" she explained.

"Wool?"

"A sweater for your vacation in the Alps," Hermione explained.

"I still think you should come with us," he grumbled.

"I couldn't leave Crookshanks alone for so long!" she exclaimed - they had gone over this already! "And Mr Black needs me over the holidays." She ignored her father's mumbled comment about what her employer needed.

"And you can meet your friends," her mum said, smiling.

She nodded happily. She'd be able to see Harry each day - and Ron most days. And she'd be able to help with her first real heist, too.

This was going to be the best vacation ever.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 25th, 1995

"And for you, Moony, new duellist robes!" Sirius said with a wide smile. "Now you can impress all those seventh years even more! Or 'Tonks'."

Remus rolled his eyes. "She's not interested in a man my age, and I wouldn't start anything with a student."

"I note that you didn't claim that there's no interest from your students!"

"That doesn't matter."

"You're an attractive man. A Hogwarts professor, the first Defence teacher to stay for more than a year - brave, skilled and respectable. Witches love such men! You just need to get out more. Maybe meet some former students of yours..."

"I can manage my social life just fine," Remus shot back. "I'm not the one who needs a secretary to juggle several witches!"

"I would never have Miss Granger do that!"

"I note that you didn't deny that you're seeing several witches."

While the two men bickered, Harry Potter poked his own package with his wand. He couldn't detect any spells on it, but that didn't have to mean anything.

"Something thing wrong?" his godfather asked.

"I don't know," he answered, glancing at Sirius. The man was grinning, but that didn't have to mean anything either. He might be waiting for whatever prank he had prepared to happen, or simply be amused at Harry's 'paranoia'.

"You wouldn't really expect me to trap your presents, would you?" Sirius asked. "Certainly not after you eschewed your girlfriend's offer to celebrate Christmas with her family in favour of celebrating with your family!"

Ginny had been disappointed at his refusal, Harry knew, but she had understood that he wanted to stay with his godfather and 'honorary uncle'. And he could visit The Burrow tomorrow anyway. "After this year's lessons with the two of you?" he snorted. "Remus didn't tell me that he checked the packages this time."

"Moony?" Sirius frowned. "Did you make my godson think that I would hex him on Christmas?"

"No, that was all your own doing," Remus said with a smile. "I did nothing."

"You did!" Sirius huffed. "Betrayed by my best friend!"

Harry opened the package with his wand. "Glasses?" he asked, pulling them out. "I already have a pair," he added.

"Oh, those are special ones," Sirius said gleefully. "Try them out!"

Harry pulled his own off and tried the new ones out. The room looked a little sharper, but that was all.

"Tap the frame with your wand!"

Harry did - and recoiled. The room had disappeared in a maze of colours and shades and wire-like frames that looked like… He closed his eyes. "What's this?"

"I had them enchanted! Not as good as Moody's eye, but with a little training you'll be able to use them like Omnioculars. Zoom in, zoom out, and you can even see through walls! And through clothes!" Sirius added with a chuckle.

Harry didn't know if this was the worst or best gift he had ever received.

*****​

London, Greenwich, December 27th, 1995

"Alright. I told you that you're ready to assist me on a real heist," Mr Fletcher said as he finished his cup of tea.

Hermione Granger nodded. She had barely touched her own cup. Not just out of anticipation, though - her tutor still didn't know about her being an animagus.

"Now, you've heard about the 'blood murders'," Mr Fletcher went on. "Your employer was a suspect, after all."

"Yes." And the Prophet had gone into details of the cases for weeks.

"An acquaintance of mine thinks that the murders are tied to the Dark Lord."

Dumbledore had told him, then, Hermione thought. "Yes."

"Ya already knew that." He set his cup down and stared across the table at her.

"It was an easy deduction." Harry had told her, but that was another secret she couldn't share.

He snorted. "Anyway. He's been busy underminin' the Ministry and the Wizengamot fer the last few months. Some of the less useless Old Families have opposed him, but not with much success."

"They barely managed to save Mr Weasley's career," Hermione said.

"Yeah. And his son's been transferred to a dead-end position. Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee." He shook his head.

"Wouldn't that allow him to keep track of incidents that might otherwise be missed?" Hermione could imagine that that might be useful.

"Most of the incidents that committee has ta deal with are obvious screwups. And even late in the war, the Aurors weren't as inept as to miss Death Eater attacks that needed muggle-worthy excuses."

"Ah." That made sense.

"Mind ya, if he's not stupid, he can keep an eye on a number of people in the Ministry using the excuse of protecting the Statute of Secrecy, but for his career, anything tied ta muggles is poison." Mr Fletcher shrugged. "But we've got bigger problems to worry 'bout than a Ministry career."

Such as the Dark Lord's plans. She nodded. "Are we going to break into the manor of one of the 'former' Death Eaters?"

"Eager, are ya?" He laughed. "We'll do that, but not too soon. No, we're starting with somethin' a little easier."

She didn't frown. That would have made her appear immature and naive.

"I know where most of the manors of the Old Families are. Over the years, all of them threw a ball or a party - ya can't really impress yar peers and those below ya without showin' off, can ya?" She made an agreeing noise so he'd go on. "But those are the 'ancestral mansions'. The heads of the families live there. Their heirs too, although not always. But the rest of the family members? They have their own homes. And they aren't prone ta throwin' parties fer everyone - but o' course they'll attend the parties in the manors."

"You want me to find these homes," Hermione said.

"Yes. At least those of the younger wizards. All you have to do is to slip 'em one of these." He held up a small coin - a Knut.

Hermione Granger nodded. She gripped her own cup a little harder - she still had the urge to take notes of anything important, even though she didn't need to. Not for such a simple task. Well, simple order. Achieving the actual task would be a little tricky. "Won't they notice the spells on the coin?"

"There actually aren't any spells on it. My acquaintance has the means to track these coins more discreetly."

She wondered what kind of magic Dumbledore was using. Perhaps a variant of the Protean Charm? She had thought of such a thing as an anti-theft measure, but it should also serve to track something - but not without a spell on it.

"Now, remember to be cautious," her tutor interrupted her thoughts. "Don't get drawn into a spare bedroom; you're not a courtesan."

She nodded firmly. She had no intention of going that far. Flirting with the likes of Draco Malfoy would be bad enough.

"Check what you drink for potions. Don't let them cast anything on you. And remember to focus your mind on your role. I doubt that there'll be any Legilimens at the Smiths' ball who're skilled enough to actually read your mind, not without being obvious about it, and certainly not among your marks, but someone could be talented enough to pick up a stray thought."

There was no danger of that, Hermione knew - as an animagus, she was safe from such attacks. Reasonably safe, at least. But he didn't know that. So she nodded.

"But even a skilled Legilimens still needs eye contact to catch more than that. So, don't get into any staring contests - especially not with older wizards or witches. Be coy, avoid their gaze demurely, as I taught you. I hope we'll have enough time next year for you to learn the basics of Occlumency. I'm no master meself, although I know enough to get by, but I'm rubbish at Legilimency, so I can't really teach ya Occlumency."

"I suppose finding a trustworthy Legilimens won't be easy," she said. She should tell him not to bother, but that would be giving away Mr Black's secret.

"No, it won't," he said. "They have to be willing and able to teach you, too, and have the time to spare."

Which meant the Headmaster wouldn't be available. Not for her. Not that she needed his lessons. She didn't have a link to the Dark Lord in her forehead, and she was an animagus, and Dumbledore certainly had more important duties. Still…

She forced herself to focus on the task at hand. She could feel jealous and guilty later.

*****​

Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, December 28th, 1995

"Hi, Harry!"

"Hi, Ginny!" Harry Potter smiled widely as Ginny jumped into his arms as soon as he had stepped - and without more than slightly stumbling this time! - out of the fireplace.

"Mate." Ron nodded at him, getting up from the weathered couch in the living room.

"Hello, Harry." Luna waved at him, but remained sitting on the couch. "Oh, you have new glasses!"

Ginny took a step back and inspected him. "Really? Oh, they look good on you."

"Thanks. They were a gift from Sirius," Harry said.

"You weren't wearing them before today, though," Ginny said. "Were you?"

"I had to get used to them first," Harry said. "Didn't want to crash my new broom due to new glasses."

Ron looked puzzled. "Why would that matter?"

"Oh, are those enchanted glasses? Can you see Nargles?" Luna jumped up from her seat and stepped closer, peering at him. "They look ordinary, though."

"They work like Omnioculars," Harry explained. "I can zoom in and out." He wasn't lying. Not exactly - he was simply omitting a few details. Like that they allowed him to see through clothes. Not that he would use that function on his friends. Or on anyone. That wouldn't be right.

"Really? How do you control them? I don't see a dial," Ron said.

"You run your finger or wand over the frame, like this." Harry demonstrated. "That zooms in, and this zooms out."

"Can I try them?" Ron asked.

"They are prescription glasses," Harry answered. "Unless you're as shortsighted as I am, you'll only see a blur."

"Can you zoom out so far that people start to shrink?" Luna wanted to know. "That would be funny."

"No, that's not possible." It would be useful, though, Harry realised - if it could give him some sort of overview vision.

Luna was studying his glasses from so close that her hair fell into Ginny's face when she cocked her head sideways. "They look like muggle glasses," she stated after a moment. "Maybe you should mark them so you don't mix them up."

"That was the point - I can wear them in muggle London too," Harry said.

"I can wear my Nargle-hunting glasses everywhere," Luna said. "And they don't look like muggle glasses." She pulled a pair of glasses out of her pocket that even Elton John would refuse to wear.

Harry didn't have the heart to tell the girl what the muggles probably thought when they saw her. Ginny and Ron seemed to share his sentiments - both nodded without comment.

"Enough about glasses! Let's go flying before lunch!" Ron said.

"Yes." That was one of the things Harry loved about The Burrow - you could fly whenever you wanted.

"The others are in Diagon Alley," Ginny pointed out. "We will only be able to play a two versus two." And whoever got paired up with Luna would be at a disadvantage - the witch wasn't a bad flyer, not like Hermione, but she wasn't as good as Ginny or Ron either.

"We can fly just for fun," Harry said. "Or we can all chase a snitch."

"I'm a Keeper, not a Seeker," Ron said.

Ginny sniffed. "Are you afraid that you'll be kicked from the team if you don't use every training opportunity?"

"Don't be jealous just because you're a reserve," Ron shot back.

"I'm not!" Ginny said, but her angry tone belied her claim.

"We can shoot some penalties later," Harry said, trying to offer a compromise. He really just wanted to fly. With Ginny and his friends.

"That sounds fun!" Luna chimed in with a wide smile.

"Alright," Ginny agreed.

*****​

An hour later, they were taking a break from flying. They had chased five snitches - Harry Potter had caught four of them, and one had somehow found its way into Luna's robes, counting as her catch - and had shot enough penalties at the hoops guarded by Ron to cover a full season's worth of matches against Slytherin.

Sitting on his broom, near the pitch, Harry looked around. Ron and he were alone. Ginny and Luna had returned to the house already, to 'freshen up' before lunch. That would take a while. This was the perfect opportunity.

"Say," he started, "you still haven't found a witch you fancy, have you?"

"No." Ron's reply was rather curt, Harry thought.

"You're not still hung up on Lavender, are you?" he asked.

"No." Ron was now staring at him. "What's this about?"

Harry sighed. He had to learn how to be more subtle. "I was wondering about Hermione. I think she's a little lonely."

"Mate, she visits you each day, and The Burrow almost as often," Ron said. "Only Luna visits us more often, and she's our neighbour."

"I didn't mean like that." Harry pursed his lips. "Do you remember what she said about the New Year's Ball?"

"You mean to your hare-brained idea of having Sirius take her to the ball?" Ron laughed.

"Yes." Harry grit his teeth. This wasn't funny. "Her parents are in France, skiing. She'll be all alone on New Year's Eve."

Ron shook his head. "Mum asked her to celebrate with us, but she said that she already had plans. She'll spend New Year's Eve in muggle London."

"With a book," Harry muttered, "and her cat."

"Well… you know how she is about books." Ron chuckled.

He rolled his eyes. "She's probably too proud to admit that she's lonely."

"Or she has her eyes on a muggle boy."

"She said she was too busy for a relationship when I asked her," Harry said.

"That's probably true. She is working for Sirius, after all, and studying at the same time."

Harry glared at Ron. Couldn't he show some concern for their best friend? "You know, you're looking for a girlfriend…"

"No." Ron shook his head.

"What?"

"I'm not going to ask her out," Ron said.

Harry didn't bother denying that he had been about to suggest that. "Why not?" he asked.

"Because I don't fancy her. And I'm not like Seamus." Ron scoffed.

"Of course not!" Seamus had probably asked out every witch in their year. Even the Slytherins. But this wasn't the same - Hermione was their friend.

"Besides she deserves better than a pity date. Or Seamus," Ron stated.

Harry couldn't argue with that. He sighed again. "Let's head back. The girls should be finished freshening up by now."

"First good idea you've had today!"

Harry glared at his friend, but Ron was already halfway to The Burrow.

*****​

Kent, Smith Manor, December 31st, 1995

"You must be Miss Merriweather!"

Hermione Granger's polite and slightly vacant smile froze slightly as she faced a rather exuberant Mr Black. "Yes. You have me at a disadvantage, Mr…?" She managed not to hiss at the dog.

"Black. Sirius Black. You might have heard of me." He flashed his teeth at her. "We missed each other last year, but you made an impression on my godson, and so I was determined to meet you myself."

"I'm flattered," she said, showing her own teeth. She was at the Smiths' New Year's Ball to prepare a heist, and Mr Black knew that - she had told him so herself! What was he thinking, accosting her like this?

"The pleasure's all mine, I assure you." He gestured to the dance floor. "May I have the honour of a dance with you?"

She couldn't refuse him. Miss Merriweather would jump at the chance to dance with a rich and reasonably attractive wizard, even if he was old. She wouldn't know that he was a dog. "With pleasure, Mr Black," she said with a too-sweet smile and accepted his extended arm.

"The pleasure's all mine, I assure you," he said as they stepped on the dance floor. A moment later, she noticed the music falling slightly - he must have cast a privacy spell.

"You are correct," she said, "the pleasure's all yours."

"Ouch! That hurt almost as much as your claws." His tone belied his words.

"Not even close," she shot back. "What are you doing?"

"Dancing with a pretty witch who might be interested in my godson?" He didn't bat an eye as they passed close to another couple - Jeanne and one of the Selwyns, Hermione noticed.

"Your real reason," she clarified for the dog.

"I'm helping you, of course."

She blinked. "Please explain your reasoning."

He bared his teeth. "I have a certain reputation, as you are aware. Me trying to seduce you and failing - an act, of course - will make it easier for you to catch the interest of your jealous target."

As much as she hated to admit it, that made some sense. "You could have mentioned that yesterday."

He tilted his head. "Yes."

She wanted to hex the man. Or claw the dog again. "You just thought of that excuse, didn't you?"

"Would I do such a thing?"

"Yes," she answered in a flat voice.

"That doesn't change that I'm right, though."

It didn't. But it should, she thought with a frown.

"That's a very natural-looking reaction. If I didn't know better then I would believe you loathed my company." He ignored her glare. "I'll also have to ask your charming French friend for a dance, of course. Just to make it look natural. And to save her from that terrible bore she's talking to right now."

Hermione was glad she had learned to act so well. She could keep smiling even if she really didn't want to.

*****​

"Look at Sirius!" Harry Potter whispered as he danced with Ginny. "He's doing it again!"

"Harry!" Ginny retorted, her slightly annoyed tone at odds with the smile on her face, "You already knew he would be flirting with all the pretty witches. He even told us so, before we headed here."

"All the pretty witches but you," Harry said. "But Miss Merriweather is half his age!"

"You know her, then?" Ginny asked a little too softly. He felt her tense in his arms, too.

"We met briefly at the last ball. She told me that she had just finished school." He frowned. She hadn't used those words, but she had looked young enough that he had wondered if she was still at school, so he was probably correct.

"She's an adult then," Ginny said. "Is there something wrong with your girlfriend being younger than you?" she added with a grin.

"Of course not!" Harry quickly said. "But she's too young. If he was my age, she wouldn't have been born yet."

"They're just dancing," Ginny said. "That doesn't mean anything at a ball."

Harry hoped that she was correct - he would rather not have a step-godmother barely older than himself. Then he chastised himself for that thought. Sirius was more responsible than that.

"She doesn't look as if she is taken with him," Ginny commented when the music faded and he led her off the dance floor.

Harry glanced over his shoulder. Indeed, Miss Merriweather was already walking away from his godfather. He frowned. That was unexpected. He'd have to ask Sirius if anything had happened. Not everyone appreciated his godfather's wit.

"You don't have to stare at her," Ginny whispered, interrupting his thoughts.

"I wasn't," he defended himself. He hadn't been. Not much. Just enough to spot where she was keeping her wand - up her long glove. The top part of her robes was too tight to hold it, and the robes were slit high enough on both sides that he would have spotted a thigh-holster. Unless she had slipped it into her stockings. He could check with his glasses, if he really wanted to know…

"You are still staring." Ginny was gripping his arm quite tightly now.

"Only because Flint is talking to her." The former Quidditch captain of Slytherin house was a brute and a cheat.

"I'm certain that she is old enough to take care of herself," Ginny said. "Let's go get some air," she added with a sly smile.

Harry knew what she meant. "Yes," he said with a matching smile as he led her towards the side doors, "I have it on good authority that the winter garden here is both breathtakingly beautiful and private."

*****​

"Fascinating, Mr Flint," Hermione Granger said with a fake smile. "I wasn't aware Quidditch had such nuances - it wasn't that popular in my former home."

"Ah, yes. The New World is fond of Quodpot," Flint said as he turned them around, "isn't it?" For a man his size, he was surprisingly graceful on the dance floor, she had discovered.

"Yes. But I was never much interested in the sport. Playing with an explosive ball?" She made a face. "Quidditch looks much more sensible to me."

"Yes, sensible." He nodded. "Although it takes guts too - games can get rough."

Hermione knew that well - she hadn't forgotten how the Slytherins had played, and cheated. "That's part of its appeal, isn't it?" she lied.

He nodded again, and she felt his hand wander down her back. She wanted to hex him, or bury her claws in his skin, but that would have ruined her task. There were other ways to deal with this, though. She sighed. "I still can't believe how forward Mr Black was! On the dance floor, even!"

His hand stopped its downward motion. "Oh, I believe it. He spent twelve years in prison, you know."

"I heard, yes," She nodded. "And he broke out to prove his innocence."

"I would hardly call him innocent. My uncle was in his year at Hogwarts." Flint scowled. "Black was always hexing others. Especially Slytherins. And the witches he strung along!"

"Oh!" She looked at him with wide eyes. "Really? I was aware that he is, ah, popular with some witches, but even in his youth?"

"Oh, yes. A rake and scoundrel, my mother called him."

"A fitting description, I would say." The music finally changed to a slower dance, and Hermione stepped into his arms, her own hand reaching around his waist, to his belt pocket. A deep breath ensured that his attention was focused on her chest as she slipped the prepared Knut into his pocket.

One more marked, she thought. Now she just had to endure his groping hands and leering gaze for another dance.

And then she would have to switch targets again. There were a number of suspected blood purists, after all.

*****​

Harry Potter tried not to stare as Ginny fixed her robes. Even though he had been the one to rumple them. With her enthusiastic cooperation, of course. But he had to keep an eye out - it wouldn't do to get caught in such a position. No matter that most of the younger guests would be doing the same here, or so he thought.

"Can you check if I missed a spot?" Ginny whispered.

He nodded and looked her over. Her robes looked fine. Her hair too. He nodded. "Looks good."

"Good." She grinned. "I'd rather not have everyone know what we did."

Everyone would suspect, Harry thought, but that was different. "Let's go back," he said, offering her his arm.

She leaned into him as they walked through the garden towards the manor. Halfway there, she suddenly spoke up. "Did you go there with Parvati too, last year?"

"Yes." He glanced at her, but she had an unreadable expression.

A few steps later, she spoke up again: "And was it…" she tailed off, and he saw that she was biting her lower lip. Like Hermione, when she wanted to know something, but didn't want to ask.

"She complained about Miss Merriweather for most of the time," Harry said.

"Oh. So you didn't…"

"We didn't." If she was asking what he thought she was.

"Ah."

Was that relief in her voice? He couldn't tell. They walked the rest of the way in silence.

*****​

"Hello, Mr Potter!"

Hermione Granger smiled at her friend while she looked him and Ginny over. The two had been taking a break from dancing in the winter garden for almost an hour, by her count, and she could imagine what they had done. Well, at least she knew that whatever they had done, Ginny had likely been as eager or more so than Harry.

"Hello, Miss Merriweather," Harry answered. After a moment, he gestured to Ginny. "Ginny - Miss Merriweather. Miss Merriweather - Miss Weasley, my girlfriend."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." She smiled at the younger witch.

"Likewise."

Ginny's smile felt a little forced, Hermione thought. Had she been wrong about Harry? Or was the girl jealous like Parvati? "Are you enjoying the ball?" she asked. "I didn't see you dancing for a while."

"We took a stroll through the garden," Harry said.

"Ah." She couldn't help herself, and winked at them. "You're a lucky witch, Miss Weasley."

"Ah…" Ginny was looking rather flustered at these implications.

"I would say that I'm a lucky wizard," Harry spoke up. Ginny nodded.

"I would say so as well," Hermione agreed. "Have you been together long?"

"Yes," Ginny said quickly.

After a moment, Harry nodded in agreement.

"You're not emulating your godfather then," Hermione remarked with a glance at Mr Black, who was dancing - again! - with Jeanne. She thought she heard Harry groan briefly, and saw Ginny's grip on his arm tighten. "Something wrong?"

"No," Harry said. "Sirius is just enjoying life. Although he was innocent, he was imprisoned for twelve years, you know." He said it almost as a challenge.

She smiled - her friend's loyalty was one of his best traits. He would do anything for his family and friends. "I heard, yes. Quite a dramatic story. To think such a thing could happen to an innocent man..." She sighed.

"That wasn't the only time the Wizengamot punished an innocent," Harry said. "They're remarkably corrupt."

"Really?"

"A friend of mine was framed for theft and fined and expelled from Hogwarts."

"Oh."

"You don't have to worry," Ginny cut in. "As long as you have the right kind of friends," she added with a glance towards Flint.

Hermione acted as if she were puzzled. "I don't understand."

"Harry's godfather. Harry's friend. My brother and father. Some people are going after everyone around Harry," Ginny went on. "If you're not willing to risk that, you shouldn't be too friendly with him or us."

That was a little skewed, Hermione thought. Not entirely untrue, though. "I see," she said. "I think I'll get some fresh air myself. With my friend," she added with a smile.

Now both of them were blushing.

*****​

"You scared her off, I think," Harry Potter said as Miss Merriweather walked away.

"Good," Ginny said. "She'd be an easy target, I mean. No family and few friends here to help her, if anyone framed her." She narrowed her eyes. "Unless she has friends here, and they sent her after you."

Miss Merriweather, a spy for Voldemort? That sounded paranoid to Harry. She hadn't really tried to seduce him, and that was what such spies would do, wasn't it? He shrugged. "I don't think so."

Ginny sniffed. "You can't be too careful."

That didn't sound like her. "Really?"

"I mean with foreign witches. Like her." Ginny frowned. "Or her friend."

Sirius was aware of that kind of danger, Harry knew. Remus had gone on about it at length the other day. And his godfather knew better than to throw all caution in the wind for a pretty face. He blinked. "Let's go talk to him."

And perhaps he should check if Miss Merriweather's friend was hiding anything dangerous under her robes. Or Miss Merriweather herself.

*****​

London, Greenwich, January 1st, 1996

Hermione Granger stretched after stepping out of Mr Fletcher's fireplace. That had been an enjoyable, but also exhausting, evening. Productive, too.

"Glad that's over," her tutor grumbled behind her. "Did you manage to place all the coins?"

"Yes." She wouldn't have talked to Harry otherwise - she had her priorities straight. Unlike a certain dog.

"Just checking." He sat down at the table in the living room. "Merlin's beard, that crowd grows worse each year."

"I wouldn't know - it's only the second ball I've attended," Hermione said as she rotated her left shoulder.

He grumbled something she didn't catch in response. "And Black was making a spectacle."

"He claimed that this would help me with the bigots," she said, sitting down herself.

"And? Did it?"

She sighed. "Yes. Flint and his friends were all eager to tell me what a scoundrel Mr Black is." They weren't entirely wrong, either.

Judging by her tutor's scowl, he was as happy about Mr Black's help as she was. "Done is done. I'll inform my acquaintance that the coins have been distributed. We should hear back from them in a day or two."

"Oh?" She perked up.

He grinned. "That was just the first step. Once we know where they live, we'll go and bug 'em."

Hermione smiled widely - the new year was starting on a high note.

*****​

 

[macdjord]

He held up a book. "If you don't change back I'll burn this copy of 'Hogwarts: A History' from 1754!"

Click to shrink...

*snerk* Only Hermione...

With a book, Harry thought. He knew better than to say that, of course.

Click to shrink...

That sounds like a perfectly pleasant way to spend an evening to me.

She had no intention to go that far.

Click to shrink...

'to go' -> 'of going'

 

[Starfox5]

*snerk* Only Hermione...

Click to shrink...

Indeed.

That sounds like a perfectly pleasant way to spend an evening to me.

Click to shrink...

Not to Harry, though.

'to go' -> 'of going'

Click to shrink...

Thanks, corrected!

 

[john doe]

Thanks for the chapter, really enjoying this story. Voldy has a headstart but his opposition is also working hard to fight smart.

 

[Starfox5]

Chapter 13: Anticipation

Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, January 1st, 1996

"Daddy, I'm going over to the Weasleys!" Luna Lovegood yelled as she put on her shoes. They were brand-new, a Christmas gift from her father, and very pretty - pink, with butterfly-shaped bows on top and at the heel. She blinked - maybe she could have them enchanted, so she could fly? She'd have to look into that.

"Alright, dear. Keep an eye out for vampires, won't you?" her father yelled back from his office.

Luna frowned. Vampires? She checked her watch, and then the sky outside. All was as it should be. "The sun is out, Daddy! Vampires are asleep right now."

"In Britain, but not in Australia!"

That made sense, Luna thought. If an Australian vampire travelled to Britain, he would be awake. But how could he travel so quickly? Brooms were not fast enough. Even Thestrals couldn't outrun the sun. Apparition over such a long distance was impossible, and apparating several times over a shorter distance would place the vampire into sunlight eventually. A phoenix might be able to cover the distance - their limits were unknown - but its flames would burn the vampire to ashes. Were there underground Floo networks for vampires? She wrote the idea down and then cocked her head sideways to look at the slip of parchment. No, even from another angle the idea didn't change. That meant it was a good idea!

Nodding to herself, she turned on her new heels and climbed the stairs to her father's office. "Daddy! Do you know if there is an underground Floo network for vampires?"

Her father, sitting at his desk, which was covered with all sorts of parchment, looked up. "No, I don't… but that would explain how vampires can travel without the Aurors noticing!" He nodded and started to make notes. "Excellent idea, Luna!"

She smiled, happy to have been able to help her father with his work. "Why are you investigating vampires?"

He paused. "Do you remember the blood murders?"

She did, of course - a good reporter kept up with such news. "Oh! You think vampires are behind it?"

"It's a possibility. Blood attracts them, after all."

Luna nodded. "But the blood was spilled, not drunk." Hadn't vampires been taught not to waste food?

"Exactly! It looks like a blood magic ritual - but that's what the murderer wants us to think!" Daddy waved his quill around. "I have it on good authority that the blood was under a spell, too, to look like it was fresh. That could be the work of a vampire, too - they know how to preserve their food."

"But if it wasn't blood magic, what was it?" Luna asked.

"That's what I need to find out!" her father declared. "Although it might very well have been a blood magic ritual, too - vampires are experts on those as well. A triple-bluff! They assume that we assume that it wouldn't be a vampire because of all the wasted blood, but it is a vampire!"

Luna briefly thought it over, then nodded. It would explain why the Aurors hadn't caught the murderer yet, if they weren't looking for vampires. But… "You have to be careful, Daddy. Vampires are dangerous. Murderers too."

"Don't worry, dear. I'll only talk to people I trust. Like a friend of mine, who's an expert on blood magic."

"Promise me?" she asked. He was sometimes a little too brave. Or reckless, she supposed. At least that was what Mrs Weasley claimed.

"I promise." He nodded solemnly.

"Good." She couldn't lose her daddy. "I'm off to visit the Weasleys then."

"Have fun, dear!" He said, turning back to his notes.

"I will!" she said as she stepped out.

And she would. Visiting the Weasleys was fun. The twins were always up to something, Mr Weasley had the most interesting muggle artefacts in his shed, Ginny was her best friend, Mrs Weasley cooked the most wonderful meals and was always asking how she was doing, and there was Ron.

She smiled widely as she grabbed a handful of Floo powder. As usual, her tummy felt tingly when she thought of him. He was all a witch could wish for in a boyfriend - brave, sufficiently handsome, passionate and pursuing his dream of becoming a professional Quidditch player no matter what anyone else said. And he laughed with her, and not at her. Not any more.

She hadn't come as far with her boyfriend-to-be as Ginny had with Harry, but she was making progress. She was spending much more time with him these days than ever before, and usually doing things both of them enjoyed. Like flying. Or talking with their friends. A relationship needed that sort of solid base, Luna knew.

She stopped right before she threw the powder into the fire to check her appearance. Mummy had told her that the heart was all that counted, but she knew that appearances mattered too - wasn't there a saying about wearing your heart on your sleeve? Her sky blue robes were impeccable, not a single one of the yellow suns on them had moved out of place. She was wearing her most precious earrings too, the dirigible plums left to her by her mum, and she had added another cork to her anti-Nargle necklace. Sooner or later, there would be enough to drive away the Nargles infesting Ron, and he'd realise that she fancied him. And that he fancied her. That was how it worked.

She threw the powder into the fireplace and stepped into the green flames.

"The Burrow!"

*****​

Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, January 1st, 1996

"And then she complained about Sirius dancing with her friend." Ginny huffed. "Even though she had spent the whole evening flirting with every blood purist present!"

Ginny hadn't taken well to Miss Merriweather, Harry Potter thought. And while it was nice that she defended his godfather so, he couldn't help thinking that his girlfriend's anger wasn't really because the American witch had slighted Sirius.

"Really? Did she flirt with all of them at the same time?" Luna asked. "Otherwise I don't see how she would have had the time, considering how many of them must have been present. Or… have the Americans managed to create a time machine using dark rituals and she fled with the only working version?" The witch gasped. "That would be a scoop for The Quibbler!"

"No, I don't think she used a time machine. Ginny is simply exaggerating a little," Harry said.

Ginny scoffed. "You were the one who was concerned about her when she was cozying up to Flint."

"She wasn't cozying up to him - he was panting after her," Harry said. "As were most of his friends."

Ginny sniffed. "And she didn't seem to mind them - unlike when she danced with Sirius."

"Well, he told me that he had been 'a little too forward'," Harry said. He hadn't asked what exactly Sirius had done, but it couldn't have been too bad, not in the middle of the dance floor.

"Sirius tried to seduce her?" Ron asked, blinking. "How old is she?"

"I think he was simply teasing her," Harry defended his godfather, "and she misunderstood him. Probably because someone told her lies about Sirius." Like Flint and his ilk.

Ginny rolled her eyes, but Luna nodded. "People like to tell such lies." Then she blinked. "Or maybe she simply doesn't like his music. Not everyone is a fan of The Hobgoblins. Or perhaps she is a fan of The Hobgoblins, and his continued refusal to reunite the band after he cleared his name made her mad."

Ah, right, that story. "Sirius isn't actually Stubby Boardman," Harry said. "They just resembled each other, and Boardman died around the time Sirius was imprisoned."

Luna stared at him, then she nodded. "Of course, Harry." She didn't look nor sound as if she really believed him, though. "I understand."

He was about to ask what she thought that she had understood when Ron glared at him and cut in: "So, Miss Merriweather didn't mind the company of blood purists?"

"I don't know if she cared about the whole issue," Harry said. "She was nice to us, after all."

"She was nice to you," Ginny corrected him. "'You're a lucky witch, Miss Weasley'," she imitated the slight accent of Miss Merriweather. "Hah! And she left us when I told her how dangerous it is around Harry. She's just a gold-digger."

"If she were a gold-digger, she wouldn't have rebuffed Sirius," Harry countered.

"Don't defend her. You saw what she was wearing - she was looking for attention." Ginny scoffed again.

Harry coughed. He had seen far more than that - Miss Merriweather's robes hadn't been protected against the spell on his glasses, and neither had those of her French friend. They hadn't been hiding anything beneath their robes, either - he had peeped on them for no reason. But they could've been, he told himself.

"Must have been some robes, seeing as you're blushing," Ron said. "I guess we'll have to buy the next Witch Weekly then?"

Ginny glared at Harry and her brother, but Luna nodded enthusiastically. "We can transfigure our own robes to look like theirs then!"

Harry blinked. "Can you do that?"

"Well, there's a reason people buy robes and don't simply transfigure their own," Ron said. "It never looks as good as the original, unless you copy it. And you'd need the original for that."

"You just need talent and imagination!" Luna said. "Mummy used to make me any dress I wanted!" She suddenly looked sad. "I'm not that good, yet."

"Well, there's also the problem that if you transfigure your own robes, someone else can dispel what you did. You'd be left on the dance floor in your old rags," Ron went on.

"I'd die from embarrassment!" Ginny said.

"If they can cast a spell on your robes, then they could cast a curse on you, too," Harry said. Who would let anyone they don't know and trust cast anything on them?

"Well, the goblins' Thief's Downfall also dispels spells of all kinds," Luna said. "The Ministry would have that as well, but they need their paper aeroplanes to function and they can't fly through it either. Daddy said the Ministry almost broke down because of that in the war, when they used it against the Imperius Curse."

Harry frowned. "People getting killed, cursed, or simply vanishing was probably the reason for the Ministry's near-collapse."

Luna shook her head. "No. The Ministry runs on paperwork. And water doesn't do well with paper. Or the other way around."

"Or a mixture of both," Ron cut in. "They do take their paperwork very seriously, as we know."

Thanks to Percy, Harry thought, as he nodded in agreement. Still, this Thief's Downfall sounded promising. Maybe he should ask Sirius about installing one of them in Grimmauld Place...

"What did Sirius say?" Ginny asked after a moment.

"Huh?" Harry looked at her.

"About Miss Merriweather and Mademoiselle Dubois," Ginny clarified.

Harry thought that repeating what Sirius had said about the American witch wouldn't go over well with his girlfriend, so he said: "He thinks Miss Dubois is charming, actually, and is looking forward to meeting her again."

"Oh." Ginny blinked.

That summed up Harry's reaction to that very well.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 1st, 1996

The dog greeted Hermione Granger with his usual too-wide grin. "Hello, Miss Granger! I wasn't certain whether you would be able to make it today."

She frowned. "Why would you think that?" she asked rather curtly.

He shrugged. "You were very popular at the ball. And very busy. You might have been too tired to work."

She scoffed at his implications. "Dealing with a few foolish and inexperienced purebloods isn't very taxing, Mr Black." Now if she had had to fool older blood purists…

"Oh, I see."

She rolled his eyes at his exaggerated teasing. Couldn't the man be serious for a change? "I see your mind is still in the gutter. I wasn't talking about that."

He laughed. "But you made a lot of young wizards think about it. Including, I believe, my godson."

"I think Ginny was the cause for any such thoughts Harry may have had," she responded. Harry might have stared at her - she had noticed him, later - but he had spent quite some time with Ginny in the winter garden. And Hermione knew what couples got up to there - almost every one of her marks had tried to lure her out there too.

He shrugged. "Your robes certainly had an effect on him."

Hermione snorted. "That was their purpose."

"To seduce Harry? Why, that's quite an admission, Miss Granger! Or should that be confession?"

She glared at the dog. "You know very well what my task was at the ball." If she had intended to seduce Harry, she certainly would have acted differently. But she hadn't. He was with Ginny, after all.

"I do. I helped you, didn't I?"

She briefly clenched her teeth before answering. "Yes, you did." He beamed at her. "But next time, please inform us beforehand," she added. "My tutor was quite put off by your surprise." Mr Fletcher had used rather colourful names for Mr Black during their debriefing.

"Bah! If Mundungus can't handle such surprises, he shouldn't be doing this sort of work!" Mr Black waved her warning away. "Wouldn't want him to get complacent, would we?"

"A mission is not the place to play such games, Mr Black," she retorted.

"Games like flirting with Harry?"

"I was merely maintaining my cover," she said. And she had accomplished her task already when she approached him and Ginny.

"Of course you were." He snorted.

She narrowed her eyes at the dog. Not everyone was as promiscuous as he was. A little harmless flirting - if her talk with Harry could even be called that - wouldn't threaten his relationship with Ginny. And if it did, then there were more serious problems present already. "And what about your attempted seduction of Jeanne?"

"Attempted?" His smile was so wide, it would have given away his animagus form to anyone who had seen the dog. "We'll be dining together this Friday."

She blinked. "Are you…" she caught herself in time. "Are you actually planning to enter into a relationship with her?"

He shrugged. "She's a charming young witch who seems to find me attractive. And I've always had a weakness for French witches."

"I would say you have always had a weakness for witches," Hermione muttered. This was… not a good thing. If Jeanne and Mr Black did enter into a relationship, her cover as Miss Merriweather would be threatened. It might be necessary to send the witch 'back home'. Miss Merriweather, that was. And there were other things to consider. She bit her lower lip, hesitating a moment, then sighed. She owed Mr Black. A lot. And he was Harry's godfather - and, for all intents and purposes, only remaining family. Whatever happened to Mr Black would affect Harry as well. "She may be more attracted by your gold and status than your looks and charm."

He shrugged again. "I am aware of that, of course. But she also might not be. Attracted more by my gold than by myself, that is." He was faintly smiling now, and didn't look at her. "And I'm a Gryffindor; I'm not afraid of taking a risk if the witch is worth it." Suddenly, he was leering again. "And from what I could tell after our dances together, she is certainly worth it!"

Hermione hissed. He was such a dog!

*****​

Lincolnshire, North of Stamford, Britain, January 2nd, 1996

Marcus Flint's home looked rather shabby, Hermione Granger thought. A cottage, barely more than a refurbished barn. Old, but not old enough to be impressive. "He must have spent a lot on Extension Charms if he plans to take a witch home one day," she muttered without taking down her Omnioculars.

"That goes without saying," Mr Fletcher said. "But the kind of witches he wants to impress will love that it doesn't look like a muggle home at all."

Hermione wasn't certain that Flint was that discerning when it came to witches. More like desperate. On the other hand, he had been rather interested in her cover's family history. She lowered the Omnioculars. "I didn't see any sign of spells or wards outside the house." Old wards usually covered more than the building itself - Mr Fletcher said it dated back to the time when outhouses had to be covered as well - but modern wards were generally anchored to the walls themselves. "No changes in the growth of the plants, or dead vermin." Of course, the wards could have been set so well that they didn't leave such telltale signs, but… on the shabby home of a young wizard with rather modest means? That was very unlikely.

"Good. Let's get closer and check if he's home. Or if he's left any surprises."

Hermione nodded, her lips pressed together. Flint was a brute, but he was the second son of an Old Family, and he had finished Hogwarts with decent marks. He certainly knew some nasty curses if his semi-drunken boasts were to be believed.

After disillusioning themselves, and casting a Human-presence-revealing Spell each so they would know where each other was, they got up from behind the remnants of a stone fence and approached the cottage.

"Stay behind me," Mr Fletcher whispered. "Safer."

Hermione wanted to protest - but she had promised to obey his orders. And it was safer, too. There was no point in both of them getting cursed by a trap. So she bit her lips and let him advance in front of her.

His marker stopped moving about ten yards from the cottage. Hermione stopped as well, crouching down even though she was disillusioned. She hadn't seen any sign of a dog, and Flint hadn't mentioned one either yesterday evening, but… dogs were stupid, and clumsy, and messy, but they had good noses, and could ruin a cat's day if she wasn't on her guard. Or a thief's.

"Nothing but the wards." Mr Fletcher scoffed. "And those are substandard too. Guess the Flints don't care much about the spare."

"Or he spent too much on the decor," Hermione added. Like one of those stupid birds who grew bright plumage to attract females and so couldn't hide from predators any more.

He chuckled. "Maybe. Makes it easier for us. I'll place the bug, you keep an eye out."

"Yes, sir." She couldn't keep her resentment at being stuck with a task even a dog could do entirely out of her voice, but he just laughed.

"A lookout's job is very important. Until I've dealt with the wards I'm an easy target."

She knew that. And yet, she wanted to do more. More than simply helping her tutor. She wanted to personally strike at those who had framed her, and their friends and allies. She stared at the cottage while Mr Fletcher started to work his way through the wards.

She knew that she was ready, too.

*****​

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

"Hi, Hermione!"

Harry Potter greeted his best female friend with his best smile as soon as she stepped into the entrance hall of his home. He hadn't quite been waiting with bated breath at the door, but he had been keeping an eye on the entrance hall.

"Hello, Harry." She looked puzzled for a moment, but when he spread his arms, she moved to hug him.

Tightly, as usual - for a girl who preferred reading to any kind of sport, she was rather strong, he thought. And even through the thick, slightly oversized, sweater she wore under her coat, he could feel her bust pressing into his chest too. He suddenly wondered how she would look in tighter clothes. Or dress robes. And he was very much aware that all he needed to do to check how she looked underneath her clothes was to tap his glasses in just the right way.

But he wouldn't do that. She was his best friend, and there was no reason to check her for any poisons or hidden weapons. And it would be wrong, of course, to peep on anyone without a very good reason.

"I would have expected you to be at The Burrow at this time of the day," she said as she released him. She wasn't quite staring at him, but he knew that questioning expression.

He shrugged. "That's something I wanted to talk about with you, actually."

She narrowed her eyes now. "Is anything wrong? Did anything happen at the New Year's Ball?"

He shook his head. "No, no." He sighed. "Well, nothing happened, but… Let's head to my room."

"Alright. Let me just tell Mr Black that I'll be late for work."

"I don't think he'll mind," Harry said.

"He still needs to be informed - so he knows who's to blame," she added with a grin.

Harry snorted. "You really should call him Sirius." When she frowned, he sighed. "I know, I know, he's your employer and all that, but…" It felt weird to him that two of the people who were most important for him were so distant with each other.

"'But'?" She stared at him.

"Nothing," he said, sighing and shaking his head. Where this was concerned, she was more stubborn than a mule.

He followed her to Sirius's study. "You're already later than usual, though," he remarked - he had expected her an hour ago.

"I had a late night," she said as she knocked on the door.

"Oh? Did you meet someone in muggle London?"

She rolled her eyes at him in a very familiar manner. "There are plenty of things that keep you up at night other than that."

"Other than dancing?" he asked with a grin. So, she hadn't met anyone. He was both disappointed and relieved to hear that.

Her answer was cut off by Sirius's voice. "Come in."

She huffed. "I'm spending too much time with your godfather."

He wanted to ask her what she meant, but she had already opened the door. "Hello, Mr Black. I wanted to inform you that I will be delayed a little - your godson requires my presence."

"Oh?" Sirius grinned. "Is there something you want to tell me, Harry? Or don't want to tell me, perhaps?"

Harry suddenly knew what Hermione had meant. "I just want to ask her for advice," he clarified as Sirius theatrically sighed in mock-disappointment.

"You know that you can always come to me as well, don't you?" Sirius asked, in a more serious manner.

"Yes. But I want to hear her opinion first."

"A sensible stance," Hermione chimed in with a fake smile.

His godfather pouted at her. "I'm very sensible. And I'm not as catty as some witches are."

Hermione sniffed. "That's because you're usually too busy drooling."

Harry sighed. "I wish you two would get along," he muttered.

"We do get along," Hermione said. Sirius nodded. Although Harry doubted their sincerity - the two were glaring at each other.

"If you're looking for advice about a pet, remember that dogs are a man's best friend for a reason. As a girl and a cat owner, Miss Granger is too biased to be a reliable source of advice in that regard," Sirius said.

"Dogs are smelly, clumsy and messy, and they need a lot of training. Cats are far superior pets," Hermione shot back.

"I'm not looking for a pet," Harry said - why would Sirius bring that up, anyway? - "I already have Hedwig." And she was the best owl a wizard could want. Far more useful and smarter than any cat or dog, too.

"She's a post owl," Hermione said, as if that was a bad thing. Harry had to agree with Sirius there - she was hopelessly biased in favour of cats.

He certainly couldn't think of any other reason why she would have gotten that furry monster as a pet.

*****​

"I see that you still haven't managed to convince Kreacher to tidy up your room properly," Hermione Granger said, looking pointedly around Harry's room. It wasn't dirty, or messy, just… not as organised as it could be. And should be. On the other hand, a thief would have a harder time finding anything in the room, and it would be more difficult to put everything back as it had been - that point was moot, though, if Harry couldn't remember where everything had been. And judging by the way he winced at her words, he probably couldn't.

"I know." He shrugged. "But if I tell him to clean up he keeps moving my stuff around so I can't find anything any more. And he is so old and set in his ways, even Sirius has given up trying to make him change."

He had left unsaid that Kreacher didn't like the fact that Harry was a half-blood. Hermione was well-aware of that - as a muggleborn, he disliked her presence even more. She sighed. "That was actually supposed to be a subtle reminder that you should clean up your room a little more often," she said, frowning at Harry.

"But I did!" he protested. "Just this morning! I cast so many cleaning charms, everything is sparkling clean!"

"And it still looks like you experimented with miniature whirlwind spells," she retorted. There were even books on the floor!

"Well, spells which can sort stuff are more complicated. And Sirius says they never really work right." Harry shrugged with a grin. "As long as I know where everything is, I'm fine."

She shook her head, both amused and slightly annoyed at his attitude. Sitting down on his bed - which was kept clear of scrolls, toys and books - she asked: "So, what did you want to talk about?"

He sighed and sat down next to her. She started to lean into him and barely caught herself before she rested her cheek on his shoulder. She quickly glanced at him, but he didn't seem to have noticed her - cat-related, she was certain - lapse.

"It's Ginny."

"What about her?" What had she done? Hermione wondered. Or… what had Harry done?

"Well, it's about Merriweather."

Oh? "That American witch you met at the ball last year?"

"I met her again at this year's ball."

"Oh?" She tilted her head to the side. This was interesting.

"Or rather, me and Ginny met her." He sighed again.

"And what happened?" She didn't think she had done or said anything remarkable to either of them. Just a little bit of harmless flirting. Merely being polite, really.

"Ginny seems to have taken a dislike to the witch," Harry said. "I don't know why, exactly. I mean, she's attractive - Merriweather, I mean - but Ginny's my girlfriend. I wouldn't cheat on her."

Hermione nodded. She was both happy and a little bit disappointed at hearing that. Of course Harry wasn't the kind of boy to cheat on anyone. "Well, is Miss Merriweather beautiful?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. Well, I guess she is. Ginny said it was mostly the robes she wore - tight and revealing."

She frowned. "That sounds like an excuse."

"Well, she looks good without the robes too. I think," Harry said. He was blushing slightly.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You think?"

He coughed. "Well, her dress didn't leave that much to the imagination."

She hadn't been dressed that indecently! A little provocatively, at most - no worse than some of the other witches there. "I see you've become an expert on the female body, then, to be able to tell that much about a witch from her dress," she said, in a slightly testy tone.

"Well, it's not as if the robes were hiding that much. The only place she could have hidden anything was between her legs."

"Or in an enchanted holster or pocket," she replied.

"That too," he admitted. "But that doesn't change the fact that her robes didn't conceal that much."

"And you stared," she stated, feeling both oddly proud and affronted at the same time.

"To check if she had anything dangerous hidden." He was looking at her mulishly.

"Not just that, I think, unless you also stared at wizards in that way," she said, shaking her head. "In any case, it's no wonder Ginny felt jealous." This was probably Mr Black's influence.

"She was feeling jealous before I stared," Harry said. "She even scared the witch off with tales of how dangerous being my friend was, with Voldemort and Malfoy both after me."

"Well, she's not entirely wrong," Hermione said. When she saw how he hunched over, she quickly added: "But everyone close to you already knows that. And most of us would be in danger anyway. The Weasleys are famous 'blood traitors' and I'm an 'uppity mudblood'. And Mr Black and Mr Lupin already fought the Death Eaters in the last war." She gave him her best stern expression, the one which almost managed to persuade Mr Black to behave. "So don't be stupid and try to break up with Ginny for her own safety, or something silly like that."

"I won't," he said.

She wasn't quite certain whether she could believe him - Harry sometimes had rather silly notions. She patted him on the shoulder anyway. "So, just apologise to Ginny. And don't stare as openly next time."

He sighed, but nodded. She wasn't entirely certain how to take that.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 5th, 1996

"How do I look?"

"I'm officially your secretary, not your stylist." Hermione Granger didn't bother to look up from the report she was reading. As with most of the Black family businesses' books, the ledgers tried to hide more than they revealed.

"Part of your duties is to ensure that I'm prepared for my appointments and meetings," Mr Black shot back.

"Meetings, not rendezvous," she retorted. "Besides, don't you trust your tailor? You certainly pay her enough."

"She certainly wouldn't tell me that the robes she made to order for me don't look good on me."

She snorted. "You insisted on their design and now you're doubting your 'impeccable sense of style'?" The dog growled at that. She smirked.

"I just want a second opinion. That it's the opinion of my date's best friend doesn't hurt, of course."

"I'm not Jeanne's best friend. Miss Merriweather is a friend of hers," she corrected him.

"Details, details!" He made a dismissive gesture with his left hand. "Besides, you're not frumpy, proper Miss Granger either."

This time she looked at him. "What do you mean?" He didn't look half-bad, to quote the vernacular of which Jeanne had recently grown fond.

"This is a role you're playing, same as Miss Merriweather. You're neither a flirty but naive American nor a smart but homely secretary." He sounded more serious than usual.

"I'm certainly doing the work of a secretary," she responded, "but I do have to admit that working for you might not be seen as a smart decision." With a sniff, she added: "And different clothes don't change who I am." She wasn't homely!

He laughed. "No, they don't. But they hide who you are. And they make you look homely."

That was kind of the point, she thought. The dog was wrong anyway - she didn't look homely; she just didn't look as pretty as Miss Merriweather. But this was touching topics she didn't want to discuss with Mr Black. "Are you certain that you want to ask me for advice about your love life? I already told you that dating Jeanne is a bad idea."

"No, you told me that if Jeanne were to start frequenting my home, it would endanger your disguise." He scoffed. "Which is a silly notion. If Harry hasn't realised that you are Miss Merriweather, then Jeanne won't realise it either."

"Harry doesn't really know Miss Merriweather. We've only met twice. Jeanne has spent a lot more time with me. And, unlike Harry, she won't be easily fooled by some cleavage and a little flirting." Not to mention that Jeanne might have had some training in that art herself - but so far that was just a suspicion without any proof.

He shrugged and ran his wand over his robes, adding a red-and-gold trim to them. "As long as you keep hiding behind those atrocious clothes and that abrasive attitude, she'll never connect you to her stylish and charming friend."

She rolled her eyes at him. She wasn't abrasive; she simply didn't stay quiet when the dog needed a scolding. And her clothes were, if not the most stylish, certainly not atrocious. They were practical and comfortable.

"Besides," he went on, "as my secretary, you can't keep dressing like this. What will my esteemed peers think of me when they see you?"

"That I'm your secretary and not your escort?" There was no reason for her to meet his acquaintances. Not as Hermione, at least.

"Oh, catty!" He grinned. "Speaking of, are you planning to meet Harry as a cat?"

"What?" She stared at him. "No. That would make using the form on a heist dangerous." Unless she managed to mask her cat form, too. Maybe a potion to change the colour of her fur? She couldn't exactly cast spells as a cat, after all.

He frowned. "You're planning to use this for your missions?"

"As a last resort." She frowned at him. "It would make planning and doing a heist much easier if I could tell Mr Fletcher about it." And he would let her do more, she was certain.

"I don't trust him," he said in a flat voice.

"Why not? He's in the Order as well, isn't he?" she asked.

He scowled. "He left the Order in the last war."

She hadn't known that. "But he rejoined," she retorted.

"Dumbledore probably made him. And he might leave again when things get tough." He smiled thinly. "You're different, though. You'll be sticking it out to the end. And you'll do anything for Harry."

Of course she would - Harry was her best friend! Before she could say that, though, Sirius continued: "Even if Harry still hasn't realised that under those hideous muggle clothes, you're a pretty girl who likes to flirt with him."

"That was an act. The flirting," she clarified.

"It was a very convincing act, though," he said with one of his insufferable grins.

"I had a good teacher," she retorted.

She was certain that he didn't believe her, but he let the matter drop in favour of asking her opinion on the restaurant he had picked for the evening - despite her having told him three times already that she had never eaten there.

He was such an annoying dog!

*****​

London, Greenwich, January 6th, 1995

Destination, Determination and Deliberation.

Hermione Granger repeated the words as if they were a mantra. In a way, they were - she had to be determined to reach her destination, but with deliberation. Otherwise she would either fail to travel, or leave parts of herself behind. Again.

She looked at the spot two yards away on the bare floor of Mr Fletcher's living room. Her tutor had removed his carpet for this lesson, 'to make finding splinched body parts easier'. She clenched her teeth - she wouldn't fail. Not today. She wouldn't splinch herself. This was a standard lesson for sixth year students, like silent casting, which she had learned months ago. She had studied and prepared for this. She could do this. She would do this.

She focused on the spot. On her destination. She wanted to be there. She needed to be there. In that exact spot. Holding her breath, she closed her eyes, and willed herself to apparate.

"You look like you have a stomach ache."

She glared at her chuckling tutor. "Such disruptions are not helping."

"On a heist, you'll have to be able apparate in any situation, even in the middle of running from Aurors. If you can't do it with just me distracting you…"

She pressed her lips together. He had told her that before. "It would be easier to learn this uninterrupted, and then learn how to do it under stress."

"You're the one who wants to rush things."

She glared at him. She wanted to finally go on real heists. And as more than a lookout. But that didn't mean she wanted to rush this. Sometimes her tutor was almost as aggravating as Mr Black. At least she could swat the dog's nose if he was too annoying.

Sighing, she stared at the spot on the floor again. She could do this. She would do this. Apparition needed you to fill your entire body down to the last cell with the want, the need to displace yourself. And she knew her body better than anyone else her age - she was an animagus. Just as she had learned to change her entire body, she would learn to move her entire body with magic.

She wanted to be there. She needed to be there.

And she was there. Panting, shaking, and feeling as if she had been squeezed through a pipe too narrow for her body, but she was standing. And she didn't feel as if anything was missing. No pain. No blood. No… left sleeve.

At least she hadn't splinched her body. Just her robes. She flashed a smile at Mr Fletcher and summoned her missing sleeve to reattach it.

"Leaving without the goods or your clothes isn't exactly the hallmark of a good thief," Mr Fletcher said. But he was smiling in that rueful manner of his which, as she had learned, meant that he knew she would beat his challenge soon.

And she did.

*****​

"I know you don't think I'm ready," Hermione Granger said as she floated the table back to its usual place on the replaced rug.

"I think you're ready. I said so, didn't I?" Mr Fletcher waved his wand, and the shelves slid along the wall.

"You don't like it, though." She rearranged the chairs.

"Of course not!" He turned to look at her. "This is dangerous work. The Dark Lord's back, and we'll be dealing with Death Eaters. Dark wizards. That's not the same as fleecing a few rich idiots."

She shrugged. "You already knew that he was back when you accepted me as your student." He glared at her, but didn't contradict her. "And you need my help. Two people are safer than one alone." Once more he didn't contradict her. "And we would be even safer if you and Mr Black trusted each other enough to work together." She could show him her cat form then.

"We're working for the same side," he said, sitting down in his armchair.

"But you don't work together. That's making everything more dangerous than it needs to be. He already knows about us, so there's no secret to protect."

"Other than what he is teaching you," he shot back. "His secrets."

"Which you would be privy to if you two would get along." She tried not to let her frustration show. They had talked about this before, after all.

"Me and Black?" He scoffed. "He's too reckless. And he doesn't care about anyone but his friends. As long as we win, and his friends - and he hasn't many of them - survive, he'll be perfectly happy."

"Are you speaking from experience?" she asked. When she saw his face, she quickly added: "I mean, was he like that in the last war? He has changed." You couldn't spend twelve years in Azkaban without changing. She was certain.

Mr Fletcher scoffed. "Changed? He? He acts the same as before. Too damn reckless and arrogant."

Well, he wasn't entirely wrong there, Hermione thought. The dog was very often very annoying. But he was also - from what she could tell and from what Harry had told her - a good godfather.

Mr Fletcher summoned the Daily Prophet and started to peruse the sports section. Which meant this conversation was over.

For now.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 7th, 1995

"Morning Sirius. Did you have a..." Harry Potter trailed off when he saw that his godfather wasn't alone in their kitchen. "Good morning, Miss Dubois." Apparently, Sirius's date last night had gone well.

"Good morning." Miss Dubois smiled at him. She was wearing dress robes, he noticed. And her hair was styled. Sirius, though, looked slightly rumpled, and was wearing his house robes. She had to be skilled at styling charms, Harry thought.

"Harry - this is Jeanne. Jeanne - Harry."

"We met at the ball," Jeanne said.

Harry nodded. Sirius had been there, too.

"Yes. But not as my girlfriend and my godson."

Girlfriend? Harry blinked. That was rather… quick. Hasty. But, judging by the way the witch smiled and leaned into his godfather's side, not inaccurate. He nodded and sat down in his usual spot.

"We clicked, you would say," Sirius said with a grin.

"Is that what you call it?" Harry said, grinning when Sirius cleared his throat. Miss Dubois laughed, though. And it didn't sound forced or fake, either.

"Yeah, well… we had a wonderful evening," Sirius said, recovering quickly. "And a wonderful night."

Miss Dubois nodded. "Oh, yes." She even sighed.

"I don't need any details," Harry said quickly, his grin slipping a little.

"Are you certain?" Sirius asked with a broad grin. "You might want to take notes for your own dates."

"Yes, I'm certain," Harry said while Miss Dubois laughed again.

If she found his godfather as funny as Sirius thought he was, then it was no wonder that he considered her his girlfriend after one date, Harry thought.

The rest of breakfast was filled with flirting and more hints of what they had done last night. And jokes. Harry fled the kitchen when Miss Dubois slid into Sirius's lap, but he didn't think they noticed.

Sirius seemed to have it bad, Harry thought. To react like this, after a single date… Harry would have to talk to Hermione about this. Hear her opinion. Then he realised that she hadn't met the witch yet. And she 'had plans' for the weekend, so she wouldn't be visiting anyway. And tomorrow Harry would travel back to Hogwarts.

He sighed. He could talk to Ginny, who had met the witch, but his girlfriend might be biased because Miss Dubois was a friend of Miss Merriweather's. And Remus was already back at Hogwarts, catching up on his work after his 'errand' for the Order.

"Master's found a pureblood witch. Soon he'll have a proper heir."

Harry looked down at Kreacher, whose wrinkled face was warped in a parody of a smile.

"He won't kick me out," Harry shot back. "You'll still have to deal with me."

The elf scoffed. "Taking care of a pureblood baby is more important than dealing with a half-blood guest." With a dismissive sniff, he vanished through one of the half-sized hidden doors which led to the servants' passages.

Harry glared at the door, then shook his head. He was better than that. If Sirius had found a witch who loved him, then that was a good thing. His godfather deserved such happiness.

But if she broke his heart… Harry pressed his lips together. She might be a gold-digger. Or worse. But how could he find out if that was the case?

*****​

Berkshire, Reading, Britain, January 7th, 1996

"At least it's not a cottage or barn," Hermione Granger muttered, standing disillusioned next to the chimney and staring down at the old house across the street. The building was old, though - and only had two floors.

"Are you having second thoughts?" Mr Fletcher asked.

She shook her head. "No." She could do this. The building was old, but the owners had been killed in the last war, and the wards had been broken. The Ministry had seized the house, but apparently hadn't found any heirs, and so it had been sold - for a pittance, as the records she had found showed - to Maximilian Rowle, one of Flint's friends.

"Don't get cocky, lass," Mr Fletcher warned her.

"I won't," she said. Even if this would be easy. The new wards were weak - she had checked beforehand, of course. Rowle wouldn't be at home anyway - the Harpies were playing Puddlemere tonight and he was a hardcore fan of the team - he had bored her almost to tears about them at the ball.

He snorted, but didn't say anything else. "I'm going in," she announced. "Keep an eye out for trouble!" she added with an invisible smirk as she slid down to the edge of the roof, one hand on the thin rope she had tied to the chimney.

A few seconds later, she was on the ground and vanished the rope with a flick of her wand. No traces would be left. She sprinted across the street and crouched down in the side alley next to Rowle's house, where the entrance to the old coal cellar was.

Slipping through the wards was the work of half an hour - she had examined them beforehand and came prepared. Picking the lock on the shutter didn't take her more than a few minutes, even without magic. Older definitely wasn't better when it came to locks.

She conjured a plank and used it to float down into the cellar without getting coal dust and dirt all over herself. More dirt than coal dust - the house hadn't been heated with coal in decades, and Rowle used spells to heat his home.

His likely stolen home, Hermione reminded herself as she vanished the plank and sneaked over to the door. That one wasn't even locked. Sloppy. She shook her head as she went up the stairs, patting the enchanted pocket in which she carried the 'bug' she had to place, an enchanted disc the size of a fingernail.

She pressed her ear to the door upstairs and froze - she heard voices. Excited voices. At least two people. But the game… Then she heard the faint roaring of a crowd and realised that Rowle was listening to the wireless.

And the git had told her - Miss Merriweather - that he never missed any of his team's games! She clenched her teeth. She should head back. Tell Mr Fletcher. Or place the bug at the door here. The spells would still work, mostly.

But she wanted to do a perfect job, not just a decent job. And for that she had to place the bug in the living room - the centre of the house. Where Rowle and at least one of his friends were listening to the wireless.

If this were a muggle home, they would be glued to the telly. But with the wireless, they wouldn't be as distracted. But she was disillusioned. And they would have drunk a few beers already. And they wouldn't expect a thief to sneak into the room. Not with such sloppy security on the house itself. Or would that be despite?

With a grin she pushed the door open, then sneaked into the hallway. She stuck to the wall as she made her way to the living room, then peered inside. Rowle was there, and another wizard - Peter Smith. Another of the crowd of bigots she had met at the ball. They were listening to the game with rapt attention and she saw several empty beer bottles on the floor. As expected.

She was tempted to sneak right behind the couch on which they were sitting, and place the disc there, but that wouldn't have been ideal. Instead, she stuck it to the lower edge of the door to the living room. The gap between it and the threshold was large enough so it wouldn't be ripped off, and they'd never spot it there.

She bit her lower lip. She should leave now. She had accomplished her task. But… she looked around. She was a thief, not a spy. With a grin, she sneaked into the kitchen. As expected, there was a cup filled Knuts, next to a window with an owl perch.

Two minutes later and one Knut richer, Hermione was back outside.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 9th, 1996

"Good evening, Harry. Did you have a nice Christmas?"

"Yes, sir," Harry Potter said, sitting down in his usual chair in front of the Headmaster's desk. "But I'm also glad to be back at Hogwarts." He wasn't lying - Miss Dubois had spent another night at Grimmauld Place, and Sirius's attempt to make him like her had grated on his nerves. It wasn't that he disliked her; he simply didn't know her well enough yet to decide.

"Ah." Dumbledore nodded slowly, but did not elaborate. "I trust you kept up your training."

"Yes. All of it." Occlumency and Defence.

"Good. As much as I would wish it otherwise, the Dark Lord is growing in power. Many are doing his bidding, knowingly or otherwise."

"What exactly is he doing?" Harry asked.

"He's spreading his influence in the Ministry, placing and promoting his own followers and allies, and trying to oust ours."

"Like Percy."

"Exactly."

"And how long will that continue? And what can done about it?" Voldemort couldn't take over the Ministry like that, could he? He hadn't managed to in the last war.

"Measures are being taken to curb his influence and deal with his followers. My friends and I have to act with caution, though, so he remains unaware of what we know."

Harry tapped his scar. "I assume you mean this."

"Not just that. Given his arrogance, he is likely to assume that his deception worked and that we do not know that he has regained a body. I have taken steps to reinforce that assumption."

"You don't know, though."

"Nothing is ever certain," Dumbledore said with a wry smile. "Not even death, or so it seems."

"That still leaves taxes," Harry quipped, and the Headmaster chuckled.

"The Death Eaters haven't killed anyone, have they?" Harry asked after a brief pause. "I mean, apart from the sacrifices we already know about."

"Not to my knowledge, but I cannot claim to be omniscient."

Harry nodded. At least that meant that no Order members had died.

"Which brings me to the reason I called you to my office so soon after your arrival," Dumbledore continued. "I would like to take another look at your scar, and Lily's protection."

"Go ahead," Harry said. "Have you found out anything yet?"

"Nothing concrete, alas. Lily's notes were destroyed in the attack on your home. Filius donated the memories of his talk with her about her plans, but they didn't go into any details." He sighed. "On the other hand, they provided me with several promising leads to pursue."

"Do you think you can reverse-engineer the spell she used?"

"I do think that I am not overly optimistic or arrogant to presume so. Lily was a brilliant witch, but I am not exactly a slouch at magic myself." He grinned. "And as with many things, knowing that something is possible is often the most important step when innovating."

"Ah." Harry nodded. He would have preferred to hear about concrete progress, but as long as the Headmaster remained optimistic he wouldn't lose hope.

"Now let's test your Occlumency," Dumbledore said, raising his wand.

Harry took a deep breath and steeled himself. This would hurt.

*****​

London, Greenwich, January 16th, 1996

"Alright. Our acquaintance has informed me that thanks to our efforts, we have identified a suspected high-ranking Death Eater," Mr Fletcher said, dropping a picture on the table in his living room. "Corban Yaxley. He's got a cushy position in the DMLE, and he's been recruiting and promoting a bunch of young wizards lately - the same kind of wizards we bugged." His voice grew cold. "The kind of wizards likely to don masks and go slaughtering muggleborns."

Hermione Granger couldn't help glancing at her own mask, resting on the table in front of her. It was a rush job - she had transfigured the tinted faceplate of a motorcycle helmet so it covered her entire face. Together with the blonde wig it should make identifying her impossible, even if her Disillusionment Charm should fail. And as another precaution she was wearing enough makeup beneath it to act as another disguise. Just in case the spells she had found didn't block whatever charm had been cast on Moody's eye. Not that she expected that Auror to bother them when they were working for the Order. But others could have similar spells.

Mr Fletcher cleared his throat. "Now we're supposed to bug his place too."

"Do we know where he lives?"

"His home address is on file with the Ministry," he said. "He might have moved out, but… I don't think so. It looks like he was already a Death Eater in the last war, and since he escaped suspicion then, I doubt that he'll be expecting any trouble now."

She nodded. That made sense - and sounded encouraging as well.

"But he's bound to have better protection than the kids whose homes we've broken into so far. Much better protection."

That didn't sound too promising. On the other hand, this was an important mission. They were going after a high-ranking, experienced Death Eater, not some boys fresh out of Hogwarts.

Exactly what she had wanted for so long. It had taken years, but now her revenge would finally begin!

*****​

 

[Starfox5]

Chapter 14: Opening Act

Wigtownshire, Sorbie, Britain, January 16th, 1996

Lovegood was early, Elias thought when he heard the knock at the door. As an expert on magical creatures - albeit self-styled - the editor of The Quibbler should have known better than to arrive just as the sun had gone down. Perhaps Hogwarts shouldn't just teach the students not to tickle dragons, but also not to rouse vampires.

He deliberately took his time answering the door. He wasn't beholden to Lovegood; this was just a favour for a friend. A very big favour, Elias thought, if his visitor was as rude during the interview as his early arrival seemed to indicate.

When he saw that it wasn't Lovegood who was standing in front of his door, but an unknown wizard, he instantly aimed his wand at the man. "Who are you?"

"Mr Elias Fawley?" the man calmly asked, as if he wasn't staring down Elias's wand. Elias tensed even more - there were few reasons for such a lack of reaction, and all of them were worrying. And he also heard the soft humming of a privacy spell.

"Elias," he corrected the man. "I have no family any more." Not since he had been turned into a vampire. He chastised himself - he shouldn't have answered the man when he himself hadn't been given a name.

"Ah, yes. The Fawleys didn't show a lot of tolerance or understanding for your condition, did they?" The man smiled. "So very short-sighted of them."

Elias had made his peace with being disowned long ago - at the graves of his parents. But that was neither here nor there. "Who are you?" he asked again, aiming his wand right at the man's face. He smelled like a human, but slightly different. And Elias could hear his heart beat, so he wasn't a vampire.

"A scholar." The man smiled again, as if they were having a pleasant discussion over tea.

Elias started to feel slightly worried - very few men would try to play such games with him. Who was this annoying visitor? He should simply send the man away. Close the door in his face. His wards would protect him. But if Lovegood arrived while the man was loitering outside… Sanguine would blame Elias if anything happened to Lovegood when visiting his home. "What do you want?"

"I'm interested in a few controversial subjects, in which you are an expert, or so I was told."

"By whom?" he snapped. He had dabbled in many questionable things in his youth, and in even more after his change, but that was in the past.

The man shook his head. "I promised not to reveal their names. Just as I will not reveal your name, should you be able to help my research."

He hadn't stopped smiling. Elias wanted to curse him, just to wipe the smile off the stranger's face. "I can't help you. I'm no scholar. You have been misinformed."

"Weren't you once called the Red Wizard in certain circles?"

If he had still needed to breathe, Elias would have gasped right then. Everyone who had known him by that name was dead. Everyone but for… "Gabriel."

The man nodded.

Gabriel would have killed anyone asking after that time of their existences. But he hadn't killed the man in front of Elias.

Or, Elias thought with growing fear, Gabriel had tried and failed to kill him. "What do you want?"

"I would rather discuss this like civilised men, not out in the street. It is a very delicate subject, isn't it?"

"I would rather not discuss this at all," Elias retorted. "I assume we will have to compromise." He wouldn't let the man enter his home and abandon the protection of his wards.

"As you wish." The man sounded disappointed, but still kept smiling. "I want the Book of Blood."

"That's a myth," Elias lied reflexively. "Like the Deathly Hallows."

"Not exactly." The man lowered his voice. "Gabriel told me."

Gabriel had told? Elias froze. "Possession of that work is a death sentence."

"I don't care about the petty laws of the Ministry. Or the ICW."

The stranger was a madman. But if he had made Gabriel talk… "I don't have it."

"Not any more."

Gabriel had talked. Elias took a step back. "It was destroyed."

The man took a step forward, shaking his head. "I know your type, Mr Fawley. No matter how much you wish to turn over a new leaf, you'd never destroy knowledge." He took another step. "What did you do with it?"

Elias trembled. He couldn't tell the man. He had to flee. His wards would hold long enough to… He gaped. The man had crossed the wardline.

The man's smile widened, showing pearly white teeth. Something flickered and Elias saw his wand on the ground.

Still held by his hand.

"I am quite familiar with how much damage an undead body can sustain, Mr Fawley," the man said. "You will tell me all I want to know."

His assailant hadn't stopped smiling the entire time, Elias realised, a moment before he was struck by another spell.

*****​

London, Greenwich, January 16th, 1996

"Yaxley lives in Hogsmeade. The blighter bought the building during the last war, when the heirs of the previous owners, who were killed in the war, left Britain," Mr Fletcher explained.

"That sounds suspicious," Hermione Granger remarked. First Rowle, now Yaxley - it looked as if Death Eaters didn't just survive the war unscathed, but actually profited from the carnage.

Her tutor shrugged. "Mighta been - but a lot of people fled the country back then, and we don't know how much Yaxley paid fer the house." He pulled a small object out of his pouch and put it on the table.

It was a miniature building, Hermione saw. Very detailed. But tiny. How could they…

He tapped it with his wand, and it grew until it took over most of the table. Another tap, and the walls grew transparent. Her eyes widened. "Did you make this? Have you already broken into the building?"

He shook his head. "No. Yaxley didn't exactly throw balls, but a wizard in his position, with a home in Hogsmeade, had to entertain people - and if he wanted to avoid being suspected as a Death Eater, he also had to entertain 'blood traitors'."

"Someone else did this, then." A member of the Order? She frowned. "They would know what we're planning."

"They gave the order. Although I don't know if they created this based on a personal visit, or from someone else's memories."

"Ah." So, it was Dumbledore's work. Of course, she should have expected that - this was a very impressive piece of magic, after all. She nodded and then leaned forward to study the building.

"As you can see, it's an old house - Yaxley wanted a respectable residence. In a few generations, people will have forgotten that he bought and didn't inherit it." He snorted. "But the wards are new."

"Like Rowle's."

"Yes. But he'll have paid much more for his. And probably added a few spells of his own. Don't underestimate them." He narrowed his eyes at her.

"I won't," she said.

"Not that you'll have to break through them yourself; you're not yet ready for that kind of job."

She wanted to disagree, but he was correct that she lacked experience with the stronger - and older - wards. So she nodded. She intended to correct that soon, though.

"And he picked old-style wards - they cover the garden in the back too." The tip of his wand traced the model, and a red line marked the wardline. Before she could ask, he continued: "I already scoped out the area. Can't trust someone else, much less their memories, when it comes to such things. Always observe and examine them yourself - do a proper casing before the job."

That made sense. Of course, in theory, that could be done on a heist as well - examine the wards, then break through them - but, as her tutor had said, people were prone to rush things if they had to do them all in the same night. And that got thieves caught or killed.

"Does he own any pets?"

"No sign of one, but that doesn't mean much." He nodded. "We'll use potions to mask our scent anyway." He tapped the model and the different rooms started to glow. "Unlike the homes we bugged before, this house is larger, and was a family home for centuries. There's bound to be spells inside to give everyone privacy. Which means we need to bug every room."

That would take a lot of time. "Do we go in during the day, when he's at work?"

"I would prefer to - but he occasionally eats lunch at home. And a wizard who's alert and awake is harder to deal with than one asleep in bed." He grinned and held up a small vial. "This'll make him sleep through a Quidditch match. We'll put him out, and then we'll have the whole night to bug his place. And if he notices us before we put him out, we'll stun and obliviate him. Won't have to replace his memories either - we can just wipe them and he'll assume he slept through the night."

"Unless he notices the after-effects of the potion, or the spell," she pointed out.

"Should haven't any. And if he does he'll probably assume he didn't sleep well."

She nodded. And made a mental note to acquire some of that potion as well. "Do we use the same bugs as before?"

"Yes." He narrowed his eyes slightly at her. "Now, don't think this will be as easy as the other jobs. These old homes have lots of spells and quirks. Some even have ghosts."

"Or ghouls," she added, remembering The Burrow's 'house ghoul'.

"Yes. Don't assume that once we're through the wards we're done. Yaxley won't have trapped every room with curses fit for an Egyptian tomb, but he'll have a few surprises - even a spell meant to keep the kids out of your wine cabinet can ruin your day."

She hoped it wouldn't be as bad as Grimmauld Place had been, before Mr Black had hired Curse-Breakers to fix it. The stories Harry and his godfather had told her...

She really hoped that Yaxley was more sensible than Mr Black's family. Although that wouldn't take much.

*****​

Hogsmeade, January 16th, 1996

"Auror patrol just passed the street. We're clear for the next two hours."

Mr Fletcher's voice sounded slightly off, Hermione Granger noticed - the enchantment on the earring she wore might not have been done that well, she thought. Or something was interfering with it - Hogsmeade was the only purely magical village in Britain, and some of the buildings were older than the manors of the Old Families; there were many, many spells layered over the houses here. On the other hand, she hadn't heard of any trouble with wireless reception in the village, so it probably wasn't the environment. She would have do a better job when she added such an enchantment to her mask.

She shook her head and focused on the task at hand. As long as she could clearly understand her tutor it would do. She tapped her earring, brushing the blonde strands of her wig back in the process. "I'm heading to the fence," she whispered as she guided her broom forward.

It was a clear night, but a windy one - as she flew closer to the ground, snow thrown up from the roofs and trees lining her approach was blown up, covering her from masked face to booted toe. If it wasn't dark, someone could have spotted the distortion this created in the air, rendering her Disillusionment Charm less effective.

She stopped a few yards above the ground, hovering behind an old, thick oak tree, and conjured a floating, nearly transparent platform right next to Yaxley's fence. Then she cleaned the snow off herself. Her suit - a stylish but sturdy leather catsuit, bought in a muggle shop using a fake identity - was charmed against the cold, but the snow would melt once they entered the house, and that could leave traces of their intrusion.

She tried to spot Mr Fletcher, but the thief must have avoided the snow clouds - she only detected him when her Human-presence-revealing Spell showed his marker approaching her position.

"Good work," she heard his whispered voice through her earring, then saw the platform dip slightly as his disillusioned form dismounted his broom and stepped on to it. "I'll start on the wards. Keep an eye out."

"Yes, sir."

That sounded easier than it was - she had to keep the platform floating, and watch not just Yaxley's house, but the neighbouring houses as well - especially the one right behind them, to which the garden they were in belonged. The village looked dead so close to midnight, and it was unlikely that any wizard would be walking around in the snow, but unlikely didn't mean impossible. And the Aurors might have started to vary their patrol schedules, too.

But despite her worries nothing happened while Mr Fletcher worked his - their - way through the wards, and, after an hour and five minutes - she had checked her watch regularly - she heard her tutor sigh. "Alright, that's done. The blighter had some tricky spells layered in his wards."

She touched her earring, activating the enchantment. "Lethal ones?"

"No. Just tricky. Lots of detection spells. A few linked to Alarm Charms outside the house, too. Woulda started a hell of a racket had I botched it."

But he hadn't. She flew closer to the platform - there was no need any longer to maintain some distance so she wouldn't be caught in the backlash should he make a mistake - and stared at the spot where the invisible wardline was. She couldn't see any sign of it until she cast a detection spell - another enchantment she needed on her mask.

The wards glowed in her enhanced sight, but she could see the ripples that formed a rift right next to the platform. Large enough to fly through on her broom.

"I'll go first," Mr Fletcher whispered.

As he passed through the wards on his broom, she bit her lower lip and didn't point out that that had been the plan, and that he didn't need to remind her - she was more mature than that. She thought it, though.

Then it was her turn. She thought she felt a tickling sensation on her skin when she passed through the wards, but that might have just been her imagination - it was hard to focus on that sensation with her detection spell almost blinding her.

But she was through and floating in Yaxley's backyard. A flick of her wand made the platform disappear, leaving the snow below untouched.

"Alright. Check the back windows on the second floor for spells. I'll take the ground and first floor."

She nodded, even if he couldn't see it, and flew up to the second floor. It didn't take her long to verify that all the windows were protected by spells - advanced alarm and locking charms. Even the attic window was thus protected. Someone had been very thorough.

But then, if Yaxley had been a Death Eater in the last war, he would have known from personal experience how vulnerable sloppy defences rendered a house. He might even have been among the group who massacred the original owners of this building, she thought while clenching her teeth. "All second floor windows, as well as the attic window, are protected."

"Same here. We'll go through the first floor window then."

High enough to avoid most of the snow blown up by the wind, and low enough to easily jump out if they had to.

"Watch my back while I work," she heard him, then saw his marker float closer to the house.

That had been the plan as well, but Hermione still clenched her teeth. She could have done this, at least. Almost as fast as Mr Fletcher, too. If she could never get actual experience in the field she would never get good enough for him to trust her.

But she did what she was ordered to and once again played lookout for the five minutes it took him to open the window without alerting the neighbourhood.

"Done. Let's go in."

She saw his marker disappear through the window, then followed. As soon as she was inside, she vanished the snow on herself. Maybe that was another enchantment for her suit?

"Alright," Mr Fletcher whispered. "He's sleeping in the room next to us; I saw his bed through the window. Drop the Disillusionment Charm so we don't trip over each other while sneaking up on him."

She obeyed, even though she didn't like how vulnerable being visible made her feel. Normal leather wouldn't do much against curses. But at least she was wearing something more solid - and more stylish - than the dark grey balaclava, turtleneck and trousers Mr Fletcher was sporting.

A cat burglar had to have a certain style, in her opinion. Which was why her mask had stylised whiskers painted on it. That a good cat burglar wouldn't ever be seen didn't matter in the slightest.

Mr Fletcher was already checking the door as she looked around. The room looked like a guest room - slightly impersonal and not often used. It might have been a child's room before Yaxley bought the house, she realised with a sick feeling.

Then Mr Fletcher opened the door, and she focused on the job at hand again. Wooden floor in the hallway. Old boards - the kind that looked like they would creak at the slightest touch. A spell took care of that, though.

The door to Yaxley's bedroom didn't stop her tutor for long, although he had to deal with a spell there, and Hermione held her breath when he pushed it open.

There was Yaxley, deep asleep. He was alone, sprawled out on top of his bed sheets - and nude. She blinked. The house was heated with magic, but still…

Hermione bit her lower lip behind her mask as Mr Fletcher sneaked over to the bed and pulled out the vial he had shown her earlier. There were half a dozen plants in the room - and as far as she could tell, they were all tropical plants. She lifted her mask a little and tested the air. Hot and humid.

Why would Yaxley want to sleep like this? Even the natives in the tropics generally preferred cooler temperatures. He either must really love his plants, or…

"Done. He won't wake up until the morning, even if we yelled directly into his ear," Mr Fletcher announced. "What's wrong?"

"I think he has an exotic familiar," Hermione said, looking around. "Probably venomous, too."

She really wished she had been able to attend Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts. She had no practical experience with such pets. Or threats.

Mr Fletcher's curse perfectly fit the situation, but wasn't very helpful.

"What do we do?" she asked in a whisper. Even though Mr Fletcher had ensured that Yaxley would not be waking up for hours, his pet - and she was now certain he had one - might hear them.

"It might be smart enough to understand what we're doing if it observes us. We'll need to find it and stun it," her tutor said. "Preferably without being seen."

He didn't seem concerned with the threat the animal posed to them, Hermione noticed, only with the danger to the mission. That was encouraging. A little, at least. "Disillusionment Charm?" she asked.

He slowly nodded. "Yes. I don't like it and we can't count on the thing being fooled by it, but it'll help." He was whispering and looking at the floor, now. "I don't suppose that Black taught you a spell to detect animals?"

She shook her head.

"Alright. Here's what we'll do: We'll go room by room. I'll use a Supersensory Charm in each room, to find the thing, You'll have to stand still and not make any noise for that."

"I'll hold my breath."

He nodded. "Good. Once we have a room done, we close the door. Keep in mind which doors were open, too - we'll have to leave them as we found them once we're done."

She nodded. That shouldn't be too hard - there couldn't be more than a dozen rooms. And she hadn't seen any signs of Extension Charms being used.

"We'll start here," he whispered and raised his wand.

Hermione held her breath and kept an eye out while he searched the room. It took longer than she thought, and she took a few hasty breaths before he finished. "Nothing's here. I placed the bug inside the frame of his bed. Even a pet shouldn't detect it there."

Another complication, Hermione noted. They cast Disillusionment Charms and left the bedroom, closing the door behind them. Yaxley must not have wanted his pet to enter while he slept, she thought. But then, why did he keep the air so humid in his bedroom? Maybe he was used to it now?

The hallway had too many plants, too, she noticed. A small animal - like a snake - could easily hide here. It might even travel the entire length of the corridor without being spotted by anyone.

She bit her lower lip. They had to search the hallway before going further, but they couldn't close all the doors without first checking them for alarm charms. They would have to search the hallway each time they finished with a room. Hermione was suddenly worried that they might run out of time.

"Hold your breath!" Mr Fletcher said.

She did, tensing, as he cast his charm again. There were too many open doors here, she thought. Too many plants. Some ivy-like plant even covered parts of the ceiling, Hermione noticed, looking up.

"Watch out!"

She whirled around at her tutor's warning, just in time to catch his Banishment Charm on her chest. The spell threw her back, down the hallway, robbing her of breath for a moment. She rolled once and rose in a crouch, her wand moving, but she couldn't see anything - but from where Mr Fletcher's marker was floating, Stunners flew at the floor - and the spells were closing in on her.

Whatever he was casting at was moving towards her! She flicked her wand and conjured a thick glass panel in front of her. Before she could anchor it with a Sticking Charm, something invisible hit it and it started to fall down.

But it had slowed her attacker down, giving her time to conjure another and stick it in place. Not a moment too soon, since the thing hit it with enough force to cause cracks to appear just as she finished. She needed to learn how to conjure reinforced glass, she realised. Or find a way to reinforce the glass once conjured. Something better than the Unbreakable Charm.

A Mending Charm fixed the glass. Why wasn't Mr Fletcher casting? She didn't see any Stunners any more. Her eyes widened when she realised that if he missed then his Stunner would shatter the glass. The glass cracked again, and she had to repair it. She didn't know how long she could keep this up.

What was Mr Fletcher doing? She glanced at his marker. Still no spells flying at the invisible thing. But then a green transparent mass suddenly covered the hallway from wall to wall, and halfway up her glass panel. And something in the midst of the mass was moving - violently. She could see the outline of a slender form thrashing wildly, captured in a giant mass of…

"Glue?" she blurted out, then bit her lower lip when she heard Mr Fletcher groan - his charm must still be active, and her exclamation would have sounded as if she had yelled into his ears.

She held her tongue while the glue surrounding the captured creature started to peel back, followed by a Stunner hitting it. In front of Hermione's eyes, a black snake slowly faded into view.

She saw Mr Fletcher appearing as well, with his eyes closed as he sighed in apparent relief. "That was torture. Did anyone ever tell you that you breathe too loudly?"

She gasped, and he smirked. "Just kidding. Now let's see what I caught."

"Vanishing Viper," she said at once. "The only known snake of that size that can disillusion itself and can detect invisible creatures. It needs to, since it hunts Demiguises. It's highly venomous, too," she added as she dispelled her own Disillusionment Charm.

"I'll take your word fer it," he said, before vanishing both glue and glass.

Hermione stared at the thing, crouching down to observe it closely. It was almost pitch-black, but the tip of its scales were red-tinted. About two yards long, and very strong - she didn't think a normal snake that size would have been able to crack the glass. It certainly wouldn't have kept trying after the first time. Snakes weren't the smartest of creatures, but even they knew better than that. Which meant this snake had known what it was doing. "We'll need to obliviate it, I think," she said.

"Yeah. That wasn't a normal animal." He sighed again. "Obliviating animals is tricky, but we don't have a choice. The Dark Lord can talk to snakes. If he's placed this snake here as a spy, he just needs to ask it to learn about us."

Hermione hadn't considered that a Parselmouth would use snakes as spies like that, but it should have been obvious. "Tricky?" She frowned.

He shrugged, then rolled his right shoulder. "They don't think exactly as we do. The spell should work, but it's tricky."

She pressed her lips together. That didn't sound encouraging. On the other hand, even if the creature ended up missing more than a few hours of memories Yaxley might not notice.

"Well, we've lost enough time. Let's get on with this job!" Mr Fletcher said, pointing his wand at the viper. "Obliviate."

*****​

Despite Mr Fletcher's statement they moved slowly - there could be more than one snake, after all, even though that was very unlikely - having more than one familiar was unheard of, and Hermione doubted that Yaxley would have let a normal Vanishing Viper roam around his house. And she didn't think that the Dark Lord would have placed more than one snake as a spy in a Death Eater's home - a snake familiar wasn't unheard of, but if a wizard suddenly started keeping several snakes as pets then that would attract attention - Voldemort's affinity with snakes was known, after all.

But she still worried until they found the snake's habitat in the second room down the hallway. It was a veritable jungle - but at the door there was a solid gold water bowl, with a name engraved on it: 'Victoria'. Any wizard who'd do this for a pet wouldn't make two pets share, she thought.

Placing the bugs took a little more time than planned, too, to account for a snake's senses, but they managed to finish all the floors in two hours.

All the floors above ground, to be precise, Hermione corrected herself as she stared at the door leading to the cellar.

*****​

"There are some are solid protections on this door," Mr Fletcher commented as he got to work on it, "but nothing lethal. Probably doesn't want to end up with a dead guest who just wanted a peek at his wine cellar."

"That would be hard to explain to his coworkers." Hermione tried not to let her tension show in her voice. Good thieves were unflappable. She couldn't help biting her lower lip, though, as she kept glancing around every few seconds to check for threats, as a good thief should. A locked cellar in a Death Eater's home was not a good sign. She thought of cells - of dungeons, even. Or a laboratory where forbidden experiments were conducted. Or a chamber for rituals - sacrificial rituals.

"Done," Mr Fletcher said, straightening. "But there could be traps on the stairs. Follow in my steps."

Hermione didn't think that anyone, even a Death Eater, would be so crazy as to trap their own stairs. All it would take was one slip - of the mind, or the feet - and they would be struck themselves. On the other hand, what she had seen at, and told about, Grimmauld Place...

She took a deep breath and followed her tutor down the stairs, gripping her wand tightly as she stepped gingerly on the old stones which formed a straight stairway. Another door awaited them at the foot of the stairs. That one looked even older than the house - wood so dark, it looked almost black, held together with massive iron bars. Probably cold iron, she thought - back in medieval times, wizards had used that a lot, before advances in Arithmancy had proved that it offered no special advantage over steel when it came to resisting magic. Although some scholars claimed that it was the advances in metallurgy at the time which were responsible for creating a steel that was as resistant as cold iron.

She shook her head at her stray thoughts - this wasn't the time to indulge in academic speculation! Mr Fletcher was checking for traps, and, judging by his frown, something was wrong.

"No spells on this door. And I can't spot any traps either."

Which didn't mean that there weren't any, Hermione knew - her tutor had taught her that lesson well. She was already moving back up the stairs when Mr Fletcher conjured a large dog before joining her.

"Protego," she whispered - she could have cast the spell silently, but it would have been weaker, and she didn't want to take that risk.

Mr Fletcher cast his charm silently, then flicked his wand and opened the door from a distance. Then the dumb dog trotted through the doorway without getting cursed or crushed.

"It looks safe," she remarked.

"I'll go first," her tutor said. "Stay back."

She clenched her teeth to stop herself blurting out a childish protest. It was the right decision. She couldn't help him if she fell victim to a curse herself. But it still felt as if she wasn't pulling her weight. As if he was protecting her.

She held her breath, her wand aimed at him when he stepped through the doorway, ready to summon his clothes, and with them, him, as soon as something happend. Nothing did, though.

"Clear," she heard him through her earring.

She descended, taking care to use the same steps as before, and joined him in the cellar. Which looked remarkably ordinary, if too small for all the stuff in it. Not even magical - but for some of the wine bottles in the racks.

"It looks like he really didn't want others to steal his wine," Mr Fletcher remarked. But he was studying her, she noticed, and not the room.

"Do you suspect that there's a secret room?" she asked, already studying the room.

"Aye." He nodded. "The room's a little small for a house this size. And that shelf there looks a little too tidy." He pointed at an old shelf full of knick-knacks and rubbish. "Not overloaded, like the others."

"And no Extension Charm," she added.

He nodded again. "Would mess up the spells concealing the entrance." He jabbed his wand at the shelf, but staying clear of it. "There's the cursed trap we've been looking for!" he said with evident glee. "That'll take awhile to deal with." He turned to her. "Go check on the snake and Yaxley. He might wake up if I botch things up here."

She bit down on her retort once again - if he botched this up, the curse would go off. He didn't want her there while he worked. But, again, it made sense.

She didn't like it, though.

*****​

"All done here. Come back down."

Hermione checked her watch when she - finally - heard Mr Fletcher call her. It had taken him half an hour to deal with the cursed shelf. But, as she noticed when she re-entered the cellar, he hadn't moved it yet. She glanced at him, and caught him grinning.

"Wouldn't want ta deprive ya of the big reveal." Then he grew serious. "But be aware: We might find somethin' really nasty. Nightmarish. I've broken into enough Death Eater houses to know."

She met his eyes and nodded. She wouldn't shy away, no matter what they found.

He held her gaze, then sighed and turned to the shelf. A flick of his wand later, it swung open, and Hermione gasped.

The room behind it was smaller than the cellar, but as packed. Only instead of wine bottles and old furniture and rubbish, there were potion vials, brooms and bags - and a coat stand from which hung black robes and a white mask.

A Death Eater mask.

"He's been stockpiling potions and other supplies," she said, forcing herself to take her eyes off the Death Eater regalia. "Can we sabotage them?"

Mr Fletcher shook his head. "We could - but it would risk giving away that we were here."

And that would defeat the whole purpose of the job. She slowly nodded. She didn't like it, but she understood.

*****​

London, Greenwich, January 17th, 1996

Hermione Granger hadn't realised how tired she was - how exhausting the heist, her first real heist, had been - until she and her tutor finally returned to his flat in London and she could stop looking around for ambushes and pursuit. Adrenalin had kept her going through the entire heist, and through the four stops on the way back to throw off anyone who might be following them.

Now she just wanted to collapse in a bed. Or an armchair. Even the floor had started to look inviting, if she was honest. Cocking her head sideways, she stared at a spot she knew would be sunny and warm in a few hours, once the sun was up. And if she laid her coat down, she would have a cozy spot indeed.

"Here." Mr Fletcher interrupted her thoughts of taking a short nap by handing her a vial.

"Pepper-Up Potion?" she asked. The colour matched. The smell as well, she noted after uncorking it.

"Yes. I don't like using it during a heist, but it'll keep you going a little longer, so we can go over the job while the memory's still fresh. One sip will be enough, you can keep the rest." He took a sip from his own vial and shuddered. "Decades of time, and they've never fixed the taste."

Hermione followed his example, gasping when she suddenly felt wide-awake, then winced herself - the aftertaste was truly awful. "I heard that that was by design. So people are less likely to abuse it."

"Sounds like a story made up after the fact," he said, shrugging. "Now let's get started. I ain't getting any younger, and I need my sleep." He sat down at the table and flicked his wand, setting up water to boil for tea.

She nodded and sat down herself. She almost pulled out her notepad before she remembered that this wasn't an exercise or a test. No proof, no traces was the rule. Instead, she pulled out the Knut she had nicked from Yaxley and glanced at it. It was a shiny new one. Maybe she should make a bracelet out of all the coins she had taken. If she transfigured them no one would ever know. And even if they did… Knuts weren't exactly unique.

It didn't seem as if her tutor had noticed her near-lapse. "Now… the job went well. We slipped through the wards and security as planned. The snake was a surprise, but nothing we couldn't handle. Good job on realising that there was a pet, by the way."

He smiled at her, and she beamed. She had been useful and not just some assistant, hadn't she?

"Apart from the snake - a Vanishing Viper you called it?"

Hermione nodded. "It matches what I've read about them. I haven't seen one before today, though, so I can't be certain until I've checked a few more books." If only there were a magical zoo.

"Suit yourself. Anyway, apart from the snake, was there anything else that you noticed?"

She frowned and narrowed her eyes, trying to remember anything out of the ordinary - for a heist. "No," she finally said.

"Me neither. Even the potions he had hidden seemed to be standard ones." He shrugged. "Wish we coulda bugged them, but vials get handled - they'd have noticed them, and the jig woulda been up."

She bit her lower lip, then cleared her throat. She didn't know if she should ask… but she wanted to know.

"Out with it," he said.

"Will the Order kill him?" He was a Death Eater, and he was doing the Dark Lord's bidding - preparing for war, even. Taking him out would be the logical course of action.

"We won't kill him. We're thieves, not assassins." He stared at her.

"I know. But I don't presume that the Order will let him continue working for the Dark Lord." Left alone, Yaxley would murder people. And help others murder people. She rolled the Knut between her fingers.

"No, they won't. It's a war, after all. But they'll want to know who his contacts are, before they do anything."

"So, we're helping to kill him." Had helped - their work was done. She looked at him.

"We weren't sent there to kill him, or prepare his assassination. We were simply sent to bug 'im." He met her eyes, but she thought he didn't like it either.

"So we're thieves and spies."

"A good thief is a good spy." He pointed at her. "Though a good spy generally wears something a little less eye-catching."

"Muggle television would disagree," she shot back with a grin. "Besides, it's part of my cover. If anyone spots us, they'll remember a sexy thief in a catsuit, with long, straight blonde hair. Nothing like me."

"If Moody spots you he'll notice the wig."

"I'll have to use Sleekeazy's Hair Potion then, and dyes." And maybe a self-tanning lotion.

"That'll be expensive. You'll have to steal more than a Knut per heist to cover the cost of the potion."

So he had noticed. She grinned and nodded anyway. She was planning to steal a lot more.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 23rd, 1996

"Harry, look! Daddy's uncovered a conspiracy!"

Harry Potter turned his head when he heard Luna call out, and found himself staring at the cover of The Quibbler from a distance of about an inch. He pulled back a little until he could read the title, bumping into Ginny who was sitting next to him at the Gryffindor table.

"'Vampire Hunt! Blood Magic Conspiracy!'?" he asked the blonde witch.

She nodded several times. "Yes! Someone's hunting vampires - several prominent members of the vampire community have disappeared during the last few weeks."

"There's a vampire community?" Harry hadn't been aware of that.

"Of course there is!" Luna said. "It's an underground network. The sun is deadly to them, after all."

"Ah." He glanced at Ron, but his friend was simply nodding while finishing his breakfast.

"Most dark creatures band together," Ginny added. "Werewolves form packs too." She had shifted on the bench and was now leaning into his back, her chin resting on his shoulder as she looked at the magazine.

"But vampires are very territorial, so they can't live together like werewolves. Hence they form a network, not a pack. They mostly communicate through specially-trained bats," Luna explained.

"Why don't they use owls?" Harry asked. He felt a little distracted with Ginny's chest pressing into his back.

"They use owls to send letters to wizards, but bats to other vampires. It's tradition," Luna answered. "Daddy wrote an article about it two years ago - he noticed a trained bat posing as a pet when he was interviewing a vampire." She smiled. "He's a very good investigative journalist."

"Who's hunting vampires?" Ron asked.

Luna leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Daddy doesn't know yet. But it has to be a well-organised group of hunters - even old, powerful vampires are disappearing."

"Disappearing?" Harry whispered, then bit his lip - this was what privacy spells were for!

"They are either hiding - or dead. Well - un-undead." Luna wrinkled her forehead and blinked. "They're technically dead already, after all."

A well-organised group of hunters… Harry tried not to wince when he had a thought. "What's the blood magic connection?"

"Vampires are masters of blood magic!" Luna declared. "The article explains that as well," she added, opening the magazine and pointing at a paragraph with bright red letters. "You wouldn't have to ask this many questions if you had a subscription to The Quibbler."

She was looking at him with hopeful eyes. Harry could take a hint. "How much for a subscription?"

Luna beamed at him.

*****​

"So, do you think this is his work?" Ron asked half an hour later, pointing at the magazine on Harry's bed.

Harry Potter checked if his privacy spell was working before answering. "It might very well be Voldemort's work - if Mr Lovegood's theory is true." There weren't many facts in the article, though. Not many relevant ones, at least - in Harry's opinion.

Ron nodded. "Gonna tell Dumbledore?"

"Yes."

"You haven't had any, you know?" Ron tapped on his forehead.

Harry shook his head. "No." Which had him both worried and relieved at the same time.

"I would prefer it if it was a conspiracy by vampire hunters, as Mr Lovegood claims," Ron said. "But The Quibbler doesn't have a good track record when it comes to their theories."

"Luna believes them, though," Harry said. And she was in Ravenclaw. And rather smart, too, as far as he could tell.

Ron shrugged. "He's her father," he said, as if that would explain it. Harry didn't really understand that - he certainly had quickly learned that Sirius's stories couldn't always be trusted. And not just because his godfather's memory was still affected by his time in Azkaban. "And she lost her mother when she was nine years old."

That, Harry could understand.

*****​

"Good evening, Headmaster," Harry Potter said when he entered Dumbledore's office later that evening.

"Good evening, Harry. Have a seat." Dumbledore gestured to what had become Harry's usual chair. "You wanted to speak to me."

"Yes, sir. I was wondering if you're aware of The Quibbler's latest article?" Harry said as he pulled the magazine in question out of one of the pockets of his robes.

"The blood magic conspiracy? Yes, I am, actually." Dumbledore slowly nodded. "I take it that you harbour the same suspicion, then?"

"If you mean that I think this could be Voldemort's work, then yes," Harry said.

"I did mean that, indeed." Dumbledore sighed. "I fear that while Xenophilius is incorrect with regard to the culprits, his theory that this is related to blood magic is on the mark."

"It's Voldemort, then," Harry said.

"That is the most likely explanation." The Headmaster inclined his head. "It certainly is not a possibility that we should easily dismiss."

"I haven't had any visions, though," Harry pointed out.

"That doesn't have to mean anything. Voldemort might simply be still in the process of preparing another ritual."

"Can we stop him? I mean, can you and the Order stop him?" Harry corrected himself.

Dumbledore smiled. "Please do not feel as if you are not doing your part in the struggle just because you're not crossing wands with Death Eaters. As a wise soul has said once, battles are won with spells, but wars are won with planning." He sighed. "It is, as most such sayings, not entirely or not always correct, but it is true enough. You are crucial in this conflict. Your connection to Voldemort, your blood protection - you are the only one, ever, to have survived his Killing Curse."

"And I might survive his next one as well," Harry said.

"But you also might fall to someone else's wand without even meeting Voldemort. We do not know the exact power and nature of your mother's protection. Not yet." Dumbledore smiled at him. "There are many willing to raise their wands against him, but only you carry the key to his defeat."

Harry sighed. "So I can't risk myself. I understand." He did. Wanting to fight Voldemort was childish and stupid, he knew that. But he hated that he was staying safe behind the wards of Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place while others risked their lives.

Dumbledore chuckled, but he sounded sad rather than amused in Harry's opinion. "And I understand how much you resent that." The Headmaster sighed. "I feel the same whenever I send friends out on dangerous tasks while I remain at Hogwarts. I am not being boastful when I say that there are very few who are as accomplished at magic, and at fighting, as I am. I could do just about any task that needs to be done better than most. And yet, I cannot do everything myself. If I neglected my other duties in order to spare my friends the risk of fighting, I would do much more damage to our cause."

"I see." Harry hadn't thought of that.

"Since you are here already, shall we use the opportunity to do some further research and training?"

"Yes, sir." It would be painful, but it would make feel him better. Less useless, at least, Harry thought.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 24th, 1996

"Good evening, Miss Granger."

Hermione Granger looked up from the latest report the manager of the Black plantations in the Congo had sent and smiled politely at Jeanne - no, at Miss Dubois; she couldn't afford to think of the witch as a friend when she wasn't Miss Merriweather. "Good evening, Miss Dubois. Are you looking for Mr Black?"

"No, I just wanted to say hello. I rarely see you, even though you are Sirius's secretary." Miss Dubois smiled at her like Jeanne smiled at Miss Merriweather.

Hermione's own smile didn't change. "That's because I am usually buried in work. Mr Black receives a lot of correspondence that I have to peruse and sort before he deigns to look at it. Here!" She held up the report she had received. "A detailed tally of the expenses of the plantations in the Congo that the Black family acquired in the aftermath of the Intervention in 1873." She frowned - Magical History tended to gloss over the ICW's 'Great Punishing Expedition' that had wiped out most of the native wizards south of the Sahara Desert when they had started to use magic to fight against the muggle colonial powers. But this wasn't the time to discuss those atrocities. "In order to check the numbers, I have to read up on the last few years' reports, or I might miss someone skimming or padding their expenses. Then I have to check the profits, which involves checking the customs duties and the wages, which fluctuate wildly for no apparent reason I can find. It is fascinating, but also quite time-consuming, although I have become somewhat proficient in these matters as a result. Here!" She held up another sheet of parchment. "Aren't those columns just a little too neat?"

Miss Dubois's smile had slipped slightly. Hermione wouldn't have noticed, had she not known Jeanne so well. "Indeed, very fascinating. But I see that you are very busy, and I would feel very guilty were I to keep you from your work any longer."

Hermione nodded, already looking at the sheet again. Even though as Miss Merriweather she wore tinted contacts, a wig, far more makeup than usual and had her voice changed, Miss Dubois might find her a little too familiar should they talk for too long.

But so far the French witch had been scared off by Hermione's enthusiastic discussion of the most boring details of Mr Black's businesses each time she had tried to get friendly with her boyfriend's secretary. Hermione could only hope that this would keep working a little longer.

*****​

London, Merton, January 25th, 1996

Hermione Granger sat down on her bed and petted Crookshanks, who was taking a nap there. "Crookshanks?"

The cat made a noise that was half a growl and half a yawn, but didn't open his eyes.

"I know you're awake," she said. "I have to show you something important."

That caught his attention and he turned on his back to to look at her - and present his belly to be rubbed. She indulged him, of course. He deserved it - he was the best cat a witch could wish to have. And she had the time to spare, too - her parents were at work and wouldn't return until the evening, and she wasn't expected at Mr Fletcher's place until noon.

"I know you've been wondering about the cat you've smelled on me," she began, noticing how his eyes narrowed. And closed. "I think it's time for you and her to meet. No, really," she added when he didn't react. "You see, she's got a secret."

She stopped petting him and scooted back a foot from him, which prompted Crookshanks to sit up and stare at her. "Watch!" she said, then focused on changing.

Crookshanks was far bigger than she had expected, Hermione thought when she saw the tomcat for the first time as a cat. Not as massive as the stupid dog and far smarter and more graceful, of course. But he was huge.

And he was hissing at her. And growling. She hissed back - this was her room! Her bed! She wouldn't let anyone else claim it!

He pounced on her, claws out, and she barely managed to dodge by jumping off the bed. He was after her a second later, though she was quicker, and by the time he hit the carpet, she was already halfway to the chair. Another jump and she was on top of its backrest, hissing at him.

Then she blinked. What was she doing? Crookshanks was her pet, not a rival cat. She jumped off the chair, gracefully landing on the floor, and changed back to her human form.

And almost toppled over when her adorable tomcat slammed into her legs. "Crookshanks! It's me!" she explained while he looked around wildly, probably looking for the cat he had just tried to attack - he must be terribly confused.

She held out her hand, and he spent half a minute smelling it. "See? It's me. But I'm also a cat. See!" She changed into a cat again.

A few more transformations later, Crookshanks had learned that this particular and beautiful cat wasn't a rival, but his owner in another form.

And Hermione had learned that transforming in the middle of a scuffle could lead to nasty claw marks on tender body parts when a heavy tomcat found himself suddenly clinging to a standing human instead of a cat on the ground.

Well, it wasn't really his fault - she should have anticipated that.

*****​

Hogsmeade, January 28th, 1996

"What a beautiful evening! Look at the lake!"

Harry Potter nodded in agreement with his girlfriend. The sky was clear and it was less than a week from the full moon - the moonlight made the snow-covered forests and fields, and even the Black Lake, look very impressive. And romantic, he supposed.

"Walking back instead of taking the carriage was a great idea!" Ginny said, leaning into him as they walked. "Just the two of us…"

"And Remus, who is following us," Harry whispered. He'd rather not have his girlfriend test how good her Warming Charms were when they had a bodyguard watching them. Harry didn't think 'just act as if I wasn't there' covered that sort of thing.

"Drat. I forgot about him." Ginny sighed, and rested her head on his shoulder. "It's still romantic."

"Yes."

"We could take a stroll on the shore at Hogwarts tomorrow," she said.

"Yes." That would be inside the castle's wards, which meant they wouldn't have a bodyguard with them. "If the weather's still fine," Harry added - you couldn't count on that.

"Do you mean that the Boy-Who-Lived's spells can't stand up to a snowstorm?" Ginny asked with a teasing smile.

He snorted. "Of course they would - but if you want to play around in water, we should go sneak into the Prefects' bathroom, instead of melting the snow outside."

That had her blushing. Then she snorted and squeezed his arm. "This time you double-check if anyone else is using it!"

"I did!" he protested. "I didn't know someone else had the same idea! And we made it out just…" He trailed off when he heard footsteps coming closer from behind.

"Harry!" Remus appeared, pulling off Harry's Invisibility Cloak and startling Ginny, who apparently hadn't noticed him approach. "We're being followed. I'll take us away!"

Remus grabbed his and Ginny's hands, then cursed. "They've blocked Apparition! Use the Cloak and get away!"

"But what about…" Harry started to say, then saw a flash at the edge of the woods near them. "Watch out!" he yelled, tackling Ginny to the ground. A moment later a tree behind them exploded. Blasting Curse, he noted, drawing his wand and casting a Shield Charm. "Take my Cloak, Ginny!" he yelled.

"Not without you!" she yelled back. She had cast a shield of her own, he noted, but hers didn't look as strong as his.

"Get her to Hogwarts!" Remus shouted. "I'll cover you!"

Harry saw him cast several spells at their attacker's location as he pulled his broom from his pocket and unshrank it. Once they were in the air they were safe - they were too close to Hogwarts for anyone to stop them. Unless… He looked up and his eyes widened.

A man was floating above them. A man with red eyes and pale skin, Harry noticed. And the man grinned widely as his wand moved to point straight at them.

*****​