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

turbinicarpus · Jun 3, 2018

Starfox5 said:
Hermione really didn't like Meringworth. Not at all.

It was not until she got home that Bathilda noticed that her underwear was missing.

Starfox5 said:
"The fire's fake - the interior isn't burning," Moody announced. "But it's rather empty." Behind them, Davis gasped. "Two wizards in the entrance hall, one at the window - he's seen us. One at the stairs to the vault. And one witch upstairs, looting the library. Let's get them!" Moody bellowed and started towards the manor's front.

It's not clear whether there are 2, 3, or 4 wizards unless one parses the line pretty carefully. I wonder if Moody would have phrased it with less ambiguity.

Starfox5 said:
He tapped it to answer. "I can see it. The witch disappeared there."

Where's your style, Hermione?! No banter? No mid-combat flirting? No blowing a kiss before disappearing? No leaving behind a handkerchief embroidered with mysterious initials?

More seriously, Fletcher was probably right. They pulled off the heist, but they've had to cross wands with Aurors and now the Aurors know the size of their gang. On the other hand, once it comes out just how the Davises were tricked, all the other Old Families will be making fun of them for not knowing the difference between Fiendfyre and fireworks.

RedX · Jun 3, 2018

Neat.

The flirting and banter should be after Harry and Co are forced into an Uneasy Alliance with the theives against the Death Eaters, I think. This is just first contact.

Starfox5 · Jun 3, 2018

Pahan said:
It was not until she got home that Bathilda noticed that her underwear was missing.

Pahan said:
It's not clear whether there are 2, 3, or 4 wizards unless one parses the line pretty carefully. I wonder if Moody would have phrased it with less ambiguity.

Good point. Fixed.

Pahan said:
Where's your style, Hermione?! No banter? No mid-combat flirting? No blowing a kiss before disappearing? No leaving behind a handkerchief embroidered with mysterious initials?

Not when she has had to focus on escaping. Next time

Pahan said:
More seriously, Fletcher was probably right. They pulled off the heist, but they've had to cross wands with Aurors and now the Aurors know the size of their gang. On the other hand, once it comes out just how the Davises were tricked, all the other Old Families will be making fun of them for not knowing the difference between Fiendfyre and fireworks.

The Aurors actually don't know the size of their gang - Jeanne wasn't seen, after all. They only know that the thieves number at least three.

RedX said:
Neat.

The flirting and banter should be after Harry and Co are forced into an Uneasy Alliance with the theives against the Death Eaters, I think. This is just first contact.

Or once Hermione is better prepared to encounter Harry.

turbinicarpus · Jun 3, 2018

Starfox5 said:

Even as she reviewed her Auror underwear collection, Hermione was conflicted: her ego told her to go after Alastor Moody's next; but her heart told her to go after Harry's.

Starfox5 said:
Good point. Fixed.

Now the whole paragraph is showing up boldfaced.

Starfox5 · Jun 3, 2018

Pahan said:
Even as she reviewed her Auror underwear collection, Hermione was conflicted: her ego told her to go after Alastor Moody's next; but her heart told her to go after Harry's.

Hermione as Happosai is a frightening image.

Pahan said:
Now the whole paragraph is showing up boldfaced.

Thanks, fixed. Old bug it seems.

wichajster · Jun 3, 2018

Starfox5 said:
"Let's start with the wood," Sirius said. "My great-uncle risked his life for it, after all."

"You said that he simply had a muggle deliver it from Australia," Hermione pointed out.

"Exactly. If my great-grandfather had found out, he'd have been killed for that."

I think this is my favourite part

Starfox5 · Jun 9, 2018

Chapter 46: Repercussions

Lincolnshire, Davis Manor, November 25th, 1998

Tracey Davis stood frozen as she watched the three Aurors charge towards her home. Fake Fiendfyre? It looked so real to her! Potter mounted his broom and shot into the air, racing towards the southern balcony, while Weasley followed Auror Moody to the front door.

There were thieves in the manor. Criminals who had cursed her father and fooled everyone with fake Fiendfyre. Driven her from her home. She shook her head. These had to be the same thieves who had ruined the Bulstrodes. Millicent's family. How had they managed to get through the wards? Tracey had had to let the Aurors pass through. Had Father hired a traitor? But he had ensured that the werewolves didn't have the ability to let anyone enter; only family members could do that. So how… She flinched and ducked her head when Potter blew up the glass doors to the balcony.

"Davis! Let us through!"

She whirled around. Auror Shacklebolt and the other Aurors stood behind her, at the wardline. Of course! She ran back to them. "I'm sorry…"

"Just let us through," another Auror - a witch barely older than herself - snapped. "Harry and Ron need our help!"

"Meringworth." Auror Shacklebolt frowned at the witch.

"Sorry, sir."

At least the girl knew she had overstepped her bounds, trying to order Tracey around. She wasn't a member of an Old Family. Nor a mad Auror with a creepy eye.

The black Auror nodded, then turned to Tracey. "Get us through the wards, please. First Dawlish and me, then Meringworth and the rest."

Tracey started casting. They had to catch the thieves! She didn't flinch when she saw the flash of spells through the hole in the front of the manor where the door had been. She kept granting permission to the Aurors lining up next to her. Six. Eight. Ten. The first had reached the manor when she let the twelfth pass. Fifteen in total. That had to be enough to catch the intruders!

She looked around. The rest of the Aurors were on brooms, surrounding the manor. Preventing the criminals from escaping. She hesitated a moment, then nodded to herself. Daddy was at St Mungo's, getting treated. Mum was with him. Tracey was the only Davis present. She knew her duty.

Gripping her wand tightly and clenching her teeth, she stepped back through the wardline and walked towards the manor. The flames were still raging inside, but now that she knew they were fake, she finally realised that they weren't burning the building. She clenched her teeth. To have been fooled like this… But then, she couldn't have known better when her poor, confused father had pushed her through the Floo connection before the fire reached them.

She stepped into the entrance hall, wincing at the destruction the thieves - and probably the Aurors - had wrought. Holes and craters dotted the walls and floor. Soot covered the ceiling. Part of the floor had been transfigured into something that had subsequently been broken into pieces.

But then she realised that she couldn't see the remains of the statue that had stood next to the stairs. Nor did there seem to be anything left of her great-grandfather's collection of antique swords and axes. And the tapestries at the back… She drew a breath through clenched teeth. The thieves couldn't have had enough time to loot her manor.

Two Aurors stood near the stairs, but before she could address them and make them tell her where the thieves were, she saw Potter appear at the door leading downstairs, to the vault. Straightening - a Davis was always composed - she walked up to him. "What happened here?" she managed to ask politely, without ranting at him - or crying.

"The thieves fled down into the vault when we arrived, delaying us with curses and by other means. When we reached the vault, it was empty. Only ashes were left," Potter said.

"What?" She blinked. That wasn't possible. "The wards…"

"The door was open."

"But… they waited until the door was open before they attacked Father?" How could they have hidden there? The stairs weren't wide enough for so many people.

"We don't know how they entered the manor, nor how they left," Potter told her. "Yet."

Tracey scoffed. They still didn't know how the thieves had broken through the Bulstrodes' wards. But… "I have to see the vault."

Forcing herself not to run down the stairs was hard. Not crying when she saw the empty, ash- and soot-covered vault was harder. All the gold was gone. And all the goods stored there. Their own, and their relatives'. How had the thieves managed to do that in the time they had had?

Tracey took a deep breath to calm herself. She was representing the family. She wouldn't lose her composure. "You caught them in the entrance hall?" she asked, turning her head to Potter.

But it was the old Auror standing in the middle of the vault who answered. "Two of them. Potter went after the third, who was up on the first floor." He turned his head, and she saw his artificial eye spin wildly. "Don't see any sign of a secret passage, but the spells on the walls interfere."

"There aren't any passages!" Tracey snapped, then pressed her lips together before she started to curse. As if anyone would compromise a vault's security like that! If he were a member of an Old Family, he would have known that!

Her eyes widened. "They were on the first floor?" Where her family's rooms were?

Potter nodded. "I chased her to the entrance hall, and she escaped with her accomplices."

She? It didn't matter. Not right now. Tracey had to check the rest of the manor. If the criminals had managed to plunder her family's rooms… "Show me where you encountered her. Please," she managed to add.

Potter nodded. "Follow me, please."

*****

The hallway on the first floor was empty. She couldn't see any sign of a fight. No debris. No scorch marks. No remains of transfigured or conjured creatures. And no furniture at all. "You fought her here?" Tracey Davis asked.

"She ran as soon as she saw me," Potter said. "Quite athletic - didn't manage to hit her."

So, he had been using Stunners. Tracey pressed her lips together. Those thieves deserved much, much worse. "I see," she said.

"She was very agile, and disillusioned," Potter said, as if that would excuse him. He had beaten the Dark Lord, after all - how could a mere thief escape him?

And how had they stripped the manor bare in the time they had been inside? She went to her room, not caring if Potter followed her or not. It was bare. Everything gone. Her parents' bedroom - everything gone. The library and her favourite salon on the first floor were empty as well. "How could they have taken everything that quickly?" she exclaimed.

"They didn't."

"What?" She turned. Potter had followed her.

"They didn't take everything." He shook his head. "They vanished everything. Or most of the furniture, at least."

She blinked. Why would they do that? It was… senseless. It wouldn't gain them even a Knut. This was pure malice.

"They didn't quite get everything," Potter went on. "Most of the other rooms are untouched, as far as we can tell."

She wasn't listening any more, though. Not really. Her room, everything she owned, everything for which she had cared, was gone. Her family had lost most of their gold. They were ruined. Like the Bulstrodes.

Her life was ruined. Her peers would ostracise her. Like the Bulstrodes. Even Daphne… no, Daphne wouldn't cut her off. She was a real friend. She wouldn't abandon Tracey over this.

But Daphne would pity her. And Tracey wouldn't be her friend's equal any more.

She didn't know which would be worse.

*****

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, November 25th, 1998

Hermione Granger turned around as soon as she left the Vanishing Cabinet and jabbed her wand towards it.

"Reducto! Evanesco!"

The cabinet exploded, shards of it hitting her Shield Charm before her Vanishing Charm made the remains of the cabinet disappear. She raised her wand.

"Accio splinters!"

A small cloud of wood fragments flew towards her. She flicked her wand.

"Evanesco!"

With the last trace of the Vanishing Cabinet gone, she took a deep breath and tried to slow down her still racing pulse. That had been too close. Far too close.

"Aurors have arrived! Get back, we have to leave!"

When she had heard Sirius, she had been in the library, dealing with the spells on the shelves. Her first impulse had been to leave at once. But she had been so close… and the books she had seen on the shelves were far too precious. "Are they coming through the wards?" she had asked instead, flicking her wand as she unravelled another protection on the library.

"No. They are waiting outside the wardline. But it's Harry. And Ron."

She had frozen for a moment. Harry. She had expected him - they had faked a Death Eater attack with Fiendfyre, after all. But so soon? "Keep an eye on him."

Another spell down. Two, no three to go. The Aurors - Harry - couldn't get through the wards. They would need the Davises for that. And they had hit Davis with a strong Confundus Charm - he wouldn't be able to do anything until he was treated. And his wife and daughter? She had scoffed. They would be too afraid of Death Eaters to rush to help the Aurors.

She had focused on the shelves again. Quite a tricky curse there. Nothing fatal, but she would end up stuck to the floor as soon as she touched a book. Fortunately, she was very familiar with such defences, thanks to Sirius's library, and knew how to disable them.

Two spells left. One would keep the books stuck to the shelves unless someone of Davis's blood touched them. How fitting for blood bigots. But ultimately, just a variation of the trap she had already disarmed.

"More Aurors have arrived. Looks like everyone they could spare. They're surrounding the manor."

That hadn't been any reason to worry - they hadn't been planning to leave that way. Hermione had ignored it and concentrated on her task.

One spell left. It had looked like a variant of an Alarm Charm. She could have ignored that, of course - no one had been left in the manor to react to an alarm. But the spell was an archaic one. Far older than the shelves, or so she had guessed, based on its complexity. So why would… Ah! She had clenched her teeth when she had realised that it hadn't been an Alarm Charm, but another trap - a curse which would overwhelm an intruder by hitting them with a scream so loud, it would burst their eardrums and disorient them. No wonder the library had a powerful Silencing Charm on it!

But once she had identified it, she had dealt with the trap in less than a minute, and the tomes had been hers.

"Bloody hell! Moody's returned - and he's dragged Davis with him! They're coming through the wards!"

No! Hermione's eyes had widened. Not now! She had flicked her wand, summoning and shrinking the most important - and expensive - books she wanted in quick sequence.

"Get down here! They're coming!"

"I'm coming! Hold them off!"

She had stuffed the last handful of books into her enchanted pocket, then had hesitated for just a second. To vanish books, any books, was wrong. But to leave them with the Davises would have been worse. She had quickly vanished the shelves and the remaining books, feeling like a murderer, before rushing into the hallway.

Where Harry had been charging towards her on his broom.

Hermione had acted without thinking, diving to the floor before she had seen him move. A red flash had passed over her head - a Stunner - and she had flicked her wand as she rolled to the side, conjuring a wall in Harry's way. And then she had disillusioned herself, scrambled to her feet and rushed towards the wall.

He had acted as she had expected, vanishing the wall right before she had reached it, and she had thrown herself into a roll, passing him as he shot down the hallway, before running all out towards the corner to the entrance hall. A second later, she had conjured a wall behind her and had kept going. Never use the same trick twice, Mr Fletcher had taught her.

She hadn't managed to reach the corner in time - she knew how fast Harry was - and had thrown herself to the side a moment before more Stunners had flown towards the corner. She had rolled over her shoulder, ended on her feet and had jumped, running up the wall before pushing herself off with both legs and diving towards the corner as more curses missed her.

As soon as she had hit the floor, she had changed, racing down the floor to the stairs on all fours as fast as her paws could propel her. One. Two. She had changed back before Harry turned the corner and had thrown herself over the balustrade. Spells had flashed below her as she had cast a Cushioning Charm on the floor below her an instant before her packet of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder had burst, plunging the entire entrance hall into darkness.

She had gripped the Hand of Glory, rolling to the side, then had darted towards the entrance to the vault. "I'm here, get down!"

"Bloody hell!"

She had seen the two men move, Mr Fletcher stumbling and Sirius touching the wall, and had reached out, pushing them towards the entrance. "Run!"

They had stumbled more than ran down the stairs until they had left the area covered in darkness and stepped into the vault. She had worried that the Aurors - Harry and Ron! - would charge blindly after them, but they hadn't.

"Go through!" she had yelled, setting the fire bomb's fuse, then had leapt into the cabinet after them, a few seconds before the bomb went off.

Yes, it had been too damn close. She opened her eyes, then gasped through clenched teeth. "Are you alright? Did you get hurt?" she asked them, feeling ashamed for not doing so earlier.

"Yes," Sirius said, grinning - although it looked a little forced to her. More than a little; she knew him well, after all. "Even Moody couldn't get past us."

"He almost bloody did!" Mr Fletcher snapped. "Got through our obstacles without trying! The curses were already flying when you finally arrived."

She bit her lower lip, grateful that she had still her mask on. She should have been quicker. Less greedy. Better prepared. "Harry cut me off with his broom," she said, finally pulling her mask off and shaking out her sweaty hair. It was still blonde - and straight. She'd have to fix that before returning.

"Shouldn't have risked it," Mr Fletcher muttered, glaring at her.

"I underestimated the Davises," she admitted. She had been arrogant and stupid.

Sirius snorted. "Or you overestimated them - Moody might have forced the witch to let them inside." He shrugged. "But it all worked out well. We laid waste to their manor and emptied their vault."

"And their library," Hermione added.

"And we almost got caught," Mr Fletcher spat. "Took too many damn risks."

She nodded. "I know. It won't happen again."

She'd have to plan the next heist better. But, she reminded herself with a small, satisfied smile, they had pulled off the heist. And they had pulled one over the Aurors.

And Harry, who had trounced her so often in training.

That felt good. Really good.

*****

Lincolnshire, Davis Manor, November 25th, 1998

The manor's vault had been cleaned out thoroughly, as far as Harry Potter could tell. Only ashes remained - and some charred wooden fragments. He knelt down next to one and studied it, but he couldn't even tell if it had been part of a trunk or a strongbox. "Why did they leave these and set them on fire? They took everything else."

"Good question, Potter," Moody answered, turning his head to look at him with his good eye. "Could be that they had to break curses on those, and left the remains."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You don't think so."

The old Auror chuckled. "No, I don't. They vanished half the manor's furniture." He pointed at the ashes. "These were left behind by design. Might be just a distraction, to confuse us. Or our criminals might have made a mistake." He suddenly frowned and blinked with one eye. "Look alive, lads! Bones is coming down."

The Head of the DMLE? Harry hadn't even known she was present. He drew a hissing breath and stood up.

"Great," he heard Ron mutter.

And there she was. Bones strode into the vault, Scrimgeour, Shacklebolt and Dawlish following in her wake, with Bathilda trailing behind. "What do you have, Alastor?" she barked more than asked.

Moody groaned slightly as he slowly stood up - for show, Harry knew; the old Auror could move far more quickly when he needed to - then faced the witch. "We've got a merry band of very clever thieves," Moody said. "We saw three of them, two wizards and one witch."

"And you let them escape," Scrimgeour spat.

"They escaped all by themselves," Moody said, snorting. "The wizards were waiting for us - as soon as we showed up, the curses were flying. And they had traps and obstacles prepared as well. All to slow us down so their accomplice could rejoin them."

"The witch Auror Potter couldn't stop." Bones turned her head slightly and stared at Harry.

He pressed his lips together for a moment. "She was very quick and very skilled. I didn't expect her to charge past me instead of fleeing when I attacked her," he defended himself. "She used conjured walls to delay me until she vanished in some darkness spell."

"You let a few walls stop you?" Scrimgeour asked.

"I didn't expect her to be that quick," Harry admitted. "I should have used Blasting Curses on the walls instead of casting Stunners at her, but she wasn't trying to hurt me."

"The two wizards in the entrance hall used non-lethal spells as well," Ron added.

"Aye," Moody confirmed. "They either don't want to hurt us, or they think this'll make us hold back." It was clear what Moody thought was the reason.

"Well, we won't be holding back any longer," Scrimgeour said. "This is the second manor they've plundered. Malfoy is calling for an emergency session of the Wizengamot. He'll probably push for a curse on sight order."

Moody snorted. "Afraid for his gold, is he?"

Bones, who had been frowning at Scrimgeour, glared at the old Auror. "We're not taking orders from the Wizengamot. The rules of engagement for the Auror Corps won't change. No lethal curses unless lives are at stake."

Which wouldn't mean anything, Harry thought, when half the Corps would follow the lead from their relatives in the Wizengamot, with Fudge's backing. And while the Wizengamot might not - technically - be allowed to give orders to the Auror Corps, they could change the laws and rules according to which the DMLE operated. Only if they didn't want to go through Fudge instead, of course.

"Malfoy will be arguing that lives are at stake. Twice some of the strongest wards in Britain have been breached. If those thieves work with Crouch and the Lestranges…" Scrimgeour shook his head. "They were wearing Death Eater robes, weren't they?"

"We don't actually know," Moody said. "We only have the testimony of two confused wizards. And it's clear that they wanted the Davises to think that this was a Death Eater attack so they could loot the manor."

"Good enough for me," Scrimgeour said. "You act like a Death Eater and you'll get treated as a Death Eater."

"Aye," Moody said. "We were only here because it was reported as a Death Eater attack."

"And yet you bungled it after you realised that it was my case," Dawlish said.

"I'd like to see you do better, Dawlish," Moody said, sneering. "These aren't Knockturn Alley scum. They're highly trained and experienced."

"I had overall command," Shacklebolt spoke up for the first time. "I agreed with Alastor entering first. I do not think anyone else would have had more success."

"The Wizengamot will disagree," Scrimgeour said.

"Then it's a good thing that this isn't my case," Moody replied. "You won't have to replace me."

Dawlish clenched his teeth - apparently, he had just realised that he'd catch the blame the next time the thieves struck. Harry almost snorted. The witch who managed to escape him certainly wouldn't be caught by the likes of Dawlish.

"Enough." Bones frowned. "How did they escape from the vault?"

"If they actually were in the vault, and didn't take another route in the dark," Dawlish added, then flinched when Bones glared at him.

"I kept an eye on the entire area - they entered the vault," Moody said. "And they didn't leave through the door. Which means they left from inside the vault."

"How? The whole area was locked down with Anti-Apparition and Portkey Jinxes," Bones said.

"And the Floo connection was shut down as well," Shacklebolt added.

"That's the question," Moody said, grinning. He pointed at the charred remains on the ground. "And there's the answer."

"Don't play bloody games," Scrimgeour spat.

"I've found traces of a few distinctive spells. A Switching Spell and the Protean Charm aren't exactly standard for extended trunks," Moody said.

Harry didn't know what that meant, and neither did Scrimgeour or Dawlish, he noticed. But Shacklebolt jerked. "A Vanishing Cabinet? The Davises let someone deposit a Vanishing Cabinet in their vault?"

Moody shrugged. "The Unspeakables will have to verify it, but it's my best guess. Apart from treason among the family, of course."

But, Harry knew, that explanation was becoming more and more improbable with each heist. The thieves couldn't have had inside help in every manor they struck. They were simply very skilled.

But they weren't invincible. They had failed once already, at Longbottom Manor. And Harry almost caught the witch. Next time, she wouldn't escape him.

*****

London, Ministry of Magic, November 25th, 1998

When he heard the knocking at the door to their office, Harry Potter turned slightly on his seat and aimed his wand at the door. You never knew, after all. "Yes?"

The door was opened, and Bathilda entered. "Good, I was afraid that you had already left."

Ron snorted. "Left? We're still writing reports about today's 'incident'."

Harry waved his wand and conjured a seat for her. "Did Dawlish leave that to you?"

"I'm not his secretary," Bathilda retorted.

"But I bet he's already gone home." Ron smirked. "You wouldn't sneak into our office otherwise, would you?"

She glared at him. "John's not that bad. But your attitude isn't helping."

Harry cleared his throat. Dawlish certainly was that bad, in his opinion. He wasn't as bad as Nott, though. "So, what brings you to our humble abode?"

She stared him for a moment with narrowed eyes. He smiled at her, and she snorted before sighing. "I need to know everything you know about the thieves."

"That's why we're writing these reports." Ron pointed at the scroll on his desk.

"Yes. But it'll be some time until we get those reports, and I can't exactly ask a sheet of parchment questions," she replied.

"Well, you could, but the sheet wouldn't answer." Ron grinned.

Harry cleared his throat and drew her attention back to himself before Ron could make a joke about getting questioned. Sometimes his friend acted a little too much like Fred and George. "I understand that. And you want all the information in your report as well."

She blushed slightly but nodded. "John's worried that he'll get the blame for not catching the thieves today."

Harry was sure that Dawlish wouldn't be any happier if they had actually caught the thieves. Dawlish would blame them anyway - for everything - in Harry's opinion. But that wasn't Bathilda's fault. He nodded. "He'll get blamed when they escape from him."

She frowned at him. "You sound as if that's a given."

Ron chuckled. "No offence, but if they can get away from Moody and us, then Dawlish won't be able to catch them. They're good."

Harry nodded. "I couldn't hit the female one with a Stunner."

"But you said that you could have hit her with a Blasting Curse."

"Caught her in the blast, yes," Harry said. He hesitated a moment, then sighed. "But I wouldn't recommend that, actually."

"Why?" She frowned at him. "If it would work…"

He grimaced. "They've stuck to Stunners and other non-lethal curses themselves. If we start to escalate, they might match us."

Ron made a noise of agreement. "And since they can fake Fiendfyre and pass through the wards on manors, this could get ugly."

Bathilda winced and took a deep breath. But then she raised her chin. "But we can't let them escape because we fear their reaction! We're the Auror Corps! We enforce the law!"

She was right, and yet… "But we shouldn't treat them as if they were Death Eaters," Harry told her. "Despite what Scrimgeour said."

"Especially since that's what Malfoy wants," Ron added. "Dad said that the git was even paler than normal today when he went to Fudge's office."

"The thieves have to be stopped! By any means necessary!" she retorted. "And if you couldn't stop them with Stunners, then we will have to try something else."

"Preferably something that doesn't get you killed," Ron said.

"Get more Aurors. No matter how good you are, if half a dozen Stunners are flying at you, you're bound to get hit," Harry said.

"And hope they don't mess up," Ron cut in. "Although if they do, you've got scapegoats ready."

She huffed at that. "It's not my decision anyway."

Which was true, of course. Even though it should have been hers, in Harry's opinion. Dawlish cared too much about his career.

"So what do you know?" she asked.

Harry sighed. This would be the third time today he'd be repeating his view of the morning's events.

*****

"...and we discovered that they had vanished a lot of the furniture," Harry Potter finished his tale.

"Why would they do that?" Bathilda asked. "That wouldn't earn them any gold. Do you think they were paid by a rival family to deprive the Davises of their wealth?"

That sounded like a theory Dawlish would come up with. "If that were the case, they could have used real Fiendfyre to burn the manor to the ground with everything inside as soon as they saw we were coming at them. It would certainly have kept us from rushing inside. They didn't do that, though," Harry replied. "So they either have a grudge against the family - or they were stealing something specific, and wanted to hide that by stealing and vanishing a lot of other things."

"There are plenty of people who have a grudge against the family," Ron added. "And since they opened their vaults for their relatives, who knows what was stored in there?"

"Davis doesn't," Bathilda said. "He 'didn't pry', in his own words."

"He's back from St Mungo's then?" Harry asked.

"Yes. Wasn't much of a curse - a simple Confundus Charm." Bathilda must have noticed his reaction since she frowned at him. "Don't say it."

Harry didn't. But he grinned.

*****

Paris, Quartier Magique, Magical France, November 25th, 1998

Hermione Granger waited with Sirius in a café outside the travel office in the Quartier Magique in Paris while Jeanne was inside arranging their trip back to Britain. She looked around, taking in the sights. Compared to Diagon Alley, the main street of Paris's magical quarter looked like a boulevard, even if it fell short of an actual Parisian boulevard. There were more people in the streets than there would be at home, though, and far more diverse, too; she could see Arabian and Mediterranean wizards mingling with French ones - at least judging by their robes and the few snippets of conversation she caught as they passed. The robes looked more stylish than British fashion, too - but that might be her own bias. And Jeanne's influence, of course.

She took a sip of her tea and frowned. Magical France might have better fashion and a bigger shopping district, but they couldn't brew proper tea. She put the cup down and nibbled on the patisserie from the small plate that had come with the tea. That, at least, was perfect - a small treat on their round-trip to France and back. One of several they would have to make so their 'absences' wouldn't correlate with the dates of their heists.

She checked that their privacy charm was still working and joked: "You know, if we have to travel to France so often to keep our cover, we might buy a house here so we can at least have tea."

Sirius turned towards her with a broad smile. "That's a great idea! I'll buy us a nice house to stay in during our cover trips."

She stared at him. "I wasn't serious."

"But I am serious!" He grinned at her.

"If you buy a house in France, then Harry will expect us to be there when we claim to be visiting, and he might even visit," she pointed out.

"I could buy one without telling him," he retorted. "It would certainly facilitate our trips if we found a house close enough that we could apparate to it after we've crossed the Channel."

He was correct, but still… to buy an entire house just for that? Sirius had no sense when it came to money. A result of being filthy rich. Although, Hermione suddenly realised, after looting the manor of a second Old Family, even with everyone getting their cut, she was now also rich. Not in Sirius's league, but not too far behind one of the less powerful Old Families.

Certainly rich enough to buy a vacation home in France - or anywhere else - without breaking her budget.

Hermione blinked and pondered this as Sirius went on about possible locations. She had become a professional thief to get revenge on the bigots who framed and ruined her. To see them ruined in turn, and cast down from their positions among the ruling class of Wizarding Britain. Somehow, she hadn't really considered the fact that she would end up filthy rich herself in the process.

She would have to consider carefully what she should do with her newfound wealth.

And, of course, how to use it without revealing that she had stolen it.

*****

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, November 25th, 1998

It was late in the evening when they returned to Grimmauld Place. Harry and Ron were waiting for them in the entrance hall, and Hermione Granger threw herself forward to hug Harry, running her hands over his back, inhaling his scent. She hadn't cast a curse at him, but she was still relieved to find him whole.

"We told you that we were fine," he muttered as he returned her hug.

She sniffed and released him. "You would say that as long as you were alive." She turned to Ron and hugged him. "Right?"

"She's got you there, mate," Ron said, chuckling.

Harry huffed and greeted Sirius and Jeanne.

"I can't leave you alone for a day or two without you getting into trouble, can I?" Sirius snorted and shook his head.

Harry scoffed, but he was smiling. "It wasn't our fault that the thieves struck today."

Hermione forced herself to smile even though she wanted to glare at the stupid dog. They went to all the trouble of setting up an alibi, and now his 'joke' all but pointed Harry at the fact that the thieves had struck in their absence? "What happened?" she asked, to distract her friends.

Harry winced. "I've told the story three times already today."

"Not to us, you haven't," Jeanne pointed out.

He sighed. "Alright… but let's sit down for it."

*****

"...and then the entire entrance hall was covered in darkness."

Hermione Granger had to struggle a little to keep from gloating when Harry told them how she had escaped him. That was what happened when she wasn't holding back and acting as if she were hopeless at Defence!

"So they escaped you without problems?" she asked.

Harry scoffed. "They were lucky. I wouldn't have tried to stun the witch if she had been Bellatrix Lestrange; I'd have used Blasting Curses on the walls."

Hermione almost winced at that. Her Shield Charm wouldn't have lasted long under such an attack. She nodded, though. "Still, they sound rather skilled."

"Very skilled and very trained," he said. "She moved like greased lightning in that leather suit of hers."

So he had been paying attention! Hermione felt even better about today's heist.

"We already knew that they were very sneaky," Ron cut in. "After all, they managed to break into the manors of two Old Families. But now we also know that they are very slippery."

"And underhanded," Harry added. "Faking a Death Eater attack…" He shook his head.

Hermione mock-gasped. "Thieves not playing fair? Who would have thought!"

"Well, they're Dawlish's problem," Harry said. "Not ours."

"But if Dawlish catches them after they escaped from us, we'll never hear the end of it," Ron pointed out.

Hermione scoffed. That wouldn't happen, of course. Dawlish wouldn't even come close to catching them.

"Bathilda would make him shut up after a while," Harry said. "She's nice like that."

Hermione literally bit her tongue. The last thing she wanted to hear about in her moment of triumph was how nice that Auror was.

*****

London, Ministry of Magic, November 26th, 1998

Harry Potter frowned when he spotted Nott in the break room, sitting with Bathilda at their usual table. He rarely saw the git these days, and that was just how he liked it. He and Ron could simply grab a cup of tea and head back to their office, but he wanted to talk to Bathilda without Dawlish, and their break was the best opportunity for that. So he grabbed a cup and then went over to the two other Aurors, followed by Ron.

He smiled at her. "Hello, Bathilda." He stopped smiling when he nodded at the bigot. "Nott."

"Potter. Weasley." Nott sneered at them. "Let any criminals escape today? Or are you failing at finding them at all, as usual?"

"Theo!" Bathilda snapped.

"For someone who doesn't risk anything worse than a paper cut in the archives, you really do talk a lot, Nott," Harry shot back.

"Harry!" Bathilda glared at him.

"How unsurprising that you wouldn't realise how important Filing is." Nott scoffed. "Handling paperwork and ensuring that a case is properly documented before it goes to trial takes more than just casting a curse at someone."

"Well, it's not as if you would be able to tell - have you actually arrested anyone? Or do you compare actual Auror work to hexing Gryffindors from behind at Hogwarts?" Ron shook his head as he sat down at the table.

"Ron!" Bathilda stood and slammed her hand down on the table, rattling it slightly. "Stop acting like stupid students!" she spat, glaring at all three of them. "We need to work together if we want to capture those thieves and the Death Eaters!"

"And make the cases stick in the Wizengamot," Nott added.

"As if paperwork mattered for that," Harry muttered. When Bathilda narrowed her eyes at him, he quickly added: "The Wizengamot won't care about paperwork and procedure. Not for the Lestranges and Crouch, and not for the thieves."

"Yeah." Ron nodded. "The Death Eaters were already sentenced to life in prison, and the thieves robbed two Old Families blind. The only question for those trials will be the Kiss or Azkaban for life?"

Bathilda looked taken aback at that, Harry noticed. "So," he asked, "did the Unspeakables confirm Moody's suspicion about the Vanishing Cabinet?"

She nodded. "Yes, they did. It's not a hundred per cent certain, but it's the best - the only - explanation for how the thieves managed to get into the vault."

"Could they have used the same method to sneak into Bulstrode Manor as well?" Ron asked.

"Perhaps. We didn't consider that." Bathilda frowned. "But we are certain that they lost the Vanishing Cabinet this time."

And those things weren't cheap - or common.

"The goblins will be happy," Ron said. "Many Old Families will throw out the trunks and strongboxes of their distant relatives from their manors' vaults, forcing them to use Gringotts' vaults again."

"If the goblins want to risk that," Nott said.

"We're meeting them later today," Harry said, not quite ignoring the git, but not addressing him either.

"Oh? I have to head to Diagon Alley as well. John wants to check with some of the shops there about Vanishing Cabinets," Bathilda said. "Want to have lunch together?"

Harry glanced at Nott, who was glaring at him, then smiled at the witch. "Sure. We know a great fish and chips shop in muggle London."

"Oh, nice." Bathilda beamed at Ron and Harry. Then she turned to Nott. "Are you coming as well?"

Harry Potter grinned at the bigot when Bathilda couldn't see his expression. Muggle London? Muggle food? He almost chuckled when he saw Nott struggling to keep smiling at the beaming witch.

"You know… I think I'll come, yes." Nott flashed his teeth at Harry.

"Great!" Bathilda beamed.

Harry exchanged a glance with Ron. They'd have to go to another fish and chips shop; he certainly didn't want Nott to know their favourite one.

*****

London, Greenwich, November 26th, 1998

"So what do you think?" Harry Potter asked as he picked up another chip.

"I knew the muggles weren't as advanced as us, but to think that they don't even use plates and cutlery…" Nott shook his head.

Harry rolled his eyes as he chewed. "I wasn't asking you," he told him, scowling. "And muggles do use silverware; this dish, however, traditionally isn't eaten from a plate."

"Barbarians," Nott muttered.

"It's good," Bathilda said. "Better than the Leaky Cauldron's special."

Ron scoffed. "Cardboard with ketchup would taste better than the Leaky Cauldron's special."

"But they have cutlery there," Nott protested. "And you don't have to wear weird clothes to eat there." He sneered at the jumper, trousers and coat he was wearing.

"For muggles, our robes are weird clothes," Harry pointed out.

"Well, we aren't muggles," Nott shot back.

"The food's good, though," Bathilda cut in. "And it'll help us to fit in if we have to operate in muggle Britain."

Nott wouldn't have to operate in muggle Britain, of course. He wouldn't have to leave the Ministry at all, working in Filing. But Bathilda was looking at them with that slightly disapproving frown again that meant she didn't want them to argue. "Well, the muggles have a lot of dress codes. You won't fit in everywhere if you dress like this." He pointed at her turtleneck and long skirt. "Although most muggle Aurors dress like that. So, unless you want to pass as a member of the upper classes, you'll be fine."

"'Muggle upper classes'," Nott scoffed. "What an oxymoron!"

"Theo!" Bathilda snapped.

"What?"

"Shut up about muggles and eat your meal!" Bathilda didn't look very friendly right then, Harry noticed.

And Nott shut up. He hadn't stopped eating with gusto, though, Harry noticed.

"Next time, we'll eat in Diagon Alley," she announced. "Cameron's is a good pub."

She was planning to make this a regular occurrence, Harry realised with a sinking feeling. At least Nott looked as horrified as Harry felt.

*****

London, Diagon Alley, November 26th, 1998

The goblins hadn't changed their security, Harry Potter noticed as he and Ron followed one of the guards to Sharptooth's office. At least not as far as he could tell. Same number of guards, same patrols. No new Thief's Downfalls or other devices. And the manager's office hadn't changed either.

"Manager Sharptooth." He nodded at the goblin.

"Mister Potter. Mister Weasley."

"Aurors," he corrected the goblin.

Sharptooth sneered in reply. "We expect Auror Moody if this is supposed to be Ministry business."

Harry refrained from pointing out that if the goblins hadn't known that this was an official visit, Sharptooth wouldn't have received them. Moody's absence was already an obvious slight - not that the old Auror's presence would have made things much better. "Other duties require his presence," he said instead. "We're here to talk about the recent robbery of Davis Manor."

"Ah, yes. What a tragedy." Sharptooth smiled broadly. "To think that so many wizards and witches lost their gold to those thieves! If only they had put their trust in Gringotts…" He shook his head without bothering to sound or look as if he were sad.

Harry didn't give him the satisfaction of reacting to his blatant gloating. "We found out how the thieves entered the vault in Davis Manor."

Sharpooth's smile vanished at once, and he leaned forward. "You did?"

"Yes. It was confirmed by the Unspeakables." That wasn't quite true - they didn't 'confirm' the theory, but the result of their analysis was close enough. Harry smiled. "Of course, such information is valuable. If you could claim - and have it confirmed by the Ministry - that your own vaults are protected against such a threat…"

"What do you want?" Sharptooth snarled.

Harry grinned. "Everything you know about Crouch and the Lestranges. All your records."

Sharptooth's mouth snapped shut, and Harry thought he heard the goblin growl. "Gringotts has a tradition of discretion."

"I hope that that tradition doesn't include protecting the privacy of your enemies," Ron said.

The goblin glared at them. "Would you risk the gold of your people for such petty posturing?"

Harry scoffed in response. "Crouch and the Lestranges are the bigger threat to Wizarding Britain." He didn't have to tell the goblins that if the Death Eaters managed to start a war, the gold would be gone anyway. "But if more people start to worry about the security of the vaults in Gringotts…" He spread his hands. "Do you really want to risk that for criminals?"

Sharptooth muttered something in his own language. Harry was sure it wasn't complimentary and had to refrain from grinning. After a few moments, Sharptooth growled and reached into the drawer of his desk, pulling out a stack of files. "Here are the records you want."

Harry held out his hand, and after another moment of hesitation, the goblin handed the files over. Harry checked if they were the records they wanted, although, of course, he couldn't tell if they were correct, or complete. He couldn't do anything about that, though. "Alright. The thieves used a Vanishing Cabinet to enter the vault in Davis Manor."

Sharptooth's eyes widened for a moment. Then he snarled. "That's worthless. Gringotts doesn't have to worry about that, and you knew that!"

"Oh?" Harry tilted his head slightly. "Because your vaults are protected against such devices, or because you aren't liable for any damage to your clients' goods caused by something they've deposited in their vaults?"

Sharptooth couldn't entirely hide his snarl. "Gringotts' security measures are confidential." So they didn't know how to stop a Vanishing Cabinet either. Well, the Unspeakables were - or should be - working on that.

"Well, as long as they work," Ron said, shrugging. "If someone lost their gold because their vault was cracked from the outside by a thief who entered through a Vanishing Cabinet, that could be expensive."

"Especially if you don't know what was stolen from the vault," Harry added. "But we wouldn't want to tell you how to run your business." He stood. "Nor do we want to take up more of your time." He stashed the files in his enchanted pocket.

"Get out!"

They didn't grin until they had left the office. That had gone just as planned.

*****

London, Ministry of Magic, November 27th, 1998

"...and since these vile criminals managed to evade two dozen Aurors, it's patently obvious that the Auror Corps' current rules of engagement are insufficient for dealing with such a threat. Therefore, and in order to prevent the ruin of another family, I propose authorising the Aurors to use the Killing Curse and the Imperius Curse against them."

Hermione Granger hissed at hearing Malfoy's proposal. The Unforgivable Curses? She hadn't even hurt anyone on her heists! That was crossing a line! She glared at the wizard. Fortunately, she wasn't the only one who reacted with obvious and vocal anger upon hearing this.

"Preposterous!" Sirius stood, not bothering to wait to be given the floor by the Chief Warlock. "You plan to have our Aurors use dark curses against mere thieves? How low can you sink? What's next? Torturing Hogwarts students for breaking curfew?"

That brought some laughter, despite the topic. Not much, though - many members were glancing at Bulstrode and Davis.

"Desperate circumstances require desperate measures," Malfoy retorted. "Thieves who can escape from our most experienced Auror and the Boy-Who-Lived, who defeated the Dark Lord himself, obviously aren't 'mere thieves'. Are you willing to risk the ruin of more families just to protect such vile criminals?"

Hermione saw a number of Wizengamot members who disliked Malfoy on principle nod at those words. This didn't look good.

"I'm protecting our Aurors from stooping to the use of the Dark Arts," Sirius replied. "And, having looked into the matter myself, I can assure you that the use of either curse wouldn't have stopped the thieves from escaping."

Malfoy sneered. "Oh? Do you have information about this crime that wasn't shared with the DMLE?"

Hermione pressed her lips together. The dog had made a mistake.

Sirius scoffed at the insinuation. "I spoke with my godson, who was present at the manor. As one of his teachers, I was obviously interested in the confrontation he had with the thieves."

"So the Boy-Who-Lived is sharing confidential information about criminal cases with you?" Malfoy's sneer deepened.

"No. We were discussing a tactical question in an abstract manner. Perfectly legal." Sirius showed his teeth. "Of course, I cannot help but wonder if you are privy to any confidential information about this robbery - or if you made your proposal ignorant of the actual events you claim to be addressing."

"I, at least, am not defending criminals," Malfoy shot back without his usual air of polite superiority. He had to be rattled by the heists, Hermione realised - he wasn't behaving as smoothly as he usually did.

She had to refrain from grinning gleefully as the Chief Warlock took several tries to restore order in the Wizengamot.

Malfoy was afraid of her.

*****

Hogsmeade, November 28th, 1998

It was cold and looked as if it might start snowing at any moment, but Harry Potter didn't mind the weather. He was on another outing with Hermione! Technically, they were with Ron and Luna as it was the last Hogsmeade weekend of the year, but the happy couple had disappeared into Honeydukes 'for a minute to try the new cakes'.

"Let's go into Tomes and Scrolls," Hermione said, nodding at the nearby bookshop. "You know Luna - she'll take her time."

"And Honeydukes is full of students, which will delay her further," Harry added, nodding. Given the cold weather, most students would stay inside the shops, including the bookshop, of course.

"What are you looking for?" he asked as he held the door open for her.

"Nothing in particular. I just want to check their used book section. They won't have anything new that Flourish and Blotts don't have, but you never know what kind of treasures you can find in the used section. I once found a seventh edition of Hogwarts: A History in Urquhart's Used Books!" She smiled at him, then turned and strode to the back of the shop, deftly passing through a throng of Ravenclaws gathered around the table with the new publications.

He followed at a slightly slower pace, enjoying the view. Hermione was an attractive witch under any circumstance, but when she was set on doing something, when she showed that drive and passion of hers, she was simply stunning.

And slightly scary, he added to himself with a smirk when he saw her glare at an older student blocking a shelf until the boy fled - which took less than ten seconds. When he reached her - he had to step to the side so the fleeing Ravenclaw didn't run into him - she was already past the first shelf, her head cocked to the side as she read the titles of the books.

"Found anything?" he asked, leaning against the first shelf.

"Nothing that we don't already have in the library," she answered without tearing her attention away from the rows of books.

He didn't mind - it allowed him to watch her without her noticing. The way her face lit up when she spotted a book, the way she pouted when she realised it wasn't what she was looking for… even in her heavy winter robes, she was more attractive than girls in skimpy clothes. Or, he added with a frown, thieves in skin-tight leather.

He continued to watch her as she went through the used section picking up four books their library was apparently still missing. "You know, if you keep this up, we'll have more books in our library than the Hogwarts library," he joked.

"That's the goal," she said, nodding emphatically. "Sirius will have to extend the library a few times first, though." When he blinked in surprise, she giggled. "I'm joking. It would take decades to get all those books."

"Ah."

"Of course, it would be different if the Hogwarts library wasn't protected against Duplication Charms…" She sighed.

He chuckled. "If our master thieves ever plunder the Hogwarts library, I'll know who hired them."

She gasped. "I would never hire thieves!"

"I was joking." He grinned at her. Of course, Hermione wouldn't hire thieves. Not after getting framed for theft by Malfoy.

She was still frowning at him when she paid for her books - he didn't even attempt to offer to pay for them. But when he saw her shiver when they stepped outside, back into the cold, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, she leaned into him.

Harry didn't need to cast a Warming Charm even though they had to wait a quarter of an hour for Luna and Ron to leave Honeydukes.

*****

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, November 29th, 1998

Sitting in her room, Hermione Granger studied the pictures taken of Greengrass Manor even though they were mostly useless for planning a heist. She couldn't tell anything about the wards from them. Although she already knew that going through the wards wasn't an option. The wardline would be heavily patrolled. They had to find another way to enter the manor.

In theory, she could try to sneak into the manor as a cat, but Daphne Greengrass knew Millicent Bulstrode, and the two witches might have talked about the robbery, even if the Bulstrodes were being ostracised - she knew that the Greengrass heir hadn't cut off Tracey Davis; Mr Fletcher had spotted them in the gardens of the manor. So posing as another stray cat would be too dangerous. The Aurors might not have been authorised to use the Unforgivables - but Greengrass's guards certainly wouldn't hesitate to use lethal curses.

And using Vanishing Cabinets wasn't an option, even if they still had a set of cabinets and the Aurors hadn't found out about them - the Greengrass family hadn't opened their vault for their poorer relatives.

She put the pictures down on her desk and leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms and craning her neck. At least she didn't have to worry about her friends catching her with suspicious pictures - Harry and Ron were at the Ministry, despite not having a shift scheduled. Something about the records from the goblins.

Of course, that also meant that she couldn't clear her head with a pleasant stroll through London in Harry's company. She sighed, remembering yesterday's trip to Hogsmeade. Walking with his arm around her shoulders, feeling the warmth of his body - and his muscles...

Frowning, she shook her head. She had to focus on planning their next heist; she couldn't daydream about Harry. And it would be rather embarrassing if their heist were foiled by an Auror's distracting absence.

Chuckling, she stowed the pictures in her enchanted pocket and pulled out the latest issue of Witch Weekly, with the expanded section covering the Yule Ball Season. So far, the Yule Ball at Greengrass Manor looked like the best opportunity to enter the manor undetected, but such a plan brought problems of its own. Namely, that there would be close to a hundred witnesses in the manor, and security would be tight.

Crookshanks running into the room and miaowing loudly while pawing at her ankle interrupted her thoughts. "What's wrong, Crookshanks?" she asked.

He miaowed again, then turned and dashed to the door, where he stopped and looked back at her.

"You want me to follow you?" she asked.

He vanished into the corridor. That was answer enough. She drew her wand and followed him. A minute later, they were in the entrance hall - in front of the door.

Hermione stiffened. "Is there an intruder?" But the wards had been checked this morning; you couldn't break through them that quickly. "Is someone trying to break in?"

Crookshanks miaowed and scratched the door.

If her tomcat was just trying to make her open the front door for him instead of using the cat-flap in the back door, they'd have words, Hermione promised as she opened the door and peered outside. Words backed up by claws.

Then she spotted the figure watching the house from across the street and froze as a cold shiver ran down her spine and turned into a lump of ice in her stomach.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

*****

turbinicarpus · Jun 10, 2018

Starfox5 said:
The flames were still raging inside, but now that she knew they were fake, she finally ~~realised~~ noticed that they weren't burning the building.

Starfox5 said:
Dawlish and I me, then Meringworth and the rest.

They are the intended objects of the action in question (Tracey's spell).

Starfox5 said:
"If someone lost their gold because their vault was cracked from the ~~outside~~ inside by a thief who entered through a Vanishing Cabinet, that could be expensive."

Starfox5 said:
"Here are the records you want."

Funny how he had them all ready and collated for just such an occasion...

Starfox5 said:
She gasped. "I would never hire thieves!"

You know what they say: "If you want something done right..."

Starfox5 said:
Crookshanks running into the room and miaowing loudly while pawing at her ankle interrupted her thoughts. "What's wrong, Crookshanks?" she asked.

He miaowed again, then turned and dashed to the door, where he stopped and looked back at her.

"You want me to follow you?" she asked.

Starfox5 said:
Then she spotted the figure watching the house from across the street and froze as a cold shiver ran down her spine and turned into a lump of ice in her stomach.
Bellatrix Lestrange.

And there she was, hoping that it was just Timmy falling down the well again.

Starfox5 · Jun 10, 2018

Pahan said:
They are the intended objects of the action in question (Tracey's spell).

Fixed that. Didn't fix the others, though - they're warning the goblins that if a thief gets inside through a Vanishing Cabinet, then breaks out and then breaks into another vault (from the outside), they won't be able to blame that vault's owner for negligence. And I like "realised" better than "noticed" there.

Pahan said:
Funny how he had them all ready and collated for just such an occasion...

They're evil, bloodthirsty and cruel, but not incompetent.

Pahan said:
You know what they say: "If you want something done right..."

Indeed.

Pahan said:
And there she was, hoping that it was just Timmy falling down the well again.

Crookshanks was so sick of filling in for Lassie's successor, Padfoot the wonder dog.

Starfox5 · Jun 16, 2018

Chapter 47: Led Astray

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, November 29th, 1998

There was her home. It didn't look any different than the last time she had seen it. Ivy covered much of the walls, the windows were still enchanted not to let anyone outside see what was happening within, and the lawn was perfectly cut despite the season. Everything fit the ancestral home of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

But Bellatrix Lestrange knew this was but a facade - literally. Behind those walls, the noble ideals of her family had been corrupted by traitors. Her home had been desecrated. Violated! Once the home of Britain's purest bloodline, a haven for those trying to save their beloved country, it had fallen into the hands of blood traitors and mudbloods. Its perfect appearance hid a rotten core.

She ground her teeth as she thought about the depths to which her vile cousin had sunk. Taking in the Boy-Who-Lived - she hissed at the thought that the Dark Lord had fallen to the whelp - was barely acceptable. Noblesse oblige, after all, and Sirius was the whelp's godfather. No member of an Old Family would dare neglect the obligations of that relationship. And the whelp was a half-blood - his presence in the hallowed halls of her home was tolerable, if only just. Even the blood-traitors he welcomed as guests were, by and large, of good stock, if unfortunately deluded into opposing their own traditions. And he had picked a pureblood witch of good standing, heir to an Old Family, as his wife, albeit one with French blood.

But to invite a mudblood - and a criminal mudblood at that! - to come and live at the seat of House Black was unacceptable. Sirius had dishonoured their ancestors and spat in the face of tradition and custom, and then one-upped that and befouled himself by bedding the witch. To think that such depravity was going on in Bellatrix's home! No wonder he had married a French witch - a British witch would have killed him and his mistress for dishonouring her like that.

Compared to his worst crime, his ultimate betrayal, though, this was mere scandal. Sirius had thrown himself and the family fortune behind Dumbledore's plan to murder the Dark Lord. He had not only turned his back on all his family had stood for; he had cursed them from behind! His own brother had given his life for the Dark Lord! His mother had gone to the grave praying for the Dark Lord's return!

She glared at the house. Its walls and wards sheltered one of the worst blood traitors in Britain. The only ones worse than Sirius were the Malfoys. Sirius, at least, had never sworn allegiance to him, but Malfoy and the witch who had once been her sister had. They had not only betrayed their heritage and blood but the Master himself.

And for that, they would pay. With their lives. Their very souls, even.

Once Barty's plan came to fruition.

She sighed through clenched teeth. She hated waiting. Every day, every minute she did nothing felt as if she were betraying the Dark Lord's cause. She understood that certain things couldn't be rushed, but she didn't like it. Couldn't like it. She wanted to act! To strike at the enemies of the Dark Lord! To curse them where they stood until they fell! To fight until she was covered in the blood of her Lord's enemies!

Not to wait and hide as if she were still a prisoner in Azkaban, languishing in a damp cell, tortured by the memories of her failure. She had forgotten, lost, so much. She couldn't remember her mother's face nor her father's voice, but the moment of her failure, her capture and humiliation? That had burned itself into her mind even as those fiends had torn it apart.

She drew a hissing breath through her teeth, shivering in the sudden cold, and rubbed her arms. She was free, and yet she wasn't. Armed and yet unable to fight. But she was with her family. With the only ones she had left. The Dark Lord's most faithful. Those who had never abandoned, never betrayed him. And never would.

Rodolphus, her husband. Rabastan, her brother-in-law. And Barty, her saviour.

They would avenge their Lord. They would fulfil his plans. Tear down Britain, scour the rot from its soul, cleanse it with fire so a pure country could rise from the ashes. They would succeed or die trying. But they would never, ever be captured again. They had promised that to each other. Sworn a sacred oath. They would die rather than suffer once more as they had in the past.

She exhaled slowly, watching her breath dissipate in the air.

They would have their revenge. Britain would pay. For a decade of torture. For the Dark Lord's death. For the betrayal of them all. Britain would pay for all of it.

She realised that she had drawn her wand without noticing it and drew a few shivering breaths. She could unleash Fiendfyre on the house. Scour the defiled building from the face of the earth. Cleanse it. See the blood traitors and the mudblood burn! Hear them scream!

All it would take was a flick of her wand.

And she wanted to do it. Wanted it so badly, she had to bite her lower lip until she tasted blood not to do so. Because it wouldn't work. The wards would hold the fire back long enough for help to arrive. Not even Fiendfyre was unstoppable. And Bellatrix could cast Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey Jinxes, but she couldn't block the Floo Network. And in the face of resistance, she would only be able to keep up one set of Jinxes, not two.

But most importantly, such an attack would ruin Barty's plans. He had told her so often enough.

If only the wards hadn't been adjusted to keep her out… She licked her lips, tasting her own blood, as she glared at the house once more. Then she frowned. Was that movement? Was someone in the garden?

No. Just a fat, ugly cat wandering to the back of the garden. She snorted. Maybe she should drop a poisoned mouse at the wardline. See if the cat would eat it. Or lure it out, then curse it so the first person to touch it would die screaming…

But the wards would stop her curse. She snorted. Her family didn't make the same mistakes twice. Not even her traitorous cousin.

Shaking her head, she was about to leave when the door was suddenly opened from the inside, and she saw the mudblood and the cat standing there. Facing her.

Bellatrix hissed as rage boiled inside her. The mudblood defiling her ancestral home was there, mocking her with her very presence. She could almost smell the stench of impure blood.

Her wand started to rise. Wards or no wards, she had to do something in the face of this insult. Her pride, her very soul, demanded it.

But no! She couldn't. That would put Barty's plan, her own revenge, the Dark Lord's cause into jeopardy. Trembling, she lowered her wand, glared at the mudblood and apparated.

She appeared in a clearing in a small forest and immediately apparated again. To the backyard of a muggle home. And again. And again. Seven times, to throw off pursuit and Seers, until she returned to the safe house Barty had prepared.

"You're late," Rabastan greeted her as she entered the living room where he was reading the Prophet. "Was there any trouble?"

She hesitated a moment, then shook her head as she pulled out the bag containing bread and milk from her enchanted purse. "No. Just a line in the shop. Muggle filth."

He nodded. "I wish we could go to a real bakery."

She shrugged. "It's only once a month." The groceries would keep and be duplicated, after all. And their enemies would never suspect that they would stoop to eating muggle food. Sometimes, Bellatrix herself couldn't believe it.

He nodded. "And we'll be ready soon enough."

She smiled. The day of reckoning was approaching, at last. The traitors would pay.

*****

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, November 29th, 1998

Lestrange, here, on the corner across the street! Hermione Granger had barely aimed her wand when the dark witch disappeared. Apparated, she told herself, trembling as her pulse seemed to race. How had the Death Eater… Stupid! Of course, Lestrange would know where Grimmauld Place was located - she was a Black. Hermione shook her head.

At her feet, Crookshanks hissed. What a smart cat! She shook her head. She had to act. React. She couldn't panic. First, alert the others. She quickly cast an Amplifying Charm. "Jeanne! Sirius! Bellatrix Lestrange was here!"

The two arrived faster than she thought possible - she had barely managed to check the front part of the garden for threats when she heard Sirius yell: "What? Bella was here? Hermione! Get inside!"

"Comment?"

"I'm inside the wards," she snapped. "I'm perfectly safe." Or as safe as she would be inside the house. Mostly. She still had to struggle not to dash inside and lock the door. "I don't see any sign of Fiendfyre or any other threat," she said as Sirius stepped outside himself, wand drawn. Crookshanks wasn't hissing either - but his fur was still standing up.

"No one's safe when Bella's around," Sirius muttered. "Where did you see her?"

"Crookshanks noticed her and called me. She was standing on the corner there." She pointed with her wand. "As soon as she saw me, she apparated."

"The wards haven't been touched," he replied. "She was probably spying."

"Or trying to bait us. Or unnerve us - she wasn't disillusioned," Hermione retorted as she rounded the corner. "The back seems clear as well." A quick glance told her that Crookshanks was trotting next to her, showing no sign of being agitated further.

She still felt like someone was going to curse her in the back at any moment.

Hermione shook her head. She had to focus. "We have to alert Harry. And we have to ensure that everything that could compromise us is hidden, even inside the basement. Just in case." The DMLE wouldn't dare search the house, but Harry and Ron lived here. They might insist on bringing that paranoid Moody inside to check for curses and traps.

"The other side is clear as well," Jeanne reported.

Hermione saw that Sirius pressed his lips together and glared at his wife. He didn't say anything, though. Neither did Jeanne - she simply raised her chin slightly.

"We need to move," Hermione snapped. "We don't have much time." They couldn't wait too long before calling Harry. That would be suspicious.

Fortunately, they had made plans for this eventuality.

*****

Bellatrix Lestrange had shown up at Grimmauld Place! Harry Potter clenched his teeth as he stepped out of the fireplace in the entrance hall, wand in hand. "What happened?" he snapped a moment before Ron arrived behind him.

Sirius was there. And Jeanne. But no Hermione. Where was she?

"Crookshanks noticed Bella watching the house from the corner across the street," Sirius answered. "He alerted Hermione, who spotted her a moment before Bella apparated away."

"We didn't find any signs of an attempted break-in," Jeanne added.

"You checked already?" Harry blurted out. Why hadn't they waited for the Aurors?

"We're not exactly helpless," Jeanne said. She sounded a little annoyed. Apparently, she had guessed what he had been thinking.

"We checked for a Fiendfyre attack or an ambush before we alerted you," Sirius said. "We didn't want to play into their hands, in case this was a trap. Or a diversion by those thieves."

Moody arrived behind them. A little later than Harry had expected.

"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked as the old Auror looked around, his eye spinning madly in its socket.

"The lass's coming down the stairs," Moody answered before Sirius could.

Harry turned. Yes, there she was. Unharmed, as far as he could tell. Safe. He took a deep breath and refrained from running to her and patting her down. Or using his glasses to check for any wounds under her clothes.

"There was nothing suspicious on the first and second floor," she said. "Crookshanks didn't sense anything either," she added with a smile aimed at her orange monster.

Apparently, the ugly furball had his uses. Harry hoped that this wouldn't make him even more spoiled.

Moody scoffed, and Harry turned. Had the old Auror spotted something?

"Can't see any Death Eater. But there's a hidden area in the basement," Moody growled.

Harry blinked. There was no hidden area in the basement. He gasped. "That's the trap then!" He started towards the stairs. There was no telling what the Death Eaters - or Sirius's parents, which was pretty much the same thing - might have done down there.

"No!" Sirius held up his hand. "That's not a trap."

"What?" Harry stared at his godfather. "You knew about this?" Why hadn't he been told?

"Well…" Sirius cleared his throat. "It's sort of… our playroom." He smiled at Jeanne.

"Playroom?" Harry asked, then blinked. "Oh!" That sort of playroom. He had to suppress the images that caused.

Jeanne winked at him and wrapped her arms around Sirius. "If you want to use it you'll need to tell us, so we won't barge in on you."

"We're not here to talk about Potter's love life. Where did you see the Death Eater?" Moody growled.

"Across the street," Hermione answered. She seemed annoyed, in Harry's opinion. "I can show you." She walked past them to the door and opened it. Crookshanks followed her, sniffing at Harry as he passed them.

Moody stepped outside. "Alright. Looks safe enough," he said after a minute. "Weasley, get the others from the Ministry. We'll comb the area. But be ready to apparate at once - this might be a diversion to keep us from reacting to the real attack. Or the first of a series of fake attacks to make us complacent and tired when they attack for real. Which won't work," he added with a growl.

Harry didn't quite sigh when he followed the Auror outside, but he wanted to. Until he felt Hermione's hand on his arm, squeezing gently for a moment, and, as he passed her, heard her whisper: "Be careful."

*****

The Aurors were taking a long time to comb the area around Grimmauld Place. Hermione Granger didn't like waiting. And she disliked worrying even more. Harry and Ron were out there! Looking for traps and ambushes as much as for evidence and clues. She could only hope that Moody's enchanted eye worked better on whatever the Death Eaters had planned than on the secret room hidden in the basement.

She bit her lower lip as she shifted on her seat in the entrance hall. Crookshanks, smart cat as he was, didn't protest. He merely squirmed a little in her lap. She started to sigh, then caught herself.

"He'll be fine," Jeanne said.

Hermione glanced to her side, where the other witch was seated on the couch. "I'm worried about both of them," she told her, frowning.

"Of course." Jeanne smiled.

Hermione knew what she meant. And her friend was right - she was thinking more about Harry than Ron. A lot more. She sighed and petted Crookshanks. He was happy, at least. And didn't have to struggle with the urge to pace and look out the windows every minute to see if something was happening outside.

Although, if Hermione were honest with herself, the main reason she wasn't doing that was that Sirius was stalking from one window to the other and had been doing so for at least an hour.

"You should be telling him that," Hermione said, pointing at the pacing wizard.

"I know that Harry'll be fine," Sirius replied, walking over to them and taking a seat next to Jeanne.

For a moment, no one said anything. Sirius wrapped his arm around Jeanne's shoulders, and Hermione petted Crookshanks. Her bracelet - sporting a new coin - almost got caught in his fur, but she fixed that.

"Our plan worked," Sirius said. "Harry completely understood why we didn't tell him about the secret room."

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "But our planning room is now a boudoir."

"Nothing a little Transfiguration and Conjuration won't be able to handle." He grinned. "And Harry won't even try to check our 'toy chests'."

"And what will he think if he sees me leaving the room?" Hermione asked. When she saw his grin grow wider, she quickly added: "Don't answer that. It was a rhetorical question."

He pouted, then shrugged. "Don't get caught, then."

"I'll need an excuse to be in the basement," she said.

"You are working on your own playroom?" Sirius wiggled his eyebrows.

He was just dealing with his own nervousness about Harry. She still wanted to hex the dog. "My own potion lab," Hermione said in a firm voice.

"Good idea. He'll understand that you don't want to try potions in your room."

She really wanted to hex him. She wasn't bad at potions. Just not as good as she could be. Should be.

"Add a secret door to the playroom," Jeanne suggested.

"That's a good idea." Hermione nodded. That would be very useful. Although if it would make the security of their base a little more complicated. She'd have to take care to hide the door in a way that would overlap with the playroom's defences. And she had to stop thinking of it as a playroom.

"So, how are things going with you and Harry?" Sirius interrupted her planning. "That was a tender gesture when he went outside."

She pressed her lips together and glared at him. That wasn't something she wanted to discuss, and certainly not with him! As long as she couldn't tell Harry what they were really doing, there was no future for them.

"Ah." He nodded as if she had answered him.

She looked at Crookshanks as she petted him. She wouldn't ask what the dog was thinking. She didn't want to know.

Fortunately - for him - he didn't push.

*****

When Harry finally returned, Hermione Granger wanted to pounce and hug him. And run her hands over his strong back. Press herself against his front. Rub her cheek against his, cover him with her scent… She bit her lower lip. This wasn't the time. Not after Sirius's question. "Did you find them?" she asked instead.

He shook his head. "We didn't find anything."

"No traps, no clues, no Death Eaters," Ron said, closing the door behind them. "It looks like Lestrange just came to scout out the house."

"Or that's what they want us to think," Harry said. "She let Hermione see her for a reason."

"Which we don't know," Ron retorted. "She might just have wanted to unnerve us. Make us focus on an attack that never comes."

"Or that's what she wants us to think," Harry said.

Hermione almost rolled her eyes. Moody wasn't a good influence on her friends. "As long as you're safe," she said. "Do you have to go back to the Ministry?"

"Yes," Harry answered.

"Shift's not over yet, and we have to write reports about this," Ron added.

"But don't worry," Harry said, smiling at her. "We'll be just a trip through the Floo Network away. And the Death Eaters didn't touch the wards."

Hermione kept smiling even though Harry had completely misunderstood her question.

*****

Half an hour after dinner, Hermione Granger heard someone knocking on her door. "Yes?"

"It's me. Can I come in?"

Harry. She had expected him. She still took a deep breath and quickly checked her appearance - everything was fine - before answering. "Come in."

There he was, stepping into her room and closing the door, then looking around for a moment and hesitating before sitting down on her bed.

She turned her chair to face him, tilting her head slightly. "I was surprised you and Ron weren't late for dinner," she said when he didn't start talking right away. "I expected you to be held up."

"Ah." He shook his head. "We had the whole afternoon to write our reports and no leads to check. Not even Moody had anything for us to do." He smiled at her. "A good thing, too - the 'cordon bleu servi avec frites' was delicious. Like most French dishes."

"It's not a French dish, actually, but of Swiss origin," she explained. "Veal wrapped around ham and cheese with chips." She frowned. "After Kreacher tried to feed me fried calf's brain when the rest of you were away, I started looking up any new dishes he was serving."

"He tried to serve you fried brains?" He stared at her.

"'Cervelle de veau'," she replied, scoffing. "He still doesn't like me." She still didn't know if the house-elf was aware of BSE.

Harry winced. "I didn't know that."

"He hides it well. And has been working for the Blacks for centuries." She shrugged. "We manage." And if Kreacher ever should cross a line, Sirius would take care of him.

He frowned but didn't contradict her. "Well, I didn't come to talk about food or house-elves."

"I didn't think you did," she replied with a grin. She didn't feel like grinning, though, and subtly rubbed her palms on her robes.

He frowned at her for a moment, then snorted before his expression turned serious. "When I heard that Bellatrix Lestrange was here, I just wanted to rush back. I didn't think or care about anything else."

She nodded. "You were afraid that she was attacking your family."

"I was afraid that she was attacking you," he corrected her with a faint smile.

"Ah." Her own smile froze for a moment as she was lost for words.

He nodded. "If you had been hurt, or worse…"

"Well, I wasn't," she told him. "I was safe behind the wards." As safe as that was, in any case.

"Yes." He took a deep breath. "But if you had been…" He sighed.

"Now you know how I feel when you go out, hunting Death Eaters," Hermione said before he could say anything else. If only she could tell him the truth without exposing Sirius, Jeanne and Mr Fletcher!

He smiled in a rather wry way. "I guess you're right. But when I go out, I'm with Ron, Moody and usually a few more Aurors if we think the Death Eaters are nearby."

She huffed. That didn't reassure her much - most of the Aurors weren't really competent enough to matter against Death Eaters. Or professional thieves. "And I'm usually with Sirius and Jeanne. And behind wards." And Hermione was no slouch either, despite Harry's understandably low opinion of her skill in Defence. "And I've got Crookshanks!" Who was a much better and smarter guard than the animals Harry had wanted to get!

He sighed. "Yes. But as recent events showed, even old wards aren't as safe as they should be."

She sniffed. "Those were thieves, not Death Eaters."

"If thieves can do it, so can Death Eaters," he pointed out.

"I doubt that. They would have done something if they had the skills. And the thieves haven't killed anyone, have they?"

"No, they haven't," he admitted. "But who knows if that will last?"

She swallowed her first response - of course, they wouldn't kill anyone! Certainly not Harry! "They didn't hurt you or Ron either," she pointed out.

"Only our pride," he said.

"Well, your pride survived." She grinned at him. "And it could probably stand to get hurt a little." Especially after all their Defence lessons. It had felt so good to finally show him what she could do when she stopped holding back!

He scowled. "They were lucky. We almost had them."

"Really?" She tilted her head sideways. "I thought they escaped from you without trouble."

Harry scoffed. "Next time, I'll catch that thief. I've got her number now."

No, he wouldn't! "I thought the robberies weren't your case."

"They aren't. But we might get called in if Dawlish can swallow his pride."

"Still… you couldn't touch her, could you?" She shouldn't be pushing him, but he was talking as if the outcome of their next encounter were a foregone conclusion - well, it was, but not in the way he thought!

"I underestimated her. That won't happen again."

"So you'll grapple with her?" she asked with a smirk.

He blushed. Just a little, but she noticed. "That would be difficult - she was wearing skin-tight leather."

"I see." She narrowed her eyes at him.

"It's not like that!" He shook his head. "It's just… she was very quick and very agile. Athletic - she did one of those Kung Fu wall running moves, too. Grappling wouldn't be the ideal tactic when facing her."

"You mean she would beat you," Hermione said with a grin.

He scowled. "If she's as good at wrestling as she is at running away, maybe."

"As long as she doesn't bite you." She blinked. Why had she said that? Just because he had implied that all she was good at was running away? Not getting caught was the most important thing for any thief!

He grinned. "Don't worry. Only you are allowed to do that."

"I should bite you again for that." And maybe scratch him a little.

"As long as you don't draw blood…" He grinned, then blushed again.

She was blushing as well; she could feel her cheeks heat up. She had scooted a little closer to him, too. Close enough that if she leaned forward a little, and he leaned forward some, they could… She cleared her throat and leaned back. "Please be careful anyway. Don't risk your life. Not for mere stolen gold, at least."

He nodded, a little shakily, too. And he still was a little flushed. Then he grinned. "But you'll need a bodyguard when you're going out."

Ah. "Such as an Auror?" she asked.

He nodded.

"But they're usually busy."

"I know one who would take the time to accompany you." He was smiling again.

For a moment, she was tempted to ask 'Ron?'. It would be the kind of joke to keep this moment from becoming too intimate.

But she didn't want that. Instead, she nodded with a smile.

*****

London, Ministry of Magic, November 30th, 1998

Harry Potter sighed as he put the sheet of parchment down on his desk. "I hate to say it, but the goblins pulled one over on us. These records are worthless."

Ron looked up from the records he was going through. "You've finished your stack already?"

"Took me long enough, but yes," Harry said.

"How did you manage that?" Ron asked. "I'm only halfway through mine. Cross-checking the entries with our own records is a pain."

Harry shrugged. "Occlumency helps."

"I thought it didn't give you a perfect memory." Ron narrowed his eyes.

"No, it doesn't. But it makes it easier to remember things. Such as the cross-references." If you were perfectly aware of your mind, you could follow memories, too, as they were made. Harry wouldn't be able to easily recall what he had read tomorrow - but as he was reading something? He could do that easily.

"Lucky you," Ron grumbled. "But you said that the records are worthless?"

"Yes." Harry nodded. "None of the Lestranges visited their vaults since their arrest in 1981."

"What about the vaults' contents?"

Harry shrugged. "The goblins kept that pretty vague, outside the Galleons, Sickles and Knuts." 'Antique cup' could mean anything. "But we know they don't have a Vanishing Cabinet inside their vaults." The goblins wouldn't tolerate that. Which meant they had checked the extended chests and strongboxes as well.

"Ah." Ron touched his stack. "I'm still going through the records for the Crouch vault, but it doesn't look like Crouch Jr visited it at all since his arrest - or since he faked his death."

"That would have tipped off his father," Harry said. "He probably had money hidden away during his time as a Death Eater in the war. Or went to another country. Or faked his name."

"Can we check with the goblins on the continent?" Ron asked.

"We have no leverage." Harry sighed. "And you know how helpful goblins are."

"Bloody buggers," Ron spat. "We try to save them from the next Death Eater attack, and they don't show even a smidgen of gratitude."

"They might want the next attack to succeed," Harry pointed out. "At least enough to give them a pretext to blame us for breaking the treaty."

"Bloody idiots." Ron shook his head. "They're probably gloating about having fooled us with useless records."

"Well, so did we." Harry chuckled.

Ron huffed. "We're trying to save them, though." He sighed and leaned back in his seat. "Are you going to eat lunch with Hermione today?" he asked after a moment.

"You just want an excuse not to finish your work," Harry said.

"I need to know so I can plan my lunch and my workday," Ron retorted with a grin.

Harry snorted. "As if. But yes, we'll eat lunch together again."

"Ah." Ron nodded. "And she didn't hex you for telling her that she can't go out by herself?"

"No, she didn't." Harry grinned.

"If that's not a sign of true love, then I don't know anything," Ron said with a smirk. "For her, at least."

Harry scoffed, but he wanted to smile. Ron was, after all, correct. Things were going very well with Hermione.

*****

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, November 30th, 1998

"We need to work on our alibi," Hermione Granger said as soon as Sirius and Jeanne had joined her and Mr Fletcher in the 'playroom'. "We need another failed robbery as a diversion so the Aurors won't connect our targets to Malfoy's friends, and we need to be seen in our civilian identities during the attempted robbery."

"We could hit another shop in Knockturn Alley," Mr Fletcher said. "I know a few peeps who deserve to get robbed."

It wouldn't be a challenge, or very lucrative. But it would help their cover. "That'll help. But we need a high-profile target, too. Like the Longbottoms. And we three need to be seen - in public, or by Aurors - while the thieves attempt to break in."

Mr Fletcher was the first to understand her plan, as she had expected. "You want us to fake a robbery attempt on your home."

"Yes."

"And you want Harry to see us and the thieves at the same time," Sirius added.

She nodded. "Harry, Ron and other Aurors." Harry by himself might be dismissed as being biased.

"That sounds both tricky and very dangerous," Mr Fletcher said. "You have to fool the people who know you the best. And they'll be furious at their home - their family - being attacked."

"Yes. But it'll stop them from suspecting us in the future," Hermione pointed out. And furious people made mistakes.

"And how do you plan to achieve this? We can't be in two places at once," Jeanne asked.

"Only Sirius and I need to do that," Hermione said. "Polyjuice Potion will allow us to do it." Polyjuice Potion and the Memory Charm.

*****

"...and then we travel to France and swap with our doubles, with no one the wiser," explained Hermione Granger as she finished laying out her plan. But instead of nods of agreement - and impressed expressions - her friends and partners didn't look like they approved.

"Your plan won't work," Mr Fletcher said. "You need two people to use Polyjuice Potion, and we don't know anyone we can trust enough to do that."

"We can obliviate them afterwards; we don't have to trust them to keep our secret," Hermione retorted.

"And anyone smart enough to pass for you or Black will take precautions against that if only to protect themselves and ensure they get paid." Mr Fletcher shook his head. "I don't know anyone who would be suitable for your plan. And even if we had someone, we would need to teach them how to act like you and Black or Potter and Weasley won't be fooled."

She pressed her lips together before answering. "That's why we would simply have them pass by Harry and the other Aurors on the way to France. They'd see them long enough to recognise them, but not long enough to notice the deception."

"Don't underestimate Harry and Ron," Sirius cut in. "Harry, especially, knows you very well."

"He didn't recognise me when he chased me in Davis Manor. And I've fooled him in disguise before," she retorted.

"That's true - but that doesn't mean someone else will be able to fool him," Sirius shot back.

"Harry will only see the double for a very short time." She had considered that!

"We still don't know anyone we can trust to play our roles." Sirius shook his head.

"I could ask some of my friends from France, but…" Jeanne sighed. "I don't think they would go along with this. They aren't the sort of friends you can trust with such a secret. And they are smart enough to realise that we're planning to obliviate them."

Hermione suppressed a huff.

"Your plan's a little too clever," Mr Fletcher said.

"But we need to strengthen our alibi. Sooner or later, someone will notice that we're always away when the thieves strike," Hermione said. "And people might start to listen to Dawlish's theories when most of the people who framed me have been ruined." And she really wanted to outsmart Harry again.

"We'll have to settle for having an alibi - like being seen in France - during a heist," Sirius said.

"We still need Polyjuice Potion for that, though," Hermione pointed out.

"Not necessarily," Jeanne said. "I've looked into the spells on your mirror." She smiled. "I think we can use that to fool Harry and Ron."

*****

London, Soho, November 30th, 1998

"Harry! There you are!"

Harry Potter didn't need his training as an Auror to notice that Hermione wasn't in a good mood when they met at the muggle bus station. She had been frowning until she saw him, and her greeting was a little too cheerful - overcompensating. Not that he minded that - she was hugging him a little longer than usual, too.

"Hi." He smiled at her and offered her his arm with an exaggerated flourish.

She pouted, as he had expected. "We're just going for lunch, not dancing."

"Alright. I'll save such gestures for when we go dancing." He grinned at her.

She huffed but didn't tell him off.

"The restaurant is right around the corner," he told her as they crossed the street. "Excellent pasta and pizzas."

"And here I thought you'd take me out to a fish and chips shop."

"Oh?" He turned to look at her. "Would you prefer that?" He hadn't known that.

"No, no." She shook her head. "Just teasing you a little."

"Ah." He nodded with a smile.

The restaurant was larger than he had expected - it was a family business according to the recommendation he had read - and it was filling up with the lunch crowd when they arrived. He had made reservations, though, and they were sat at a very nice table, tucked in the corner at the window, a solid wall behind his back with a good view of the entrance and the door to the kitchen. The tables were covered, but with a thick, felt-like paper, not cloth, which looked nice without looking too cheap. Just casual enough for a friendly outing.

They quickly ordered - spaghetti carbonara for him, gnocchi for Hermione - and started on the bread and olive oil on the table while the waiter went to get the salad. Harry cleared his throat. "So, what's wrong?"

"Wrong?" She frowned at him.

"You seemed a little upset."

"Ah." Her frown deepened. "Just work. I had a great idea, though it turned out to be not so great." She smiled. "But let's not spoil our lunch with such things."

"Alright." He had wanted to ask about her work, but that apparently wasn't a good topic. He knew that she was very proud, and that she had made a mistake would rankle for some time.

"How goes the search for Crouch and the Lestranges?" she asked before he could think of another subject.

"Ah, they're still in hiding." He shook his head. "We're hoping that they'll be pushed to resurface now that the thieves have been impersonating them."

"Well, if you can't find the thieves, I doubt that the Death Eaters will find them.," she said.
"No, but they might launch another attack in response."

"Ah."

She looked rather concerned, in his opinion. "Don't worry," he said, "sooner or later they'll make a mistake, and then we'll catch them." Or kill them - no Auror would take any risks to arrest the Death Eaters, after all.

"Good." She smiled, but it still looked a little forced to him.

"And don't worry, we'll get the thieves, too. Once we have the Death Eaters, we'll be able to focus on them."

Strangely, that didn't seem to improve her mood either.

Grabbing and lightly squeezing her hand, however, did.

*****

London, Ministry of Magic, December 1st, 1998

"Potter, Weasley! There's trouble at Gringotts!"

Hearing Moody's yell, Harry Potter jumped up at once and rushed out of his office, Ron hot on his heels, before he realised that there was no general alert. The other Aurors on the floor were paying attention, most had stopped whatever they were working on, but no one else was rushing to the Apparition spot or the Floo connection.

He frowned as he slowed down from a sprint to a brisk walk. If Nott heard about this - and the git would, given the way gossip spread in the Corps - he'd needle them next time Bathilda dragged them to lunch.

Moody was waiting at the Floo connection. "Some idiots started a ruckus in Gringotts about their vaults and apparently some Aurors on a break got involved."

"They fought?" Ron asked. "In Gringotts?"

Moody scoffed. "Fortunately, they had enough sense not to do that. But the guards threw them out, and the idiots won't leave the entrance."

"That doesn't sound that… urgent," Harry said. Or important enough to bother them.

Moody turned his head towards him, grinning. "No, it doesn't. And that's why we're taking a closer look." He threw a handful of Floo powder into the fire. "Diagon Alley!"

*****

Harry Potter noted that, by the time they had reached the entrance to the bank, the argument, or whatever you would call it, had drawn a lot of attention. There was a crowd watching from the foot of the steps, over two dozen people. At the entrance were four Aurors and two screaming wizards facing a dozen goblins.

"I want my gold! I know I had more in my vault! You bloody thieves!" One of the wizards shook his fist at the goblins. In response, they sneered at him.

The other wizard yelled: "Yes. And they stole my gold too! You can't trust goblins!"

"Those idiots will start a fight," Ron muttered. "Calling goblins thieves is the worst thing you can do."

Harry agreed. "We need to get them away from there." He started towards the stairs leading up to the entrance.

"No. We need to find out why Jenkins hasn't done that already," Moody snapped. "And we need to disperse the damn crowd before the curses start flying."

Harry's eyes widened. Moody was right - everyone in the Corps knew that they had to avoid any trouble with the goblins. So why hadn't he dealt with the two wizards already?

Moody cast a Shield Charm followed by an Amplifying Charm. His loud voice filled the street. "DMLE. Everyone, go home! Right now! That is an or..." He suddenly flicked his wand, and a jet of water smashed into the crowd, bowling over half a dozen spectators. "Ambush!" he yelled, dropping to the ground as a green curse shot past him from the middle of the crowd.

Harry swore and conjured a wall between them and the crowd to provide Ron and himself with cover before casting a Shield Charm himself. His friend did the same - conjuring a low wall before Moody, who rolled behind it.

"Cover the area with Jinxes!" the old Auror yelled. A second later, the wall shattered under the impact of another curse.

"Anti-Apparition!" Harry yelled as he cast the first jinx. Ron would follow with Anti-Portkey Jinxes.

The crowd was panicking, wizards and witches running every which way. One slightly fat wizard was running straight at Harry, arms windmilling as he screamed in fear. Before Harry could yell at the man to drop to the ground, a curse struck him from behind, and his chest exploded in a cloud of blood, gore and bone.

Harry saw Moody get up behind the remains of the wall and send a curse at a witch. A cackling witch who slid behind another wizard in time to avoid the curse. She looked far too young, but… that laugh. Like in the memories Harry had watched. Bellatrix Lestrange.

He cast another couple jinxes as he changed position. If they could box the witch in…

Lestrange hit her unwilling shield with a spell from behind that launched the poor bastard in Moody's direction. Harry raised his wand, but there were still too many civilians between himself and the dark witch. He had to either leave his cover and advance or flank the witch.

Unless, he thought, clenching his teeth as Lestrange cut down a witch with a curse that seemed to flay her alive, the crazy witch killed everyone around her before he could.

"Run you fools!" he yelled as he moved to his right, "Run!" Just a few metres more and he'd have a clear line of fire...

But a roar - guttural and alien - made him whirl around: The goblins were charging down the stairs, blades raised. One of them swung a halberd, decapitating a wizard who had fled up the stairs. Where was… Harry gasped when he saw Jenkins and another Auror behind the goblins, sending curses at him and Ron from their position up there.

"Traitors!" Ron yelled, ducking as their cover was shredded.

"Or Polyjuice," Harry yelled, conjuring another wall to protect them.

Ron popped up and cast, then dropped to the ground, two yellow curses missing him by inches. "Bloody hell!"

The goblins would be almost upon them. Harry rolled to the side and jumped up. A flick of his wand covered the lower area of the stairs with big rolls of barbed wire. The goblins charged straight into it, entangling themselves. Harry ducked and rolled, back towards Ron, just in time to avoid the shrapnel from the wall where he had been exploding.

Harry got up again, sending a curse at Jenkins and his partner, then noticed that the goblins were cutting a path through the barbed wire. And Bellatrix and Moody were sending volleys of curses at each other in between filling the area with conjured animals and obstacles. Three versus three - but a dozen goblins tipped the scales. He conjured a solid wall in front of them just as the first of them cut himself free, then followed up with more barbed wire on top of them. Now the walls to the si…

The wall in front of him exploded, throwing him back and shredding his shield. He rolled over his shoulder, came up in a crouch and jumped to the side and forward, towards cover, narrowingly escaping Jenkins's next two curses. He threw himself on to the ground and recast his Shield Charm.

Ron returned fire with a few quick curses, then had to duck and scramble away as more curses chipped at their cover.

Harry swore again - there was no choice. He sheathed his wand and drew the Elder Wand, scooting to his right one yard, two yards, three. Once more he rose, leading with his wand. His last wall had crumbled - spells or weapons; he couldn't tell - and with a swish, Harry hit the front rank of the goblins with a volley of Bludgeoning Curses, bowling half of them over. He darted to the side as he sent a Blasting Curse at Jenkins. The entire upper area of the stairs blew up, a dust cloud rising, obscuring everything.

Harry whirled, the tip of his wand lining up with Lestrange, Ron replacing the wall that covered them, when a figure broke through the dust cloud. Jenkins! Harry whipped his wand around, but the other wizard was faster. He cast a yellow curse - at Moody! - a second before Harry's Cutting Curse ripped his Shield Charm apart.

But the old Auror was quicker still, and the curse missed. Moody's own curse didn't, and Jenkins - or whoever was wearing his body - collapsed as a Piercing Curse punched through his gut.

Three against one now, Harry thought. Or two, if Jenkins's partner had survived his Blasting Curse. Good odds.

But for the damned goblins, who were again advancing. "Ron, cover the witch!" Harry yelled, snarling as he aimed his wand at the stubborn creatures. They had left the stairs by now, and Harry turned the cobblestones beneath their feet into mud. Deep mud. He should just kill them, instead. That would be easier. And stick.

He shook his head. He couldn't kill the goblins. Shouldn't. But Lestrange... He turned around. The dark witch was on the defensive now; Ron and Moody were sending a hailstorm of spells at her, forcing her to dart around and conjure cover instead of attacking. Harry grinned as he lined up a curse of his own. Three versus one.

Movement on the stairs caught his attention. One of the civilians lying on the stairs was moving - moving his wand, from the goblins towards Moody. Before Harry could react, the man cast and Moody screamed.

Harry shot a Blasting Curse at the wizard, destroying another part of the stairs, but the man had moved in time, and his Shield Charm had weathered the storm of shrapnel. Harry glanced to his side. Moody was on the ground, twitching.

Two versus two. And a dozen bloody goblins.

Once more, curses ripped into the conjured wall as Harry and Ron dashed across the street, globs of acid and clouds of poison descending on them from the air. Harry rolled into the dubious cover provided by an abandoned food cart, panting as he recast his Shield Charm. Why hadn't that wizard entered the fight earlier?

He blinked. The goblins! He must have been controlling them. Probably Confundus Charms… "Ron, cover me!" Harry yelled.

"Bloody hell!" his friend answered, but he got up behind another wall and started conjuring clouds of smoke on top of their enemies.

Harry rolled away from the cart - which had started burning without him noticing - and raised his wand at the struggling goblins.

"Finite! Finite! Finite!"

For a moment, the fight seemed to have stopped. No curses flew. The goblins were blinking, free of the mud and whatever spell had been cast on them. The Death Eaters were obscured and blinded by clouds of smoke.

Then the clouds were blown away by gusts of wind, revealing the disguised Death Eaters, and the goblins roared and charged at them.

Harry flicked his wand and summoned Moody's robes - and the old Auror with them. Ron switched to Piercing Curses, stabbing his wand in rapid succession as he cast as quickly as he could.

Harry joined him as soon as Moody - still twitching and groaning - hit the ground at his feet. Two versus two, with a dozen enraged goblins on their side.

And more goblins were charging down from the entrance! Harry bared his teeth as he sent a volley of Bludgeoning Curses at the wizard on the stairs. The Death Eaters were trapped now! No way out.

Then Fiendfyre erupted on the stairs, engulfing both groups of goblins, and Harry gasped. Were they mad? This was suicide!

The goblins were beyond help. As was anyone else still on the stairs. "Get Moody out of here!" Harry yelled at Ron. "I'll hold it back!"

"Are you crazy?" Ron yelled back, but he was already levitating Moody.

Harry didn't answer, focusing on the cursed fire ravaging the stairs - and spreading. Procedure - revised after the last incident - called for a dozen Aurors to contain Fiendfyre with rolling casts of walls.

He could only hope that the Elder Wand would be enough for him to last until reinforcements arrived.

*****

turbinicarpus · Jun 17, 2018

Starfox5 said:
Every day, every minute she did nothing felt ~~as if she were~~ like betraying the Dark Lord's cause.

Suggestion.

Starfox5 said:
there were still too many civilians between himself and the Dark witch

Capitalise, maybe? Here, "Dark" does not describe her personal brightness but her alignment with "Dark Arts", which is a proper noun phrase.

Starfox5 said:
He sheathed his wand and drew the Elder Wand

"Stashed" feels to me like an unserious, ironic word, unsuited to the occasion.

Starfox5 said:
She smiled. The day of reckoning was approaching, at last. The traitors would pay.

She stopped smiling when she went to change and realised that her underwear was missing.

Starfox5 · Jun 17, 2018

Pahan said:
Suggestion.

I like the wordier version better. Seems to fit her better.

Pahan said:
Capitalise, maybe? Here, "Dark" does not describe her personal brightness but her alignment with "Dark Arts", which is a proper noun phrase.

I generally don't capitalise dark wizard or dark witch. It's more a legal term, like "thief", not an allegiance to an ideology, in my stories.

Pahan said:
"Stashed" feels to me like an unserious, ironic word, unsuited to the occasion.

Good idea. Changed.

Pahan said:
She stopped smiling when she went to change and realised that her underwear was missing.

Underwear is too muggle for a proud pureblood witch of the House of black!

Starfox5 · Jun 23, 2018

Chapter 48: Close Calls

London, Diagon Alley, December 1st, 1998

Rufus Scrimgeour forced himself to appear calm and collected as he stepped out of the Floo connection in the Leaky Cauldron. The Head Auror had to be in control of the situation, or act as if he were, at all times; his wands depended on him. Especially the younger, inexperienced ones who were the majority of the Corps these days. "What's the situation?" he snapped as soon as he saw John Dawlish standing there.

"There's a Fiendfyre attack in progress at Gringotts. We're trying to contain it. Several Aurors and goblins, as well as civilians, have been killed by it. Suspected Death Eater involvement." Dawlish told him.

"Death Eaters?" Rufus asked as he proceeded to the entrance to Diagon Alley, Aurors trailing behind him as Dawlish walked at his side.

"Weasley reported a Death Eater attack when he dropped Moody off at St Mungo's."

Rufus almost gasped at hearing that. Moody was down? Mad-Eye was their best Auror. "Who's in charge of the situation?" He tapped the brick wall in the yard with his wand.

"Shacklebolt moved to relieve Potter," Dawlish said as the bricks flowed away, revealing Diagon Alley - and glimpses of the green fire ravaging it.

"Merlin's arse!"

"Bloody hell!"

Rufus pressed his lips together to avoid joining in. They couldn't afford to panic now. "Dawlish, take half the wands here and move to support Shacklebolt in containing the fire! Go!"

As Dawlish rounded up a dozen Aurors, Rufus looked around. He needed his best Aurors now, or this would turn into a catastrophe. If it hadn't already. Kingsley was already on the job. That left… "Auror Tonks!" he barked. The young witch snapped to attention. "Go inform the Unspeakables that we need their help in suppressing Fiendfyre. At once!" Tonks's report would ensure that the Unspeakables took this seriously.

"Yes, sir!" She sped off.

Rufus looked at the fire. It didn't seem to be advancing, but he lacked a direct line of sight. Clenching his teeth, he pulled out his broom and unshrank it. "The rest of you, evacuate the civilians and wounded!" he yelled as he mounted his broom and rose into the air.

The air above the Alley was hot and full of smoke. A Bubble-Head Charm took care of the smoke, but even with a Cooling Charm he could feel the heat. From this vantage point, the situation looked dire, but not hopeless. He could see Potter and Weasley on their brooms, circling the cursed fire, and muttered a curse under his breath. Those two were too brave for their own good - they were so close, all it would take was one gust of wind, and the Fiendfyre would engulf them.

But as far as he could tell, the walls they were continually conjuring were all that kept the Fiendfyre from reaching Gringotts - he could see no Aurors on the ground in that area. Shacklebolt's group was in the Alley, cut off from the bank by the fire.

And he could see goblins at the bank's entrance. Waiting. What had Dawlish said? Goblins had been killed? He felt like cursing again as he guided his broom back down, towards the Leaky Cauldron.

Tonks was just stepping out of the pub when he landed. "The Unspeakables are on their way. They'll arrive in a few minutes!" she reported, unprompted. Good witch.

"Good. Go back to the Ministry. Tell Bones that we need every Hit-Wizard we can spare." Even if they would be useless in fighting the Fiendfyre.

*****

Half an hour later, the fire was under control - sealed off inside a veritable mountain of conjured rock and smothered in the Unspeakables' latest concoction. They had lost two Aurors when a wall had burst unexpectedly during the containment, but otherwise the training he had ordered after the last Fiendfyre attack had obviously borne fruit - no other Aurors had been lost in the fire, and the Unspeakables had been even more effective.

But now they were facing another problem - probably more dangerous than the fire. Rufus pressed his lips together as he watched the row of goblins lined up at the entrance of Gringotts, just barely inside their territory. He was certain that the line of Hit-Wizards facing them behind conjured cover was the only reason that they weren't charging the Aurors dealing with the aftermath of the fire.

Shaking his head, he cast an Amplifying Charm. "Potter! Weasley! To me!"

The two arrived, their robes covered in soot, with tears showing in several spots, but looking otherwise none the worse for wear. And they kept their attention on the goblins. Moody's influence was showing.

"Sir!" They saluted him.

"What happened here?" Rufus snapped.

"Death Eater ambush, sir," Potter reported. "They must have used Polyjuice Potion to disguise themselves. They replaced two of our Aurors and started a ruckus with the goblins, then struck once we'd arrived. Lestrange and another were hiding as civilians among the crowd. First, they caused a panic by attacking us and the civilians, then they sent the goblins after us. Moody was cursed during the battle, but we killed the Death Eater disguised as Auror Jenkins, and I think we got the other fake Auror as well. Couldn't verify it, though. When I broke the spell on the goblins, they turned on the Death Eaters, and another force of goblins charged them from the entrance, at which point they used Fiendfyre."

A concise report. Potter and Weasley would go far even without Black's patronage. Not as far, of course, as with it. "Could they have been under the Imperius Curse?" he asked.

Weasley shook his head. "They were too skilled for that. Jenkins wouldn't have lasted that long."

As much as Rufus hated to admit it, Weasley wasn't wrong about that. The current Aurors - with a few exceptions - weren't as incompetent as Moody claimed, but they certainly weren't on the level of the Lestranges. He nodded in agreement, then asked: "They burned themselves rather than get arrested?"

"We don't know, sir," Weasley answered. "We had the area locked down with Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey Jinxes, but I saw a hole in the ground when we started to contain the flames from the air."

An underground escape tunnel? It would fit Crouch's modus operandi; the damned Death Eater was very cunning.

Rufus grimaced as he looked at what was left of the area. Sorting out who was killed there would take the Unspeakables weeks - if they could manage it at all. "They killed the goblins?"

"Two dozen of them, yes," Weasley confirmed.

"While they were disguised as Aurors." Rufus shook his head. They'd need a miracle to avoid a war.

"We got at least one of the Death Eaters," Potter said.

Rufus snorted. "That won't matter to the goblins."

And Fudge would blame him. Fortunately, Amelia would stand up for him. Rufus probably wouldn't even have to find a scapegoat to save his career.

Provided he survived the coming crisis.

*****

London, Ministry of Magic, December 1st, 1998

Harry Potter felt exhausted when he returned to the Ministry. He looked the part, too, he knew - his robes were blackened, covered with soot and torn. And his hair might have been singed more than a little - he hadn't noticed anything because of his Bubble-Head Charm, but after he ended it, the stench from his robes had been overpowering.

Not that anyone else was doing any better. Ron was in a similar condition as Harry, Bathilda looked like she'd collapse as soon as she stopped moving, and even Nott, who apparently had been called away from his hole in Filing, was covered in ash and soot and too tired to make any snide remarks.

"Where's the boss?" Harry asked. Scrimgeour was still in Diagon Alley, staring down the goblins, he hadn't seen Shacklebolt in a while and he was too tired to go around checking offices.

Bathilda turned around. "John's the senior Auror in charge."

Great. Harry kept his expression neutral and nodded at the witch. It wasn't her fault. "Thanks."

"Pleasure," she mumbled, sitting down on a bench by the closest wall and sighing. "Why would anyone use Fiendfyre?" she asked with her eyes closed.

"Because they're crazy dark wizards and witches," Ron answered. "And because it's damned effective if you don't care about burning the world down. Or at least the city."

"Or yourself," Harry added.

Bathilda looked up. "Did they? Burn themselves up, I mean?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think so." If only.

Bathilda shook her head. "So many dead…" She wiped her face and eyes, and Harry looked away.

Turning to Ron, he said: "Let's find Dawlish."

The older Auror was in his office and didn't look like he had just come from fighting a fire. His robes looked freshly cleaned, and his face and hair were spotless. Which was kind of impressive, since Harry knew the man had been sent back to the Ministry not more than fifteen minutes before Ron and himself.

"Potter. Weasley." Dawlish snapped before they could say anything. "What are you doing here?"

"We're reporting in," Harry told him.

"Reporting in?" The Auror scoffed. "Didn't you hear Scrimgeour? You're to rest."

"We can still work," Harry said. They weren't as badly off as the other Aurors involved in containing the fire. Moody's harsh training had paid off again.

Ron nodded. "Others need to rest more than us."

Dawlish scowled. "Don't act like bloody fools! All that's keeping me going is a couple of Pepper-Ups. I'll collapse in a few hours. But Shacklebolt or Scrimgeour will take over by then. You idiots get some rest - that's an order - and return in eight hours."

Harry was about to protest, but Dawlish cut him off. "Merlin's balls, Potter! Haven't you noticed the goblins? They're waiting for us to show weakness, and we can't afford that. We'll need the bloody Vanquisher of the Dark Lord showing his face in Diagon Alley while we set up a strong deterrent there, and you need to be well-rested for that. Now get the hell out of here and get some rest! I need to organise the shifts so we can cover Diagon Alley with enough warm bodies to deter the goblins."

The idiot had a point, as much as Harry loathed admitting it. "How's Moody doing?" he asked.

Dawlish blinked, then scoffed again. "Last I heard, he'll live. Unlike a dozen others."

"Alright. We'll be back in eight hours," Harry said.

After a visit to St Mungo's.

*****

London, St Mungo's, December 1st, 1998

Moody looked bad. Harry Potter had to clench his teeth to refrain from cursing when he saw the old Auror twitch and tremble on the bed in St Mungo's. Usually, the man's scarred face looked imposing - even scary - with his spinning eye and cynical attitude, but now the scars on his face and the empty socket just made him look even more hurt than he actually was.

"When will he be healthy again?" he asked.

The young Healer standing at the foot of the bed hesitated. "That is difficult to say at this point. Our counter-curse wasn't strong enough to remove all the effects of the original curse. That is why he is still twitching," she added, wincing. "We expect him to recover over time, but a precise prognosis cannot be made at this point. We are keeping him sedated so he won't hurt himself."

"And a not so precise prognosis?" Ron asked. "Weeks? Months?"

The witch drew a deep breath before answering. "Months at least."

Harry once again clenched his teeth. They needed Moody. More than ever, with the goblins breathing down their necks and Lestrange and Crouch still at large. Still threatening his family. Hermione.

"Bloody hell," he heard Ron mutter.

"He was lucky to reach us in time to get treated," the Healer said as if that would change anything.

"What about his eye and leg?" Harry asked, nodding at Moody.

"We removed his artificial eye and leg since we couldn't tell if they were affected by the curse," the young Healer standing at their side explained.

Harry looked at him. "Where are they?" Those prosthetics, especially the eye, were very valuable. If someone stole them…

"In the box containing his other belongings."

"We'll be taking that box," Harry said.

"But recovering patients are often very dependent on their wands…" she started to protest, then faltered when he narrowed his eyes.

"He told us to keep them for him," Harry said. Moody hadn't done so, not explicitly at least, but Harry knew the Auror wouldn't trust the Healers to keep his belongings safe.

And with good cause. "We'll need guards here," he told Ron. If the Death Eaters struck at St Mungo's…

"Can we spare them?" his friend asked.

"We'll have to," Harry replied. Or they'd have to find another solution.

*****

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 1st, 1998

"They told us they were fine and that they'll be home soon - they're just visiting Moody."

Hermione Granger pressed her lips together and glared at Sirius. "I know that," she spat. "You don't have to keep telling me. But you know Harry. He'll claim that he's fine even if he's hurt!" The damn fool! And what they had found out through various channels wasn't helping Hermione to calm down. An ambush by Crouch and the Lestranges. Another Fiendfyre attack on Gringotts. And Mad-Eye Moody had been sent to St Mungo's. "I won't believe that he's fine until I've verified it myself," she whispered without moving her jaw.

"Well, just don't tackle him before he's out of the fireplace," Sirius replied. "You might break him."

She snorted, which caused him to smile as he sat down on next to her on the bench in their entrance hall.

"We should install a desk for you if you're going to spend so much time here."

"I'm not planning to turn this into a habit," she retorted.

"That's probably out of your hands - unless you plan to lock Harry up at home until the Death Eaters are caught." Sirius sighed and leaned his head against the wall.

"You're worried as well," she said. He hadn't left the entrance hall either since their return home to Jeanne from the Ministry. The French witch had taken the news about the ambush far better than either of them and was currently in the kitchen, picking the menu for the evening,

"Of course I'm worried," he replied, scoffing. "I know just what kind of dark wizards Harry is hunting - I spent a decade in prison with them, and I grew up with Bellatrix. She's worse than Voldemort - a cruel, crazy monster."

Hermione bit her lower lip and took a deep breath. Perhaps… "If we told Harry the truth about us, he'd quit the Corps."

He glared at her, but she didn't flinch and met his eyes. That way, Harry would be safe. Safer, at least. And she wouldn't have to lie to him.

He shook his head. "And he would abandon his dream. His career. Ron would follow. People would think they're cowards, too scared to face the Death Eaters."

"He would be safe," she retorted. "And he could make his own decisions." She raised her chin slightly.

He narrowed his eyes at her and almost sneered. "You know as well as I do that he'd quit the Aurors."

"Would that be so bad? He could work with us."

"He would have to; he wouldn't let us take all the risks. You know he wouldn't." Sirius shook his head. "I told you before: I'm not going to do that to him. He deserves to make his own decisions."

"He can't really make a decision when he doesn't know the truth," she retorted.

He snorted. "He was a member of the Order. He knew that we weren't following the law when it got in the way of fighting the Death Eaters. Hell, you know the kind of magic Dumbledore taught him."

Hermione reluctantly nodded. Illegal blood magic. Almost as bad as the Unforgivables in the eyes of the law.

"See? And yet, he didn't want to break the law to battle Malfoy and his ilk; he chose to enter the Ministry and reform it. And I respect that decision. I won't force him to abandon his plans."

"His plan isn't working!" Hermione spat through clenched teeth. "As long as Malfoy and his allies have gold to spend, things won't change."

Sirius shrugged. "That's why we're robbing them blind. So Harry's plan will work."

Even without Malfoy's corrupting influence, it wouldn't be easy to reform the Wizengamot. Hermione knew that. It might even be impossible without further robberies - even Sirius's allies among the Old Families wouldn't be happy to lose their power and position at the top of Wizarding Britain. "Do you think he'll be happy to know that he only succeeded thanks to us breaking the law?"

"Who says he'll ever know?" Sirius shook his head. "We finish Malfoy, and we can retire."

Of course - he was going to be a father. And he wasn't a professional thief. Hermione pressed her lips together. Could she stop being a thief after she achieved her goals? Forget everything she had learned? Abandon her career?

Or perhaps she should be asking herself whether she could continue being a thief when all she was doing was filling her own coffers? When Harry would be hunting her? When she had no excuses left?

She closed her eyes. She wasn't certain whether or not she wanted to know the answer.

"Everything will work out," he said after remaining silent for a while. "You'll see."

She snorted. If only. "Well…"

The sound of the fire flaring up in the fireplace interrupted her. Her eyes shot open, and she jumped to her feet. Harry!

There he was, walking - stumbling - out of the fireplace. He looked terrible. Exhausted. As if he could collapse at any moment and sleep for a day. But he also looked unhurt. Whole. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into his shoulder, her front against his chest. He was alive. Unhurt. Safe.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Harry."

"Hermione." She felt his arms around her. His hands on her back, gently rubbing.

And she knew one thing: Whatever her future held, she wanted him in it. No matter the cost.

*****

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 1st, 1998

The green flames roared as they shot up, tendrils of cursed fire weaving through the air as they reached for him. He gritted his teeth and pulled on the shaft of his Firebolt, rolling as he veered away, narrowly avoiding the closest flames as he flicked his wand to conjure another wall beneath him, stopping the Fiendfyre from approaching Gringotts for another precious quarter minute.

He felt the heat on his face and hands as he compensated for the sudden thermal updraft pushing against him from below. That was close. Perhaps a little too close. Ron was on the other side, replacing a wall that had already been burned to cinders.

Smoke billowed up in front of him and he banked - flying through smoke was a good way to miss another flame reaching for you. Where were the reinforcements? The Unspeakables? He and Ron had to have been fighting this cursed fire for minutes now - it didn't take that long to reach Diagon Alley from the Ministry!

He panted as he circled the fire, looking for the next wall about to crumble. Breathing was difficult. Surprisingly so, despite his Bubble-Head Charm. It was as if he had a weight on his chest. And that needling sensation on his collarbone…

Harry Potter opened his eyes and gasped at the monster sitting on his chest. He almost jerked and rolled to throw it off - but he managed to control himself. That would have been a mistake. A bloody mistake. Instead, he clenched his teeth and addressed the beast. "Get off me, Crookshanks!"

The monster growled in return - Hermione called it purring, but Harry knew better - and flexed his claws, once again pricking his skin as if he was warning him what would happen if Harry tried to throw him off.

Harry bared his teeth at the blasted cat. "I said: Get off!" he snarled.

In response, Crookshanks started to lick his paw.

"You should eat him," he heard Mr Biggles say. "He's plump and fat, and just the right size for you."

Harry turned his head. His snake was watching from his habitat. "I can't eat him."

"Why not? You humans can't swallow well, but you can cut up your meals."

"Hermione would kill me if I harmed her precious pet," he explained. And the rest of the household would probably help her since the cat had managed to spot Lestrange. Crookshanks must have gained two pounds from all the treats. At least Harry's chest felt like he had.

"Hmph. If she doesn't want her pet to get eaten, she should build a habitat for it. Like you did for me! Anything outside is fair game."

Mr Biggles had obviously misunderstood his explanation. He glanced at his owl. Hedwig was staring at him, then at the snake. Harry closed his eyes. And Crookshanks was snoring. "I need to get up, Crookshanks," he mumbled. "I have to go to work."

Someone giggled. Harry opened his eyes and grabbed his wand, then relaxed when he saw it was Hermione. She shook her head as she entered his room. "Honestly, Harry, you need to stop spoiling Crookshanks. If he doesn't go away then you have to push him away." She reached out and grabbed her cat.

"Wait!" Harry yelled, but Hermione had already lifted Crookshanks up.

"What?" she asked, frowning at him.

He patted his chest. No claw marks. Of course the ugly monster would play nice when Hermione was watching. "Nothing," he said, glaring at the cat in her arms.

She huffed. "Don't act as if you're afraid of Crookshanks. Not when you're about to go out and face goblins. Or hunt Death Eaters."

He snorted. "That's different. I'm allowed to curse those."

She frowned at him. "He likes you so much he naps on your chest, and you want to curse him?"

"It's not like that!" he protested.

"He probably thought you needed protection while you slept." Hermione sighed, then cooed at the fat monster. "Don't mind him, Crookshanks - he doesn't understand cats."

Harry understood cats just fine. He just wasn't in love with them. Unlike Hermione. "He didn't want to let me get up," he explained.

"With good reason. I would also love to keep you in bed," she said, then blinked. "To keep you safe, I mean," she quickly clarified. He could see her blush, though.

But this wasn't the time for flirting. He was expected at the Ministry - or in Diagon Alley. "No one would be safe if the goblins started a war," he said.

"But you won't be safe at all," she retorted. "The goblins, the Death Eaters… why does it have to be you all the time?"

He shrugged. "It's the same for every Auror."

She scoffed. "Not all of them go out in the field."

"In this sort of crisis, they do." He chuckled. "Even Nott was in the Alley. They probably had to drag him out of his office in the archives."

She pursed her lips - as he well knew, she didn't like to be proven wrong. "Not all of them fly around Fiendfyre on their brooms, though."

"If we hadn't done that then Gringotts and Diagon Alley would have burned."

She closed her eyes and sat down on his bed. "I know. I hate it."

He wanted to hug her, but she was still holding her cat. He sighed. "We got half the Death Eaters today." Probably. "We'll get the rest soon. And the goblins will calm down."

"Until the next crisis." She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Are you going to keep doing this?"

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked. "Leave it to others?"

He could see her clench her teeth. "I want you to be safe," she whispered.

He smiled and squeezed her shoulder. "I'll do my best."

She tilted her head, resting her cheek on his hand for a moment. "You better," she whispered with her eyes closed.

Harry really wanted to hug her. Reassure her that he would be fine. Kiss her.

But Crookshanks was staring at him.

*****

London, Diagon Alley, December 2nd, 1998

When Harry Potter and Ron arrived in Diagon Alley after midnight, the massive conjured rock that contained the remains of the Fiendfyre still occupied most of the area in front of Gringotts. "Is it still burning inside?" he asked the closest Auror, Brown, nodding at the rock.

Brown shook his head. "The Unspeakables said that the fire must have been extinguished. But Shacklebolt said not to remove the rock until tomorrow morning. Just to be certain."

"Ah." A sensible precaution, in Harry's opinion.

"Where is Hit-Wizard Leader Smith?" Ron asked. "We need to report in."

"Leaky Cauldron."

Harry frowned. "He should be here. He can't command from there if anything happens."

Brown shrugged. "Probably better if he's not here if anything happens. You know how Hit-Wizards are," he added with a grin.

"Bones will have his head," Harry said. Ineptitude, or dereliction of duty - either way, Smith was done for.

"No, she won't." Brown scoffed. "He's a cousin of Eleonora Smith." The Head of the Smith family.

"Bones won't care," Harry retorted.

"She won't antagonise Smith unless something actually happens," Brown said. "Even Bones doesn't like making enemies for no reason."

"No reason?" Harry scoffed. "We're staring down the goblins to prevent a war, and Smith is putting everything at risk just so he can stay out of the cold!"

"Bones knows as well as you do that we are all better off without Smith actually being in charge." Brown grinned. "And if something does happen, she can get rid of him."

Ron snorted. "At least he'll be useful as a scapegoat."

It still wasn't right, in Harry's opinion. "Bones would fire anyone in Smith's place without his family ties."

"Not many of those around," Brown said. "So, you're in charge?"

Harry stared at him, then snorted. "Might as well be." He was certainly a better choice than Smith.

*****

The goblins were still ready for a war, as far as Harry Potter could tell after his quick inspection of the 'front', as the Hit-Wizards called the entrance to the bank. Two dozen of them were standing there, weapons drawn, sneering at him as he flew by on his broom.

The second shift of the Hit-WIzards had taken up their positions in the area as well, with half a dozen Aurors - mostly younger ones - reinforcing them. If the goblins tried anything, they wouldn't get far - the wizards had good cover and overlapping fields of fire.

He looked at Ron, flying next to him, and pointed down. Half a minute later, both were standing next to Brown again, a little behind the front. "Who's covering the tunnels?"

"Fawley," the Auror answered. "Shacklebolt sent her down there to monitor the tunnel. It leads to the muggle sewers, actually." He frowned. "Tunnels?"

"If the goblins try something, I don't think they'll charge straight at us," Harry explained. "They'll try to use tunnels to flank us."

Brown gasped. "But…" He looked at the ground. "You think they're burrowing beneath us?"

"I think they've got a number of tunnels already prepared," Harry said.

"Since the last rebellion," Ron added.

"Merlin's arse! They could have tunnels to anywhere!"

Harry inclined his head. "They won't risk travelling through the muggle areas." Such a threat to the Statute of Secrecy would certainly bring in the ICW. "But the Alley?" He shook his head. "They won't have many tunnels ready."

"Too much risk of being discovered by accident," Ron cut in. "But they'll have prepared some, and dug others halfway. Which is why we need to monitor the entire underground area."

"Fawley won't like it," Brown said. "She was angry enough at having to pass through a muggle sewer."

"Tough," Harry said. He didn't care how closely related to the Fawley family the witch was - this was too important.

*****

"...and make sure that your relief continues where you stopped," Harry Potter said. "We need to map all the tunnels beneath the Alley."

Fawley glared at him. "Who put you in charge? Shacklebolt said Smith from the Hit-Wizards would take over as commander."

"Smith decided to hide from the cold and holed up in the Cauldron." Harry scoffed. "This needs to be done, and it's your task."

"My task is to map and monitor the Death Eaters' escape tunnel. No one said anything about other tunnels." The witch scowled.

"An obvious oversight." Harry shrugged. "This is important. We have to be aware of any attempt by the goblins to outflank us."

"You're not in charge of me!" she spat. "You're a rookie!"

"I don't see anyone else taking charge of this mess," Harry retorted. "Do you want to be responsible for a pack of goblins attacking us from behind?"

"Why don't you go and check if it's so important?" She scoffed.

"Because someone has to keep an eye on the situation here," he responded. And it certainly wouldn't be her. He narrowed his eyes at her. "So get the rest of your group and start doing your duty! You can complain to Bones later - and explain to her why you refused to secure our position."

"I most certainly shall!" She huffed, but she turned around and started to walk towards the tunnel entrance.

Harry sighed. "Why the hell are we surrounded by idiots?"

Ron shrugged. "It's the graveyard shift. That means it's staffed by rookies and those who screwed up or annoyed their superiors."

Harry would have thought that in this sort of crisis, people wouldn't keep following such policies, but he feared that Ron was correct.

*****

London, Ministry of Magic, December 2nd, 1998

"Harry! Ron! Bones wants to see you."

Harry Potter struggled not to roll his eyes and curse at Bathilda. She was just the messenger.

Ron, though, didn't try to hide his annoyance. "Now? Bloody hell, we just spent eight hours staring goblins down at night! Can't this wait?"

The witch winced. "I didn't ask her. She did sound annoyed, though."

"That's normal for her," Ron retorted. "Ah, well, let's go. I want to go home and sleep as soon as possible."

"Yeah," Harry echoed the sentiment as he got up. Their reports would have to wait. He smiled at Bathilda. "Not your fault."

"I know," she replied, smiling slightly. "Everyone's on edge."

"Understandably." Harry nodded as they left their office. Bones probably wanted a first-hand report on the situation in Diagon Alley. She'd be under pressure from the Minister and the Wizengamot.

Bathilda excused herself halfway to Bones's office - apparently, Dawlish was burying her in his paperwork. Of course, she didn't word it quite as bluntly, but Harry knew the man.

*****

Bones was angry, Harry Potter could tell at a glance when he and Ron entered her office. She was frowning far more than usual, and her lips were tightly pressed together.

"Madam Bones," he greeted her. Ron nodded.

"Auror Potter. Auror Weasley. Take a seat." Bones barely moved her head, just glancing at the two chairs in front of her desk. "I want to know what happened in Diagon Alley."

"We were called in because there was an incident in Gringotts," Harry started.

She shook her head, interrupting him. "Not that. The last shift." She leaned forward. "The Hit-Wizards aren't happy with you."

Ron snorted. "When are they ever happy?"

Bones glared at him. "Neither are Smith and Fawley."

Ah. Harry shrugged. "Someone had to take charge, and Smith was hiding in the Cauldron. Fawley didn't see the bigger picture."

"And you did." Bones sounded rather flat.

"Yes." Harry nodded.

"They didn't find any goblin tunnels under Diagon Alley," the witch went on.

"They found several tunnels that are close enough to Gringotts that the goblins could reach them after just a little digging," Harry retorted. "They're now under observation."

"On your orders." She was still frowning.

"Yes." Harry refrained from adding that someone had to give those orders.

"You didn't have the authority to give such orders." Bones shook her head. "You didn't clear them with Smith."

"There was no time to check. We had to secure the tunnels," Harry replied.

"And Smith is useless anyway," Ron added. "He probably would have caved when Fawley started complaining."

Bones's frown turned into a glare. "You had ample time to clear your order to patrol the tunnels with Smith."

"I informed Shacklebolt when we were relieved," Harry said. "He had no problem with the order."

Bones shook her head. "And you told him that you gave the order?"

"Yes." Of course he had told Shacklebolt.

"And that it wasn't cleared with Smith?"

"We told him that Smith hadn't left the Cauldron during the entire time we were in the Alley, and so we had to run things," Ron said.

"We didn't mention Fawley, though," Harry admitted. "I thought she'd complain to him anyway."

Bones scoffed. "She complained to Oliver Fawley. And Smith complained to Eleanor Smith."

"Aren't they supposed to go to through the chain of command instead of going to their families?" Harry pointed out.

"They sound as bad as Draco Malfoy." Ron shook his head.

"The chain of command you ignored?" Bones raised an eyebrow.

"Dealing with a threat is more important than following procedure," Harry retorted.

"Moody." Bones shook her head. "If you plan for a successful career in the Ministry, he isn't the best example to follow."

"Because he doesn't do politics?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"Yes." Bones met his eyes. "Even the Boy-Who-Lived can't afford to make too many enemies in the Wizengamot."

"I'm not about to let the goblins storm Diagon Alley just so Smith and Fawley don't go running to their families," Harry shot back.

"You don't have to. But you have to be more diplomatic if you plan to be more than a paranoid old Auror." Bones shook her head. "Your godfather's gold won't be enough to help you. The Old Families value their pride very highly and have long memories. With Moody out of action for months, you can't use him to deflect their ire."

"I'm not planning to," Harry spat. "I didn't become an Auror to curry favour with the Old Families."

"Antagonising the Wizengamot won't do anyone any good," Bones retorted. "They might not be able to get the Boy-Who-Lived fired, but they can make life very difficult for you and your godfather. And that means your work will suffer." She leaned forward. "And if you don't follow the rules and procedures, you better have a very good reason or I'll fire you myself. I won't tolerate loose cannons in the Corps."

"I understand," Harry said through clenched teeth.

She sighed. "I'm not completely happy with the way the system works either. But ignoring it isn't the answer. We have a duty towards our country, and we can't neglect it just because we're unhappy with its politics."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Or they could change the bloody system.

*****

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 2nd, 1998

Hermione Granger knew that she shouldn't have gone along with Sirius's idea of a cover for their secret basement area. Or, at least, should have prevented him and Jeanne from decorating the room. "'Nothing a little Transfiguration and Conjuration won't be able to handle', hah!" she muttered, glaring at the 'device' in the corner. She was tempted to transfigure it into something less distracting, but she had already done so to half a dozen contraptions, and the more she did, the more time it would take to revert the room to what Harry thought was normal.

Vanishing was no solution either - she'd have to replace anything she vanished through Conjuration, which would require the same amount of time. And she would have to study something in detail to replicate it. Which, in this case, would be even more distracting, she thought as she felt her cheeks grow warm again.

And she couldn't afford any distractions - she had to plan both a heist and a believable distraction of her own. A distraction that wouldn't reveal - and therefore ruin - any of her plans for the other manors.

That ruled out an attempt at disguising herself; the last thing she wanted was for the guards at Greengrass Manor to be aware of such a ploy. Although a double-bluff… no. That wouldn't work for that sort of setup. A tunnel was a possibility - but would it be believable, with one such plan having apparently already failed at Longbottom Manor? Would it be plausible to make an attempt on Grimmauld Place, with the ruckus of Bellatrix Lestrange's visit barely over? Though it would, of course, fit a group of thieves reckless enough to fake a Death Eater attack as cover for a heist.

A tunnel would be easy to arrange and hard, but not impossible, to detect. For Harry, at least. It would also draw attention to the basement, but that could be handled. And the muggle sewers would provide ample opportunities to retreat in safety. A fake trap would slow pursuit, the labyrinth of tunnels beneath London offered many hiding spots and all it took was one Apparition to escape.

And yet she didn't like that plan. Too obvious. Too blatant. Too boring, too. It didn't fit the daring band of thieves who had twice, thus far, made the Old Families and the Aurors look like fools. And yet, she couldn't afford to reveal a working plan for a mere diversion. Not when each successive heist would already be more difficult.

Hermione blinked. She couldn't use one of her future plans. But a past plan? She could easily adapt that without hamstringing her plans for future heists.

And she had just the ploy in mind.

Smiling, she started to make plans.

*****

Hermione Granger was barely halfway through her planning - their escape had to be assured, this time; she wouldn't repeat her near-fatal mistake - when Jeanne disturbed her.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?" Hermione forced herself to hide her lingering annoyance at the room's furniture and decor; Jeanne should have reined in Sirius, instead of helping him turn the room into a boudoir. Or a dungeon.

"Harry and Ron will be back soon."

Hermione didn't gasp, but she whipped her head round to check the clock on the wall. Had she already spent two hours planning? She should have known better than to lose track of time; that was how thieves were caught. She nodded slowly, ignoring Jeanne's faint smile. "Alright. I'll move to the library and act as if I've been reading and researching."

"And worrying for Harry."

"That, too," she admitted with a wry smile. It wasn't as if that were a secret. Frowning, she added: "He still won't quit the Aurors."

"Did you expect him to?" Jeanne asked, leaning against the doorframe as Hermione quickly stashed her notes in her enchanted pocket.

She sighed. "Not really." But she had had a little hope. "I just want him to be safe. He and Ron don't have to do everything." There were lots of other Aurors who could risk their lives as well. Like that idiot Dawlish. If he caught a curse in lieu of Harry, that would at least make up for his attempts to frame Hermione.

"They're among the best Aurors Britain has," Jeanne pointed out. "So Sirius tells me."

"He's right." Hermione sighed again. "And that says a lot about the skills of the average British Auror."

"It also makes our work easier," Jeanne pointed out as they left the boudoir.

"Not for long," Hermione retorted. "They'll send Harry and Ron after us as soon as the Death Eaters are dealt with."

"That could take a while, though," Jeanne said. "As long as we don't try to fake a Death Eater attack as a diversion we shouldn't encounter Harry and Ron."

Hermione glared at her. "The plan worked."

"You were lucky."

Hermione shook her head. "Not particularly. If I had been lucky, they wouldn't have rushed in before we were done. And it doesn't matter anyway since we won't be repeating that." The Greengrass heist would go perfectly.

Jeanne smirked. "You liked when he chased after you, though."

"I liked beating him," Hermione corrected her friend. All those lessons playing the helpless witch, but she won as soon as she stopped holding back.

Jeanne smiled. "I see."

Hermione glanced at the French witch, but refrained from asking what exactly Jeanne thought she had seen.

*****

It felt good to return home, Harry Potter thought as he and Ron arrived in Grimmauld Place. And it felt better to see his family safe and sound. Well, Jeanne. He looked around.

"Sirius is at the Ministry. An emergency session of the Wizengamot," she explained.

"Hermione as well, then," he nodded, feeling slightly disappointed. He should have expected that.

"No, she's in the library doing some research for him," Jeanne said.

"Oh." He looked at the hallway leading to the library and ignored Ron's chuckle.

"She told me to inform her as soon as you arrived, but maybe you want to go to her instead?" Jeanne asked with a sly smile.

He nodded. "She'll have questions anyway."

"I'll call Luna," Ron said as Harry left the entrance hall and went to the library.

There she was. Sitting in her usual seat, the table overloaded with books of all kinds and several scrolls and sheets of parchment. "Harry?" She blinked, then jumped up and walked towards him. "You're back! Jeanne was supposed to tell me… How are you?" she asked as she hugged him.

"I'm fine," he said, then grinned when she pulled her head back and scowled before releasing him. "No, really. There was no fighting. All we did was wait and stand guard. And a few Aurors patrolled the sewers, in case the goblins were trying to tunnel underneath us."

"Ah." She slowly nodded. "Sensible. They are quite adept at tunnelling."

He snorted. "I wish everyone realised that. Bones was angry that I told the other Aurors to watch the tunnels, instead of asking the Hit-Wizard nominally in charge to do it. Order them to patrol, I mean."

Hermione shook her head. "And she took offence at that?"

He shrugged. "Smith - the Hit-Wizard - and Fawley complained to their families, who complained to Bones. She wasn't happy with us. "

She scoffed. "Typical."

Harry shrugged again. "She didn't punish us, but she warned us that if we ignored procedure and chain of command again, we'd better have a damned good reason."

"She should be rewarding you for your initiative and insight, not condoning such nepotism!" Hermione snarled. "Keeping everyone safe is more important than catering to some Old Family's pride."

He smiled. She understood. "Yes. But until the Ministry's reformed, we'll have to deal with that. I just wish Moody were healed already - he knew how to deal with this kind of stupidity."

She nodded as she leaned against the table. "They can't fire the Boy-Who-Lived, though."

"No, but Bones warned me that any waves I make might harm Sirius's efforts in the Wizengamot." He moved a little closer to her. "Speaking of which, what are you researching?"

"Gringotts' history," she answered. "Sirius needs a good grounding in it to be able to deal with the goblins."

"Binns went into quite a lot of detail," Harry said, then winced - he hadn't wanted to remind Hermione that she had only had one and a half years of the ghost as a teacher.

She shrugged, though. "It's been decades for him, and his memory isn't the best."

"That could be bad in today's session." If the Wizengamot made the situation worse…

She shook her head. "It'll mostly be focused on finding out what happened. Unless the goblins start a war, the Wizengamot won't decide anything today. Or tomorrow. They'll need more time to make up their minds. Or let others make up their minds for them," she added with a sneer.

"Ah." That was reassuring and worrying at the same time. "Business as usual then."

"More or less. Did you confirm the deaths of two of the Death Eaters?"

"Not yet. The Unspeakables are still working on that. Fiendfyre doesn't leave many traces that can be used to identify a victim." He saw her shudder at that and reached out to hold her shoulder. "I think we did get them, though I'll have to study the scene in the Pensieve to be sure."

She nodded. "When do you need to return to the Ministry?"

"Well…" He grinned. "Technically, with Moody in St Mungo's, Ron and I are in charge of the Death Eater case, and we haven't been assigned another shift in Diagon Alley, so… we can decide when we work, more or less."

"Wasn't the entire team on that case just Moody and you two?" Hermione asked.

"Yes." He nodded with a smirk. "I don't know if this will last. They might have Shacklebolt replace Moody - but he's needed for other duties as well. Until someone tells me otherwise, we'll go on as usual."

"Just be careful. I don't want to lose you." She was biting her lower lip.

He gently squeezed her shoulder. "We already got two of them. Halfway done."

"I won't stop worrying until all of them are gone," she retorted.

There wasn't much he could say to that, so he took a step forward and hugged her in place of a response. She stiffened for a moment, then relaxed in his arms. They remained like that for a little, then he released her. "You know, I've been thinking…" he said. Almost dying to Death Eaters and Fiendfyre had that effect.

"Hm? About what?"

Harry wet his lips with his tongue before answering. "About us."

She stiffened again, slowly nodding. He couldn't tell if that was a good or a bad thing - her expression seemed to be more wary than anything else.

He pressed on anyway. "I like you. A lot. You probably noticed."

She nodded again. "Yes."

"And, well, I'd like it if there was an us, you know?" Not his best line. Rather awkward, actually. But it told her enough.

She took a deep breath - he saw her chest expand. "I'd like that as well."

Yes! He started to smile.

"But…" She bit her lower lip as she crushed his hopes. "I'd really like that, but there's… I can't have a relationship with you right now."

He frowned. That sounded bad. Ominous. "Why not?" She wasn't pregnant with Paul's child, was she? No, the dates didn't add up. And she would have told him if she had been seeing the guy again. Did her parents hate wizards after their experiences? He hadn't had that impression when he had met them last time.

She clenched her teeth. "I'm not ready for a serious relationship. Or any relationship. With all the troubles, and my work..." She shook her head. "I'm sorry." She blinked again, then rubbed her eyes. Or wiped tears from them. "I wish I were ready for a relationship."

"I understand." He forced himself to smile. It wasn't her work. Or the crisis. It had to be Paul's fault. He should have a talk with that git. Find out what the bastard had done to her. He reached out to pat her shoulder. She didn't flinch.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again.

Harry nodded. He took a deep breath. "It's… Paul didn't hurt you, did he?"

"What?" She blinked. "No, no." She scoffed. "I would have cursed him if he had tried anything. But the breakup with him taught me that I'm not ready for a serious relationship."

He believed her - about Paul, anyway. But he wasn't willing to give up on her. She liked him too; she had admitted that. "It doesn't have to be, you know, too serious. We can just go out together and see how things develop." Baby steps. Show her that he wasn't Paul.

She frowned and he was about to reassure her when he felt something in his pocket vibrate.

What the… His eyes widened when he pulled out a small coin.

It was the alert from the spells they had placed on the hunting lodge in Herefordshire.

The Death Eaters were there!

*****

Starfox5 · Jun 30, 2018

Chapter 49: Breaking Point

South-West of Hereford, Herefordshire, Britain, December 2nd, 1998

Barty Crouch Jr forced himself to remain seated on his conjured chair. He had to stay calm. In control. He couldn't vent his rage, or things would go wrong. Worse than they already had. He had to keep Bellatrix from repeating the same mistake she, and all of them, had made so long ago. "We have lost a battle, but we haven't lost the war," he quoted the Dark Lord.

"We've lost more than a battle!" Bellatrix hissed, stopping her pacing to glare at him. "We've lost my husband and my brother-in-law!" she screamed, causing the scabbed-over wound on the side of her face to break open and bleed again.

"We can still execute my plan," Barty said without flinching. He had to stay in control. Someone had to.

"How can we win if we couldn't win a battle against three outnumbered and surprised Aurors?" she spat. "Three Aurors against four of us! And we lost two to their one!"

Their enemies hadn't been surprised because Bellatrix had been too eager. Barty knew this, but he couldn't say it. Not to his friend. And, in any case, he should have known better than to assume that she would be able to control herself - the main goal of the whole ambush had been to let his friends vent their anger and frustration. The fact that it would further weaken the Ministry and egg the goblins on would have been merely a bonus. But now… He shook his head. "We can still do it, trust me." Provided that Bellatrix could control herself. Which didn't seem very likely at the moment.

She slowly raised her chin, and he could see that she was trembling with barely controlled rage. Blood was seeping into her torn robes. "How? How can we avenge our Master? Our friends? My family? Tell me how!" she screamed. "But don't tell me to have patience! I can't wait any longer!"

Barty drew a hissing breath through clenched teeth. The Ministry wasn't yet weakened enough. The goblins were not angry enough. He wasn't ready to execute his plan. He needed more information. Today's debacle had proved that Fiendfyre wouldn't be enough to achieve his goal - the damned Unspeakables had become too skilled at dealing with it. "We cannot rush this! We saw today what happens if we rush things!" He pressed his lips together as soon as he finished - he shouldn't have said that.

"Rushed? It was your plan!" she screeched. "Your plan, your orders, caused all this." She spread her arms, gesturing wildly, almost knocking over the old-fashioned lamp on the table next to her.

"Yes," he growled. "It was my plan. And it failed. And that proves that we need to prepare better. We cannot fail the Dark Lord. Or our friends. We owe it to them to succeed."

She stared at him, her chest heaving. She wiped the blood off her cheek with a jerky motion, ripping more scabs away and worsening the wound. He didn't think she noticed. For a moment, the only sounds in the lodge were their heavy breathing. Then she slowly nodded. "You're right," she whispered.

He almost closed his eyes in relief and had to stop himself from smiling. "Good." He nodded, then stepped up to her. "I'm sorry," he said as he hugged her. The stench of smoke and burning flesh clung to her, still. And the blood running down her cheek would stain his robes. He didn't care.

She didn't cry in his arms. She didn't make any sound, other than her breathing. But he could feel her starting to relax just a little. They would get through this. They would avenge the Dark Lord. And their friends. They had to - they had nothing else left.

After a few minutes, she pulled away. "If we're to stay here for a while, we should ensure that the lodge is more suited to our needs," she said, her face no longer betraying any emotion.

"Yes," he agreed - they wouldn't have travelled to this lodge of hers if they didn't plan to stay. He didn't think Rabastan or Rodolphus had survived, but it wouldn't hurt to move anyway, just in case their old safe house were to be compromised.

He looked around the room. Bellatrix had said that she had used the lodge as a safe house in the last war, but it had been before Barty had joined the Dark Lord. He had never been here before. "A few Cleaning Charms, more furniture… does the ice box still work?" The food they had brought with them would keep for a while, but an ice box would make it easier.

"Yes," she said.

He wanted to ask if she had checked - he didn't remember her going into the kitchen - but decided against it. She was still too upset to argue with over such a detail. "I'll make us something," he said as he headed towards the kitchen.

"Good." She waved her wand in a silent Cleaning Charm as he passed her.

He stopped and raised his wand in her direction. "Episkey."

The wound on her cheek closed, and she nodded at him.

The ice box was still working, as he discovered in the kitchen. Perhaps a little too well - it felt too cold when he put his hand inside. That would ruin some of their food. Frowning, he cast a Detection Charm. He wasn't a Curse-Breaker, but he could replace a mere Cooling Charm.

And he did. On a whim, he checked the stove - which was still in good condition. The sink, too, and the… What was that? He narrowed his eyes as he looked at the faint trace of a spell on the door. A kind of alarm charm? Recently cast? It had been almost twenty years since this lodge had last been used and neither he nor Bellatrix had cast any such spells…

He gasped. "Bellatrix! We need to move!" he yelled, rushing into the living room.

"What?" She whirled around.

"I've found traces of an alarm charm in the kitchen! Someone found this lodge!"

"But the wards haven't been disturbed!" she protested.

"That doesn't mean anything. Come!" he snapped, grabbing her arm to side-along-apparate her. It didn't work. He felt a cold shiver run down his spine. "They're here already!"

Bellatrix gasped. "How?"

"That doesn't matter. We need to flee," he said. Never try to stand and fight when ambushed. Your enemy had all the advantages. "Is there an escape tunnel… no, they would be aware of it. We need to fly." The Aurors would be covering the air as well, but it was still their best chance. "Get your broom; we'll blow the roof off and cover the area in smoke. We'll meet up in Worcester."

"No," Bellatrix spoke softly.

"What?" He stared at her. "This is our best chance to escape."

"This is my lodge. The last thing I've got left of my family. I'm not going to let mudbloods and blood traitors take it away from me."

"You can't stay!" He shook his head. Had she gone crazy again? "You'll…" Of course, she would. And she knew it, he realised.

Her smile was wide, showing her teeth, and forced. "I'll provide a distraction for you."

"No."

She wasn't listening. "You can execute your plan. Avenge us all. I'll cull their ranks for you as well." She nodded, her smile seemingly frozen on her face. Then she reached out and patted his cheek, just as she had done when they had met for the first time, at Hogwarts.

"Goodbye, Barty."

He stared at her back as she strode towards the door, twirling her wand between her fingers, a dozen words and pleas dying in his throat. Then he wiped his eyes and pulled out his broom.

*****

"Cover the area with Anti-Apparition Jinxes! And Anti-Portkey Jinxes!"

Harry Potter pressed his lips together. He and Ron had already done that, right after arriving near the hunting lodge. But Bertie Macmillan either hadn't noticed or ignored it to appear more competent - Harry didn't know which was true.

He did know, though, that Macmillan was a prick who shouldn't be in charge of this. He glanced at where Ron was sitting on his broom, disillusioned, and muttering curses. Harry felt as angry as his friend sounded. This was their case. Moody had prepared this trap with them. And now some idiot 'veteran Auror' was messing it up.

Harry was tempted to take over, but Bones had been quite clear about the consequences of him ignoring the chain of command again, and Scrimgeour had appointed Macmillan as the leader of this operation. As long as Macmillan didn't make an obvious blunder, they couldn't sideline him.

No matter how obvious it was to Harry that the man wasn't up to this.

"Done, Bertie!" Fawley's voice sounded from Harry's badge.

"Alright." Macmillan took a deep breath, probably trying to steady his own nerves. "We'll do this by the book. Half the force stays in the air, blocking any escape, the other half lands and surrounds the lodge. On my command, you'll breach the doors." Almost as an afterthought, he added: "I'll be up in the air so I can keep an eye on the whole situation."

Harry scoffed and shook his head. Macmillan wasn't staying on his broom to better command; the man was simply afraid of facing Bellatrix Lestrange and Barty Crouch Jr. Not that the rest of the Aurors and Hit-Wizards sounded any more eager, either; most of them had been obviously nervous back at the Ministry. Harry doubted that they felt any more resolute now, but since they were disillusioned, he couldn't tell - he only saw the floating markers indicating their position.

Harry hoped that none of them dropped their wands due to their fingers trembling so much. At least Moody's friend Smith was here to deal with the wards.

"Alright," Macmillan went on. "Clarissa, take half the wands and land, then have the Curse-Breaker tear down the wards."

"I've got a name," Harry heard Abigail through his badge. "It's Smith. Abigail Smith."

"Then have Curse-Breaker Smith tear down the wards, then," Macmillan repeated himself. Harry could almost see the man rolling his eyes.

"Bloody circus," Ron muttered next to him.

"Kindergarten," Harry replied.

"Alright, you've got your orders! Go!" Macmillan ordered.

Fawley started to pick her half of the Aurors and Hit-Wizards. "Potter, Weasley - with me!"

Harry clenched his teeth. "We would be more useful on our brooms until we've spotted both Death Eaters." He was certain that none of the other Aurors and Hit-Wizards was as good on a broom as he and Ron.

"Trying to stay back and safe, huh?" Fawley scoffed.

"No. Trying to ensure that the Death Eaters don't escape," Ron snapped. "We should stay up here, wait until the wards are down, then flush them out and jump on them from above."

"You've got your orders!" Macmillan yelled. "We're doing this according to standard procedure - cutting off all escape routes in the air and on the ground. If you refuse Bones'll have your badges!"

"Bloody idiot!" Harry spat through clenched teeth, then shot down to the ground. This was already going wrong. The book wasn't written for the likes of Lestrange and Crouch.

"We need to keep the brooms ready," Ron said as soon as they had landed and ended their spells, now that they were hidden from view by trees and the remains of the underbrush. "The idiots above won't be able to stop them if they try to flee."

Harry nodded. "We should have taken charge at the start." Now, though, it was too late to take over. That would only lead to more trouble.

Behind them, Abigail landed. She didn't look happy either once she became visible. "Alastor picked the worst moment to get cursed," she said, her half-numbed face twisting into a crooked smile.

"Very inconsiderate of him," Harry agreed.

"I'll be sure to tell him, once he wakes up," Ron added.

Nearby, the rest of the force landed. They were still disillusioned - which was a mixed blessing, Harry thought. The Death Eaters might be less likely to spot them, but they might get confused about their positions on their way to surround the lodge.

Abigail snorted, then took a step towards the wardline. "Let's get set up before the idiot messes things up further."

Harry nodded and started conjuring cover to shield her while she worked on the wards.

A marker closed in on them. "Why aren't you disillusioned?" Fawley's voice asked.

"Standard procedure," Harry answered.

"What?"

"We're already hidden from view thanks to the terrain," he explained. "Disillusioning ourselves would make it harder to fight together."

"You'd know that if Moody had bothered to train you," Ron added. He wasn't looking at Fawley; his attention on the lodge.

"I'm almost done," Abigail said.

"What?" Fawley gasped. She was probably gaping, too.

"I already know all the wards' weaknesses from my last visit," the Curse-Breaker explained.

"Merlin's arse!" Fawley cursed. "My group won't be ready!" A moment later, Harry heard her voice both from where she stood and from his badge. "Fawley to my group: Get ready! The wards will go down any moment!"

And, of course, that was the exact moment when Bellatrix Lestrange stepped out of the building.

The dark witch cackled as she flicked her wand and sent a curse against their position that shattered the wall in front of them. Harry quickly replaced it with another as several curses splashed against the wards of the lodge.

"Bloody idiots gave themselves away!" Ron muttered next to Harry as he reinforced their cover, conjuring a metal plate above them.

"If she unleashes Fiendfyre…" Harry muttered. That would threaten the Statue of Secrecy. But Bellatrix Lestrange was crazy; Sirius had been clear about that.

But instead of cursed fire, a Blasting Curse hit their shelter. Behind them, Abigail swore as the ground shook from the impact.

Harry reinforced the walls.

"How much longer?" Ron asked.

"Almost…" the Curse-Breaker answered, breathing heavily.

"Watch out!" screamed someone through their badges.

"N...Argh!" Another scream was suddenly cut off.

Harry gritted his teeth. Every curse sent at someone else was one not sent at their position. But he couldn't let his comrades die senselessly. He touched his badge. "Don't try to cast at her until the wards are down! Take cover!"

"Potter! You're not in command!" Macmillan yelled. "Everyone, keep it up; the wards will fall any moment! Keep it..."

Someone yelling in pain and fear cut off the idiot's order. Harry muttered a curse through clenched teeth, then ducked when their shelter shook under the impact of another Blasting Curse.

"I hope she gets Macmillan next," he heard Ron mutter.

"Not with our luck," he replied as he reinforced the walls again.

"Done!" Abigail yelled.

Harry glanced at her. "Get on your broom and get away! We'll go after her."

The Curse-Breaker didn't hesitate. Harry hadn't expected her to - Moody wouldn't have called her if she were a fool. She disillusioned herself and mounted her broom.

Harry tapped his badge. "Curse-Breaker retiring from the field!" He didn't want an idiot mistaking Abigail for a fleeing Death Eater.

The witch shot out the back of their shelter. He looked at Ron. "Alright, let's go on three. One. Two." He reached the back of their shelter. "Three!"

Harry jumped out of the shelter and started to sprint. The entire area around the lodge was covered in a cloud of smoke and dust. Spells kept vanishing into it and throwing up more dirt. The idiots were casting blindly. Worse, they were staying too far away to use a Human-presence-revealing Spell but were giving away their own positions through their casting. If Lestrange had a way to see through the smoke… He had to get a little closer for his own glasses to work.

The lodge's roof suddenly blew up - from the inside. Harry muttered a curse as he touched his badge. "Watch out for any attempt to escape on brooms!"

"Potter!" Macmillan yelled.

"There she is!" another wizard yelled. "Merlin's...Argh!"

Harry saw an Auror stagger between two trees, holding his stomach, then fall to his knees, vomiting a stream of blood.

Near the doomed Auror, a tree blew up, and Harry saw a grey-robed figure get thrown back from the blast. It didn't look like they'd get up. He caught glimpses of the dark witch through the trees, but he didn't have a clear line of fire. If the other Aurors weren't in the area, disillusioned, he would have been able to risk it...

He pushed on and cleared a tangle of toppled trees near one of the Blasting Curse's craters. There she was! And Ron was flanking her.

Harry's Reductor Curse hit Lestrange's Shield, shattering it, but she dropped to the ground, into a crater, and his next curse, as well as Ron's, narrowly missed her. But she was pinned down now.

"Get her!" Macmillan screamed.

"No!" Harry yelled into his badge. "Keep watching for broom riders!"

"Shut up, Potter! I'll have your badge for this!"

Curses started to rain down, though not many seemed well-aimed - Harry could see some missing the entire crater before the dust thrown up by the spells obscured the whole area.

"There's someone in the air! They're coming at us!"

"Stop them!" Macmillan yelled. "Cut them off! Don't let them get away!"

Harry clenched his teeth as he saw one Hit-Wizard get blown off his broom by a disillusioned figure and another Auror veer away in obvious panic. Macmillan's entire group had focused on Lestrange and had moved too far from where they should be - they had no chance of intercepting whoever was on that broom.

Just as Harry had feared.

And they hadn't even hit Lestrange - at least not hard enough to take her out; the dark witch sent a few curses up at the flying Aurors, increasing their panic even though she didn't seem to hit anyone.

Harry responded with a Blasting Curse that blew up part of the crater's rim, then conjured several snakes just inside the slowly setting dust cloud and sent them searching for the witch while his wand rose to activate the enchantment on his glasses.

He shouldn't have bothered, he realised a moment later - Lestrange, cackling like a madwoman, jumped out of the crater and came at him with her wand flashing. An Auror next to Harry toppled over, struck by a Killing Curse.

His first curse missed her when she dodged to the right just before he finished his spell. His next curse went wide because he was already ducking behind the tangled trees. A moment later, another Killing Curse flew overhead, followed by a spell that shredded half the wood protecting him into kindling and threw him to the ground.

"Potter!" she screamed. "Face me!"

He got up and turned to face her, only to see someone else's curse splash ineffectively against her Shield Charm and, before he could cast himself, he was forced to duck as another curse set the remains of the trees on fire. He rapidly crawled to the left, sliding into the crater nearby, as his Shield Charm struggled to keep the wood fragments from shredding him. He rolled over the muddy ground, avoiding a dark cloud that splashed down behind him, until he was at the other side of the crater.

Raising his head, he saw the dark witch facing a barrage of Piercing Curses from Ron. Lestrange seemed to weave between the spells - she was an even better duellist than Harry had expected - and her Shield Charm held as she returned fire, driving Ron into cover.

But she was alone, and Harry and Ron had her in a crossfire. Harry's own Piercing Curse caught her in the side, shattering her shield. She whirled to face him, leaving herself open to Ron's next barrage.

Then the Aurors and Hit-Wizards left in the air sent another volley of curses at her, and once more the dark witch vanished in a cloud of dust. The spell on Harry's glasses adjusted itself after a moment, allowing him to see through the smoke, and he spotted her on the ground, face down, her left arm torn and bleeding.

"She's wounded!" he announced through his badge. "Moving in!" He sent a Stunner at her, but it was deflected by her Shield Charm - when had she recast the spell?

"No, Potter!" Macmillan yelled. "We'll take her!"

"She's not yet out!" Harry yelled. He cast a Piercing Curse at her, but Lestrange rolled to the side, and a low wall rose, hiding her from his sight for another instant before his enchantment could compensate.

Which was long enough for her to flick her wand. He saw her smile, a moment before she vanished in a pillar of Fiendfyre that shot into the air, consuming the dark witch and the half a dozen Aurors and Hit-Wizards who had been diving at her.

*****

Harry Potter stared at the conjured wall containing the Fiendfyre that had burned Lestrange and most of the lodge to ashes. He couldn't see the flames, but the flickering light they gave off painted the top of the wall green. His attention was on the walls, though. They were holding - as he expected; this was the third time he was dealing with the cursed fire, after all.

He flicked his wand and reinforced the wall on his left side, then the one on the right side. Ron was doing the same on the other side.

"Potter! I'll have your badge for this! A dozen fine wizards and witches died because of you!"

Harry tapped the frame of his glasses, adjusting the enchantment. The fire still wasn't reaching the top of the walls, and there was no danger of it burning through the earth - not deep enough, at least, to threaten to break out.

He took a deep breath. If the lodge had been in a moor, and the Fiendfyre had been started above peat… This would have been a catastrophe.

"Potter! Didn't you hear me?"

Harry didn't look at the screaming Macmillan, keeping his attention on the rock separating him and the other Aurors from the cursed fire. "Shut up, Macmillan."

"What? How dare you!"

Harry glanced at him. "Raise that wand, and I'll stun you. We have to keep the Fiendfyre contained until the Unspeakables arrive, and you're not helping." And Harry would enjoy it, too.

"That's your fault, Potter! You arrogant arse! Your insubordination caused this!"

Harry reinforced the left wall again - the enchantment on his glasses showed that the fire had burned through half the wall already. The right wall was faring better, for some reason. "Shut up, Macmillan. I followed your orders, which is what got us into this mess. Yours, and Fawley's." He should have sidelined the idiot right away.

"You!" He heard the Auror gasp. "How dare you! She died because of your mistakes!"

She was dead? Harry hadn't known. Good riddance. No, that was uncalled for. Even if Fawley and Macmillan had got a dozen Aurors and Hit-Wizards killed. "She died because she didn't want to listen to people who knew better. Just like you. Now stop bothering me while I'm keeping the Fiendfyre from killing us all!" he snarled. "And where are the damned Unspeakables?" He reinforced the walls again.

He glanced at Macmillan. "You called them, didn't you?"

"Yes." The Auror glared at him.

Harry returned his attention to the conjured walls. "And keep the perimeter covered! If the Death Eater who got away returns, we're in trouble."

Macmillan gasped again. But he started barking orders and left Harry alone until the Unspeakables arrived to extinguish the cursed fire.

*****

London, Ministry of Magic, December 2nd, 1998

"...and then they, but mainly Potter, tried to countermand my order, creating confusion which led to the death of three Aurors and three Hit-Wizards when they hesitated and were caught in the Fiendfyre. He even threatened to stun me afterwards, when I was organising the containment of the fire!"

Harry Potter sighed loudly and closed his eyes as Macmillan finished his 'report' to Bones and Scrimgeour.

Ron, as usual, was a little more vocal, hissing "Bloody liar!" under his breath.

"Thank you, Auror Macmillan," Bones said. "Auror Potter, Auror Weasley, what do you say to this?"

Harry cleared his throat. "We followed every order we were given, which is what led to this debacle. Our warnings were ignored, which not only led to one Death Eater - probably Crouch Jr - escaping the raid, but also to half a dozen people flying straight into the Fiendfyre Lestrange started. I told Macmillan that I'd stun him if he tried to attack me when I was containing the Fiendfyre."

"You sowed confusion, and your hesitating, not to mention the delays due to that Curse-Breaker, caused the raid to fail!" Macmillan spat. "Clarissa died because of you!"

"She died because she gave away her position by casting stupidly before the wards went down, and then didn't change her location under cover," Ron retorted. "If you had listened to us, we'd have caught Crouch and Lestrange."

"If you doubt our report, we can ask Sirius to show you our memories in his Pensieve," Harry added.

Scrimgeour glared at him. "You would ask him to use the Pensieve for that, but not to help us with our cases?"

"My godfather will use his Pensieve to defend me against false accusations, but he doesn't trust the Department with it," Harry corrected him. "He really doesn't like travesties of justice."

Bones pressed her lips together and glared at everyone in her office. "Enough bickering. I want your reports on my desk as soon as possible, then I'll decide how to handle this mess. A dozen dead Aurors and Hit-Wizards, and we don't even have a body to show for it." She shook her head.

"But Lestrange's dead. We identified her before she killed herself," Ron said. "Which means that only Crouch's left."

Bones's glare didn't lessen. "I doubt that that will impress the Minister. Crouch is the most dangerous dark wizard currently alive - he freed the Lestranges by himself." She shook her head again. "Dismissed."

*****

"Bloody git!" Ron spat as soon as they had returned to their office. "The nerve of him - blaming us for his own failure!"

Harry Potter snorted. "Did you expect anything else?"

"I didn't think he would lie to Bones like that," Ron said. "Even if he didn't know about the Pensieve, everyone on the raid heard his orders."

"Some would back him up anyway," Harry replied. He knew that his and Ron's rapid advancement had ruffled the feathers of more than one older Auror.

"Some. Not enough, I'd say. Certainly not everyone." Ron shrugged. "So he's either more stupid than I thought, or he has someone backing him."

"Malfoy?" Harry asked.

Ron wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "I don't think so. Malfoy wants the Death Eaters dealt with, and he knows we're his best chance for that. He wouldn't make a move like that until Crouch has been caught. Or killed."

"But he might have tried to prepare the field with Macmillan," Harry said. "And Macmillan misunderstood him - or jumped the gun, trying to save himself."

"Well, it won't help him." Ron chuckled. "The offer to use the Pensieve should be enough to prove to Bones that we're not lying."

Harry nodded. "But it makes us look like we only care about ourselves or we'd let the Corps use the Pensieve for investigations."

Ron muttered a curse under his breath. "Even though everyone would abuse it for personal gain if they had access to it. Bloody hypocrites."

"We should get started on our reports," Harry said. If they were late with them, that would look suspicious as well.

"Well, we won't need that much time. Third Fiendfyre incident in less than two months - it's kind of becoming routine, isn't it?" Ron said with a grin.

It wasn't routine. Facing cursed fire that burned even stone and acted as if it were alive - and wanted nothing else than to kill you - was terrifying no matter how often you did it. The slightest mistake, a mere instant of not paying attention, could mean your death. And the death of all your friends. The half a dozen people Lestrange had killed today with her last curse illustrated that nicely.

And yet, Harry nodded. In the Corps, you talked like that. It helped not talking about the fear. And the deaths. And the guilt. "Yes. I gather the Unspeakables have extinguishing it down to a standard procedure now, too."

"Yeah." Ron sighed and pulled out a scroll of parchment and his Dictaquill. "Let's get this over with."

Harry nodded and cast a privacy charm so his own Dictaquill wouldn't get confused. And so he could inform his family, and Hermione, that he was alright.

*****

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 2nd, 1998

Harry had said he'd be careful - well, he hadn't said so explicitly, but he hadn't denied her, either - and then he charged off to apprehend the Death Eaters. Hermione Granger pressed her lips together to refrain from cursing as she tapped her foot.

"Harry is safe. He called you personally, didn't he?" Sirius asked from behind his desk.

"He called all of us," she corrected him. It wasn't as if she had a private Floo connection.

"I really should get you two a pair of mirrors," Sirius mused. "Perhaps for Christmas."

"No, you shouldn't," she told him with a frown. "It'd be much harder to keep our secret if he expects to be able to call me any time he wants to."

He blinked. "Right. I didn't think of that." After a moment, he nodded. "I'll wait until we're done with our plans, then."

She drew a sharp breath. Who said she would stop being a thief once she had achieved her revenge? She hadn't taken a decision, yet. But this wasn't the time to bring that up. "And yes, he's safe, but I don't know if he got hurt. Or how he's dealing with the deaths." That news had spread very quickly - the Wizarding Wireless Network had already announced that, once again, Lestrange had killed a dozen Aurors before she was overcome.

Hermione snorted at the wording. 'Overcome'! Harry had said the dark witch had killed herself and half a dozen Aurors with Fiendfyre. And Crouch had escaped. But the Ministry was trying to put the best spin they could on the debacle.

"He'll be fine," Sirius said. "It's not the first time he fought in a bloody battle. And he won again."

She scoffed. "I bet he'll have nightmares again. And blame himself for not saving everyone." The fool. The noble, stupid fool.

"Well, you'll set him straight, won't you?"

She narrowed her eyes at the dog. He was acting as if he didn't mean anything other than the obvious with that, but she knew him too well to fall for that. And he was starting to grin.

She could set him straight. Explain that she couldn't have a relationship with Harry while she was lying to him about her real career. That she couldn't betray her friend's trust like that. Even if she really wanted to have a relationship with him. Wanted him. Badly.

But she had tried that before, and the dog simply didn't understand. Or didn't want to understand - he wasn't as dumb as he often acted, after all, and had to know that this was a problem. And mostly his doing. But she wasn't feeling like talking. She wanted to be doing something, instead of waiting for Harry to return home. Anything to take her mind off this.

She shook her head and stood. There was one thing the dog would understand: a good swipe with her claws across his nose.

She changed and pounced.

*****

"My poor nose," Sirius complained

Hermione Granger sniffed. "You were asking for it."

"I wasn't!" he lied, rubbing his nose as if he didn't trust her to heal the tiny scratches she had left.

She shook her head as she checked whether she had missed any of furniture that the clumsy dog had broken or damaged during his pointless attempt to catch her. She didn't find any. "You keep 'teasing' Harry and me, even though you know better." Or should know.

He snorted. "Well, do you feel better now? Less tense, less stressed?"

She pressed her lips together. Yes, she did. Tussling with the dog had relieved a lot of tension. It had also broken a lot of furniture, but casting a dozen Mending Charms had been almost as good as a diversion as teaching the dog his place. As if a clumsy canine could ever catch a graceful cat! But she wouldn't give Sirius the satisfaction of admitting that, or he'd get even worse. Instead of answering, she studied the antique flowerpot that the dog had broken when he had once again run into it.

He chuckled. "See? Of course, there are better ways to relieve stress. With Harry, at least," he added with his insufferably sly grin.

"That would be a mistake," she said. A mistake she'd love to make, of course. If only she could.

"You're thinking about it."

She rolled her eyes. As if she'd discuss her love life with him! Not that she currently had a love life to discuss anyway.

He chuckled. "It's obvious that you two love each other."

She clenched her teeth. "That's not the problem."

"Unless you let him catch and arrest you, he won't ever know about our work."

"I would know." She turned her head to glare at him. "And no stupid jokes about Obliviation."

He actually pouted for a moment, then shrugged. "Are you planning to tell him?"

She sighed. Even if she told him after they had robbed Malfoy of everything he owned and reformed Britain, it would hurt him. But not telling him would feel worse. Ignorance wasn't bliss. "Not now."

"Do you think it'd make a difference if you tell him afterwards, instead of now?" he asked.

Once more, she clenched her teeth instead of answering.

"See, you don't have to tell your partner everything. Jeanne and I didn't do that either," he went on.

She was tempted to tell him that he probably couldn't remember everything he had done in the past anyway. But that would be too cruel. And far too petty. "I don't think a relationship would have a future with such a secret hanging over us."

"Well, I know that a relationship doesn't have a future if it's never even started."

"Some things are best done right from the start, or not at all," she retorted.

He laughed. "But relationships aren't among them. There is no perfect relationship. Every relationship is a collection of mistakes. But if you're in love, you'll forgive those."

She scoffed in response. That only meant that during the breakup, all your mistakes would be dredged up and thrown into your face. Like with Paul. "Hiding such a secret goes beyond the usual mistakes."

"Jeanne didn't know about our plans either when we started seeing each other. And now we're married, and she's expecting." He smiled.

"Jeanne didn't know you since you were children and hadn't lived with you for years while you kept this secret from her. And she wasn't trying to catch you," Hermione retorted. If only Harry were like Jeanne.

"Well, she was trying to catch me. She succeeded, too," he said with a toothy grin.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the innuendo - if you could call the rather blunt remark that. Harry wasn't like Jeanne. She knew him. He'd be hurt once he knew. His pride, but also his trust. Which was why starting anything serious with him would be a mistake.

Even though she really wanted to. She noticed that she was biting her lower lip and forced herself to stop. That Harry was risking his life every day - or so it seemed - made things worse. What if he died tomorrow, and she had never been able to tell him? Or kiss him? Or… She closed her eyes and sighed.

"You're thinking about it, aren't you?"

She growled and gripped her wand. Maybe a series of Stinging Hexes would teach him when to stop. Or something a little bit more inventive…

He blinked before she could decide on the best course of action, cocking his head. "I think that was the fireplace."

Hermione was out of the room in a second. Harry was back!

She raced down the hallway, turned the corner… There he was. Cleaning soot off his Auror robes. Soot from the Floo Network, she realised after a moment of surprise.

Then he turned towards her, and she saw him smile at her. Happy, but insecure - or hesitant. Hermione didn't really care. She rushed to embrace him, wrap her arms around him and reassure herself that he was there, was alive, was fine.

"Harry, you're finally back," she managed to say when she took a step back - leaving her hands on his shoulders - so she could look into his eyes. She blinked when she felt her eyes suddenly growing wet.

He nodded and opened his mouth, but didn't say anything. He just stared at her for a moment. Just when she was about to worry if he had gotten hurt, he reached up and brushed a tear from her cheek. An instant later, he blinked. "Ah… Sorry, I just..." He trailed off with an awkward shrug.

Hermione knew she was blushing - her cheeks felt very hot. "Thanks," she managed to whisper. They were so close. She just had to take a step forward and...

"Oh! Let's give them some privacy, Ron!"

...and the dog ruined the moment.

*****

Harry Potter loved his godfather. Sirius was the kind of family he had dreamed of during his time with his relatives. Caring, generous, funny, smart and always ready to listen to him. And yet, there were times Harry wanted to hex Sirius. Like today.

He gritted his teeth as he thought of the moment with Hermione his godfather's joke had ruined. He didn't know what would have happened, but he knew that something would have. Something other than Hermione blushing, suddenly remembering her work and disappearing into her office for the twenty minutes until dinner was ready.

He glanced at her as he picked at the food on his plate. She wasn't blushing any more, but he thought that she was still a little off. A little more than the fight with Lestrange could explain, at least in his opinion - she was glaring at Sirius, and she wasn't looking at Harry. Not directly, at least - he had caught some furtive glances.

He wanted to talk to her, but not here. Not at the table, with Sirius, Jeanne and Ron present. They were smirking too much already. No, Harry would talk to her later. In private.

There were other things to talk about anyway. He cleared his throat. "Ah, Sirius. I might need to let Bones use the Pensieve."

His godfather frowned. "Why?"

"Macmillan is trying to blame us for his blunders," Harry replied. "And he's lying about us not following orders."

"Bloody git," Ron added. "He gets half the raid force killed despite our advice and tries to use us as scapegoats!"

"Malfoy's work?" Hermione asked. She was now looking straight at him, Harry noticed, and frowning.

"I don't think he'd try to get rid of us before the Death Eaters are caught," Harry said.

"And he'll probably want us to deal with the thieves, too." Ron snorted. "Before they rob his home. But he'll certainly try to use this against us later if we don't nip it in the bud."

Harry nodded. "But since we didn't disobey his orders - we only questioned them - a copy of our memories should suffice to disprove his claims. If Bones even wants to see the memories - the offer might be enough to prove that we're telling the truth."

"Oh, she'll want to see the memories," Sirius said, scoffing. "She wants proof for everything - unless it's about a decision of the Wizengamot, as my own case and Hermione's prove. And she'll try to guilt you into letting the DMLE use it."

"I told her that it's yours. And I think she's doing what she can about the Wizengamot," Harry defended the witch. "Malfoy's too influential there."

He heard Hermione sniff. "I could say that if she built her cases better, the Wizengamot would be more hesitant about ignoring the law and evidence for political reasons, but I'd be lying."

"To be fair," Ron said, "even the Wizengamot rarely bends the law too much. Usually, they simply lessen the punishments for their own families."

"That it could be worse doesn't mean it's acceptable," Hermione said. "There's an ingrained culture of nepotism in the Ministry, and it all comes down on the fact that the Wizengamot is the highest power in Wizarding Britain. There are no checks and balances - a member can do whatever they want, as long as they have a majority backing them." She frowned at Harry. "Even if you root out all the corruption in the Ministry it won't help much as long as the Wizengamot isn't reformed."

"But even if you reform the Wizengamot," Harry retorted, "the corruption in the Ministry needs to be rooted out, or the Old Families will simply shift their influence to the bureaucracy to outmanoeuvre the Wizengamot."

Hermione took a deep breath to argue, but Sirius spoke up with a wide smile. "That's why we're doing both. Harry'll clean up the Ministry while we're reforming the Wizengamot."

Harry nodded, even though he was aware that neither of them had made much progress so far.

"How do you like the filets de perche?" Jeanne asked. "It's a family recipe." Her expression clearly told Harry - and everyone else - that she was changing the subject.

And neither Sirius nor Hermione were about to go against the French witch when she looked like that.

*****

Half an hour after dinner, Harry Potter was in his room, on his bed, trying to decide if he should go to Hermione's room to talk to her or if that would be too pushy for his friend. At the end of the dinner, she had been, well, back to her usual self.

Of course, he could have imagined more than what had really happened, back when they had met in the entrance hall. He frowned. He didn't think so, not really, but… it was possible. Or she might want to pretend that nothing had happened. And that would make it really awkward, at best, if he went to talk to her. Unless he had a good excuse, but… he didn't have one. Perhaps...

A knock at the door interrupted his increasingly morose thoughts. "Harry?"

His eyes widened, and he sat up on his bed. "Hermione?"

"Yes."

She opened the door without asking for an invitation to enter. Harry didn't know if that was a good sign. She walked towards his chair, then hesitated a moment before changing direction and sitting on his bed.

As he was trying to think of what to say, she took a deep breath and addressed him: "You mentioned that half the people with you on the raid were killed. Because you followed orders and he didn't listen."

Harry nodded. "Yes." He saw her flinch and quickly added: "Ron and I were fine - we wouldn't have let him send us to our deaths. We guarded Moody's friend, Abigail. She's a Curse-Breaker."

She pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes at him. "Breaking through wards is one of the most dangerous tasks."

"We weren't doing that," he protested. "We were simply guarding her while she did it. And she had already analysed the wards when we were there the first time, so it really wasn't that dangerous." Well, it could have been more dangerous, at least.

She huffed. "You were still the focus of the Death Eaters, weren't you?"

"Not really. Lestrange was busy killing the other Aurors and Hit-Wizards near us before we engaged her."

She looked surprised. "She didn't go straight for you, trying to kill the Curse-Breaker before the wards went down?"

Harry shook his head. "No." He sighed. "To be honest, I think she was a distraction for Crouch. She drew our attention so he could escape on a broom." He scowled. "And it worked because Macmillan's a bloody idiot who didn't keep our flyers ready to intercept Crouch."

"She managed to kill half your force acting as a distraction?" Hermione was staring at him.

It did sound bad, worded like that. "Half of our losses happened when she cast Fiendfyre on her own position, immolating herself and half a dozen flyers diving at her," he explained.

"Fiendfyre." She was pressing her lips together.

"Yes." He shrugged. "Wasn't too difficult to handle - we have quite some experience, Ron and I."

"A dozen people dead, Fiendfyre raging…" She shook her head. "And they want to blame you for this?"

"Macmillan tried to blame us. Bones and Scrimgeour didn't seem to believe him," he said. "And Fawley, his second in command, was killed by Lestrange." He shrugged. "I don't think it'll be much trouble to deal with."

She opened her mouth, then hesitated for a moment, before she raised her chin slightly. "And how are you dealing with this? The deaths and the fire?"

She was biting her lower lip, he saw, while he pondered his answer. He didn't want to lie to her, but he didn't want to have her worry too much either. Nor have her pity him. He shrugged. "I've been through similar situations, and worse."

"Voldemort," she whispered.

He nodded. The Atrium. Dumbledore's death. His family and friends fighting for their lives. If Hermione had been there… He owed Dumbledore so much for having made her stay safe at home.

"I hoped that things would change after that battle, you know." She wasn't looking at him now, but at the window - or rather, the curtains in front of the window.

"I think all of us did," he answered.

"I didn't want to worry about you like that ever again."

He nodded, though he wasn't sure if she noticed. He understood, of course - he would hate to worry about her.

"And now, it's even worse," she said.

"Lestrange wasn't Voldemort," he retorted. "And neither is Crouch."

"But you don't have Dumbledore on your side, either," she responded, turning her head to look at him. "And Moody's cursed in St Mungo's."

He shifted closer to her. Close enough to wrap his arm around her shoulders. "But we got all of the Lestranges. Only Crouch is left. And he's had to run from us twice so far."

She put her hand on top of his on her shoulder. He wasn't sure if she noticed. "He's the most dangerous of them."

"And we'll get him." He smiled at her, trying to reassure her.

"At what cost?" She was staring straight into his eyes. "What if he curses Ron next? Or you?"

"He won't. Trust me." Harry nodded slowly but firmly. She hadn't released his hand, yet. He could smell the faint hint of her shampoo, now. And perhaps perfume.

She shook her head without breaking eye contact. "I couldn't stand losing you."

"You won't," he whispered. No matter how she meant it. There were no tears in her eyes this time, but he still raised his free hand, reaching up to cup her chin, his fingers on her cheek, before he realised what he was doing.

Her eyes widened, and her breath hitched.

He hesitated for a moment. Had he misread her? Misunderstood her? But she wasn't pulling away. And she wasn't glaring at him. She wasn't doing anything but looking at him.

He leaned in, tilting his head slightly, and kissed her.

*****

Harry was kissing her. On the mouth. Hermione Granger could feel the tip of his tongue touching her lips. Hesitating. Just as she was.

Without thinking, she grabbed the back of his head with her right hand, holding him in place, and kissed him back. Properly, as Jeanne would say. Passionately. Without caring about anything else. And moaned as she did so.

When she pulled back, releasing his head, she was breathing heavily, and somehow had slipped into his lap, facing him, without noticing. She blinked. She shouldn't be doing this. It was wrong. Utterly wrong.

Even if she didn't remember right now why it was wrong. She wanted him. And he wanted her. It was obvious. Especially in their current position.

"Hermione…" he managed to whisper while his chest heaved.

She could feel his breath on her face; they were so close. She smelled him. She felt him. And she didn't want to let him go. She wanted more than a kiss. She needed more than a kiss. It had gone on for so long, this whole… whatever it was. Too long.

She growled and bared her teeth as she tore at his robes with her claws, no, her hands. Exposing his chest. Pushing him down on the bed. Straddling him.

She kissed him again, inhaling his scent, rubbing herself against him. He fumbled with her robes. She shrugged out of them. Or tore them off - it didn't matter. She wanted him, he wanted her. That was all that mattered now.

And this had taken far too long.

*****

Bashful_Walrus · Jun 30, 2018

Yes yes hessss

PurpLexed · Jun 30, 2018

Ayyyy its happening. About time someone made the first irresponsible move.

Well... More irresponsible move.

RedX · Jul 1, 2018

Wow, took'em long enough.

And we're down to just the most competent death eater there ever was. Cool.

Looking forward to the upcoming heists, too!

turbinicarpus · Jul 1, 2018

Starfox5 said:
Of course - he was going to be a father. And he wasn't a professional thief. Hermione pressed her lips together. Could she stop being a thief after she achieved her goals? Forget everything she had learned? Abandon her career?

Learn some Dark magic, brush up on Muggle explosives, and branch out into assassination?

XanderSan said:
Ayyyy its happening. About time someone made the first irresponsible move.
Well... More irresponsible move.

What a twist! Hermione will now get pregnant and will then have to retire to take care of the baby. I guess we'll see the Epilogue next week.

Starfox5 · Jul 1, 2018

Bashful_Walrus said:
Yes yes hessss

Indeed.

XanderSan said:
Ayyyy its happening. About time someone made the first irresponsible move.

Well... More irresponsible move.

Suppressing all those urges and feelings isn't responsible!

RedX said:
Wow, took'em long enough.

That's what Cat-Hermione has been feeling for ages!

RedX said:
And we're down to just the most competent death eater there ever was. Cool.

Back to the tarting point, so to speak.

RedX said:
Looking forward to the upcoming heists, too!

And diversions!

Pahan said:
Learn some Dark magic, brush up on Muggle explosives, and branch out into assassination?

Not for a thief trained and taught not to kill.

Pahan said:
What a twist! Hermione will now get pregnant and will then have to retire to take care of the baby. I guess we'll see the Epilogue next week.

If Hermione would get pregnant (meaning, she were not on the pill, wouldn't have magical contraceptions and couldn't get the Morning-after pill for some weird reason), she'd have an abortion. She's a smart, educated British woman, not some religious nutcase in the US. She'll only have a baby if she wants it. (Not that the odds of her getting pregnant are that high anyway - a woman is only fertile for less than a week per month, on average. And as countless couples can attest, it's not a 100% chance even if you do try to get pregnant.)

turbinicarpus · Jul 1, 2018

Starfox5 said:
Not for a thief trained and taught not to kill.

I was being facetious, though technically, there's a 90%+ skill overlap, especially since she is trained to incapacitate. She's not trained not to kill, she is not trained to kill, and she could probably self-teach at this point.

Starfox5 said:
If Hermione would get pregnant (meaning, she were not on the pill, wouldn't have magical contraceptions and couldn't get the Morning-after pill for some weird reason), she'd have an abortion.

Isn't there, like, a fanfic law, or something, that that never happens?

Starfox5 · Jul 1, 2018

Pahan said:
I was being facetious, though technically, there's a 90%+ skill overlap, especially since she is trained to incapacitate. She's not trained not to kill, she is not trained to kill, and she could probably self-teach at this point.

She could - if she overcomes seven years of training and lessons.

Pahan said:
Isn't there, like, a fanfic law, or something, that that never happens?

Not to my knowledge. I only recall a few stories with teenage pregnancies anyway, and not too fondly.

turbinicarpus · Jul 2, 2018

Starfox5 said:
She could - if she overcomes seven years of training and lessons.

It's not like she's been conditioned, as in Clockwork Orange, to be averse to killing. It's a matter of supplementing her training, not overcoming it. In any case, it was a joke.

Starfox5 said:
Not to my knowledge. I only recall a few stories with teenage pregnancies anyway, and not too fondly.

Likewise. The joke was that when pregnancies do occur, that's pretty much how they go.

Starfox5 · Jul 7, 2018

Chapter 50: Reflections

London, Ministry of Magic, December 3rd, 1998

Sometimes, Cornelius Fudge wished that he had retired years ago. Right after the death of the Dark Lord. Then he'd be known as the Minister who had defeated the Dark Lord for good. And people would think that if only he were still in charge, Wizarding Britain wouldn't be facing a crisis. Or two, depending on your priorities.

Today was one of those times. A dozen Aurors lost, while the most dangerous Death Eater had escaped. Again. Right after Fiendfyre had ravaged Diagon Alley for the second time in two months, killing thirty people in the process. And everyone was blaming him - as if he had personally ordered the Death Eaters to strike! Even the Daily Prophet was talking about the weak response of the Ministry!

Huffing, he put the newspaper down. He'd have to talk to Barnabas and remind the man that the Daily Prophet was supposed to report current events in a responsible manner. Cornelius was the Minister for Magic, after all, and he was due some respect!

He refilled his teacup and bit into a fresh scone - he couldn't deal with this affair without some sustenance, and it had been over an hour since his breakfast - as his door was opened and his secretary peered inside.

"Sir? Mr Malfoy is here, but he doesn't have an appointment."

Ah, of course. Cornelius should have expected this. Lucius was very concerned about the Death Eaters. Understandably so, of course - his heroic actions against the Dark Lord would have earned him the undying hatred of any Death Eater. He smiled. "Send him in. My door's always open for my good friend Lucius."

Half a minute later, Lucius entered his office. "Good morning, Cornelius."

"Good morning, Lucius. Please, have a seat." Cornelius gestured towards the chair across from his desk. "Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you."

A little curt. His friend was agitated, then, Cornelius noted. He looked as impeccable as ever, of course, but there was a slight tension to his usually more relaxed pose. Yes, his friend was concerned.

Which meant there was more trouble headed Cornelius's way. But he didn't know yet what kind of trouble. So he smiled and discreetly prompted his friend. "You are aware of yesterday's tragic events, I assume."

"That's why I am here, yes." Lucius nodded. "I've heard a rumour that concerns me."

"Oh?" Cornelius tilted his head slightly.

"Several sources claim that if the DMLE had handled the raid on the Death Eater hideout more competently, Crouch wouldn't have escaped."

"Ah." Well, of course, someone had bungled the raid. Someone was always at fault. The question was: Who's fault had it been? And, more importantly, who did Lucius want to be at fault? Cornelius cleared his throat. "Indeed. I've already received Amelia's preliminary report. She's still investigating the issue, but either the Auror in charge of the raid, Bertie Macmillan, or Potter and Weasley caused this tragedy." There was also Fawley, who, having had the grace to get herself killed, would have been the perfect scapegoat, but Macmillan was accusing Potter and Weasley of insubordination, and they, in turn, accused him of bungling the raid.

"That's what I heard as well. Who's right?"

Oh. Apparently, Lucius didn't have his mind made up yet. That made the whole situation easier to deal with. Slightly easier - James Macmillan and Black had already requested appointments. "Bones hasn't been able to find out the truth yet, but Potter has offered to let her watch his memories in the Black Pensieve," he said.

Lucius slowly nodded. "That would indicate that he's telling the truth."

Or Potter expected Bones to believe that. Cornelius nodded anyway. If Lucius supported Potter in this affair, then Macmillan would have to accept that Cornelius couldn't do anything for his relative. Not with Lucius and Black allied in this.

"Although after what I've heard about the Gringotts attack, I would have expected Potter to ignore Macmillan and do what he thinks is needed," Lucius commented.

Cornelius gasped. "Do you think he let the disaster happen in order to get rid of Macmillan?" That would be… entirely expected of the heir of Black.

"I wouldn't go that far," Lucius said, which, of course, meant he was doing exactly that. "But the difference between Potter's actions in Diagon Alley and on this raid is rather striking."

Cornelius nodded. He knew that Potter was ambitious - his sudden promotion was proof of that - but to go as far as to deliberately sacrifice the lives of his fellow Aurors to advance his career… Amelia would crucify him for that. If she could prove it. On the other hand… "I am certain that Amelia will examine the memories very diligently and find out what happened." Unless, of course, she was in on this? No, not Amelia. She was ruthless and inflexible, but she wouldn't go that far. Not when she could promote Potter anyway.

"It's not the first time a criminal escaped from Potter, is it?"

"The Davis robbery, yes." Cornelius fought not to wince. Another debacle, that.

"Was that ever investigated?" Lucius leaned slightly forward, his hands resting on the handle of his cane.

"Yes, of course."

"Potter's actions as well? If his godfather is finally allowing the Ministry access to his Pensieve, this would be another incident deserving of closer scrutiny. If Potter has nothing to hide, he won't object, would he?"

Cornelius nodded. "An excellent observation. I will mention it to Amelia."

"Thank you." Lucius smiled. "I have the utmost trust that the Ministry will get to the bottom of this."

Cornelius smiled back. This was perfect. Lucius was satisfied, Cornelius could deflect whatever complaints Macmillan could raise, and Amelia would have to deal with Black and Potter.

"Now, is there any news about the investigation into those infamous thieves?" Lucius frowned. "I don't think that we can dismiss the possibility that the thieves are connected to the Death Eaters. They represent a grave threat to the very foundations of our country, after all. If Old Families can be reduced to paupers by such insidious criminals, then everyone is at risk of losing all they hold dear." He shook his head. "We cannot allow them to terrorise the good wizards and witches of Britain, Cornelius!"

Once again, Cornelius fought not to wince. "Well," he began, "with the recent attacks, the hunt for the Death Eaters has, naturally, taken priority, and with the recent, tragic losses, the DMLE's means are limited."

"I'm sure that my fellow members of the Wizengamot will agree that the DMLE cannot afford to neglect this investigation. Sufficient funds shouldn't be an issue."

"It's not the gold, Lucius, that is the problem. Of course, we're doing all we can. But there simply aren't enough wizards and witches with the right qualifications to recruit. We've increased the salary twice already." Cornelius spread his hands. He couldn't conjure Aurors from thin air.

"Maybe the Ministry should be looking into hiring foreigners, then."

"Foreigners?" Cornelius blinked. "As Aurors?"

"Well, mostly Hit-Wizards, I would think. It would free up our own wands from patrolling Gringotts."

"I see." Cornelius did. Hiring foreigners to hold the line against the goblins was a fine idea. They wouldn't need to be able to speak much English for such a task, and if things went really wrong, it wouldn't be British Aurors and Hit-Wizards who were killed by the goblins. "It would take a decision by the Wizengamot, though." A Minister who hired foreign mercenaries on his own was as good as gone.

"I don't think that that will be a problem." Lucius was smiling again.

And so was Cornelius.

*****

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 3rd, 1998

Hermione Granger woke when the sun's rays touched her face and started to arch her back and stretch her arms out, as she usually did in the morning, with a contented sigh. Instead of on a soft pillow, though, the back of her head rested on something harder. And there was something on her chest. She blinked. It was an arm, holding her in place. And she was curled up against a warm body. And she wasn't wearing her pyjamas.

Her eyes shot open as she remembered. Going to Harry's room. Talking to him. Hugging him. Kissing him. And...

She drew a deep, shuddering breath at the memories of the night she had spent. Dear Lord, she had completely lost control! Not, she added to herself with a slight smirk, that Harry had seemed to mind, as she recalled.

Hermione sighed, turning her head to look at him. He was still sleeping, his messy hair spread over the pillow under his head. He looked happy, though - at least that was her impression. She snorted. He better be happy after last night! She certainly was, even if it had happened rather unexpectedly. Suddenly, all her worries hadn't mattered any more, and all that had counted was that she wanted him. But even though she didn't regret anything - other than, perhaps, waiting too long - this would have consequences.

She started to take stock of the situation. They'd need to cast a few cleaning charms. And Mending Charms, she added with a glance at the robes thrown to the floor. She was on the pill, had been ever since Paul, so there was nothing to worry about there. She pressed her lips together. She didn't want to think of Paul. Not now. All she wanted was to stay where she was, next to Harry.

He made a good pillow, and the sun was warm. Sighing contentedly, she closed her eyes. It was still early, after all, and she could still nap a little until she had to deal with whatever came of this.

*****

Harry Potter woke up to the sensation of something tickling his nose. Hair, he realised, opening his eyes. Hermione's hair, he added a moment later - even without his glasses, he would never mistake it. Especially so close to him.

He gasped, softly. He was holding a sleeping Hermione in his arms. Her head was resting on his chest. He could feel her body pressed against his, one of her legs draped over his thigh. And both of them were nude.

He smiled, broadly. Of course, they were both nude. They had torn their robes off yesterday evening. Mostly Hermione's doing, too - and hadn't that been a surprise? She hadn't just taken the first step, she had pounced on him.

It's always the quiet ones… No. Hermione was many things, but she wasn't quiet. More like a screamer, to be honest. He chuckled, softly, so as not to wake her, at that memory. In hindsight, he should have expected it. Hermione was never one to do things halfway; she threw herself at anything with a passion few could match.

And yet, he couldn't help worrying about how she would react once she woke up. Would she regret what they had done? Call it a mistake? Blame him for worrying her so much, she lost her mind? Curse him?

No, he told himself, she wouldn't do that.

But a shred of doubt remained. He sighed as he reached over to the sideboard and grabbed his glasses - when had he managed to put them down there? He couldn't remember. Moody would say that was a sign of someone messing with his memories and tell him to check in the Pensieve. He snorted.

With his glasses on, he looked around. Everything was as it should be. Hedwig was on her perch, but not looking at him. Probably mad that he hadn't fed her before he went to sleep. Mr Biggles was in his habitat, basking in the sun on his favourite branch. And... He stiffened. It was already past nine in the morning.

Harry didn't have a set time he had to be at work, not since they had started the Death Eater investigation and had been taken off patrols, and given yesterday's events, he certainly had earned some rest, but it would look better if he didn't take a day off… He blinked. Why hadn't Ron come to wake him up? Or, perhaps, Ron had come and gone again - Harry didn't remember locking the door yesterday.

He groaned. At least it hadn't been Sirius. His godfather would have woken them both up with his gloating. And Hermione would have cursed him.

He felt her move, shifting her weight. She made a noise like a throaty growl, then her head rose, and she looked at him through half-lidded eyes. "Don't disturb me when I'm napping!" she said, pouting. Then her eyes widened in surprise. "Oh."

"Good morning," Harry said, smiling gently at her.

"Morning," she said, rather quickly. She cleared her throat, then wet her lips. "So…" Instead of continuing, she bit her lower lip.

Well, she wasn't screaming or cursing him. "So," Harry replied.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Or moved.

She cleared her throat again. "So. I think we need to talk. About us."

He managed not to wince as he nodded. "Yes."

She took a deep breath; he could see her chest heave. "I don't regret what happened. What we did, I mean. Quite the contrary, to be exact."

That was good. He nodded, smiling slightly. "Yes. Me too. I mean, I feel the same."

"However," she went on, "I'm still not ready for a serious relationship."

"Oh." His smile vanished.

"So, as you said, we should let things develop. See what happens."

He blinked. See what happens? He looked pointedly at her body, still sprawled on top of his, then back at her.

She blushed slightly but nodded. "Yes. See how things develop."

"And no serious relationship?" He couldn't quite keep a hint of sarcasm out of his voice.

She nodded.

As insane as that sounded, he could live with it. For now. He nodded as well.

*****

Hermione Granger had spent the night with Harry. She had woken up in his arms and had discussed their relationship - their lack of it, to be precise - in the nude, on top of him. She would have expected that that was as intimate as it could get - and that nothing could embarrass her afterwards.

And yet, she blushed when she picked up her robes and saw that they had been almost torn apart. They were a stark reminder of how… impulsively she had acted the evening before. How could she have managed to lose control so completely? Probably hormones. And stress. For practical and emotional purposes, they were at war, faced with cruel and dangerous enemies who wanted to kill her, Harry and all their friends and family. A heightened sexual drive was quite normal for someone in her situation - especially someone her age - she was, technically, a teenager still, after all.

"It looks as if Crookshanks had a fight with it."

She gasped as she whipped her head around to glare at Harry. "What?" Did he suspect? "Crookshanks wouldn't do that!" Really, he was the best tomcat you could have - he had spotted Lestrange, too!

Harry snorted as he slid off the bed and picked up his own robes. "Well, he'd probably have done more damage. Probably."

Hermione was briefly distracted by the view of his backside. And the scratches on his back. Had she done that? Probably. Then she huffed and quickly mended their robes with two charms.

"Thanks," Harry said as they dressed. "I expected him to wake us up this morning so we'd feed him."

She snorted. "He's the soul of discretion." And he knew not to bother her so early.

"Which can't be said about the rest of the family," Harry said with a sigh.

Oh. Hermione winced. She hadn't thought of that. The dog would be insufferable. Jeanne would smile smugly. And Ron would beam at them.

And all of them would assume that she and Harry were a couple. A serious couple.

She muttered a curse under her breath.

Harry heard, though. "What's wrong?" He frowned, glancing around.

She grimaced. "What do we tell the others?"

He frowned and opened his mouth, then closed it and took a breath. "What do you mean?"

She pressed her lips together in frustration before answering: "They'll think that we're in a serious relationship."

His eyebrows rose a smidgen. "And you want them to think that we're… just having sex?"

Put like that, it did sound bad. And she did want more. Far more. But it couldn't be helped. Not with her secret. She sighed through clenched teeth. "I guess we'll have to tell them that the exact nature of our relationship is our business, then, and none of theirs."

"And let them make up their minds about our relationship?"

She glared at him. She was trying her best to keep this from becoming a problem, and he seemed to think it was funny. "They'll do that anyway. You know Sirius." The dog probably had spent an hour thinking up awful jokes and crude remarks. "I'd bet that he'll offer us the use of their playroom."

"Ah, yes, he probably will," Harry answered after a slight but noticeable pause.

Perhaps she should try sneaking back to her room… no, their friends would already be aware that she hadn't slept in her room when they had to feed Crookshanks. She sighed.

"Let's get this over with."

*****

They weren't saying anything. They were just smiling far too broadly and exchanging glances that were far too obvious. Especially Sirius and Jeanne. Hermione Granger gritted her teeth as she buttered a scone. She knew what they were thinking, but they weren't saying it. They weren't even asking what had happened, so she and Harry couldn't even tell them that this was none of their business.

In short, the bloody dog and the rest of their friends weren't playing along! She lifted her teacup to her lips to hide her scowl. Not even Ron was saying anything. Not about her and Harry, at least - he was talking to Harry about work.

Not even Kreacher was muttering about inappropriate relationships; the house-elf was just his usual grumpy self as he placed another plate with sausages on the table.

This was the dog's fault - she knew it. She glared at him.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, acting as if he didn't know what he was doing. The bloody dog!

"No," she pressed out through clenched teeth. "Everything's fine."

"Good, good!" He beamed at her.

She looked at Crookshanks, but her trusted guard was obviously not on duty right now. He was focusing on eating; they must have forgotten to feed the poor cat!

And Harry was useless as well.

Hermione sighed - behind her teacup - and grabbed another scone. There would be a reckoning! As soon as Harry and Ron left for work.

*****

London, Ministry of Magic, December 3rd, 1998

"So… that was a rather big first step, wasn't it?"

Harry Potter stopped checking the memos on his desk and glanced at Ron. His friend was smiling broadly at him.

Harry shook his head. "Took you long enough to ask, didn't it?"

Ron shrugged, still smiling. "Sirius insisted on not saying anything. He said that he didn't want to scare you off."

"Scare me off?" Harry was confused.

"You and Hermione, from staying a couple," Ron clarified.

"Ah." Harry sighed.

"You are a couple, aren't you?" Ron asked, suddenly looking serious.

"The exact nature of our relationship is no one's business but our own," Harry quoted Hermione.

Ron rolled his eyes. "You spent the night together, and she didn't look like she regretted it this morning."

"Yes."

"So…?" Ron tilted his head.

"None of your business," Harry said.

"Come on! You two have been dancing around each other for months! Maybe years! And you told me all your plans to ask her out - or make her ask you out. Spill!" Ron leaned forward, both hands on his desk.

Harry drew a slow breath. Hermione had been clear about her wish to keep the details of their relationship private, but Ron was his best friend. "It's complicated."

"What?"

Harry sighed. "Don't tell this to anyone. Not even Luna." Especially not Luna. He looked at Ron until his friend nodded. "She's not ready for a serious relationship."

"You slept with each other. How more serious can you get?" Ron shook his head, then blinked. "You did have sex, didn't you?"

"Yes." Harry sighed. "I know."

"Wait… is this like your affair with that sixth year, Diana? No commitment?"

"Daria," Harry corrected him. "And no, it's not like that." At least Hermione hadn't said anything about just having fun. And she certainly hadn't acted like Daria. "We agreed to see how things develop."

Ron shook his head and snorted. "I guess you'll still be 'seeing how things develop' when you're about to get married."

If only. Harry frowned at his friend. "I'm certain that this is Paul's fault."

"Might be," Ron answered after a moment. "Are you planning to talk to the git?"

Harry took a deep breath through his clenched teeth. "I want to, but… Hermione might not like me going to Paul behind her back." In fact, he was sure she'd be upset. And he didn't want to upset his not-quite-yet-girlfriend while they were still 'waiting and seeing', or whatever you might call the current state of their relationship.

"Yeah, mate. She wouldn't like that." Ron nodded. "So… it wasn't a big step."

"Well…" Harry fought not to grin as he remembered last night. "I wouldn't say that."

*****

"Madam Bones." Harry Potter nodded, standing at attention in front of the witch's desk.

"Aurors Potter and Weasley." Bones returned the nod but didn't tell them to take a seat. That wasn't a good sign, was it? "I've read every report covering the Herefordshire raid."

Harry nodded again and struggled not to exchange a glance with Ron.

Bones narrowed her eyes slightly, as if she were waiting for a comment, then sniffed once when both Harry and Ron remained silent. "There were significant differences, and not just between yours and Macmillan's."

That was to be expected. It was difficult to focus on anything other than your enemy when you were fighting.

"However," Bones went on, "the gist of the events is clear. While you questioned orders, you didn't disobey them. During the battle, at least."

"Yes, Ma'am," Harry confirmed.

She glared at him. "But in the middle of a fight, the difference between questioning orders and insubordination is very hard to realise. Macmillan's accusations weren't without some justification."

"His stupidity was going to ruin the raid, Ma'am," Ron blurted out. "He was treating this as if it were a normal fight."

"It was obvious that standard tactics wouldn't work," Harry added, "and he didn't listen to advice."

"And what should he have done instead?" Bones asked, raising one eyebrow - the one which wasn't above her monocle.

Macmillan should have let them run the raid. Harry didn't say that, of course. "He should have kept one of us in reserve in the air so they could intercept Crouch when he made his escape."

"You told him to keep both of you in reserve," Bones pointed out.

"With no enemy in sight, that would have been the best spot for us. One of us could have engaged Lestrange as soon as she attacked Abigail - the Curse-Breaker," Harry retorted.

"Did you think of that when you questioned Macmillan's orders?" Bones asked.

"It was obvious, Ma'am," Harry said. "That's how we would have done it." If they had been in charge.

"Auror Fawley ordered you to protect the Curse-Breaker - the biggest weakness of the entire raid. And Lestrange did attack her, didn't she?" Bones narrowed her eyes slightly.

"Yes, Ma'am. But either of us could have kept her at bay until the wards fell. Abigail had already prepared the wards during her first visit," Ron explained.

Bones frowned. "Macmillan and Fawley weren't aware of that."

"We mentioned it in the briefing," Harry protested.

"You mentioned that you had entered the lodge through the wards. You didn't spell out that that meant the wards could be torn down much more quickly than expected. Neither Macmillan nor Fawley had any special Curse-Breaking knowledge or training." Bones shook her head. "But they knew that a Curse-Breaker is very vulnerable when taking down wards and needs the best protection available."

"One of us would have sufficed," Harry said.

"It's standard procedure not to split up partners," Bones pointed out, "because they are used to fighting side by side. That makes them more effective in a battle."

"We can fight together without having to stick together," Ron said. "Moody made sure of that."

Bones shook her head. "The average Auror wasn't trained by Moody. We have standard procedures for a reason - in the middle of a fight, people usually can't think too clearly and fall back on their training."

Which meant they should be trained correctly, in Harry's opinion. Yesterday's mess wouldn't have happened if that had been the case.

"The middle of a battle, or a hastily thrown-together raid, isn't the right place to introduce new tactics." Bones studied them. "Nor is it the place and time to argue orders."

"Should we have let them get killed without even trying to stop it?" Ron asked.

"Would you have been able to stop it? Stop them from getting killed by Lestrange as soon as they attacked her?" Bones again raised one eyebrow. "Or flying at her and getting caught in Fiendfyre?"

"Perhaps," Harry said. "We would have tried our best, at least."

"As did Macmillan," Bones retorted.

And his best wasn't good enough.

Bones sighed. "I'll watch your memories, and then I'll decide how to sort out this mess. The Minister wants a scapegoat." She had to have noticed Harry's reaction since she added: "And Malfoy's pressuring him to put the blame on Macmillan."

Harry blinked. "He must be more afraid of the Death Eaters than I thought."

Bones glared at him. "You have a very high opinion of yourself, Auror Potter."

"Malfoy must share it," Ron retorted, "or he'd be trying to blame us for this mess."

That earned him a glare as well. Bones pressed her lips together. "And I'll be seeing for myself who is to blame for this. Provided your godfather agreed to let us use his Pensieve."

Harry nodded. "Yes, he said he'd make an exception."

"Figures." Bones shook her head and stood. "Let's not keep the esteemed member of the Wizengamot waiting, then."

*****

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 3rd, 1998

Hermione Granger had expected the dog to make crude jokes about her and Harry spending the night together. She had been bracing herself for lewd comments and embarrassing questions. Even bragging about having known this all along. If not during breakfast, then after Harry and Ron had left.

None of that had taken place. The stupid dog had kept smiling far too widely, and went to his office to pretend to work. He hadn't even called her to him under some pretext.

She pressed her lips together and focused on her plans for the next diversion. And on her plans for Greengrass Manor. The timing would be tight, even if Jeanne managed to manipulate the enchanted mirrors. On the other hand, if they ran the diversionary heist late this month, the Aurors might not expect another heist so close on the heels of an - apparently - failed one. But too close, and they would all be worked up and more attentive...

She sighed. Since the date of the Greengrass heist was fixed already, she would have to guess in advance which time frame for the diversion would work out best. Which was a good thing - she wouldn't be betraying Harry's confidence by judging the timing according to his reaction.

"You don't sound like a witch who just had a night of passion with the wizard she's wanted for months."

Hermione slowly turned her head and glanced at the witch standing in the doorway. "Sleeping with Harry didn't do anything to make our next heists any easier."

"So you did sleep with him." Jeanne smiled and closed the door behind her. "I was starting to wonder whether Sirius had misinterpreted what he had seen."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "What he had seen?" Had the dog spied on her and Harry?

"He went to wake up Harry this morning," Jeanne said, "and saw you two in each other's arms."

So, they hadn't locked the door. The dog had done it after barging in on them, and she hadn't noticed. Sloppy. Hermione clenched her teeth. And he had caught an eyeful, seeing their state of undress in the morning. She drew a hissing breath through her teeth. "I see."

"So it wasn't some platonic comforting to ward off nightmares."

"What?" Hermione stared at her friend.

Jeanne shrugged with a smirk. "That was my worst-case assumption."

"Worst-case?" She was starting to sound like a broken record.

"Yes." Jeanne scoffed. "You've been dragging your feet for far too long."

"For good reasons!" Hermione protested. "Any relationship with Harry has no future as long as he doesn't know about our heists." She bit her lower lip. She wanted to come clean and tell Harry. Be completely honest. Get it out in the open. But she couldn't, not without revealing her friends' secrets as well. And she couldn't do that to them.

"You think your relationship is doomed?"

"We're not in a serious relationship. We're still seeing how things develop." At least Harry thought that.

Jeanne shook her head. "Neither of you is the kind to enjoy an open or casual relationship. Both of you are far too... serious for that."

The slight pause before 'serious' told Hermione that Jeanne had had another word in mind. Probably 'uptight' or something similar. "I'm not going to enter a serious relationship with him under false pretences!" she snapped. She couldn't do that to him.

Jeanne shook her head again and looked at Hermione as if she had just said something extremely foolish.

Hermione huffed and pointed at the parchment in front of her. "I have a question about your changes to the mirror," she said, changing the subject.

The witch obviously had been listening to the stupid dog too much.

*****

Bones was taking her time watching their memories, Harry Potter thought as he waited for the Head of the DMLE to leave the Pensieve. More than double the time the fight had lasted for his memories, and now the same amount for Ron's.

"She's thorough," Ron said.

Harry glanced at his friend. "Finished chatting with Luna?"

"She's got her afternoon lessons." Ron grinned. "She's still trying to figure out a way to selectively silence the mirror so we can use it during her lessons."

"That won't help her grades," Harry said.

Ron chuckled. "Limited to the uninteresting subjects. And it'll help once she's finished with Hogwarts and starts working full-time."

"As a journalist for The Quibbler?" Harry asked. That had been her plan since before she started at Hogwarts, as far as he knew.

"Yes. Magizoologist and Naturalist, too." Ron smiled.

"She'll be travelling a lot, then." And to places where she couldn't return to Britain easily or quickly.

Harry's friend shrugged. "Won't be worse than now. Better, I think - we'll have more time."

"Ah." Harry didn't think he'd like that - being separated from your girlfriend for stretches of time…

Before he could say anything else, Bones, who had been standing frozen with her head in the faint cloud above the Pensieve, moved again and straightened.

"Are you finished, Ma'am?" Harry asked.

She frowned for a moment, then schooled her features. "Yes. I've seen all I need to deal with this incident. We'll return to the Ministry." She walked past them towards the door.

Harry exchanged a glance with Ron, raising his eyebrows, as they followed the witch. Bones looked rather angry.

Sirius and Hermione were waiting for them in the entrance hall. Harry's godfather probably had had Kreacher keep an eye on them and call him once Bones was finished. "Amelia! Finished already?" he said with a too-wide smile.

"Obviously."

Sirius ignored her dry tone. "I hope it was helpful."

Now she frowned. "The Pensieve would be very useful for our Department. Many cases could be solved with such a device."

Sirius shrugged. "Undoubtedly."

"For someone who suffered from a great injustice, you appear remarkably unconcerned about preventing similar miscarriages of justice." Bones's tone was growing sharper. "Unless it concerns your godson, of course."

Hermione sniffed, and Harry tensed. "It would be a waste of a rare magical item," she said, "since the Wizengamot is only concerned with politics, not justice."

Bones glared at her. "It is to be expected that you would claim that."

"Like Sirius, I have extensive personal experience with the Ministry's sort of 'justice'." Hermione's voice dripped with contempt.

"And with politically motivated pardons," Bones retorted.

"Indeed. A pardon, not an exoneration," Hermione said. "So Malfoy's 'good friends' wouldn't be revealed as having perjured themselves. Politics, in other words."

"You could have proven your innocence by taking Veritaserum. You didn't." Bones's face twisted into a slight sneer, clearly expressing her view of what this said about Hermione.

"I wasn't about to help Voldemort and his followers by revealing our secrets to them." Hermione scowled at the older witch. "And why should I have to take Veritaserum, instead of those who accuse me?" She scoffed. "Is 'innocent until proven guilty' too muggle for the Wizengamot?"

"There was plenty of evidence incriminating you," Bones told her.

"Falsified evidence to frame me." Hermione scoffed, again. "But at least I received a trial. Others weren't as fortunate."

"Indeed," Sirius cut in. "What good is a Pensieve if you're not even bothering with a trial? And we both know that it'd be misused by everyone in the Ministry for their personal business. Or simply to relive the last time they had sex with their spouse," he added with a toothy grin.

Harry struggled but managed not to laugh at Bones's expression. Ron coughed quite loudly.

"Those are excuses, and you know it," Bones said. "Ultimately, you're only interested in your personal power. Like your opponents in the Wizengamot."

"No, Amelia." Sirius kept smiling. "I'm just not interested in supporting a corrupt system."

"And in denying us the means to do our duty to the best of our ability, you hazard that innocents might end up suffering as you suffered." Bones stood her ground.

"A system where you have to prove your innocence is the last system I would want to support." Sirius gestured towards the fireplace. "Have a nice day, Amelia."

"Goodbye."

Harry quickly followed Bones to the Floo connection. This wasn't the moment to stay and talk to his family. The Head of the DMLE was angry enough already.

*****

London, Ministry of Magic, December 3rd, 1998

Bones's mood hadn't improved an hour later when Harry Potter and Ron were called to her office again. Once more, she didn't offer them a seat. "I've watched your memories, Aurors Potter and Weasley. And I'm not impressed."

Harry clenched his teeth and nodded. They hadn't done anything wrong.

Bones shook her head. "This was worse than I suspected. I've told you before that the middle of a raid isn't the place to question orders or introduce new tactics. You had your reasons for doing so, but you went about it in a very confrontational manner."

Harry didn't think Macmillan would have listened, no matter how politely they had phrased their criticism.

"However, your behaviour after Lestrange's death…" Bones glared at him through her monocle. "Even taking into account that you were dealing with Fiendfyre, your actions were out of line. You threatened to stun Macmillan!"

"He was about to curse me!" Harry retorted.

"He was raising his wand."

"That's what I said." Harry nodded.

"Never raise a wand at someone you don't want to curse or heal," Ron quoted Moody. "And never assume someone's about to heal you unless you can trust them and you're visibly hurt."

"And you assume that Macmillan would have been so reckless as to attack you while you were containing Fiendfyre?" Bones sounded incredulous.

"We couldn't risk it," Harry said. Macmillan was an arrogant idiot.

She shook her head again. "Moody's not the best role model."

Harry pressed his lips together. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry had. And even in a coma in St Mungo's, he was probably doing more for the Ministry than half the Aurors by not messing up!

"All of you - you two and Macmillan - were upset by the battle, the danger you were facing from the Fiendfyre and the loss of your comrades. That explains but doesn't fully excuse your attitudes. I should reprimand all three of you."

Harry tensed. He hadn't done anything wrong!

"But the Minister wants someone to take responsibility for the mess, and Macmillan was in charge. Nominally, at least," Bones went on with narrowed eyes. "And Malfoy and your godfather are both backing you." She snorted. "So he's out of luck."

Harry wanted to ask what would happen to Macmillan but held his tongue. It wasn't his fault that the other Auror hadn't listened and had tried to blame Harry for his mistakes. Not really. He had no reason to feel guilty.

Bones glared at both of them. "That doesn't mean I condone your attitude. If you act like this again, I'll make you regret it, no matter what Malfoy and Black do. Understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Harry and Ron answered.

"Dismissed."

*****

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 3rd, 1998

"So Bones wanted to punish you and Ron? Typical!" Hermione Granger huffed.

Harry, sitting on his bed, shrugged. "It was mostly due to our attitude."

"You were stressed and under great pressure," she retorted. "And saddled with an incompetent pureblood." She shook her head, noting that she needed to cut her hair again. "And doesn't this prove that Bones only cares for what the Wizengamot wants? Do you think if you and Ron were muggleborns she'd have reprimanded all three of you? Or do you think she'd have let Macmillan off because of his family?" That stupid hypocrite, talking about justice while defending corruption and nepotism! She felt angry just remembering their talk today.

Harry snorted.

"Exactly!" Hermione nodded sharply. "It's all about power and influence. Of course, if you and Ron were muggleborns, you wouldn't have become Aurors anyway."

"That's not true. After the losses we've suffered, they're taking anyone."

She clenched her teeth before answering. "Only because they lost so many - probably because inept purebloods got them killed."

"Well, not many can face the likes of Lestrange and Crouch," he said, sighing.

"All the more reason to let you and Ron handle them."

"Can't argue with that," he admitted, grinning.

"Well," she said, sighing, "perhaps this stupid affair will have something good come of it - all the inept purebloods who only reached their positions thanks to nepotism might think twice before trying to order you around after this."

"Well, we can hope."

He was looking at her with a strange expression as he said that. She frowned - why would he… Oh. She blinked, then smiled and sat down next to him.

"So, did Sirius tease you about us?" he asked with a smile.

She pouted. "No. He didn't say anything. He just kept smiling at me." The stupid dog.

"I talked to Ron. I told him about us."

"You did?" She narrowed her eyes slightly. What had he told Ron?

"I just told him that we're not in a serious relationship but still figuring things out."

"Ah." She nodded, mollified. "I told Jeanne the same." More or less.

"Ah. But not Sirius."

She scoffed. "He can ask Jeanne." And the dog probably had, anyway.

He sighed. "Or me. I wonder why he hasn't talked to me yet."

She rolled her eyes. "He probably thinks it's funnier to let us stew."

"Or he's afraid that we'll break up if he teases us too much."

Hermione laughed at that. The dog knew her better than that - as if she would break up with Harry over teasing!

Harry smiled a little lopsidedly. "It was just a thought." He hesitated, taking a deep breath and licking his lips. "So…"

She knew what he was about to ask. And she answered him with a kiss. Which turned into a series of kisses. And to their robes ending up on the floor, again.

*****

London, Ministry of Magic, December 4th, 1998

"Morning, Bathilda." Harry Potter nodded at the Auror as he and Ron entered the break room. "How are you doing?"

"I'm doing great!" She beamed at them.

Harry cocked his head, surprised, as he filled his teacup. Even for the former Hufflepuff, that was surprisingly cheerful.

"We've caught a gang of thieves!" she said as he sat at their usual table.

Harry blinked. They had caught the master thieves? No. That was not possible. That sort of news would have spread like Fiendfyre.

"Not the ones behind the Bulstrode and Davis robberies, of course," she went on. "But we arrested two thieves who had been robbing people at Quidditch matches." She smiled widely. "We caught them thanks to me canvassing the shops in Diagon Alley for stolen brooms! I compared the results with the other thefts that had been reported and found matches. The shop owner agreed to call us next time he saw the people selling brooms again, and John and I caught them in the middle of haggling."

"Great work," Ron said. "People who steal from Quidditch fans are the worst!"

"Did they resist arrest?" Harry asked.

Bathilda scoffed. "They tried. Didn't even get their wands half-way out before we stunned them."

"Good." Ron smiled.

"They weren't the kind of thieves breaking into manors," Bathilda said. "But still - two criminals caught is a good thing!"

"Yes." Harry took a sip from his cup.

"We're working on other cases, too." She lowered her voice a little. "We've got no leads on the master thieves, but we've found leads to other thieves."

Harry was about to ask for more details when Nott entered the break room.

"Hello, Bathilda. Good work with those thieves." He smiled at Bathilda.

"Thank you, Theo."

"Potter. Weasley." Nott took a seat and summoned a teacup.

"Nott." Harry didn't quite growl but came close.

Nott filled his cup, then glanced at Harry. "Macmillan got demoted this morning. Lost his senior position," the Auror said with his usual sneer.

"Oh." Bathilda pressed her lips together, and Harry caught her glancing at him and Ron.

"Git deserved it," Ron said. "Messed up the raid."

"Really?" Nott scoffed. "According to what I heard, he simply didn't have the kind of influence you two have. Both Black and Malfoy were pushing to blame Macmillan for the mess, no matter what actually happened." He leaned forward. "I guess it's not nepotism and corruption when it happens to benefit you, huh?"

Harry matched Nott's sneer. "Macmillan tried to blame us for his mistakes. It backfired."

"Thanks to your godfather's gold."

"No, because we could prove that we didn't disobey his orders," Harry shot back.

"Oh, yes - thanks to Black's Pensieve. Which he won't let the Corps use, just you two. Must be nice to have such privileges."

"Jealous, Nott?" Ron scoffed.

Nott scoffed as well. "Hardly. I, at least, don't rely on my family to bail me out of trouble."

"You wouldn't even be here if not for your family," Harry retorted.

"What?"

"Stop it!" Bathilda yelled. "All of you, stop it!" She looked angry. "I'm sick of you attacking each other and ruining our breaks!" The witch stood, her chair getting pushed back and almost toppling over. "Tell me when you can take a break without bickering like idiots!" After a glare at everyone at the table, she stormed out of the room.

Harry watched her go, then glared at Nott. "Good work."

Nott sneered at him. "Getting used to blaming others for your faults, huh?"

Harry bit down on his first response and stood. "Just keep telling yourself that," he spat and walked away.

"Bloody git," he heard Ron mutter as they left the break room.

*****

An hour later, Harry Potter still was mulling the scene over. Nott was a git, but… He sighed, put down the sheet at which he had been staring for five minutes without reading it and looked at Ron. "Do you think that Nott's accusation was fair?"

His friend looked up, frowning. "Nott's a git. Bloody snake."

"But you know what Bones said. She wanted to reprimand all of us, not just Macmillan," Harry said.

"So? She was wrong. Macmillan shouldn't have been in charge. If we had been in charge, we wouldn't have lost so many people, and Crouch wouldn't have escaped." Ron shook his head.

Harry sighed again. His friend was correct, but still… "It feels wrong to use Sirius's influence. That's how Macmillan and Nott and all the others corrupt the system."

"Didn't you become an Auror because as the Boy-Who-Lived, you'd have more influence than a normal rookie Auror and so wouldn't be easily stopped like others?"

"Yes, I did. But this feels…" Harry shrugged. "I feel like a hypocrite, denouncing Nott and his friends for using their families' influence while doing the same."

"Well, what's the alternative? Letting them drive us out? We can't change the system if we're sidelined or fired." Ron sighed. "It's not ideal, but what else can we do?"

"I know." His friend was right. But Harry didn't like it. "I wish there was another way."

"Not in this Ministry. Dad and Percy use Sirius's influence as well, you know. And others', of course. It's how things are - and why we're working to change it."

Harry nodded, even though it still felt wrong to him.

But he couldn't think of any alternative that would work.

*****

Argelès-sur-Mer, Pyrenées Orientales, France, December 7th, 1998

Hermione Granger sighed as she looked around the old mansion. "When you said you wanted to buy a house in France, I expected something a little closer to Britain. Not a mansion practically on the border to Spain."

Sirius acted surprised. "Why would I do that? Might as well stay in Britain then. The weather's much better here!"

"We're also much closer to the Barbary Coast," Hermione pointed out. Granted, raids hadn't happened since Dumbledore had had a word with the leaders of the various wizarding enclaves of the Barbary Coast in the 1950s, but there were still the occasional kidnappings.

"We're not on the coast, and the wards are strong," Sirius retorted.

"And if anyone is stupid enough to attack us, they'll regret it," Jeanne added.

Sometimes, Jeanne was too French. Hermione shook her head. It wasn't her gold. And, if she was honest, it looked like a great place to spend a holiday. With Harry. They could enjoy the pool, travel the countryside, see the sights… They wouldn't have to worry about Aurors, manors or Death Eaters either. Just the two of them, together, enjoying...

"You like it too!" Sirius was positively gloating.

She gave him a flat stare. "I'm trying to look at the bright side of this."

"It's a great holiday home, isn't it?"

She gritted her teeth, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of hearing her admit that he was right. He still hadn't said anything about her relationship with Harry. Not to her, at least. She turned to Jeanne. "How long will you need to calibrate the mirror?"

"A day, I think. Although we'll need to furnish the house first," her friend replied. "The background has to match."

That would take a week, at least, Hermione thought. Well, there were still a few more preparations to do in London, anyway. "We'll need to adapt the wards, too. Probably install a secret room as well. And an escape tunnel." Just in case.

"There's already an escape tunnel," Jeanne said. "The mansion was built at a time when Barbary Coast raiders were a bigger threat, and you couldn't trust your wards to hold them off until help arrived."

"And we'll need to install a playroom," Sirius said, grinning. "To keep up appearances. Although I assume it'll also be put to good use."

It was clear what he meant - his grin grew even wider - but if she reacted to that, he'd claim he'd meant Jeanne and himself. Hermione sighed. "Harry and Ron will weigh in on the security as well." Harry would probably try to get some guard animals again, no matter how impractical they'd be.

She narrowed her eyes. That reminded her of something. She nodded at Sirius and Jeanne. "I'll be back in a bit. I need to check out the garden."

She changed and headed out on soft paws. When she had inspected the garden, she had seen signs of another cat using it.

And that had to be remedied at once - this was her territory now!

*****

Starfox5 · Jul 14, 2018

Chapter 51: Ripples

London, Diagon Alley, December 7th, 1998

"Good day, Madam Greengrass, and thank you for your patronage." Liam Cavell's smile was as wide as it was fake as he bowed to the witch.

The witch nodded in return with, Liam was certain, an equally false smile before she left his shop - Cavell's Coveted Purses. A name the shop hadn't really deserved until recently. And a shop Madam Greengrass - the wife of the Head of the Greengrass Family - and her peers would never have previously considered visiting.

But thanks to the increased fear of thieves skilled enough to burgle even Old Families' manors, Liam's talent for spells that foiled pickpockets was finally deemed more important than his muggle ancestry among Wizarding Britain's ruling class.

And where the Old Families shopped, their distant relatives followed. Liam's fake smile changed into a satisfied, honest one. Business was good. It hadn't been bad before - he had managed to make a decent living - but the difference was striking.

He put the gold into the till and locked it, adding a protection spell - you never knew, after all. Then he stepped outside for a smoke.

He had barely taken a single drag when the door of the shop next to him opened.

"Hello, Liam," his neighbour greeted him.

"Hello, Ewan." Liam's smile was not quite as wide as the one he reserved for the likes of Mrs Greengrass, but not any more honest. He didn't really like Davis.

Davis briefly frowned, looking at Liam's cigarette. Liam took another drag, almost as a challenge. Davis had been one of the - presumably well-meaning - people who had told him that taking a smoke break outside your flat or shop was 'for muggles'. In Wizarding Britain there were easy charms to deal with the smoke and smell.

But Liam liked stepping out for fresh air and a smoke, no matter what the purebloods thought. He blew a smoke ring. "How's it going, Ewan? Did Davis recompense you for the items lost in the family vault?"

"Not yet, but he's promised me." Davis's smile slipped a little. "He's a wizard of his word."

"Ah. So your claims have been settled?" It was an open secret that the Head of the Davis Family, for all his assurances about fulfilling his obligations towards the wizards and witches who had trusted him with their valuables, wasn't quite as trusting when it came to the amount of gold and goods people claimed had been stolen.

Davis's smile turned into a thin-lipped scowl. "Not yet."

Liam nodded. Apparently, Davis's claims had encountered that difficulty as well. "Have you heard the latest?"

Davis frowned. "No?"

"According to the Prophet, the Ministry's hiring foreign mercenaries as auxiliaries for the Hit-Wizards."

"Auxiliaries?" Ewan's frown deepened. "What for?"

"Looks like the Death Eaters killed so many, they have trouble making up the losses." Liam shrugged. "I think they should simply focus everything on the Death Eaters and forget about the Manor Thieves for a while. They haven't killed anyone, after all."

Davis scoffed. "Of course you'd think that!"

Liam knew what Davis meant: as a muggleborn, Liam would consider arresting - or killing - the Death Eaters the Ministry's priority. He wasn't wrong, of course. "Indeed I do. Do you disagree?"

"We can't afford to underestimate the thieves! If they can break into manors, then no one is safe from them!"

Liam took another drag from his cigarette and scoffed. "If they were interested in robbing people like us, they'd have done so already. Stealing from us would be much easier than robbing an Old Family's manor." And wouldn't draw as much attention, either. "They haven't, though."

"And what will they do when they're done with the manors?" Davis asked.

"Then they'll be so rich they'll have no need to rob the poor." Liam grinned.

"And with the Old Families ruined, the Ministry will collapse!" Davis shook his head. "They have to be stopped!"

"Why would the Ministry collapse? Are they so dependent on bribes from the Old Families?" He shouldn't be goading Davis like that, but he couldn't help it. He had spent half a year and quite some gold to get all the permits for his shop while others, purebloods, had had everything handled by a visit from their Head of Family.

Davis glared at him. "Not the bribes, the taxes! How can the country function without gold? If the Old Families are ruined, the Ministry's income will vanish!"

"We'd still be paying our taxes, wouldn't we?" Liam cocked his head and flipped the stub through the air. He tried to vanish it with a flick of his wand, but missed and had to cast another Vanishing Spell once it was on the ground. "And so would every other business."

"It wouldn't be enough!" Davis said.

"Do you know how much tax the Old Families actually pay?" Liam asked.

"No, of course not. That's their business."

"Neither do I," Liam smirked. "But I have a feeling that it's not as much as you think it is."

"How would you know?" Davis sneered.

Liam shrugged. "The Old Families control the Wizengamot - which passes the laws. Do you think they'll tax themselves more than they tax us?"

Davis blinked, then scoffed. "You don't know anything."

"What I know is that I haven't read anything about taxes in the Daily Prophet for years." Which was telling, in his opinion. "Anyway, as long as the thieves go after manors and don't kill anyone, I'm not worried." Quite the contrary, actually - and not just because his business owed the thieves quite a lot.

After seven years at Hogwarts and ten years as a purse-maker, Liam really liked seeing the Old Families taken down a notch or two.

"You should be! Mark my words: Once they finish with the Old Families, they'll come for us!" Davis said, then nodded sharply and disappeared into his shop.

Liam shook his head, sighed and entered his own. There was a reason he didn't really like Davis. The man was, literally, too close to the Old Families to realise how bad the Old Families were for Britain.

And how many of Liam's friends were looking forward to hearing about the next manor looted to its bedrock.

*****

Argelès-sur-Mer, Pyrenées Orientales, France, December 11th, 1998

"So, Harry, what do you think?" Sirius asked, smiling widely.

Harry Potter eyed the new holiday home, as his godfather had called the mansion he had bought in Southern France, with mixed feelings. It was a nice building - gorgeous, probably, if you cared about architecture. And the location was perfect for a holiday home. Even in December, it was pleasantly warm, and the pool could be heated easily anyway.

But its wards weren't up to snuff, and the building didn't look very defensible. The wall was not high enough to provide decent cover, and there were too many bushes and trees in the garden for clear lines of fire. And the windows were so big, they presented obvious weak spots even with several charms on them.

He glanced at Sirius, who was almost pacing, obviously expecting a rousing endorsement.

Harry wanted to sigh. "It looks great. I'm sure Ron will agree." His friend had gone to Hogwarts to see Luna, instead of coming to France with them - even though it wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend. "But the wards need to be strengthened," he said. "They cover the garden, but they don't seem to be strong enough."

Sirius frowned. "I didn't know you were a Curse-Breaker."

"I'm not," Harry admitted, "but I can estimate a ward's strength." Most Aurors could - or should.

"Ah!" Sirius nodded. "Well, we'll have some Curse-Breakers work on them, don't worry."

"Who?" Harry asked.

"I don't know yet." Sirius shrugged. "I'll hire the best!"

"I want to investigate them first," Harry said, "to find out if they can be trusted."

"Ah. Alright. Though we might use French ones," Sirius said.

Harry frowned. French Curse-Breakers would be less likely to harbour a grudge against Sirius or be compromised by the likes of Malfoy, but they would be harder to investigate.

"Jeanne grew up in France, you know," Sirius said, grinning. "She knows people here."

Harry coughed, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"So don't go and slip Veritaserum into their tea - or coffee, alright?" Sirius chuckled.

Harry shook his head, snorting once. "Don't let Hermione hear that."

Sirius blinked, then rubbed his nose. "Oh, yes, I forgot."

"Speaking of," Harry said, "you haven't asked me about her - us."

"I respect your privacy!" Sirius protested.

Harry narrowed his eyes at him.

"She'll get mad if I meddle in your relationship?" Sirius cocked his head sideways.

Harry frowned. "Are you asking me or telling me?"

"I'm joking, actually." Sirius sighed. "Honestly, you two took so long to get together, I didn't want to ruin it by meddling. Or teasing." With a wide grin, he added: "And seeing you two waiting for me to ask and tease was too entertaining."

Harry snorted, once, then sighed. "We're not together yet. At least not in a serious relationship, as Hermione calls it."

Sirius waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "She's just fooling herself. Sooner or later, she'll admit that you're a couple - a serious couple!"

Harry nodded. "I' hope you're right." He shook his head. "The breakup with Paul must have really hurt her if she still thinks she's not ready for a relationship."

"I wouldn't know about that." Sirius shrugged. "It doesn't matter what you call it, as long as you're together, right?"

Harry huffed. It shouldn't matter - but it did. Hermione wasn't the kind of witch to do things by halves. As long as she was afraid of commitment, things weren't really fine.

"But let's talk about the house! It's why you're here, after all. Have you seen the swimming pool?" Sirius smiled. "It's just like in the muggle magazines!"

Harry forced himself to smile as he followed his godfather to the other side of the garden. He knew what magazines Sirius was reading - and there was no bike at the pool.

Still, it would be nice to spend a holiday here. Especially in summer.

*****

The garden could do with a little pruning, Harry Potter thought as he walked through the front part. Too many bushes and trees. A nice environment for snakes - but any snake living in the garden would be in hibernation until March or April.

There were magical snakes, of course, which didn't hibernate, but Harry was rather sure that Hermione wouldn't let him use them as guard animals. Not as long as she had her fat cat.

Speak of the devil… Harry frowned at Crookshanks as the cat crossed his path. Crookshanks stopped for a moment and turned his head to stare at him with half-lidded eyes before disappearing into the next bush.

Harry shook his head. Some guard animal that cat was! He continued towards the front wall of the garden. Halfway there, he stopped. Were those tufts of hair? He knelt down and cast a few quick charms. No, it was fur. Brown and grey fur. Cat fur, probably.

He looked around. Scratch marks on the closest tree. And there was a paw print in a muddy patch under a bush. He nodded. Cats. Not Crookshanks, though.

"Harry?"

That was Hermione. He stood and spotted her a dozen yards away. "I'm here."

"Ah. Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes." She joined him. "What are you doing?"

"Investigating a crime scene," he said, smirking.

"What?" She looked both confused and alarmed.

Grinning, he nodded. "Yes. On this spot, a violent fight was fought. Between cats."

"Oh." She looked around. "Are you certain?"

"Yes. A grey cat with short fur, and a brown one with longer fur." He held up the tufts he had gathered. "Crookshanks will have to fight if he wants to claim the garden as his territory."

She sniffed. "Any French cats better stay out of our garden if they know what's good for them."

"Do you think he'll fare well against a feral cat?" Crookshanks might have spotted Lestrange, but that didn't mean he was a good fighter, in Harry's opinion. He had the size, but he was too pampered.

"May I see the fur?" Hermione asked, holding her hand out.

"Ah… sure," Harry replied, dropping the fur into her palm.

She peered at it. "Looks like a house cat. No threat to Crookshanks."

"Both of them?"

"He hasn't anything to fear from them." She smirked. "Trust me."

Harry nodded. Hermione was the cat owner and expert.

At least she wasn't talking about adopting the strays here.

*****

"Ah, there you are! We were wondering if you had gotten lost!" Jeanne exclaimed when Hermione Granger and Harry entered the dining room - one of the already furnished rooms of the house.

"He was in the garden," Hermione replied as she took her seat.

"And it took you fifteen minutes to find him?" Jeanne's smile appeared rather sly.

Hermione didn't blush. She sniffed and said primly: "We were exploring the gardens." For about a minute. And they were on time for dinner!

"Yes," Harry tried to support her. "I found traces of a cat fight." He tried, at least.

The dog chuckled at that, as expected, and ignored both her glare and Harry's puzzled look. Typical.

"It's not funny," she said.

"Well..." Harry shrugged. "Crookshanks will probably scare them off. According to Hermione, they're no threat to him."

Of course, they weren't! She had driven that intruder off with a lesson the pampered house cat wouldn't forget for a while.

"Ah, well, she would know." The dog's grin showed all his teeth. "She's the resident expert on cats, after all."

And on stupid dogs who couldn't behave! Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, but he simply smirked in response.

"As long as no one got hurt," Jeanne said with a shrug - and a not quite discreet glance at Hermione. As if she'd be hurt by another cat!

She changed the subject. "So, did you finish the bedrooms?"

The stupid dog's grin grew even wider as Jeanne answered: "More or less. They still need more work, but they're now ready to be used. The living room is passable, but the fireplace is not yet connected to the Floo Network."

Sirius pouted. "I wanted to skip that and keep the house a secret," Sirius said, pouting, "but apparently, the French Ministry was already informed by the former owner."

"They don't want to pay the taxes on the property any more," Jeanne explained. "And it would defeat part of the reason we bought it if we cannot invite any friends." With a frown, she added: "And if there's an attack by raiders from the Barbary Coast, we'll be very glad that we can call the Gendarmes."

"As long as they're any good." Harry frowned.

"You can't compare the Gendarmes with the Aurors," Jeanne said. "The Gendarmes are trained to fight a war. They've proven their mettle against Grindelwald's Storm Wizards." She sneered. "A few Barbary Coast slavers won't stand a chance."

Harry smiled. "Good."

Hermione didn't share his opinion. The Aurors weren't trained as soldiers - but they were meant to arrest criminals, not fight a war. That was what Hit-Wizards were for. In theory. "How often do Gendarmes kill suspects instead of arresting them?" Like thieves.

Jeanne shrugged, then frowned. "I don't know."

"I hope they don't treat common criminals as enemies," Hermione said. "That would be excessive." And bloody.

"Unless they're Death Eaters," Harry said. "Can't treat them as normal criminals. They're far too dangerous."

"That's part of the reason for the Ministry treating Voldemort's first campaign as a war." Sirius scoffed. "They had fewer rules to follow that way. Granted, it was a war, but still..." Hermione saw him clenching his teeth. He might have received a trial if not for those 'war measures'.

"Well, it's not as if it is a big concern for us," Harry said. "I doubt that anyone will mistake us for criminals."

Hermione bit her lower lip for a second before replying. "But the Ministry is hiring foreign mercenaries. And Malfoy's pushing to treat the manor thieves like Death Eaters." They really needed a better name, too. Perhaps 'Phantom Thieves'. Or 'Midnight Phantoms'. Or 'Cat Burglars'. Or 'The Avengers'.

"Well, the thieves are dangerous," Harry said, "but they haven't killed anyone."

"Nor have they seriously hurt anyone," she added.

"That, too," he admitted. "And we're focusing on Crouch, not the thieves."

"Unless you mistake one for the other." Hermione could see such a thing happening easily.

Harry scowled. "Well, if they disguise themselves as Death Eaters, they can't complain if they get treated as Death Eaters."

She didn't quite scowl at that. He was correct, in theory, but she had been mistaken for Lestrange in that diversionary attack on Longbottom Manor, and she hadn't been disguised as a Death Eater then! "As long as the Aurors don't start to curse on sight…" She shrugged. "I've been framed as a thief myself, after all."

"And I've been mistaken for a Death Eater," Sirius said.

Harry looked slightly uncomfortable at hearing that, and Hermione felt more than a little guilty for pushing him like that. But there was a reason bobbies didn't carry guns.

*****

"You're serious?" Half an hour after Harry had returned to England, the stupid dog was staring at Hermione Granger as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

She pressed her lips together and huffed. "What's wrong with the names?" They were fine!

"They're stupid," he said.

"They're not." She looked at Jeanne, but her friend was shaking her head and apparently trying not to laugh either.

"Have you spoken about this with Mr Fletcher?" Jeanne asked.

"No." The subject of fitting noms de guerre had never come up. An oversight, in her opinion. It wasn't as if this were bragging, was it?

"Well, ask him. He's the expert," Jeanne said.

"But we'll retain the right to veto any stupid name," the dog cut in. "Like 'Cat Burglars'."

She rolled her eyes and tried to ignore him. "Let's work on the mirror now," she told Jeanne instead. They had to record Hermione and Sirius in various robes and in several rooms here - it had to look perfect to fool Harry, after all.

*****

Paris, Quartier Magique, France, December 12th, 1998

"Yes, I am from the New World," Hermione Granger said, smiling politely at the seamstress taking her measurements. "Québec," she added as the enchanted measuring tape wound itself around her body.

"Oh." The young French witch stopped making notes for a moment to stare at her, then looked away. "I'm sorry."

"Pas de problème." Hermione nodded. She felt a little guilty at using this cover - the recent war between Magical Québec and the Free Republic of Maine and Vermont had devastated both enclaves and resulted in hundreds of wizards and witches being killed - but it assured that no one would be expecting 'Marie Levesque' to go into detail about her tragic past.

"Will you be wearing these robes for your introduction to the Court?" the seamstress asked after a minute spent scribbling and avoiding Hermione's eyes.

Hermione shook her head, her currently black and straight hair brushing over her shoulders. "Oh, no! It's for the ball season in Britain. I have friends and distant relatives there." Which implied that she had no such ties - or no closer ones - to Magical France. "But I wanted to visit Paris first," she added with a slightly sad undertone.

"Ah." The French witch nodded in obvious sympathy. "It's easy to travel to France from Britain," she said.

"Yes," Hermione agreed as the measuring tape flew back to the other witch.

"You'll outshine everyone at the ball with your new robes! The finest silk - real silk."

Hermione agreed, even though she knew it wasn't true - and anyway, she couldn't afford too much attention at the ball.

Though wearing expensive French robes would make it easier to get an invitation to the Greengrass Yule Ball.

*****

London, Greenwich, December 12th, 1998

"'Phantom Thieves'. 'Midnight Phantoms'. 'Cat Burglars'. 'The Avengers'..." Mr Fletcher shook his head as he dropped the note on the table in his living room. "What's the third rule I taught you?"

Hermione Granger didn't wince at his tone. "'Keep mum about your profession'."

"And?"

She bit her lower lip, then replied: "'Don't brag'. But this isn't bragging. It's psychological warfare!"

"It's stupid is what it is!" he spat. "'Cat Burglars'?'The Avengers'? Might as well tell your boyfriend who's behind the robberies!"

That still left 'Phantom Thieves' and 'Midnight Phantoms'. But Hermione didn't think that saying so would be well received. Her tutor sounded angry. She sighed. "'Manor Thieves' just sounds so…" She shrugged.

"Banal? Boring?" He tilted his head.

"Yes," she spat. He didn't have to sound so sarcastic.

"That's a good thing." He shook his head again. "We're thieves, not revolutionaries."

"There's a certain overlap," she retorted.

"Yes - Black is set on changing the country, through reform or revolution. And so are you. But," he said, flashing his teeth, "having the group which is busy ruining most of Black's political opponents be seen as being politically, not merely financially, motivated will do your cause more harm than good."

"I know." She sighed. "I just dislike letting the Prophet name me."

He shrugged. "They've been slandering you for years. And once Skeeter's out of Azkaban, they'll continue."

They'd be done by then, or at least Sirius and Jeanne would. And she might do something about the odious muckraker before that. But Hermione nodded. "Sending a note to the Prophet would help them sell issues anyway." She changed the subject. "Did you manage to secure an invitation?"

"I have one lined up - provided you can catch the attention of my dear relative Michael Smith. His date for the ball has dumped him after a flower shop accidentally mixed up two orders, inadvertently revealing his affair with Amanda Parkinson."

"You've been busy," she said.

He shrugged, but she noted his sly grin. "They had no wards to speak of. Michael should have chosen a more respectable business, but he was too cheap and too bigoted."

If only he'd see that this proved that the loss of his foot hadn't ended his career as a professional thief! But Hermione knew better than to bring that up. "I shouldn't have trouble catching his attention, then." Smith would jump at the chance to save face after this embarrassment by showing up with a rich, young emigrée from Québec via Paris. One who wouldn't be aware of his past.

"Just be careful. The bloke's an idiot, but he's shown a fascination with the Dark Arts."

"I'll have to prepare some war stories then."

"Be careful."

"Of course." But it would take more than some spoiled pureblood prat to cause trouble for her. She pulled a case out of her enchanted pocket, unshrank it and slid it over to him. "We've bought new brooms, too, for the diversion. This is yours."

He opened the case and stiffened. "A Firebolt?"

She nodded. "We'll need them, in case Harry and Ron come after us. Sirius bought them in Bavaria." Disguised, of course. Sturmwinds would have been cheaper and more manoeuvrable, but they were slightly slower than Firebolts - and to escape Aurors, speed was more important. "Sirius said that you can give it back after the diversion if you want to," she added before he could say anything.

He glared at her, then scoffed and muttered something she didn't catch but which sounded uncomplimentary about Sirius. He did shrink the broom and stuff it into his pocket, though. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair. "So, you decided to start a relationship with Potter."

It wasn't a serious relationship, but Mr Fletcher wouldn't care about the difference, so she didn't correct him. "It was more a spontaneous event."

He snorted at that. "You're not going to tell him, though." It wasn't a question. 'Never tell anyone who is not directly involved about your heists' was part of the second rule he had taught her, after all.

She nodded. Even though she wanted to tell Harry. But both Mr Fletcher and Sirius agreed on this. And she couldn't reveal her friends' secrets. That was the fourth rule he had taught her: never rat out your accomplices.

"Does that mean that you plan to retire after you've achieved your revenge?"

"I haven't made any plans so far," she said. Or, more precisely, she hadn't been able to make any promising plans. She didn't want to abandon her career, and she didn't want to lose Harry.

But she couldn't think of a good way to achieve both. Not yet, at least.

*****

London, Diagon Alley, December 12th, 1998

Hermione Granger resisted the urge to check her appearance one more time before opening the door of the Leaky Cauldron. She knew that nothing was amiss - she had checked and double-checked in Mr Fletcher's flat, and checking again would threaten her cover. 'Marie Levesque' wouldn't bother with that before entering such a low-class pub.

She raised her chin slightly, then entered. A subtle glance confirmed that Michael Smith, heir of Eleonora Smith, was sitting at a table in the corner with a handful of friends, just as Mr Fletcher had said he'd be. All of them were dressed in robes that were too expensive for the pub - just like her.

She headed straight towards the bar, acting as if she hadn't noticed Smith and his friends. "Ah, Monsieur…" she trailed off as the bartender turned towards her.

"Tom."

"Mr Tom." She nodded twice. "I was, ah, wondering…"

"Just Tom," he interrupted her, flashing a smile that was probably meant to be friendly.

She let her own smile slip a little as if she were intimidated by him. "Tom then. I was wondering if a relative of mine, Sandra Levis, 'ad rented a room here. We were supposed to meet 'ere, but I arrived early."

As expected, Tom told her that her 'relative' hadn't arrived yet. 'Sandra' wouldn't arrive until the next day, when Hermione would use Polyjuice Potion and explain the misunderstanding about the date of their meeting to Tom. Just in case.

She sighed, though, making every effort to look miserable but composed - as a good pureblood witch should when faced with adversity. She brushed her - currently long, straight and black - hair back with one hand and looked around, frowning slightly when her gaze wandered over the shady-looking wizards in the corner, widening when she spotted a hag talking to a witch, until she looked at Smith himself. As soon as she made eye contact, she took a breath, just deep enough to be noticeable - if one was looking at her chest - and looked away, as if embarrassed to be caught staring.

She saw in the mirror behind Tom that Smith was already raising from his seat, straightening his robes, as soon as she turned towards the bartender. As expected.

Half a minute later, he reached the bar, leaning against to her right while facing her. "Hello, Miss."

She smiled politely with a hint of surprise. "Ah, hello." Behind him, Tom was frowning, but she acted as if she hadn't noticed.

He nodded, almost deep enough to pass as a bow. "Michael Smith, at your service. I couldn't help but notice that you seemed to be slightly distressed, Miss…?"

"Ah, I'm Marie Levesque," Hermione said, smiling shyly. "I was supposed to meet with a relative of mine 'ere, but she 'asn't arrived yet."

"Ah." He looked at her robes - not ballroom quality, but clearly expensive, and more daringly cut than most British robes. With her accent, his conclusion was expected. "You're French."

"Québecois, actually," she corrected him, then bit her lower lip. "Émigrée. The war…" She trailed off and took a deep breath.

His eyes seemed glued to her décolleté. Belatedly, he looked into her eyes and said: "I'm sorry. To hear that."

She nodded slowly. "Thank you. I'm moving to Britain since I 'ave family left 'ere. My only family, after those 'alf-breeds assaulted my country. The Levis originally lived in France, but moved to Britain." Some three hundred years ago, after the edict of Nantes was revoked. Long enough to be established as purebloods and split into several distant cadet branches, far from long enough to be considered an Old Family. Perfect for her to pass as a very distant relative.

"Ah. And she hasn't arrived yet?"

Hermione nodded. "She said that she might be late by a day - she's working as a Curse-Breaker in Egypt, you know - but I 'oped…" She sighed again. "This restaurant was very easy to find, but I wish she 'ad chosen something a little more…" She faked a tiny gasp as if she had just realised that she might have insulted a regular patron of the pub.

Smith, though, laughed. "It's a popular pub, but far from the best Britain can offer to a lady of discerning taste. My friends and I only visit out of tradition - it serves as a rite of passage for students, you know."

It didn't, but 'Marie Levesque' wouldn't know that. "Ah, I understand." She smiled widely at him. "I don't know anything about Britain, you know, but I'm certain that I'll learn quickly."

His own smile grew wider - and, in her opinion, slightly lecherous. "I can help you with that if you want to."

She forced herself to smile. Two weeks until Greengrass's Yule Ball. Long enough to get an invitation, short enough to stall Smith's amorous intentions without driving him away. Perfect.

She gracefully inclined her head. "I would be very grateful, Mr Smith."

*****

London, Ministry of Magic, December 12th, 1998

Sometimes, Harry Potter was tempted to abuse his fame. For personal reasons, that is - he knew very well, and had been counting on it, actually, that his fame and Sirius's influence were the main reasons his and Ron's careers were going so well, despite all the rot in the Ministry. But even though he knew that joining the other scions of Old Families in abusing their position and power would run counter to all his goals, he couldn't help wishing that he didn't have to work this Saturday.

Sighing, he put his quill down and leaned back in his chair. Technically, he and Ron didn't actually have shifts any more but could work whenever they wanted on the Death Eater investigation. But that same status also meant, apparently, that Bones could call them to work as 'senior Aurors' on weekend shifts. Which she had done this weekend.

Harry was sure that this was an unofficial punishment for the lodge raid. But since it also affirmed his and Ron's status, he couldn't complain about it or he'd look arrogant and petty - and lazy.

He sighed again. Life wasn't fair. Hermione was in France, enjoying the sights. And the warm weather. She might even use the pool - to test the Warming Charms. And Sirius and Jeanne were touring the country, meeting with Jeanne's family. Her mother's family.

"You'll see her tomorrow," Ron said. He was smirking, as Harry noted when he looked at his friend. "You'll survive a day without her."

"Says the wizard who snuck into Hogwarts to see his girlfriend," Harry shot back.

"Whom I only see twice a month," Ron said.

"Officially." Harry snorted.

Ron grinned. "Seriously, you'll live. Absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"Where did you hear that?"

"Luna told me, at the start of the school year."

That sounded like Luna. Always looking at the bright side. Harry shook his head. "Let's take a break."

"Already?"

"It's Saturday. We don't have any leads on Crouch. There's no emergency to deal with."

"Right." Ron grinned and stood. "Let's take a break."

On the way to the break room, Harry noticed that a few more desks were occupied than he had expected. "What's Davis doing here?" he asked as he entered the break room. "He's not on the roster." And the wizard wasn't known for doing overtime.

Ron shrugged. "Probably trying to get into Bones's good graces since Eric Davis's influence vanished together with his fortune." He grabbed the teapot and filled two cups. "If he wants to get a new patron, he'll need to improve his position first. No one will waste their favours on a middling Auror like him. Not when they have members of their own families to sponsor."

Harry hadn't heard that Davis had been ruined. Suspected, yes, but not confirmed. "I thought Davis hadn't revealed the state of his finances."

Ron shook his head. "He hasn't, but Percy told me that it's a done deal just by the number of claims against him that Davis wants the Ministry to check for veracity." He scoffed. "Of course, Davis will still have more gold than my family, but he won't be able to live like his former friends."

Harry frowned. "I wonder how many families will try to empty their vaults of their relatives' gold now." That would force many people to use the goblins' services again.

"They can't. That would mean they had to admit that they don't trust their vaults."

"And with Gringotts still up in arms, there aren't many alternatives," Harry said. Muggle banking was not possible for purebloods without the right paper trail for all their valuables.

"Luna said Niffler poaching was rising. The Quibbler will publish an article about the conspiracy behind it." Ron nodded. "Someone might be preparing to look for buried gold."

"I bet Dawlish will think that's the thieves' master plan," Harry commented.

"Don't be too hard on the bloke," Ron said. "Bathilda said he's not that bad."

Harry scoffed. "He suspected Hermione of attacking me with a dark curse."

"Not his finest hour," Ron replied. "But he's hunting thieves who escaped from us." He frowned. "They were prepared for us - they didn't try to fight us, just delayed us with too many possible traps. We couldn't rush them until we had dealt with the obstacles."

At which point the witch of the group had already rejoined them, and the thieves had disappeared into the vault. "Not our finest hour," Harry said. Certainly not his. "But next time, that witch won't escape me. I've got her number now." Harry pressed his lips together.

"It's not our case," Ron replied. "And don't let Hermione hear about your plans to chase another witch. One in skin-tight leather," he added with a grin.

Harry rolled his eyes. As if he were interested in some thief that way!

*****

London, Diagon Alley, December 13th, 1998

Disillusioned and leaning against a tall chimney, Hermione Granger studied the house next to her. It had strong wards - which was to be expected; the house's owner made a living by installing and maintaining wards. Far stronger than the ones on his neighbours'. But they weren't as powerful as the wards on Old Families' manors, of course - Martin Greengrass, a distant relative of the Head of the Greengrass Family, had only been in business for a few decades, and, for all his skill, wards needed far more time to grow as powerful as those on most manors, and he was limited to legal spells as well.

Which meant a good Curse-Breaker, such as herself, would be able to crack them in a single night. A night she was supposedly spending in France with Jeanne and a few of her friends, as far as Harry knew.

She sighed. It felt wrong to deceive him like this, but it couldn't be helped. Given how things currently were, she could no longer sneak out of the house at night for a quick heist; Harry would notice if she weren't in his arms any more. And to slip him something to make him sleep through the night was out of the question; she wouldn't betray him like that.

Hermione bit her lower lip and shook her head. She couldn't dwell on her relationship - which wasn't serious at the moment - in the middle of a heist. She had to focus on cracking these wards.

She tapped her mask. "I'm ready to move to the target. Status?"

"Auror patrol just passed through the back alley. Go." Mr Fletcher answered.

She rose, quickly glanced around to check that the coast was clear, then slid to the edge of the roof. A quick Sticking Charm later, she was hanging upside down in front of the window on the second floor. She had cracked the weak wards protecting this house earlier; now all that was left was breaking in through the window. There were basic alarm charms on the pane and frame - pathetic, really. A flick of her wand and they were disarmed.

She could have simply opened the window with a spell now, but that would leave traces she'd rather avoid, no matter how minuscule the chance that anyone would notice them. Less than half a minute with her lockpicks achieved the same result anyway.

She pushed the window open - slowly, in case it creaked; which it didn't - then gripped the edge of the roof with one hand, undid the Sticking Charm, and let herself tip over and swing through the window in one smooth movement.

She landed lightly on her feet inside the room - a reading room, as expected. The building's tenants weren't at home according to Mr Fletcher, but she quickly checked their bedroom anyway before returning to the reading room.

The wall facing Greengrass's building was covered with shelves. Hermione approved, of course, and carefully moved the one in the middle aside with a Levitation Charm. A few Cutting Charms a variant of a Cleaning Charm let her roll up a strip of the wallpaper behind it, revealing the bricks forming the wall.

She tapped her mask again. "I'm starting to break through the wall."

"Alright."

A swish of her wand hit the wall with a Silencing Charm. Then she took a deep breath and licked her lips - this was the most critical part of the heist. The two buildings shared a wall, or rather, both walls were next to each other with no space between them. In theory, she should be able to make a hole in the wall on her side without triggering Greengrass's wards. It was illegal to cast spells on your neighbour's building, after all. But the Curse-Breaker could have done so anyway, claiming a simple mistake if anyone noticed.

She would have done it in his place. But she was a thief - Greengrass was a law-abiding ward specialist; he wouldn't risk damaging his reputation with such an excuse. Probably.

She bit her lower lip and started to break through the wall with an animated and silenced chisel, vanishing the rocks and dust the tool produced with a few charms - it wouldn't do to get dust on her suit or on the books.

She did the last half-inch of brick manually to avoid any chance of triggering the wards of the target building. It took her half an hour, but she managed to create a hole in the wall about a foot in diameter. Just large enough to be able to observe the wards covering the wall on the other side. Greengrass's wall.

She lowered herself down on to her belly and started to analyse the wards. Greengrass was good. The ward scheme was clean, efficient, even elegant. But it wasn't perfect, and it was a few decades old. Old enough for the scheme to have been become outdated, not old enough to compensate for that through sheer power. It took her an hour to find the weak spot where the various alarm charms overlapped too much, cancelling each other out. Two more hours to adapt the animal-repelling ward to exclude cats. And twenty minutes to break through the wall with her animated chisel.

In other words, pretty much on schedule.

A few Vanishing Spells dealt with the dust and gravel - it would be horrible if those got on her fur - then she changed and slipped through the hole.

On the other side was a guest room. Empty. She looked around, sniffed - no smell of any pets, not even a cat which any good household should have - then changed again. No, it wasn't a guest room. It was a teenager's room, but not in use anymore. Decades-old Quidditch Posters - Puddlemere United - covered the walls, though she could see a few blank spots. Greengrass's child probably took those posters with them when they moved out.

The books left on the shelves were all children's books, too. She scoffed - you didn't leave any books behind when you moved - then headed to the door. She wasn't here to judge the man's family.

She needed his ward schemes. And they would be in Greengrass's office or workroom. She opened the door slowly, then peered out. The hallway was dark and empty but for a few potted plants. She wished that Mr Fletcher or herself had been able to case the building, but Greengrass didn't invite prospective customers into his workroom. Especially not when he was already very busy.

So she had to sneak around until she found where he kept his notes. She quickly listened outside each door on this floor - snoring from the room facing the back alley. That would be the bedroom, then. The other rooms were silent - another children's room and the bathroom. She changed and padded down the stairs to the first floor, checking for witnesses before changing back.

The first door she tried was his library - a well-stocked one. She licked her lips when she saw the selection on Curse-Breaking. There were a number of works her own library was lacking. Classics. It wouldn't take long to...

She shook her head. The ward schemes took priority. She would have to return here afterwards. She would return.

But if there were books on Curse-Breaking in the library, then the man's workroom or office shouldn't be far. There were two more rooms, back and front. One turned out to be the living room, the other a large kitchen.

Which meant Greengrass's workroom would be on the ground floor. She changed once more and sneaked down. As with many in his business, Greengrass had the windows on the ground floor spelled so passers-by couldn't look in. She still checked, just to be sure. Assuming instead of verifying was what got thieves caught.

The ground floor was split in two. One half was the lounge - Greengrass would receive his clients there. And he wouldn't keep anything of importance there. But the back room…

Hermione smiled as she spotted a large desk and a painting she just knew was hiding a safe. A quick flick sprinkled a pinch of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder over it - it was a landscape, but it wouldn't do for some nosy portrait to visit. She levitated the picture away and there was indeed a safe. It could be a decoy, of course, but she didn't think so. Greengrass would trust his own work.

She checked the desk's drawers first, though. The spells securing them weren't as strong or complicated as the ones on the safe, and it only took her a few minutes to open and sift through all the drawers. No schemes, just a book with notes and sketches. She copied it anyway - it never hurt a thief to know what the opposition was planning.

The safe was a harder nut to crack - especially to crack it in a way that wouldn't leave any traces. Harder, but still not as hard as the building's wards. And she had a feel for the man's style now. An hour later, she had dealt with the spells protecting it. Cracking the safe muggle-style would take too long - or be impossible to hide, so she used a few charms Mr Fletcher had taught her years ago, and gently pulled the door open.

There they were! Inside the extended safe, she could see dozens of scrolls - ward schemes - and boxes. Hermione smiled widely. With those schemes, every building the man had worked on would be far easier to break into!

But she didn't have enough time to duplicate everything. She had to erase all traces of her presence before leaving - and she was on a tight schedule. Hissing with frustration, she quickly started searching for the notes on Greengrass Manor.

If only the man didn't have half the Greengrasses in Britain - or more - as clients! It took her over twenty minutes to find the box with the right documents, and another fifteen to circumvent the protections on it. But - she flashed her teeth in triumph - the schemes covered the wards on the manor's vault! Just what she had been looking for! Although if the man had been working on the manor's wards as well… she duplicated the schemes and put them back, then stashed the duplicates in her pocket.

Hermione spent a little more time checking if there were any schemes related to Parkinson or Malfoy but found nothing but distant relatives of those Old Families.

Well, she had what she wanted. Now there was only a quick return to the library left, and then she would depart from the premises and repair the holes in the walls.

Another successful heist!

*****

Hogsmeade, December 15th, 1998

It was a good thing that Michael Smith was the heir of Eleonora Smith and too lazy to get an actual job. Otherwise, Hermione Granger - or rather, Marie Levesque - would have had trouble meeting with him while Harry was working.

She checked her appearance a last time, more for show and witnesses, before entering Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. She was ten minutes early - Marie wouldn't have known how long it would take to find and reach the teashop and so would have erred on the side of caution - but Smith was already seated in one of the booths.

He stood as she approached the table. "Miss Levesque." He nodded at her.

"'Ello, Mr Smith," she said with a smile and a short bow. Then she looked around. "This is the most famous tea shop in Britain?"

"Indeed." Smith gestured at the bench, and Hermione took a seat. "It's the dating spot for couples at Hogwarts."

Hermione nodded, not letting her smile slip when she remembered her expulsion from Hogwarts. She had chosen not to return to the school after her pardon, anyway. "I see. So this is a student's shop?" The teashop wasn't packed, to say the least.

Smith's smile grew a little forced. "Only on the weekends."

"Ah."

The waitress arrived and took their orders. Hermione went with the witch's recommendations - tea and treacle tart - while Smith ordered coffee and pumpkin pie.

"Where did you go to school?" he asked as soon as the witch had turned away.

"Oh, I was homeschooled by a tutor," Hermione said, looking past him as if remembering a tragic past, With a sigh, she lied: "But when the war reached my home…" She shook her head. "My tutor went to do his duty and never returned. My mother took over teaching me. She did her best, but times were dire. My father died protecting us…" She rubbed her eyes and looked out of the window. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, no, I shouldn't have brought up such sad memories," he said, but a glance showed her that he didn't look as if he regretted it - quite the contrary.

She took a deep breath. "It's in the past."

He nodded, almost solemnly. "The Dark Arts are terrible. We had a recent war here as well, you know. The Dark Lord himself attacked the Ministry and killed a cousin of mine with a dark curse. A horrible fate."

Not as horrible as his expression when he looked at her, Hermione thought. Mr Fletcher had warned her about the man's fascination with tales of dark curses. And she was prepared for it. Nodding slowly, she said: "Oh, yes. My father..." She shook her head. "He lost 'is skin..." She shuddered and took a long sip from her cup. "But it's in the past."

When she set her cup down, he reached out and patted her hand. "I understand. Although if you wish to talk, I will listen. Talking helps."

Hermione doubted that talking to Smith would help anyone but him, but hints of her imaginary family's cruel fate would let her string him along until the Yule Ball at Greengrass Manor. And without flirting with him too much - or worse; she was a thief, not a whore. "I'm not sure if I'm ready yet…" She took a deep breath - he was staring at her slightly padded chest rising under her robes. "I wanted to forget my past. Start a new life in a country not ravaged by war and the Dark Arts…"

"Britain is perfect for that," he said as his eyes snapped back up to meet hers.

She briefly hesitated, then decided that too much subtlety would be wasted on him. "I remember debuting in our home, at the summer ball, with all my friends and family. But everyone is gone." She rubbed her eyes again and sniffled. "What good is saving the family fortune if I have no family left?"

He patted her hand, a little clumsily. "Ah… we have balls here, too, you know?"

"Really?" She perked up, slightly.

He nodded. "Friends of my family are having a Yule Ball…"

Hook, line and sinker. This time, Hermione didn't have to fake her smile.

*****

TheEyes · Jul 15, 2018

Starfox5 said:
She pressed her lips together and huffed. "What's wrong with the names?" They were fine!

And the Hermione Can't Name Things show continues.

preier · Jul 15, 2018

really love this story, thanks for sharing.

the love between h&h, the way they grow in skill and strength, their divergence in outlook and priorities... that's the stuff tragedies are made off. let's hope they pull through in relatively good shape.

turbinicarpus · Jul 15, 2018

Starfox5 said:
"It's stupid is what it is!" he spat. "'Cat Burglars'?'The Avengers'? Might as well tell your boyfriend who's behind the robberies!"

"I take it 'Dumbledore's Four' is right out?"

Starfox5 said:
Now there was only a quick return to the library - and a visit to the underwear hamper - left

Suggested edit.

Starfox5 · Jul 21, 2018

Chapter 52: Dangerous Deceptions

London, City of Westminster, December 15th, 1998

... and you are hereby invited to our Christmas party...

Dr Sean Rodney sighed and put the letter - the invitation - down. An invitation to a party, in the middle of the holidays, and not even two weeks beforehand? Of course he already had plans! As anyone with breeding would have known. But what the Smiths lacked in breeding, they made up in money, and Mrs Smith was only halfway through her 'makeover'. So he would have to politely decline with a personal letter, otherwise he'd lose the lucrative liposuction and lifting procedures to a competitor. What a bother!

He briefly toyed with the idea of not answering. He didn't need the money. His own wife wasn't 'high-maintenance', as a Yankee colleague had put it at a convention two years ago, and his children were finishing their studies on schedule. And the Smiths certainly weren't part of his core group of clients - they were neither prominent nor old money, and certainly didn't need the complete discretion his clinic offered. Not that such discretion would benefit Mrs Smith - unlike with liftings, no one would believe that gaining two cup sizes was the result of a new organic anti-aging skin ointment.

On the other hand, not answering their invitation would be rude, and Sean wasn't rude. His parents had raised him better than that. In any case, the Smiths couldn't help it - they were nouveau riche. And perhaps they'd take the hint and would send the next invitation, probably for a summer party after Mrs Smith's next two procedures, a little earlier.

Not that Sean would attend their parties in any case.

He put the matter out of his mind and skimmed the reports for Finch-Fletchley and Easton. Nothing unusual there ... recovery was progressing on schedule - or ahead of schedule in Finch-Fletchley's case. Must have very good genes, that woman - scarring was less than he had expected as well. Well, Sean wasn't the best-paid plastic surgeon in Britain for nothing.

His intercom chimed. He pushed the talk button. "Yes, Anna?"

"Mr Brown has arrived for his appointment, Doctor."

Mr Brown? Sean frowned. He didn't remember that name. He checked his day planner - yes, there was the entry in Anna's neat handwriting. He didn't remember making the appointment, but his secretary wouldn't mix up dates. It was a good thing the holidays were starting soon - he was obviously overworked if he was forgetting about appointments and would need the break from work.

"Send him in, please," he told her.

Long experience with prominent but difficult clients allowed him to refrain from frowning when he saw Mr Brown. The man was wearing an outdated and frankly awful suit, although one that fit him as only a hand-tailored suit would. That meant Mr Brown was eccentric and rich - and probably unwilling to listen to professionals since no tailor worth paying would have made such a suit without trying to change the client's order into something more fashionable and classy.

In other words, another Mrs Smith.

"Good afternoon, Mr Brown. Please have a seat."

The man nodded at him in return as he took his seat.

Arrogant too, then. Sean kept his reaction to himself, of course, but he wouldn't waste time making pleasant conversation with the man - he hadn't heard of Brown until today, so the man had to be a nobody. "How can I help you?"

"I need to change my face."

That was a surprise - the man was handsome enough, in Sean's professional opinion, and since he had gone past Anna, he had to be rich enough that his looks wouldn't matter anyway. "Oh?" Sean replied in a neutral voice. Maybe he had issues with his face or body?

"I want to look like this man." Brown pulled out a picture and flicked it over to him. It came to rest right in front of Sean. The man had to be a professional gambler or a dealer - or very lucky.

Sean glanced at the picture, though inwardly, he was tensing up. This wasn't the kind of procedure his clients asked for. He catered to the rich and well-bred, not to the kind of people who wanted to look like someone else - the mentally ill or the criminal. How had Anna not spotted him? She usually was very good at screening.

But now was not the time to waste on wondering about that. Sean didn't want to anger either a criminal or someone who was mentally ill by flat-out refusing them. That could result in an altercation. "You're surely aware that such a procedure will only rarely result in a duplicated face, and that restoring your original face afterwards would be nigh-impossible, I trust?" That should ensure that any criminal wanting to scam a family would have second thoughts.

"That is not a concern," Brown said with a rather cold grin. "I just need to look like this man. Especially in the nose area."

That didn't make any sense. Or, to be precise, it only made sense if Brown was a criminal - if he were a secret agent, he wouldn't be here by himself. Sean sighed and put on his most convincing sad smile. He didn't need a violent criminal attacking him in his own office. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can help you," he lied. "From what I can tell, the facial bone structures of this man and your own are too different to achieve what you want."

Brown scoffed. "You're the best plastic surgeon in Britain."

Of course he was! "But I'm no miracle worker. I cannot turn you into a duplicate of this person. This is not like the movies." God help him should the man ask whether he could transplant a face!

"I see." Brown's smile turned rather nasty, in Sean's opinion. The man reached into his jacket, and Sean froze. Was this criminal armed? When he saw that the man was holding a thin stick, he relaxed. "Fortunately," Brown went on as he waved the stick around, "I can work miracles. Imperio!"

*****

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 15th, 1998

Entering his room after another boring day at work, Harry Potter found his bed occupied. Unfortunately, not by Hermione taking a nap while waiting for him, a stack of books next to her, but by her fat monster of a cat. Crookshanks covered most of his pillow, too, and Harry knew that he'd find enough orange hair on the linen to fill the pillow.

Nothing a quick cleaning charm couldn't take care of, but it was the principle of the thing - this was his bed. His pillow. Not Crookshanks's. Harry scoffed and stood next to the bed, glaring at the cat. "Get off, Crookshanks!" he spat. "You've got your own bed!"

The cat raised his head and slowly turned to look at him through half-lidded eyes.

"I mean it. Get off!"

The cat made a sound that was remarkably close to scoffing and laid his head down on his forepaws again. A second later, he was snoring.

The damn beast had to be faking it, Harry was sure. And he was fed up. "Last warning, Crookshanks!" He twirled his wand between his fingers. A quick Levitation Charm would dump the animal outside his room without any risk of his skin getting scratched.

He was startled by a gasp from behind. "Are you planning to hex my Crookshanks?"

He whirled around and winced. Hermione was staring at him as if she had caught him casting the Torture Curse! "Of course not!" he protested. "I was merely about to levitate him off the bed." His bed, and increasingly hers, too.

She sniffed as she entered the room. "Really! He's just lonely and confused. He's used to sleeping on my bed, and since I'm sleeping in your bed so often, it probably smells like me." She petted the ugly cat's head. "Yes, Crookshanks, you're the best and most adorable cat a witch could have!"

He was the laziest cat Harry knew, that was certain. "He's also the hairiest cat," Harry said. "Look at the pillow!"

"Nothing a simple cleaning charm won't deal with," she replied with another sniff. "Besides, he can't help it - he didn't choose his fur!" With that, she picked the cat up and hugged him. Harry had the distinct impression that the cat was sneering at him behind Hermione's back.

"At least he's not as bushy as your stray," he muttered as he cleaned an excess of orange hairs from the pillow. Now that cat had had bushy fur.

"What did you say?" Hermione glared at him.

"Nothing," he quickly replied. "But I don't think he's lonely. I think he's just jealous."

"Oh!" She cooed at her pet. "Don't be jealous, Crookshanks! Harry's no cat; he could never replace you!"

Harry didn't know how to feel about that. Before he could make up his mind, the fat monster actually started to purr. Harry clenched his teeth. That stupid, spoiled cat…

A pecking noise interrupted his thoughts. Hedwig sat on the windowsill. She must have finished her evening hunt. Harry stood and went to open the window to let her in. Ah, yes - she had finished her hunt indeed: There was a dead rat next to her claws.

Hedwig barked at him, then grabbed the rat and flew to her perch to feed. But even as Harry was closing the window, his owl changed course and landed on his headboard. "Hedwig!"

The owl ignored him and started to eat the rat.

Hermione turned to frown at him. "Can't you teach your bird not to eat on our bed? I don't want Crookshanks to pick up any bad habits."

He stared at her.

"It's also unsanitary," Hermione went on.

"Unsanitary? She's not moulting on the pillow!" Harry shook his head.

"But she's eating a rat. Rats aren't the most sanitary prey." Hermione sniffed.

Harry sighed. A spoiled cat, a jealous owl and Hermione. At least Mr Biggles wasn't adding his comments. But that was only because the snake was still sleeping in his habitat after Harry had fed him a mouse that morning. The little one had been quite vocal about his satisfaction that Harry had 'finally followed his advice' to 'mate with the female'.

"Hedwig, no eating on the bed," he said.

Hedwig swallowed the last part of the rat, then barked. It didn't sound like she agreed with the order.

"You really need to train your pet better," Hermione said, shaking her head.

Harry blinked. "She's not doing anything Crookshanks doesn't do as well!"

"He's not eating rats on the bed," she shot back. "And he's a cat, not a bird."

Harry wasn't sure if Crookshanks would be able to catch a rat in the first place. The cat certainly acted as if he'd starve if Harry didn't feed him each morning. He shook his head and addressed his own pet. "Go to your perch, Hedwig."

The owl barked again. Hermione growled something, and Hedwig turned her head. For a moment, it looked like a staring contest. Then Hedwig launched herself into the air and flew to her perch - turning her back on the bed.

"Smart owl," Hermione said, with a rather toothy grin.

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. "Did you just threaten my pet?"

She huffed in response. "Certainly not! But as long as I'm sleeping in this bed, there won't be any birds in it." She blinked. "You know what I mean!"

Harry chuckled and sat down next to her. "Yes, I know." He wrapped his arm around her waist and ignored the orange furball in her lap. "So, how was your day?"

She hesitated a moment, then shrugged. "The usual."

He wondered what she didn't want to talk about, but decided against pushing her. There was something else he needed to talk about before their pets derailed their conversation. "Did you hear about the Yule Ball at Greengrass Manor?" He could feel her tense up.

"Yes, I did."

"Apparently, Greengrass wants us to guard the ball, but doesn't want too many Aurors around - it would kill the mood or something. So a number of us will be attending as guests." Only Aurors 'of sufficient social standing', of course, which limited the selection.

"Like you," Hermione said.

"Yes." He took a deep breath. "Well, they didn't actually order us to take another Auror as a date, but…"

She interrupted him. "I won't attend a ball held by Greengrass! Never!" she snarled. "I'll go to France instead!"

He nodded. "I understand." And he was relieved - he wouldn't have to worry about her if Crouch attacked.

She nodded curtly but didn't comment further.

They remained on the bed, leaning into each other, until it was dinner time, Crookshanks's purring the only sound.

*****

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 16th, 1998

Hermione Granger frowned as she eyed the platform on the floor. It was the same as the one they had used on the Rosier heist, a proven design, sort of, but… "Hm."

"Something wrong?" Sirius asked.

"I think we need a sturdier model," she said. "Just in case."

"The plan's to jump on brooms as soon as the Aurors arrive," Sirius said.

"Yes. But a more solid platform won't hurt. You never know how they'll react."

"Harry gets protective," he said, nodding.

"Yes." And he wasn't the only one. Sirius had no qualms about killing if any one of his extended family was in danger, as Hermione knew first-hand. "He's opposed to using lethal spells against us, but if he thinks we're attacking his, our home..." She shrugged. It wasn't his case, but that wouldn't matter - even if he were at work, the Aurors would want him and Ron present to deal with the wards anyway.

"Good idea," Sirius said, wincing. "Perhaps reinforced steel?"

"It can't be too heavy, or we'll have trouble levitating it," she replied.

"Fletcher can't manage a little steel plate?" Sirius sounded amused.

He could, in her opinion, but he might disagree. She frowned at Sirius. "Can't you two get along?"

"It's a tradition now." His smile was a little too wide, which meant he wasn't telling the entire truth, but she didn't push.

Instead, she sighed. Mr Fletcher wasn't any more willing to drop the silly feud either.

"Why isn't he here, anyway?" Sirius asked, looking around.

"He's visiting the Smiths," Hermione answered. "He hopes to find out if they suspect 'Mademoiselle Levesque' is a fake."

"Is that likely?" He frowned, growing serious at once.

"No. But it doesn't hurt to check. And he might find out other useful information. I'd prefer not to be blindsided by a jealous witch at the Yule Ball."

He chuckled. "From what I've seen and heard, Smith's heir isn't exactly the kind of wizard after whom witches pine. Other than those after his gold, but they're not the kind to be invited to the ball."

"Draco Malfoy isn't a heartbreaker either, but Parkinson was after him from our first year at Hogwarts," Hermione pointed out. "And she's not poor."

"She's a Slytherin - obviously, she's got no taste." Sirius shrugged. "Although I'm sure that the greedy snakes will swarm Harry at the ball."

He was looking at her with a curious expression. She snorted. "I'm not going to make a scene. I'm actually glad that he's attending the ball - I don't have to make up another lie to explain my absence." Although any witch trying to seduce Harry would regret it!

"Like 'I'm going to France; I need to stock the library in our holiday home'?" He grinned at her.

She sniffed. "It worked, didn't it?"

"He'll expect books there during his next visit."

"Jeanne's handling that."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I gave her a list," she admitted. A long list, of course. She sighed. "I don't like lying to him, though."

"You won't have to for that much longer," he replied. "Greengrass, Parkinson and Malfoy. Afterwards, it won't be a secret any more, but part of your past - and a wizard shouldn't pry into his witch's past."

She pressed her lips together. That sounded as if Sirius assumed that she'd stop doing heists once she had achieved her revenge. And that was a clear indication that he was planning to retire from thieving himself, once his and Jeanne's child was born.

She didn't know how to feel about that. Not at all. But this wasn't the time to think, or even talk, about it.

*****

London, Ministry of Magic, December 16th, 1998

Bathilda was frowning when she sat down at their table in the break room, Harry Potter noticed. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"We've got a lead on some of the loot sold by the thieves we arrested two weeks ago. Apparently, they had a fence in Paris. But the French Gendarmes are being uncooperative." She scowled, which was a very rare expression for her. "John says the fence is probably related to some noble at the Duc's Court, and so the Gendarmes won't touch him. Not for foreign crimes, at least."

"They refuse to arrest and question him?" Ron asked.

"Not directly. They've been asking for more evidence, more information, more forms…" Bathilda pressed her lips together.

"Ah, typical!" Harry said. "Bury them in paperwork until they give up." He glanced at Nott.

The git sneered at him. "Don't try to blame your inability to correctly fill out a form on me."

"Other Aurors correct or ignore spelling mistakes," Harry retorted.

Nott scoffed. "Other Aurors don't risk getting complaints about manipulating your order forms if they do that."

As if Harry would do that! He glared at Nott, then glanced at Bathilda. Usually, she'd tell them to stop at this point.

She sighed. "And I haven't received any answer yet from the Prussians regarding a theft committed twenty years ago in Berlin. A theft committed by remarkably skilled thieves."

"Idiots," Ron said, shaking his head. "The only ones profiting from such stupidity are the criminals."

"Well, are we doing the same?" Harry asked, looking at Nott.

"No, we aren't," the git answered. "At least not to my knowledge. We're working according to the law. But we're checking any demands from foreign Ministries carefully - we wouldn't want to hassle our citizens for petty or political reasons. You can't trust foreigners not to abuse the system."

"In other words: we're doing it," Harry said.

"If we can't trust foreigners," Bathilda spoke up before Nott could say anything in response to Harry's comment, "why are we hiring foreigners to free more Hit-Wizards from guard duties?"

Harry snorted. "Because the Old Families are more afraid of our own Death Eaters and thieves than foreigners."

Nott scoffed. "If the choice is between letting those dangerous criminals commit more heinous crimes because we don't have the numbers to stop and arrest them, or risk some trouble with foreign hired wands, then the decision is clear."

Harry pressed his lips together. Nott wasn't entirely wrong, but that didn't mean that Harry had to admit it.

Fortunately, Ron picked up the slack. "We wouldn't need foreign help if the Old Families hadn't crippled the Ministry by protecting corrupt and inept Aurors and refusing to hire the best wands because they weren't purebloods."

"And the Death Eater traitors among the Old Families didn't help either," Harry added.

"Neither did letting the Death Eaters and thieves escape - multiple times," Nott said, sneering at them.

"Stop it, you dolts!" Bathilda suddenly yelled.

Harry smiled. The witch was back to normal.

*****

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 16th, 1998

"...and Smith doesn't suspect anything as far as I could tell. His mother even praised him - although in a backhanded way - for 'finding a witch who hadn't heard of his escapades, yet'." Mr Fletcher grinned briefly. "So you've perfectly fooled Smith. I almost expected them to ask me if I'd give you a few lessons, to ensure that you won't embarrass them, but apparently, Smith convinced his mother that you don't need them."

Hermione Granger huffed. Of course, she didn't need lessons in manners! She had learned from the best!

"Everything ready here?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. I've been testing platforms made of different material, but wood seems the best for our purpose." The effects of Blasting Curses on aluminium hadn't been pretty. "If I had some kevlar to study…" She shrugged. Something to look into once she had the time to spend on such a project. "If all goes according to plan we'll be gone before they can reach us."

He frowned at her. "We have to let them spot us, at least, to sell the deception. That means we'll be in range of their spells."

"On our brooms, disillusioned and with Shield Charms," she replied. "Sirius will warn us. And we've got Firebolts."

He scoffed. Obviously, he was more worried than she was. But they had gone over this before - this was the safest and most plausible way to fool the Aurors. It fit their modus operandi. It wasn't entirely safe, but the risks were acceptable.

She grabbed her mask. "Let's go!"

They took one of the tunnels to leave the house, coming out in a side alley five hundred yards away. Already disillusioned. A flick of Hermione's wand conjured the platform, and a swish turned it invisible. She couldn't see Mr Fletcher, but she saw the marker float above his position, moving as he stepped on to the platform, then dipping as he sat down.

She joined him, kneeling down on the platform and gripping the low railing on its side. Actually, it was more like a handle. But it helped steady her when the platform rose into the air as Mr Fletcher cast a Levitation Charm.

A few minutes later, they were floating above Grimmauld Place, just above the wardline. And low enough to be in range of Human-presence-revealing Spells - like their own. She tapped her mask. "We're in position."

"Alright, I'll throw the cat out!" Sirius replied - far too cheerfully.

"Let the cat out!" she hissed.

"Of course - that's what I meant!"

She ground her teeth. If the stupid dog hurt her Crookshanks…

A few minutes later, she saw the back door open and her cat appear. As befitted a smart cat, he stepped out cautiously and slowly, looking around and sniffing the air. As usual on a heist, her own scent was suppressed by a potion, but for this occasion, she had brought something with her - the distilled essence of the fur the stupid house cat in France had lost before fleeing her territory. She pulled out the small vial and opened it, emptying the liquid on to the platform.

"Bait's ready," she whispered. "I'm calling Harry." It would take a little while for the scent to reach Crookshanks.

"Alright," Sirius said.

Mr Fletcher grunted next to her but didn't say anything.

She pulled out the enchanted mirror, activated the enchantment Jeanne had added, then called Harry.

*****

London, Ministry of Magic, December 16th, 1998

Harry Potter frowned when he felt the enchanted mirror vibrate in his pocket. Why would Hermione call him during work? She was in France, getting more books. His eyes widened. Had something happened?

"Yes?" he snapped as soon as the mirror started to clear.

"Harry?"

He saw Hermione's face in the mirror. She didn't look afraid or nervous. And that was… yes, it was her room in their holiday home. "Yes, it's me." He grinned. "Did you expect someone else?" he added with a chuckle.

She sniffed but kept smiling. "Funny. Do you have a few minutes?"

He looked up. Ron was grinning at him. Harry sighed. His friend wouldn't let him forget this, not after Harry's comments about Ron and Luna's chats. He suppressed a sigh and smiled at Hermione. "Yes, I do."

She beamed at him, then brushed a stray lock back from her face. "Good. I was shopping for books, and I was thinking that we might need some more furniture as well." She bit her lower lip, and he thought that he caught a hint of a blush on her face. "In particular, a bed."

"Oh." He felt his cheeks grow a little warm and cleared his throat. "Yes," he said as nonchalantly as he managed, "I think we might need a bigger bed."

She nodded. "Yes. I saw a large one, but I'm not certain if you'd like it. It's a little old-fashioned."

"Old-fashioned?" He briefly glared at Ron, who seemed to have trouble not laughing out loud.

"It's a canopy bed."

Harry had spent seven years sleeping in such a bed at Hogwarts. "That's fine." It would also provide them with some privacy. And maybe he could cast a spell on the drapes to keep animals out.

"Great. There are a few possible patterns for the drapes and the canopy, too. And we could enchant the canopy to show the sky."

He smiled. Like the Great Hall in Hogwarts. "So, it'd be like sleeping under the stars?"

She started to nod when the door to their office was pushed open. "Harry! Ron!"

Harry had his wand out and pointed at the intruder before he realised it was Bathilda. She gasped, then recovered. "Mr Black called us - there's someone trying to break into your home!"

She barely managed to get out of the way as Harry and Ron, wands still drawn, stormed out of the office.

*****

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 16th, 1998

Harry Potter almost collided with Sirius when he charged out of the fireplace in Grimmauld Place's entrance hall. "What happened?" he yelled, glancing around with his wand in hand as his godfather took a step back. Behind him, Ron arrived through the Floo Network.

"I noticed Crookshanks was behaving weirdly - he was standing in the garden, looking straight up and hissing," Sirius said. "There was nothing in the air, but when I went to the attic window and cast a Human-presence-revealing spell, two markers appeared floating in the air. Right above the middle of the garden in the back."

Two? Harry clenched his teeth. That would be the thieves… or Crouch had found an accomplice. "Are they attacking the wards?"

"I don't think so. I think they're just analysing them so far," Sirius said. "I didn't notice anything when I checked."

"They're good," Ron said. "You might have missed them. If they are attacking the wards already, we've got them. The backlash will get them if they try to flee."

Harry nodded and tapped his Auror badge. "Potter here. We've got two disillusioned intruders floating above the building's wardline. Don't get too close." If they spotted the Aurors, they'd flee.

"Are they Death Eaters or the thieves?"

That was Bathilda. Harry pressed his lips together for a moment. If he claimed that it was probably Crouch, he and Ron would be in charge… He shook his head. "We don't know. Crouch doesn't have any accomplices left, as far as we're aware."

"Could be a new recruit or the victim of an Imperius Curse," Ron added. "They keep them in the air while Crouch works on the wards."

"Dawlish here. Don't use lethal curses until we know it's Crouch and not the thieves. We're surrounding the area to cut them off and will start casting Anti-Apparition Jinxes. Potter, Weasley, inform us when you're ready!"

Harry clenched his teeth again. These orders made sense, but they came from Dawlish. He didn't like the other Auror taking over. But this wasn't the time to make an issue out of it. "Copy," he snapped.

Ron snorted with a grim expression. "Charge them on brooms?"

Harry nodded. That was the best option to flush the thieves out - and if it was Crouch, then they'd have the advantage in the air; Crouch had never been a great flyer according to their records.

"Alright!" Sirius said.

Harry glanced at him. Technically, his godfather was a civilian. But it was his home. And he was better in a fight and had more experience than the vast majority of the Corps. "Alright." He walked to the door and pulled out his Firebolt, unshrinking it with the ease of long practice, then cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself. When both Ron and Sirius had joined him, disillusioned and with their own Firebolts ready, he tapped his badge. "Potter here. We're ready."

"Dawlish here. Everyone, go!"

Harry pulled the door open and jumped on his broom. A moment later, he was shooting into the air, swinging around to circle the house. Behind him, Ron's marker followed, banking in the other direction. Sirius's marker shot straight up. A three-way pincer movement. Textbook style.

The other Aurors would be taking to the air as well, disillusioned to keep the muggles from noticing. But they wouldn't be able to provide much help - not with everyone invisible and no way to tell one flying marker from another.

It was up to Harry, Ron and Sirius.

He pulled up as he passed the corner, to come at the thieves from behind and above. There! Two markers showed up. His wand flicked, and he sent a Stunner towards the spot below the left marker. The red spell splashed against a shield.

"Aurors!" he heard a female voice yell. A moment later, the thieves' markers split.

He didn't hesitate and dove to the left, chasing the closest marker.

"Split up!"

Harry grinned - that was the witch. She wouldn't escape him again! He was on a Firebolt, and he had been Britain's youngest Seeker in a hundred years! He tapped his badge. "Potter, chasing the witch north."

His next Stunner missed, but he was still diving at her and rapidly closing. The marker suddenly jerked to the left - a tighter turn than Harry had expected. But he easily matched it and cast another Stunner.

Once more, the thief's Shield Charm was hit. Probably shattered - the thief reacted as if it were, starting to frantically evade, the floating marker bobbing up and down as it weaved back and forth.

His next Stunner missed again as the thief suddenly shot down towards the garden of No 4 Grimmauld Place. Harry spotted a few more markers appearing - Aurors. He cursed under his breath as he dived after her; they were already at the perimeter. The witch would quickly pass the area covered by the Anti-Apparition Jinxes.

There was no choice. He stashed his wand and drew the Elder Wand, then flicked it rapidly, covering the area ahead of his prey with Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey Jinxes.

That slowed him down, as did the need to weave through Mrs Forsyth's trees. But he was on a Firebolt - the best broom in the world. He cleared the trees and cast another series of jinxes as he accelerated again.

The thief was further ahead than he had expected - and he was closing in more slowly than he should, too. Unless they were on a Firebolt as well, of course! He clenched his teeth - the thieves had stolen enough gold to easily afford one.

The witch shot above the next roof, close enough that he almost expected to see tiles break. She was good - but Harry was better. Yet another series of jinxes, followed by a pair of Stunners. One missed, the other didn't - and the thief's Shield Charm shattered.

Harry grinned. He had her now - his next spell would end the chase.

*****

Hermione Granger pulled hard to the left and down when she felt her shield shatter. She almost ploughed into the roof of a garden shed, but two Stunners missed her - one by what felt like inches. Clenching her teeth, she took a hard right, dropping lower, using the shed as cover. That gained her a second out of her pursuer's line of fire. She used it to recast her Shield Charm and urged her broom on. She just needed to gain a little more distance and she'd have outrun the Anti-Apparition Jinxes…

She flew even closer to the ground, skimming the pavement, and reached the corner of the side alley she was in before another Stunner flew at her. She banked left again - she had to keep flying away from Grimmauld Place - and tried to apparate.

It didn't work. That was the third time! Had the Aurors covered half of London with Anti-Apparition Jinxes? That was impossible! Maybe if she flew straight up… She glanced over her shoulder as she accelerated above the road leading to the bus station, and gasped. Her pursuer - it had to be Harry, no one else flew as well and as fast - was diving at her from above!

She pulled up and rolled, almost losing control of her broom when another Stunner splashed against her shield and forced her off-course. She managed to recover and pull up in the last moment before she slammed into a parked car.

Hermione kept rolling as she banked right, narrowingly missing a wrought-iron fence and a lamp post, diving into another side alley for a second. Now she had to be out of range! She focused - and cursed some more. Apparition was still blocked!

And there came Harry again, closer than before - she spotted the marker behind her. And red flashes as he cast Stunners at her. Her shield was gone, but she was twisting her broom into desperate rolls, and the spells missed her again. She pulled up, then dived down - any straight course would let him conjure obstacles in her path.

There was the corner. She grit her teeth as she forced her broom to take a sharp turn to the left - sharper than wise at her speed - and pulled up, heading straight for a taller building. A glance behind her showed that Harry's marker was taking the same turn - and tighter than she had. This wouldn't work either - he was just too good on his broom.

She jinked left and right, then shot down to the ground. Muggles were walking around there, unaware - Harry wouldn't be able to cast at her here. But neither would she be able to lose him.

She was panting, sweat running down her neck as she bent low over the shaft of her broom and tried to get a little more speed out of it. Another attempt to apparate failed. And she was coming up to a crossing - with several cars and a few pedestrians.

She recast her Shield Charm again, then veered right. She had to lose Harry! She spotted a park ahead. Maybe she could lose him in the trees there… No, he'd follow her in. And he was the better flyer. And a conjured wall between the trees would be fatal.

Short of the park's entrance, she veered off again. She had one surprise left. There was a side alley. Very narrow. It was risky - foolhardy even. But what choice did she have?

She rolled and jinked, more spells missing her. As soon as she rose above street level, to a height where muggles wouldn't notice anything amiss, Harry's Stunners came at her. But low on the ground, she would hit someone sooner or later.

She urged her broom forward, spending a precious moment to calculate the angles. Nudging her broom a little to the right, she flicked her wand. A sticky line shot out of her wand, the Chameleon-Tongue Spell wrapping itself around the lamp post on the corner. She felt as if her arm was wrenched out of its socket as she was pulled to the side, but managed to hold on as she whirled around the lamp post, straight towards the side alley.

She ended the spell at the right moment, flying straight on into the alley. A glance over her shoulder - yes, Harry had overshot! Grinning ferally, she pulled the broom's shaft up, bleeding speed as quickly as possible. As soon as she wasn't flying at a few dozen miles per hour any more, she pulled out a small package and dropped it.

In an instant, darkness covered the alley. She came to a stop, sliding a few yards over the pavement, out of the darkness, holding on to the broom. There was a manhole. Perfect. She levitated the cover up and dropped another package of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.

*****

Harry Potter cursed his overconfidence as he pulled up. He had been steadily gaining on the cursed thief until she pulled that trick. But he had his own bag of tricks. He completed his Immelmann turn, but veered off to the left, flying parallel to the side alley into which the thief had disappeared and gaining altitude until he could see into it from above. One end was covered in darkness, but there, at the other end… darkness filled the other half of the alley right when he caught a glimpse of a floating marker - and a manhole cover dropping to the ground. A Blasting Curse would cave in the pavement, burying her alive. Probably. Or an Acid Cloud… No. Non-lethal spells. He was an Auror, and she was a thief, not a Death Eater.

He gritted his teeth and tapped his badge as he dived. "Potter here. I've cornered the thief in a side alley south of the park. She's covered it in darkness and is fleeing into the sewers. I'm in pursuit."

He held his breath as he entered the darkness. If he had misjudged the height… he hadn't. He levelled out and came to a stop without crashing into the pavement, and when he jumped off his broom, he only dropped a foot. Just like in Quidditch. Now, the manhole had to be…

Something slammed into his shield, and he had to take a step back to keep his balance. What the… It charged him again, barking. A dog? Or several? His eyes widened. Of course - conjured or transfigured dogs would be able to find him by scent in the darkness! Clever - but not clever enough.

He cast a Bubble-Head Charm and dropped a small vial. A moment later, the dogs' barking turned into whining and wheezing as the stench overwhelmed their sensitive noses. But he still had to find the manhole and he couldn't risk just falling into it - or stepping into a trap.

Half a dozen conjured snakes found the manhole easily, but it still took him a minute to reach it, and a few more seconds to check for spells.

He was clenching his teeth as he dropped down the hole - he had lost too much time. Once again, the thief had escaped him!

*****

London, December 16th, 1998

Hermione Granger was suffering. Terribly. Her delicate nose was filled with a biting, acidic stench, her sharp eyes had welled up with tears, and she could barely breathe as she sped through the streets of London as fast as her paws could carry her.

She had to get away, get out of that stupidly large area the Aurors had covered with Anti-Apparition Jinxes, and apparate to France. And she had to get rid of whatever unholy concoction Harry had dispersed in that alley. Her fur was reeking, and she couldn't clean herself in this form!

A woman shrieked, surprised, as Hermione dodged around her legs, and a child giggled as the cat sped past. There was a crossing - but the traffic light was red. At least she managed to deduce that by the fact that muggles were waiting at the curb. She was tempted to dash across anyway - she was a quick cat, and nimble too! - but the cars were going very fast…

Crouching down, she waited, one paw rubbing her nose in a determined but futile attempt to clear it of the stench.

"Oh, the poor cat! Mum, someone must have spilt chemicals on her!"

She froze. The last thing she needed was some muggle trying to 'help' her.

"There, there, honey…"

The teenage girl was approaching her. Hermione hissed, and the girl jerked back.

"I don't want to hurt you, I want to help you!"

She didn't need the girl's help! Hermione glanced at the light. Her eyes weren't well-suited that to discerning the colours, but she could see the positions easily. Still red… but the cars were slowing down and coming to a stop!

She sprinted across the crossing before the girl could approach her again, then turned left - still moving away from her home and from the Anti-Apparition Jinxes that covered the entire area - before disappearing into a side alley. No witnesses around. She changed back, holding her breath, and tried to focus on the spot near the cliffs of Dover that she knew so well.

She almost cried with relief when she felt the familiar sensation of being squeezed through a rubber pipe. Finally! Shuddering, she cast half a dozen Cleaning Charms on herself - and a Bubble-Head Charm for good measure. That would do until she could take a bath and scrub her skin clean of the last remnants of this vile mixture.

An Apparition later, she was in France, on her way to their holiday home, where Jeanne was waiting. And a luxurious bath!

*****

London, December 16th, 1998

"What a stench!"

"This is bad!"

"Unbearable!"

"I want to go home!"

"I want to bite something!"

Another failure! Harry Potter ignored the complaints from the snakes he had conjured earlier and sighed, then tapped his Auror badge. "Potter here. The thief I was chasing escaped underground."

"Weasley here. The other thief escaped by flying out of the Anti-Apparition Jinxes' range."

"Dawlish here. Potter, secure the area, wait until Johnson and Brown relieve you, then head to the scene of the crime."

That meant Grimmauld Place. Harry shook his head as the darkness covering the side alley in which he was standing started to fade. He cast a Cleaning Charm on himself, in case he had spilt some of Moody's Special Animal Repellent on himself, then looked around. The dogs still hadn't recovered. He vanished his snakes, then stunned and bound the dogs. He would have had the thief, had he used a dark curse instead of Stunners. No. Too many bystanders. And he wanted to arrest, not kill the witch. He muttered a curse and stashed the Elder Wand. He would have had the slippery witch if he had used more conjured obstacles. Like nets or walls. But they were in the middle of Muggle London…

"There you are, Potter!"

Harry looked up and saw two markers descending on the alley. He flicked his wand and covered the area with Muggle-Repelling Charms, then dispelled his Disillusionment Charm.

"It's safe now."

"Alright… Merlin's arse! What is this stench?" Johnson spat in between gagging.

"Ah, that's better." Her partner must have cast a Bubble-Head Charm, but sounded a little affected as well.

And, as Harry noticed when the two Aurors faded into view, both looked a little green in the face. "A potion Moody uses to deal with animals."

"Animals? That would incapacitate most thugs I know!" Johnson retorted.

Harry blinked. "That wouldn't work. It's not effective against Bubble-Head Charms," he said. Which should be obvious to them.

Both Aurors were staring at him, then shook their heads. As if Bubble-Head Charms weren't sixth-year spells.

"What about the dogs?"

"Conjured or Transfigured, I think," Harry said. "The thief set them on me to stall me."

"Did it work?"

"No. What kept me from catching her was the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder she used in the alley," Harry explained. "That delayed me long enough for her to make her escape."

Brown frowned. "If she didn't apparate, then she wanted to lead you here. This is probably a trap."

"She couldn't apparate," Harry explained. "I kept covering the area around us with jinxes." And he doubted that the thief had planned to lead him into this alley anyway - he had come far too close to catching her.

The two Aurors exchanged a glance, then Johnson spoke up: "You kept casting Anti-Apparition Jinxes? While chasing her?" She muttered another curse.

"I almost had her, too," Harry said. "I shattered her Shield Charm twice, but she managed to recast it before I could hit her again."

"Good luck telling Dawlish that," Brown said.

Harry shrugged as he mounted his broom. He could always offer to let the prick watch his memories if Dawlish didn't believe him.

*****

Argelès-sur-Mer, Pyrenées Orientales, France, December 16th, 1998

"Hermione!" Jeanne exclaimed, "You're late. I feared the worst." Hermione Granger found herself wrapped in a hug followed by loud sniffing. "And you smell."

Hermione clenched her teeth. This wasn't the welcome she wanted after escaping by the skin of her teeth from Harry. "I know," she spat. "I need a bath." She pulled herself free - Jeanne had gotten a little clingy as her pregnancy progressed. "Did you hear from Sirius?"

The other witch nodded. "He told me that 'unfortunately', one of the thieves escaped from him and Ron."

Hermione sighed with relief. Mr Fletcher had escaped, then.

"What happened?"

"Harry chased me through half of London," she replied. "And when I managed to fool him and was about to sneak away, he used some terrible concoction. The stuff clung to my fur." And her eyes were still stinging.

"Oh. Did he see you?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Was Jeanne smirking? She shook her head. "No, he didn't. I tricked him by levitating a manhole cover and conjuring a few dogs to distract him in the darkness." She almost hissed at the memory. That was animal cruelty! She had a mind to tell Harry off - if only she could think of a way to do so without drawing suspicion. What if there had been another cat present, one who couldn't use magic to clean her fur?

"Ah." Jeanne was almost smirking again. "I'll call Sirius and tell him you want to know if Harry's alright." That would let him know that she had made her escape as well.

Hermione huffed. She knew that Harry was alright - he had almost caught her. "Wait a minute! I'll change," she said, heading to her room. The less she had to use Jeanne's alterations to the mirror, the better.

Once in her room - there was a new bed, as she had described to Harry - she leaned against the door and shuddered. That had been entirely too close. She'd only escaped Harry because she had been lucky. She hadn't expected the Aurors to cover that much ground in Anti-Apparition Jinxes. Nor for Harry to be that good on his broom.

She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes for a moment. She should have expected the latter - he was a Quidditch prodigy, after all. And she wasn't.

She took a few deep breaths. Then her lips twisted in a wry grin as she started to strip off her leather suit. She was no Quidditch prodigy, but she was a great thief, and she had outwitted him. Again.

*****

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 16th, 1998

Dawlish had managed to anger Sirius, Harry Potter noticed as he entered the entrance hall of their home. The sneer his godfather was showing was usually reserved for the likes of Malfoy. He glanced at Ron and Bathilda. Both were standing near the two men and looking more than a little uncomfortable.

"I reiterate, Auror Dawlish," Sirius spat. "There is no need to search my home - no one passed through the wards."

"That's what Bulstrode and Davis thought," Dawlish shot back. "And you know what happened to them. These thieves are not only very skilled but also very cunning. The chase they led us on might just be a distraction to make us lower our guard!"

The two men were facing each other. Sirius's sneer grew even more pronounced. "Don't compare the Blacks to the likes of the Bulstrodes or the Davises! And why would the thieves let themselves be spotted - by a cat! - if they had managed to get past our wards? That makes no sense at all!"

"They are after more than gold, Mr Black," Dawlish said - through clenched teeth, Harry noted. "They want to humiliate their victims - even if it leads to greater risks for themselves. They did the same thing - a narrow escape - at Davis Manor despite the fact that they could have fled the premises before we arrived."

"That's preposterous!" Sirius scoffed.

Harry cleared his throat. "Actually, we should check the house for hidden thieves."

Sirius turned to face him. "Harry! There you are! Did you catch your thief? Ours escaped - our brooms weren't fast enough."

"They had to be on Firebolts," Ron confirmed. "We couldn't get close quickly enough to stop them from flying out of the area covered with Anti-Apparition Jinxes."

Dawlish snorted. "Anyway, Potter agrees. We need to search the house."

"I won't have a bunch of Aurors search my house as if it belonged to a common criminal!" Sirius spat. "Do you think I'm a fool? Malfoy's toadies would use that to 'find' some dark items." He scoffed. "I'm quite familiar with the way the Ministry works, Auror."

"That's outrageous!" Dawlish retorted. "Are you insinuating that Aurors would frame you?"

"I'm stating it outright!" Sirius shot back.

Harry cleared his throat. "Ron and I can search the house. We don't need anyone else."

Dawlish glared at him. But Sirius nodded slowly. "It's unnecessary, but if you insist."

"Better safe than sorry," Harry said.

And, after that damned thief had escaped him again - he was certain that it was the same witch from Davis Manor; he could feel it - it was better to ensure that this wasn't another deception.

"Alright," Dawlish agreed through clenched teeth. "Search the house, then report to me at the Ministry!" He whirled around and stalked towards the fireplace. Bathilda shrugged, looking at Harry with a grimace on her face, then followed her partner.

"The nerve of that man!" Sirius shook his head as soon as the Aurors had left.

"He's not entirely wrong," Harry said. "We're dealing with very dangerous thieves." Twice they had managed to escape from them - and unlike the Death Eaters, they hadn't lost anyone yet.

Sirius sniffed. "They need more than a few tricks to break into our home!" He blinked, then pulled a mirror out of his pocket. "Jeanne? Ah!" He looked at Harry. "Hermione wants to know if you're alright. Seems you ran off in the middle of a call."

Harry winced. Between chasing that damned thief and pondering what mistakes he had made, as well as defusing the row between Sirius and Dawlish, he had forgotten about that. Hermione would understand, though. He hoped so, at least - his day was bad enough already.

*****

turbinicarpus · Jul 22, 2018

Starfox5 said:
Harry Potter almost collided with Sirius when he charged out of the fireplace in Grimmauld Place's entrance hall. "What happened?" he yelled, glancing around with his wand in hand as his godfather took a step back. Behind him, Ron arrived through the Floo Network.

"He" is ambiguous in whether it refers to Harry or to Sirius.

Starfox5 said:
Harry shrugged as he mounted his broom. He could always offer to let the prick watch his memories if Dawlish didn't believe him.

And reveal to Dawlish that Harry has the Elder Wand?

Starfox5 · Jul 22, 2018

Pahan said:
"He" is ambiguous in whether it refers to Harry or to Sirius.

The "his godfather" part in the same sentence makes it clear it's Harry.

Pahan said:
And reveal to Dawlish that Harry has the Elder Wand?

At worst, he'd reveal that he's using Dumbledore's wand. It's not as if Dawlish has any idea what the Elder Wand looks like - no one knew that Dumbledore had it, after all.

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

Formerly 'Pahan'

Not too sore, are you?

Experienced.

Formerly 'Pahan'

Experienced.

Away

Experienced.

Formerly 'Pahan'

Experienced.

Experienced.

Formerly 'Pahan'

Experienced.

Experienced.

Experienced.

I trust you know where the happy button is?

(The Girl(!) in the Snow)

Not too sore, are you?

Formerly 'Pahan'

Experienced.

Formerly 'Pahan'

Experienced.

Formerly 'Pahan'

Experienced.

Experienced.

Well worn.

I trust you know where the happy button is?

Formerly 'Pahan'

Experienced.

Formerly 'Pahan'

Experienced.

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