I'd like to thank fredfred for betaing. His help has improved the story a lot.
Chapter 2: New Beginnings
London, Knockturn Alley, April 24th, 1993
Albus Dumbledore heard Mundungus before the other wizard returned to his flat - one of many stuffed into the decrepit-looking building in Knockturn Alley thanks to the overuse of Extension Charms. Unlike other wizards, Mundungus didn't tend to apparate directly into his home, but preferred to check for intruders before entering - a cautious habit, and one that had served Albus's old friend very well in the past.
The Headmaster wasn't trying to hide, though, and he simply waited until the door was opened and Mundungus entered, leading with his wand.
"Good evening, Mundungus," Albus said from the armchair he had conjured, raising a hand in greeting.
"Albus," Mundungus said in a flat voice. He was wearing ratty robes again, but he was still looking far better - clean shaven, coiffed and sober - than the last time Albus had seen him. "I should have known you'd come." And speaking like the educated wizard he was, instead of the gutter rat he had become for over ten years.
Albus nodded.
"That was your man, observing her home."
Albus nodded again. He had hoped Mundungus would notice the guard he had posted at the Grangers' - it showed that his old friend's talents hadn't been dulled by his Firewhisky excesses. Or not overly so, at least.
"Do you expect an attack on the girl?" Mundungus asked, walking over to sit down on a wooden chair that looked weathered enough to collapse under Filius' weight.
He shook his head. "No. It is merely a precaution, in case I am wrong." He had been wrong before, after all. And it would be good training for those of his friends in the Order who had let their skills grow rusty since Tom's defeat.
"Good. You've been spectacularly, fatally wrong in the past." Mundungus spat the words at him, and flicked his wand. An empty bottle flew into the thief's hand, and he stared at it, then at Albus.
Albus merely let his smile widen a smidgen. He had failed his friend before, but he wouldn't fail him now.
Mundungus scoffed. "Not very subtle." He threw the bottle at the wall, but vanished it before it hit the peeling, faded wallpaper.
"Subtlety didn't work before."
His friend snorted. "I met the girl. Talked to her."
"And she agreed to become your apprentice."
"She agreed to take a few lessons from meself. Cautious chit."
Albus noted how the Knockturn Alley accent was slipping back into his friend's words. And how his posture started to change as he slouched in his chair. "Understandable, after her experiences." Which were at least partially his fault. He hadn't expected Lucius to go to such lengths against a young witch who had done nothing more than help save her friend. Plotting to send a young witch to Azkaban… he had managed to spare Miss Granger that, at least.
"Yeah. 'Er 'experiences'." Mundungus narrowed his eyes at Albus. "Why do ya want me to teach 'er? You all but ordered me to go to 'er."
"Miss Granger is a very smart witch." The smartest of her generation, as far as Albus could tell. "And yet she was sorted into Gryffindor."
"Bleedin' 'ell."
"Indeed." He grew serious. "While it would be a shame to see her talent wasted on the muggles, I am far more concerned about the possibility that, left alone, she would choose a rather questionable path to take revenge on those who wronged her."
"You think better be a thief than a dark witch."
Albus nodded. "One way or another, she will get even." More than even, in his opinion - Miss Granger was not one to do things by halves.
"And so you picked me to be her mentor?" Mundungus threw back his head and laughed, though it sounded forced to Albus. His friend stopped laughing abruptly. "Di'n' wanna let your traitor mentor 'er? Or is 'er blood too muddy for 'im?"
"Severus's other duties would preclude such a task." And, Albus thought, his prejudices would doom such a plan from its inception. That had been proven without a doubt when he had let young Mister Malfoy organise his mob to hassle Miss Granger on her last day at school. Albus had voiced his displeasure quite clearly at seeing his orders undermined like that. If Severus wasn't needed for the coming troubles...
"Other duties? What, scarin' the kiddies?" Mundungus narrowed his eyes again. "No… there's something else. Something more important than Snape's attitude."
His friend's wits hadn't suffered overly much during his plunge into the gutters either, it seemed. Albus nodded. "The Dark Lord wasn't killed, not entirely, in 1981. His shade lingered and surfaced last year." Poor, brave Quirrell had paid with his life for another of Albus's mistakes.
Mundungus hissed. "So that's why you bothered me. You think we're about to 'ave another war and you want your thief back - and another thief in case I buy it."
"I have never stopped 'bothering' you to pull yourself out of the gutter," Albus corrected him. He had merely let his attempts to help his friend lapse a bit longer with each failure.
"But ya've been preparing. I've 'eard about some 'effin Aurors askin' odd questions lately."
Albus nodded. He had pondered setting them on Lucius's tools, but even a confession before the Wizengamot by the four young witches wouldn't achieve anything, not at this point. It would be dismissed as the result of coercion or guile - probably with some spells arranged for additional plausibility. And any use of Veritaserum would see the questioner in Azkaban. No, better to set his friends on the real threat. Although Severus would have to keep his house in line - and impress upon the Slytherins that another attempt would have drastic consequences. The next year wouldn't be pleasant for the four witches and Mister Malfoy, Albus would see to that. He hoped the others of the House of Green and Silver would learn the lesson.
"I shoulda known." Mundungus swore a string of curses. Some even Albus didn't know, and he made a note of them - maybe he would be able to surprise his brother next time they met.
"This doesn't change anything with regard to Miss Granger." Albus knew his friend - better than Mundungus knew himself these days.
"She wouldn't stay away anyway, would she?"
"She is very loyal to her friends, among whom Harry Potter numbers rather prominently."
Mundungus scoffed. "You've got your way. Now get on your way."
Albus smiled as he rose and vanished his seat. Then he banished a small piece of parchment towards his friend.
Mundungus caught it and glanced at it. "What's this?"
"The address of a flat more suitable for the teacher of a young witch," Albus said.
"She's gonna 'ave to learn about the seedier places too," his friend muttered. At Albus's raised eyebrows, he added: "But not until later, I guess."
Smiling, Albus apparated back to the Forbidden Forest and checked the time on his watch. He was early enough to foil the latest scheme of the Weasley twins. The two purveyors of mischief were determined to take revenge on young Mister Malfoy on behalf of Miss Granger, and seemed to take the continuing failure of their efforts as a challenge. Maybe Albus would have to explain to them that their efforts would, ultimately, only benefit Lucius, who would use the opportunity for further attacks against Albus and his staff.
London, Greenwich, April 26th, 1993
"Lumos!"
Hermione Granger smiled widely at the bright light shining from the tip of her wand. Her new wand, bought less than an hour ago in Diagon Alley. Made of walnut wood, 9¾ inches long, slightly flexible, with a dragon heartstring as its core, it seemed to sing in her hand, eagerly working magic with the slightest gesture. After three weeks without a wand, three weeks without casting a spell, three weeks without feeling like the witch she was, Hermione wanted more than anything to spend a day, or two, just casting every spell she knew, to ensure she hadn't forgotten anything. She had had her books to read, but reading about magic, studying the wand movements in the diagrams, had made her longing to cast spells even worse.
But, she thought with a glance at Mister Fletcher, who was watching her with a faint smile, they hadn't come to this flat for her to play with her new wand. They had travelled here - by Apparition! Her first Side-Along-Apparition experience - so she could receive her first lesson from her new teacher.
So she took a deep breath and slid the wand into her equally new enchanted wrist holster, styled to look like a bracelet - and then had to resist the urge to test the QuickDraw Enchantment that would slip the wand into her hand at a mental command. "I'm sorry," she said.
"Don't be." Fletcher snorted. "To go without a wand is among the more dreadful fates a wizard can suffer. Not the worst, not even close, of course." The man looked a lot older when he said that, Hermione thought, and a lot more serious.
He quickly smiled again, though, and gestured towards the dining table. "Let's take a seat. But first," he added, and Hermione stopped halfway to the closest chair, "let's change." With that, he transfigured his robes back into the suit he had worn when he had fetched her from her home earlier today, then did the same to her own clothes, leaving her in jeans and a sweater. "We're in muggle London, and we should attempt to fit in. Especially right now, with all the muggle policemen up in arms. Not that they would be able to enter this flat, or even notice it, but it's the principle of the thing - you need to develop a habit of doing this."
Hermione nodded, feeling slightly guilty for forgetting about Saturday's bombing in Bishopsgate in her excitement.
"The more you look like you belong, the less chance that a bobby or Auror will single you out."
She nodded in agreement. That made sense. Then she blinked - she was already thinking like a thief. She wasn't certain if that was a good or bad thing. But after her recent experiences with Aurors, she certainly knew that avoiding their attention was a good thing.
"So… before we start with any practical lessons - which we will, don't look that disappointed - you need to learn the basics." He leaned back in his chair. "I'm not going to teach you how to become a common criminal. I'm going to educate you in the art of the gentleman thief. Or, in your case, lady thief."
"That's still a criminal." At his crooked smirk, she narrowed her eyes. A thief stole another's property, usually by stealth and without using violence or force. That was the definition - Hermione had looked it up.
"Correct. But not a common criminal. A gentleman thief has rules." That sounded… more like from a book - a fictional book - or a movie to Hermione. She tried not to let her doubt show, though, as he continued. "The first rule is simple: Don't kill. The penalties for theft are relatively light - relatively, mind you - but if you murder someone, it's the Kiss or Azkaban for you for certain. And the Aurors go after a murderer with much more effort - and violence - than a burglar. There are enough spells and other magical means to deal with, say, interlopers without killing them anyway."
She nodded and made a note. "That makes sense." And Hermione didn't want to kill anyone anyway. Well, maybe the elder Malfoy. He had tried to send her to Azkaban, after all, which she considered an attempt on her life.
"Of course it does - otherwise it wouldn't be a rule. Thieves are practical." He cleared his throat. "Second rule: Don't steal from the poor. Not only is it poor form to steal from those who don't have much to begin with, but it generally isn't worth the effort anyway. And you never know if that hovel might turn out to be a Death Eater's hideout."
"Ah." Hermione filed that tidbit about Death Eaters away in her mind while she wrote that rule down.
"Third: Keep mum about your profession. Never tell anyone who is not directly involved about your heists. And for 'eaven's sake, don't brag!" He scoffed. "Word travels fast. Even people you trust completely might reveal something - accidentally, or against their will."
She bit her lower lip. She didn't like keeping secrets from her friends - from Harry and Ron - but it made sense.
"Which means that your essential notes will have to be very carefully hidden, and any notes you don't need any more have to be destroyed."
She gasped. Destroying her notes? That… that…
"Trust me - you don't want your... parents, or your boyfriend, to accidentally stumble upon the schematics for a house including the strongbox's location."
She blushed slightly at the 'boyfriend' remark - she didn't have one, and she didn't think anyone would be interested in her, bushy hair and buckteeth and all - but she could see how that would be a really bad thing. It wasn't as if her parents knew anything other than that 'Mister Smith' was her new tutor. But… "Are you speaking from experience?" She regretted her question at once when she saw his face close up.
After a moment that seemed far too long to her, he went on: "Fourth rule: Never rat out your accomplices. Not only do informers tend to end up dead, but you will quickly run out of friends and contacts if you can't be trusted."
She thrust her chin up. She hadn't tattled on her friends! Not ever! At least not at Hogwarts!
He chuckled. "Ah, I see." He looked rather wistful, too, in her opinion. "Now, the next rule is obvious: Don't get caught." The way he looked at her made her think he was hinting at her trial - her conviction.
She scowled. "I wasn't caught. I was framed."
"Same thing, in the end. The best method to avoid getting caught is to avoid catching attention. Don't be obvious. Don't stick out. Don't be seen, even. Always have an escape plan - and two more in case the first plan fails. Getting away is more important than getting the loot, never forget that!"
She nodded emphatically. She certainly had no intention of getting caught by the Aurors ever again!
"And in order to avoid getting caught, you need to always keep an eye out for traps, ambushes, and anything out of the ordinary. Patience and caution are much more important than courage, so you'll need to rein in your inner Gryffindor."
She frowned at that - she wasn't brash, unlike others in her house. Her former house, she corrected herself with more than a little regret.
Once more he chuckled at her expression. "You'll have to work on hiding your feelings as well. Anyway, those are the most important rules. They'll keep you alive and out of prison." He looked at her until she nodded, then smiled again. "Now, let's start with a more practical lesson. Can't let you forget how to cast spells, after all."
Hermione perked up and let her wand slip into her hand. Finally!
Hogwarts, May 5th, 1993
"This is weird!" Harry Potter said, putting his quill down and leaning back in his chair in the Gryffindor common room.
"What's weird?" Ron asked, looking up from where he was reading a Charms essay Percy had written in his second year.
"I keep expecting Hermione to appear and quiz us. Or tell us to study harder."
Ron snorted, but he didn't sound amused. "Or tell us that we should have started studying earlier. Like last year."
"Yeah." Harry sighed. "If you told me a few months ago I'd miss her nagging…"
Ron nodded. "Bloody Malfoy! It's all his fault," he muttered.
Harry looked around, then leaned forward and whispered: "Your brothers haven't had much success." He had expected much more than the few pranks they had managed to do.
"The Headmaster told them off." Ron frowned. "Otherwise, Malfoy would be begging his father for a transfer to Durmstrang now."
Harry knew that. "Still…"
"Would you go against Dumbledore?" Ron stared at him.
Harry was tempted to do so. Even knowing that Malfoy's father would exploit any incident to further weaken Dumbledore's position. "Each time I see his ugly face I want to hex him until he cries," he said through clenched teeth.
"You and me both, mate," Ron muttered. "But we'd get expelled as well."
"It might be worth it," Harry said. "We could study with Hermione's tutor." They'd still do the exams - Hermione had told them that Dumbledore would send her the questions. After the exams at Hogwarts, of course.
"Mum would kill me. And Hermione would kill us. We promised her that we'd leave the slimy git alone, remember?"
Harry sighed. He remembered - Hermione reminded them with every letter. And he really didn't want to leave Hogwarts. The Dursleys wouldn't let him study magic. It would be Stonewall High for him. "Bloody arse," he spat.
Ron nodded. "He'll get his. What did Hermione say in her last letter? Revenge is a dish best served cold?"
"Yes." Harry had had to explain the saying to Ron.
His friend suddenly grinned. "Can you imagine what she'll do to him with enough time to prepare?"
Harry smiled. He certainly could.
London, Greenwich, June 9th, 1993
Hermione Granger frowned at the parchment in front of her. The written Charms exam had been harder than she had expected. Although given her lack of access to the Hogwarts Library, she should have anticipated that - she hadn't been able to research the material as thoroughly as she should have. And she hadn't had that much time to study either, what with the upheaval caused by her family's recent move to a small flat in London.
She clenched her teeth. If the wizards and goblins had been reasonable, they would have let her parents keep their practice and pay the debts over time with their greater income. But they hadn't been reasonable. Not at all. The whole thing was a travesty to start with, and would never have happened in a decent court - her parents wouldn't have been held liable for her actions in the first place! But with the Wizengamot stuffed full of bigoted rich purebloods...
"Done?" Mister Fletcher asked, looking up from where he had been reading the Daily Prophet.
"Yes." She dried the ink with a quick charm, then banished it towards the wizard.
He caught it, though with some difficulty, as she noticed, and stowed it in the scroll case on the low table near the couch. Once Hedwig brought Harry and Ron's next letter, the owl would carry the case back to Hogwarts with the other exams she had taken, to be corrected by the teachers.
"Good. Then let's get through the practical part."
She didn't frown when she stood, but she felt like doing so. Mister Fletcher wasn't the best teacher when it came to casting spells. He wasn't bad, but the difference between him and Professors McGonagall or Flitwick was obvious. He was used to casting without incantations, and often without precise wand movements as well, and she usually had to resort to animated sketches in the books to learn the basic wand movements of a spell. Which limited her progress, since she had only limited access to such documents.
Mister Fletcher had said that Dumbledore owed her for failing to foil Malfoy's plot, and that she should use that to get access to the Hogwarts Library over the holidays. She didn't want to - the Headmaster had saved her from Azkaban - but on the other hand, she really missed being able to read whatever book she wanted…
And, she thought when she faced her tutor, there were Potions and Herbology to consider. And Care of Magical Creatures. She could handle Potions - having brewed Veritaserum by herself, with a pilfered cauldron and stolen ingredients, proved that. It wasn't as if Snape deserved to be called a teacher anyway! But Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures needed practical lessons her tutor couldn't provide.
"Ready?"
She stopped pondering her academical problems and nodded at Mister Fletcher. "Yes."
"Good." He conjured a small piece of wood on the floor. "Cast an Engorgement Charm on it."
She knew that charm. "Engorgio!" The piece of wood grew rapidly, until it was the size of a table. She smiled - that was a good result for such a charm, according to her reading material.
He nodded. "Shrink it down."
"Reducio." She had gone through that spell in her head already while he had inspected the wood - those two charms were taught together for a reason.
"Good." He took a step back and held his wand at the ready. "Now stand on top of the wood, and then cast the first charm again!"
She blinked. That wasn't in the test notes she had received! She opened her mouth to protest, when she suddenly understood what he was doing.
"Exactly!" He grinned. "A nifty little trick to get over walls - or on top of roofs - with the right object. Don't overdo it while we're inside, though!"
She huffed. As if she'd forget that the ceiling wasn't that high above her head! "Engorgio!"
The piece of wood rapidly grew again, but even expecting it, she couldn't adjust for the sudden movement, and lost her balance halfway to the ceiling, toppling off the wood.
Before she hit the floor though, she suddenly froze in mid-air - Mister Fletcher had stopped her fall with another charm on the exam list. He shook his head. "And that's the difference between learning how to cast a spell and learning how to use the spell."
She frowned at him. "That was the first time I tried this!"
He inclined his head. "True. I expect you'll do better the second time, then." He cancelled his spell with a grin, and she dropped to the floor. "Or not."
Hermione rubbed her rump - that had hurt! - and glared at him.
"Third time's the charm?" He tilted his head slightly sideways with a grin.
Yes, Hermione thought while getting up - and resisting the urge to try and hit him with a Stinging Hex - Professors McGonagall or Flitwick would never have done this.
But then, they wouldn't have taught her some of the uses for those harmless-looking spells either.
London, Enfield, July 11th, 1993
Harry Potter spotted her before he regained his balance - magical travel, apart from flying, didn't seem to agree with him, and Ron's dad side-along-apparating him and his friend was no exception. Hermione was leaning against the bus stop sign, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. By the time he had managed to stand straight, she was already greeting them with a smile.
"Hello, Mister Weasley. Hi, Ron. Hi, Harry."
"Hermione! There you are, just where you said you'd be! At the muggle bus stop!" He pointed at the sign and turned to Harry and Ron. "See boys? This is what muggles use to stop their busses, since they have no wands."
Harry refrained from telling Mr Weasley that he had been taking buses for years. Ron's dad had been kind enough to fetch him from Privet Drive, sparing him a lengthy trip.
"Are your parents here as well?" the older wizard asked, looking around.
"They're at work," Hermione answered, her smile slipping a little.
"Ah." Mr Weasley nodded. "Do you live around here?"
Hermione's smile disappeared completely. "We had to move here after we had to sell our house."
"Oh, yes. I'm sorry, I forgot." Ron's dad had the grace to look embarrassed. "Terrible shame that affair! Terrible!"
Harry glanced apologetically at Hermione. He didn't think that she wanted to talk about it - he knew her relationship with her parents was still rather strained. Even though the Grangers weren't as bad as the Dursleys, they certainly weren't fond of magic now.
"So… I'll be off then, back to The Burrow. We have so much to prepare for our trip! International travel is complicated! Ron, take the Knight Bus home in time for dinner. And ask your friends before you assume something about muggles, will you?"
"Yes, Dad." Ron didn't quite roll his eyes, and Harry felt a touch of jealousy. He wished he had parents who cared that much about him. Hell, he wished he had parents, period.
Mr Weasley disappeared with a cracking sound, and the three were alone at the bus stop.
"Are you going on a trip?" Hermione asked.
"Ah…" Ron cleared his throat. "Right, yes, we are. Dad won the Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw. Seven hundred Galleons." He looked almost embarrassed, Harry thought. "So, we're going to visit Bill in Egypt for a month."
Hermione smiled. "That's great, Ron. When will you depart?"
"Last week of July - I'm going to miss Harry's birthday."
"It's not as if I'm going to throw a party," Harry said. "The Dursleys would never allow it."
Hermione sniffed. "We'll be celebrating your birthday, Harry," she declared in that firm tone of hers that left no doubt that things would happen as she wanted.
Not that Harry would want to contradict her - he was looking forward to his birthday. They'd probably watch a movie, eat out...
"Ah, alright." Ron glanced at him, then at Hermione with a strange expression, but quickly smiled again. "So, how are things with your tutor?"
"Ah, they're going well. It's not the same as Hogwarts, of course - I really miss Professors McGonagall and Flitwick - but according to the test I took, I would have done well on the exams. Even in Defence, which is quite surprising, since that's not one of my better subjects." Which meant that she wasn't the best in her year in Defence, Harry knew. Or rather, hadn't been the best, since she was no longer a student at Hogwarts.
"Well, you won't miss Snape," Ron muttered. "Bloody git."
Hermione nodded. "How that awful man remains a teacher I cannot fathom."
"Dumbledore must have told him off, though - he's been on his best behaviour ever since you left," Harry said. Granted, the man's best behaviour was still rather dreadful compared to the other teachers, but there had been an improvement. He didn't think it would last past the summer though.
"Lockhart was a decent teacher, I guess." Ron sounded as if he had to force the words out - he didn't like the man. Harry shared the sentiment - especially after he saw how Hermione's eyes lit up. Lockhart had just been too… full of himself.
"He won't be returning for our next year," he said. "Apparently, there's been a zombie outbreak in Africa, and Britain is sending a force to deal with it."
"I've read about that," Hermione said, and once more, Harry felt nostalgic at the familiar tone, "there is speculation that this could be the work of survivors of the ICW Intervention of 1870. Or a splinter group of houngans from Jamaica trying to establish themselves there. My tutor thinks the houngans are trying to expand and are using that as a cover story," she added.
"Who's your tutor, anyway?" Ron asked. "You haven't told us his name."
Hermione flinched a little - Harry almost missed it - before she straightened. "I told you, Ron, he doesn't want his name to be known. I'm persona non grata in wizarding society, after all, and being known to teach me could harm his reputation."
"Dad doesn't care about that," Ron said, frowning.
"Well, he should! No one but Malfoy profits if your family gets dragged into my mess." With a scowl, she added: "And Malfoy has profited far too much already."
"So, what are we doing today?" Harry was as curious as Ron about Hermione's mysterious tutor - he thought it was Dumbledore himself, but Ron thought that the Headmaster wouldn't have the time to teach anyone - but he wouldn't push their friend.
Hermione smiled again. "I've prepared a schedule!"
While their friend pulled out a rather large sheet of paper and started to explain, Harry exchanged a grin with Ron. Hermione would never change.
London, Greenwich, July 19th, 1993
"My friends asked me about you again," Hermione remarked as she walked down the street next to Mister Fletcher.
"Curious lot, are they?" He didn't look at her as he answered, but she could see that he was grinning.
"They are concerned about me." Being curious was not a bad thing, but she felt the need to defend Harry and Ron anyway.
"And you wonder why I gave a fake name to your parents."
"No." She glanced at him. He was now looking at her. "While you were a gentleman thief, you haven't been one for some time."
He snorted, and for a moment, he didn't look like a middle-aged gentleman, but a … crook, she decided after a little deliberation. Then he sighed and simply looked old. "Yeah. 'Mundungus Fletcher' got a reputation. Not a good one, mind ya. Guttersnipe. Drunk. Petty thief. Not a name ya would want to be associated with. And not a good cover for a gentleman thief either."
Hermione didn't ask what had caused one of Dumbledore's friends to become such a man. Nor did she ask if he had left his past behind. He was always shaved and perfectly coiffed, but that was easy with magic. The occasional trembling of his hands, or the expression he had once when they passed a Wine Merchant, though, were harder to hide. "So now you're Mister Smith."
"Yeah." He sounded rough, then cleared his throat and went on in a much smoother voice. "Mister Smith, recently moved here from the Colonies, now whiling away his time as a private tutor in the Old Country."
"Obviously a fake name, but people will assume you are simply one of the refuges - émigrés - from one of the wars in North America who wants to avoid trouble with old enemies. They won't suspect that you are a thief." She had put that together a week ago, after reading up on the situation in Magical North America - a conglomerate of small and usually extremist wizarding enclaves, at least half of them either at war, or close to starting a war, with their neighbours on any given day.
"Gentleman thief," he corrected her. "Of course, I'll be maintaining my identity as Fletcher too." Once more he grinned crookedly. "There's a lot places a bleedin' gentleman would be thrown out of where a guttersnipe can enter jus' fine."
She managed not to shudder at his accent. "Will I be joining him on such… ventures?"
"No," he said in a very flat voice. "Those are not places that a young witch should visit."
She wasn't certain if she should feel relieved or insulted, but she had a notion of what kind of witches would be found in those places. "What if I need to, to case a joint?"
"You'll need to be older to fit in convincingly."
He wasn't looking at her as he said that, and she didn't think he was being entirely honest with her, but she didn't pry any further. She had no real desire to visit such places, after all. "What disguises will we be using today?" she asked instead. "Pureblood daughter from a good family?" Mister Fletcher had been drilling her in 'proper pureblood manners' when he hadn't been teaching her more spells or checking her other work.
"That would be 'illegitimate pureblood daughter from an affair with a witch of the continent'," he corrected her. "You can't pass as a British pureblood witch from a 'good family' - they all know each other. The older witches know the pureblood family trees better than a dragon breeder knows his bloodlines." She didn't try to hide her revulsion at the images that conjured up inside her mind. He laughed. "They don't try to breed their children as if they were animals, mind you - it's politics they keep track of. And inheritances, of course."
"Ah." They passed a muggle café, and she waited before answering. "So… will we be using that disguise?"
"Not today. You still need to learn to act a bit better." He snorted at her pout. "No, today we'll case a joint - a muggle bank." Her eyes widened. Would they...? "We're not gonna rob it, mind ya. It's just training for the real thing."
"Gringotts?" She had heard stories…
"Merlin's beard, no!" He was shaking his head. "No, the real thing will be a magical house - and we won't break into one any time soon, either, don't look so eager."
She didn't. Not really. But it would be good to do something… productive. Even if she hadn't yet decided how to explain her career choice to her parents. Which she would have to, once she started to steal gold.
"Now… look at the bank there - without looking as if you're studying it. We're just waiting for the bus, father and daughter." She glanced at the building. "How would you enter it?"
"Roof or upper floor windows," she answered quickly. "From a broom."
"You have no broom."
"From a floating board, then." She could do that, even though standing on a board that only her magic was keeping in the air was even more disturbing than flying on a broom.
"And once inside?"
"Unlocking Charm on all doors until I reach the vaults… no. There would be alarms on the doors."
"Indeed."
A Silencing Charm wouldn't help - the doors would send out electronic alerts. Now how to deal with that… "I'll have to find out who can disable the alarms." She looked at him.
He seemed pleased. "Yes. And how can you do that?"
"Enter disguised and make someone else trigger an alarm, so I can observe what happens." A Compulsion Charm would do it.
"That's one method, yes. There are others, of course."
"Do pureblood manors really have alarm charms on their doors?" That would be a hassle, she thought.
"Some of the more paranoid families do - at least on the less used or more important ones. But it's the principle of the thing - you can't just break in and grab some loot if you want to steal a fortune. You need a plan, and for that, you need a lot of information. Information best acquired in disguise."
She nodded.
"And for that, you need to learn to act convincingly. You have a way to go there, too."
She scowled. She was working hard on that. And she was making progress. Her parents didn't suspect anything, after all. Not that they were speaking with her that much, these days.
"How's your physical training progressing, by the way?"
Her scowl deepened. P.E. was the only class she had never liked. And after two years free of it, it had now returned with a vengeance.
Mister Fletcher laughed at her expression, utterly unimpressed with her glaring at him.
London, Enfield, July 31st, 1993
"That was a great movie!" Harry Potter exclaimed when he and Hermione left the cinema.
"They made a lot of changes to the book," his friend said, pursing her lips. "The characters acted quite differently. And I'm not entirely certain if they incorporated the latest discoveries about dinosaurs."
Harry had to laugh, even though he should have expected that reaction from her. Of course she would have read the book beforehand! "Well, it was a good movie. Thank you for inviting me!" He smiled at her.
Her slight pout, a reaction to his laughter, disappeared, and she returned his smile. "It's your birthday gift. Or part of it." She pulled a small package out of her handbag. "Here's the other part!"
"Thanks!" He took it and started to unwrap it while they walked. He knew it was a book before he even touched it, and tearing off the wrapping paper revealed a copy of 'Jurassic Park'.
"Since you liked the movie I think you'll like the book as well," she said. "I mean, I didn't know that you'd like the movie when I bought the novel, but it was a safe bet." She was biting her lower lip though, he noticed, so she probably was worried he wouldn't like it.
"Thanks! I'm sure I'll like it - I can read it at Hogwarts, too, and remember the movie."
The smile that had appeared on her face slipped a bit, and Harry wanted to hit himself for reminding his friend - and himself - that she wouldn't be joining him and Ron at Hogwarts this year. "So… let's get something to drink, OK?" he quickly said, pointing at the nearest café.
She nodded. "Alright."
"My treat," he added. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head. "I insist." He expected her to argue, but after a moment, she nodded. He was glad - he didn't want her to spend even more money on him. Not when he knew how bad her family's situation was. At least she was more sensible than Ron about such things.
His eyes widened. "I almost forgot: Ron sent a letter." He dug around in his jacket and pulled out the envelope. Handing it over, he added: "There're two pictures from Egypt inside as well." She looked at the letter, hesitating. "Go ahead and read it." It wouldn't take her long, anyway, and they would be able to talk about it.
With a quick smile, she pulled the letter and pictures out. By the time the waiter brought their order, she had already finished. "That's a really long letter. For Ron," she said. Her own, of course, were generally longer.
Harry nodded. Sometimes, it had felt as if Ron was bragging about his trip. But then, Ron didn't get to brag about much, so Harry didn't really mind. Even if he would have loved to go to Egypt as well. Or just stay with the Weasleys. On the other hand, that would have meant leaving Hermione alone by herself.
And he doubted that he would have been able to enjoy his vacation knowing that.
For a change, Harry was happy when he reached Privet Drive. That had been his best birthday, ever! And Ron was at least partially responsible for it, too, despite his absence - Harry and Hermione had talked at length about his letter, and had been able to avoid the touchier subjects.
He sighed, enjoying the evening for a moment, before he opened the door and entered the house. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were in the living room, watching the telly. Dudley would still be out, with his friends. 'News and Sports' had just began, from what he could hear.
After a moment's hesitation, he entered the living room. "I'm back!"
Uncle Vernon turned his head and glared at him. "The news has started!"
Aunt Petunia frowned, then asked: "Did you have a nice day?"
"Yes." Harry almost grinned. His aunt didn't really care, but she insisted on the proper forms - the Dursleys were a normal family, after all, and a normal family asked after your day. "You?" he asked.
"We had a great day!" Uncle Vernon grumbled.
Aunt Petunia was about to go into more - boring - detail when she suddenly gasped and stared at the TV. "Dear Lord!"
Harry blinked. There was a report about a mass-murderer having escaped a special prison. He looked like a maniac on the picture they showed. "Sirius Black?" He hadn't heard of the man.
His aunt was trembling. "I recognise that man!"
"What?" Harry and Uncle Vernon said in unison for the first time in their lives.
She nodded shakily. "He's a wizard… he was one of your father's friends. I met him at Lily's wedding!"
"A mass-murderer?" Harry couldn't believe it. His parents had been heroes!
"I can believe that," Uncle Vernon grumbled. "Evil lot, all of them. Like that giant who cursed Dudley!"
"What… what if he's looking for us?" Petunia asked, still trembling, before Harry could defend Hagrid. Vernon paled as well.
"I'll mail Dumbledore," Harry said. "He'll know what to do."
For once, neither Uncle Vernon nor Aunt Petunia disagreed about him contacting a wizard.
London, Greenwich, August 1st, 1993
Someone had broken out of Azkaban! Hermione Granger was reading the article in the Daily Prophet for the third time, trying to spot any detail she might have missed. According to her research - and she had read what she could on that horrible prison after her close brush with being incarcerated there - Sirius Black was the first prisoner ever to have managed that feat.
"How could Black have escaped?" she asked, looking up from the newspaper at her tutor, who was currently reading Seeker Weekly.
"Inside job," Mister Fletcher answered without any hesitation. "It's not possible otherwise. He must have had help, probably from a guard."
"A human guard?"
"Of course. The Dementors wouldn't help anyone - they'd even attack the guards, if they could get away with it, and suck out their souls."
Hermione shuddered on being reminded of the ultimate punishment used in Wizarding Britain - the Dementor's Kiss. To go as far as to destroy a soul… She shook her head and rubbed her arms to banish the morbid thoughts that brought up.
"But to get inside help after more than twelve years… why wouldn't he have escaped earlier?" That didn't make much sense. Even a few months among Dementors tended to drive prisoners mad.
"Well, cui bono? Someone must have an interest in freeing a crazy Death Eater." He was looking at her, expecting her to work it out.
She wasn't entirely certain that he knew the answer himself in the first place, but she still tried to reason it out. "Having such a dangerous prisoner escape weakens the trust of the population in the Minister. So a political rival might have engineered this." He nodded at her. She bit her lower lip, then went on: "Since he is a threat, whoever catches him will gain a lot of prestige. A rival of the Minister could use that to replace him."
"Good guess, but the one who would profit the most, Amelia Bones, Head of the DMLE, isn't the type to play such games. She would never set a prisoner free in such a plot." He snorted. "If the bleedin' witch had 'er way, she'd keep all prisoners forever."
Hermione decided not to ask if he had personal experience with the Head of the DMLE. She cleared her throat. "But if she is such an ethical person, others could exploit the capture of Black." People like Malfoy.
"They could. But Fudge is such a weak-willed wizard, they could probably simply bribe him and get what they want without going to such lengths." He was back to speaking with a barely noticeable - and entirely fake, as she knew - American accent.
"So... maybe they want to use this opportunity to achieve something else. It might be a pretext to search the houses of his suspected accomplices or relatives. Or simply a way to ruin their reputation with rumours and suspicions." She was simply speculating now.
"Aye, that could be it - but the most obvious victim of such a plot would be Malfoy, being both an 'imperiused' Death Eater, and the husband of Black's cousin." Mister Fletcher grinned. "Do you think Dumbledore would go that far?"
"It sounds a bit risky," she said. It also sounded like a great way to get back at Malfoy, as long as Black wasn't actually free to roam Britain.
"But you forgot the most obvious angle."
"Which is?" She frowned at him. She didn't overlook the obvious! Not often, at least.
"Gold. If Black gets killed - and the Aurors will not hold back when they find him, so that's rather likely - his relatives would inherit the Black fortune."
"Malfoy." She spat out the name like the curse it was.
"Yeah. Would be a nice, neat way to get at that gold without having to wait a few more decades until Black croaks in Azkaban."
She narrowed her eyes. "But… if Malfoy wanted Black dead, wouldn't he have had the guard on the take simply kill Black in prison and make it look like an accident or an attempt to escape?"
"Good question." He smiled at her. "Maybe he wants Fudge weakened as well - or is trying to blame Bones for this. Malfoy is a cunning man, and his plans reflect that."
Hermione clenched her teeth, scowling - she knew that only too well. But she would get her revenge!
And, she thought, she would look into how one could escape Azkaban. If the worst happened, she wouldn't languish there for a decade.
Little Whinging, No 4 Privet Drive, August 14th, 1993
Weeding the garden was tiring work, but Harry didn't mind - he was getting paid well enough for it, after all. Especially as the threat of Black meant working outside the house was seen by his relatives as being more dangerous. And it wasn't as if he had anything more interesting to do. Harry wasn't in the mood for losing another video game against Dudley, he had read all his books already and had done all his homework. And Uncle Vernon had asked Aunt Marge to cancel her visit due to the danger, which meant that so far the summer had been more pleasant than expected. On the other hand, the Dursleys had limited his trips to London to see Hermione to days when Dumbledore's friends could protect both the house and Harry, and that had seriously cut down on the time Harry had been able to spend with his best female friend.
Straightening up after pulling out a particularly resistant weed, he narrowed his eyes when he saw, through the gap in the fence, the flattened grass near the tree in their neighbour's garden. Over the last two weeks, he had become quite good at spotting the guards Dumbledore had placed at Privet Drive - even invisible, they had to pick a location from where they could observe the house's entrances, or at least most of them, and usually something gave them away. A cat or dog staring at the spot - Mrs Figg's cats seemed particularly apt at sniffing the wizards out - or some of the neighbours making a detour without any obvious reason.
But today none of the usual spots had been occupied. And from that tree the front door and the garage were not visible at all - Harry had been up that tree often enough in the past to know that. So why would anyone trying to prevent Black from breaking into the house be hiding there?
If that was Black… but the fugitive would have spotted Harry already, and he hadn't been cursed.
"Heh!" He heard a chuckling laugh. "Spotted me, huh? Good instincts, Potter. I'm impressed." The voice would have fitted an escaped prisoner - rough and harsh.
"Who're you?" Harry stood up and put his hand on his wand holster - a late birthday gift from a friend of his parents, Dumbledore had called it when he had handed it over.
The air around the tree seemed to shimmer for a moment, and then a man appeared. An old man, with scarred face and… something that spun wildly in place of his left eye. And a peg leg! "I'm Moody."
"Moody." Nickname, first name, last name? Harry couldn't tell with wizard names.
"The others told me you were a sharp kid. Guess they weren't as rusty as I thought." The man cackled. "Keep that attitude up. Constant vigilance!"
Harry felt slightly irked at the patronising tone. He had spotted all of his guards so far, after all! "What happened to your eye?"
"Lost it in a fight against a dark wizard." Moody grinned, which wasn't a comforting sight with his scarred face. He didn't explain further.
"Can you see through walls with it?"
More laughter. "Really sharp kid. You'll make a good Auror. I can see through walls, and behind me." He suddenly stiffened, then frowned. "And you should return to weeding the garden. Neighbours're coming home."
A flick of his wand later, the man had disappeared from view. And the grass wasn't showing any imprints any more.
Harry looked around for a little longer, then knelt down again to finish his chores. He could use the money for his next trip to London.
London, Enfield, August 15th, 1993
"So... have you already spotted our tail today?" Hermione Granger asked sotto voce while acting as if she was very interested in the clothes on display in the window in front of her and Harry.
"Hm." Harry leaned forward, probably to get a better angle on the mirror behind the window. "There's been a rather clumsy fellow bumping into people behind us."
"Yes," she whispered. "But that could be a decoy, to throw us off the real tail." Mister Fletcher had been thorough about the tricks Aurors used when tailing a suspect. And how to throw them off. Unlike spotting invisible wizards, which a spell could do easily, spotting disguised wizards was very difficult - especially since they could use magic to change their disguises and hair colour. Not that she would let that deter her. You could never be too cautious, as her tutor was fond of lecturing her.
"I doubt that," Harry retorted. "They don't have that many people - they need to guard the Dursleys as well while I'm with you."
He had a point, she admitted with a frown. "I hope they catch Black soon. You haven't been able to visit often." She could visit him, but spending a day with the Dursleys didn't sound appealing at all, and if she and Harry left the house, they would need another bodyguard anyway.
"Yeah. I hope they catch the traitor soon." Harry bared his teeth - he hadn't taken well to her telling him what Black had done to deserve Azkaban, and Hermione hoped that Harry wouldn't do anything foolish, should Black make an attempt on him.
She winced at the thought - she was being a little hypocritical, seeing as she was training to become a lady thief, which was certainly not a low-risk profession. On the other hand, she tended to think things through before acting, unlike Harry. Most of the time, at least.
"Another one stumbled over the curb," Harry whispered. "Either we're close to a meeting of Clumsy Anonymous, or that's our tail."
Hermione agreed with him. Then she had a thought. "Unless that's Black." After more than a decade in a small cell - the conditions for prisoners in Azkaban were even more horrible than she had thought before researching the matter - he might not be in a very good shape.
"He'd have tried something if that was the case," Harry said. "A few times he had a clear line of fire."
Hermione hadn't noticed that! That failure irked her even more than the realisation that Harry didn't see anything wrong with his method to check if their tail was Black or a friend. She glared at him.
"What?"
"Nothing." She huffed. She couldn't lecture him about his safety on the street. And her new favourite secondhand book shop beckoned.
She would tell him later, in private.
Little Whinging, No 4 Privet Drive, August 21st, 1993
When the doorbell rang, Harry Potter peered through the window first, to check who was visiting them on a Saturday evening. Black might be crazy enough to simply walk up to the house - Hermione had told Harry in detail just what happened to prisoners in Azkaban.
But it wasn't a stranger outside - it was Dumbledore. Or, he corrected himself, someone looking like the Headmaster. But the guard posted near the house hadn't stepped in. They could have been dealt with, of course - if Harry could spot them, then so could a wizard capable of breaking out of Azkaban. Moody had been vocal about that during their second meeting.
"Who is it?" he heard Aunt Petunia ask from the living room, where the Dursleys were watching TV.
"Wizard," he answered.
"Deal with him, boy!" he heard Uncle Vernon yell - he had expected that; they usually left 'such matters' to Harry.
He opened the window slightly. "How did you answer me when I told you how easy it was to spot the guards?"
The old wizard smiled. "I see you have been taking lessons from Alastor. You wrote me a letter, and I reassured you that the Black situation was under complete control and that you were entirely safe wherever you were."
That was the specific wording. Harry still had his wand in hand when he opened the door. Dumbledore must have noticed, but didn't comment. "Good evening, Headmaster."
"Good evening, Harry."
"I didn't expect you today." He was supposed to go to the Weasleys tomorrow, for the last week of the summer. "Did… did something happen?"
"Indeed, a serious matter, so to speak. Something best discussed in private."
For a serious matter, Dumbledore looked far too happy, Harry thought. But he gestured towards the stairs. "We can use my room, then. After you."
The old wizard nodded. "I might impose on Alastor, should I need a new Defence teacher. You certainly seem to have taken his lessons to heart."
"Not all of them," Harry said as they took the stairs to his room. He wasn't paranoid - there really was a mass-murderer out to get him. Normal boys didn't get around the clock protection.
"Good. Alastor is a good friend, but he is a little too zealous, at times. Understandable, of course, given his experiences."
They entered his room, and as soon as Harry closed the door, the Headmaster cast several spells he didn't recognise on it. "Those will ensure that we are not overheard," Dumbledore explained while he conjured an armchair for himself.
Harry sat down on his swivel chair. "So…"
Dumbledore sighed. "I must confess that I have not been entirely truthful with you - for a good reason, mind you."
"What?" Harry tensed.
"I have known for two weeks that Sirius Black was no danger to you. But in order to catch a very dangerous criminal, I had to keep this knowledge secret. Even from you."
"What?" Harry repeated himself.
"Sirius contacted me soon after his escape, and surrendered himself into my custody so I could verify his story. As it turned out, he was innocent of the crime for which he had been imprisoned - and the real culprit was still at large." The Headmaster's smile grew more grim. "That changed this afternoon. I'm happy to say that the man who betrayed your parents to Voldemort has been arrested and will be standing trial."
Harry gasped. "So… Black was innocent?" Twelve years in Azkaban as an innocent… he didn't even want to imagine how horrible that must have been.
Dumbledore nodded. "After so much time in Azkaban, he had lost a lot of his memories to the cruel attention of the Dementors, so Veritaserum would have proven less than useful. Fortunately, I had other means at my disposal."
"Who was the traitor?" Harry felt his fingers digging into his thighs, and forced himself to relax.
"Peter Pettigrew. Another friend of your parents - and a spy for Voldemort." Dumbledore grew serious. "I cannot know for certain yet how many he betrayed to the Death Eaters, but I fear he has been responsible for many more deaths than your parents and the twelve muggles he murdered to frame Sirius." He reached out and patted Harry's knee for a moment. "Justice will be done, trust me."
Harry wasn't entirely certain of that - first Hermione was framed and expelled, and now it turned out that Sirius Black had been framed and imprisoned for twelve years. Obviously, Wizarding Britain's judicial system was somewhat less than reliable. He nodded anyway.
"Now, that said, there is another thing to discuss."
"Yes?" Harry tilted his head as he looked at Dumbledore.
"Sirius Black was more than a friend of your parents. He is your godfather." After a moment, he added: "Your parents intended for him to become your guardian should they die."
Harry gasped again.