Thanks to everyone who's followed, favourited and reviewed. It keeps me motivated to continue writing this, despite the fact I've been really sick for the last few weeks. You guys are awesome. There's a few points at the end of the chapter I'd like anyone reading this (is anyone actually reading this?) to check out.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but Jemima Flint and the parts of the canon plot I've changed. The rest is JKR's.

Chapter Three: In Which Sirius Black becomes a thief.

1993 – London

"I think this is a really, really, god awful, horrible, idiotic idea," Flint muttered, glaring at Sirius, or rather Padfoot, who simply barked and wagged his tail.
"And why did you never tell me you were an animagus? We could have escaped that bloody place years ago."
The large black dog barked at her, inclining its head toward the busy London street, and was rewarding with a filthy look from the woman. "Alright, alright, I'm going. And you're sure he's a wizard?"
The large black dog nodded its shaggy head and barked softly. Flint, shaking slightly, slipped out of the alley way and onto the street, right behind a little old man in a purple top hat.
Sirius, in his dog form, watched as Flint brushed past several muggles on the street, looking simply like a business woman in a rush. Getting hold of a pencil skirt, white blouse, blazer and plain black heels had been surprisingly easy, and had involved a little bit of clothesline robbing and just a little breaking and entering. Now, Flint, who looked clean and sleek, wearing the perfect expression of professional boredom, brushed past Dedalus Diggle and lifted his wand out of his pocket and slid it up her sleeve so quickly at Sirius nearly missed it. For a moment the small man glanced at her, and Sirius' heart skipped a beat, but evidently the no-nonsense business woman who didn't even glance at him and she apologised for her large black handbag swinging into him wasn't cause for concern, even as they were passing a newsagents stand that sported large black and white' Wanted' posters for none other than the sleek looking business woman –who in the photograph looked deranged deadly, bearing the caption 'Jemima Flint, armed and highly dangerous'.
Sirius let out a breath he didn't know he'd even been holding as he yapped happily and danced out onto the street, weaving through the legs of unsuspecting muggles, past the sleek business woman Flint was pretending to be, and ducked into another alleyway where he was joined by Flint a moment later. Sirius ducked behind a dumpster and transformed, becoming human once more.
"You got it?" Sirius asked, sure he'd seen her pick the wand out of Diggle's pocket but scarcely beliving it had gone off without a hitch.
"Did you ever doubt me?" she replied, ducking behind the dumpster and retrieving the wand from her sleeve and handing it to him. Sirius grinned, and in a fit of giddiness he changed Flint's hair from her black to bright, vibrant purple.
"Ha, ha," Flint said sarcastically, catching sight of her reflection in a puddle of dirty water next to them. She snatched the wand from Sirius' hands and fixed her bright hair, and then transfigured her skirt into black trousers and her heels into sneakers.
"How long do you reckon until he realizes it's gone?" Flint asked, twirling the stolen and between her fingers.
"Knowing Dedalus, probably a few good hours. And then he'll think he lost it, so he'll backtrack all his steps and then he'll try to summon it," Sirius replied, peeking out from behind the dumpster in case anyone was heading down their alleyway. "And when that doesn't work he's going to think it's lodged somewhere and it can't be summoned, so he'll put a tracking spell on it, which is the first thing anyone else would have done, so we're lucky it's him, and then he's going to know it was stolen which won't matter because by that time we'll be disillusioned and have robbed Ollivanders and we'll live his wand somewhere where he can find it."
Flint grinned and shook her head, muttering, "You are officially a criminal, Sirius Black."
"I'm not," he argued, mock-outraged. "And besides, a bit of thievery pales in comparison to murder. And I'm not the one who picked Diggle's pocket."
"That's only because you'd look funny in a pencil skirt," Flint replied.

Harry James Potter was pissed.
This summer had been bad – as had the last summer and all the summers before he'd gone to Hogwarts but this particular summer was dreadful because of one large, purple-faced, moustached reason.
Marge Dursely had decided to grace number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, with her presence and for the last week Harry had had to behave. It was either that or risk not having permission to go to Hogsmeade on weekends during the year at Hogwarts.
Harry had contemplated forging Uncle Vernon's amazingly complicated signature, but all the loops and twists had managed to evade him and Harry was sure that Professor McGonagall would see through it with one withering glare.
And so Harry had tried to behave. He really had – but trouble had a way of finding Harry Potter, and so he found himself dragging his trunk, which was filled with his broomstick, spell books and robes (hardly ordinary belongings, but then Harry wasn't an ordinary boy) through Little Whinging in the middle of the night.
Harry dropped his trunk on the sidewalk and kicked it, a strangled scream forcing its way out of his throat. He had nowhere to go, no one to go to, and he wished once again for the parents he'd never known, and for the girl he'd let die. Rosie.
Harry shook such thoughts from his head; he knew it wasn't healthy to dwell on them, as much as he wished to. Shivering, the bespectacled boy wrapped his skinny arms around himself for warmth, a shift in the air catching his attention. He glanced up, just in time to see the bearlike black dog prowling through the bushes on the other side of the street towards him, snarling. Harry, abandoning all presence, pulled his wand out of his back pocket and held it in front of him, should the beast attack, when he feel backwards and with a bang a large triple-decker purple bus appeared. Harry blinked as a conductor in a purple suit leant out the back of the bus and began to speak into the night, introducing himself as Stan Shunpike, conductor of the Knight Bus. When he caught sight of Harry lying on the gutter, he broke off with a frown, and when Harry glanced around the bus to see what the huge dog was doing there was nothing there.
Stan lifted Harry's trunk onto the bus and a newspaper fell from his coat; and on the front page were two faces Harry had seen on the muggle news. He bent to pick the paper up, reading the title.
"'Escaped Prisoners Rob Ollivander's' – hang on, these two were on the muggle news!" Harry exclaimed.
"Of course they were," Stan said, shaking his head. "They're Sirius Black and Jemima Flint, aren't they?"
"Who?" Harry asked blankly, smoothing his hair over his fringe.
"They're murderers, they are," Stan told him, jabbing his finger at the wild looking people. "Sirius Black was a supporter of You-Who-'Oo and Jemima Flint's father was, too, and they broke out of Azkaban together a week ago."
"How?" Harry asked; he'd heard about Azkaban and it was supposed to be impossible to break out of.
"No one knows how," Stan told him. "They're mad, them two. Apparently they were in neighbouring cells for quite a few years an' they planned their escape, but no one knows how they did it. It's supposed to be impossible, innit?"
"Yeah," Harry agreed faintly. "Why'd they break into Ollivanders?"
"For wands, of course. They disillusioned themselves and snuck in, see, and when they had wands Flint threatened Ollivander and well –you don't want to cross Flint, see, she murdered most of her family when she wasn't much older than you, lad, and she didn't even use magic, so Ollivander just let them go, quietly like, and by the time the Aurors got there it was too late and they were long gone. Surely you know all this already, lad? It's all anyone can talk about. What's your name, anyway?"
"Neville Longbottom," Harry answered. "And no, I've been staying with muggle friends all summer."
"Ah," Stan said, in apparent understanding. "Well I'm sure you'll get sick of hearing it soon. The Dementors'll catch 'em soon enough and send 'em back to Azkaban and the rest of us can go back to living our lives."
"Yeah," Harry answered, not really listening, his attention focused on the pictures of the two ratty haired, dirty people glaring up at him and he shivered; Harry was really quite glad he'd never have to encounter either of them.
If only he knew…

"I can't believe we did that," Sirius gasped. "And I can't believe you threatened Ollivander!"
Flint laughed. "We may as well live up to our reputations of dangerous killers," she said. "Even if you're harmless, we may as well milk the scare factor."
Sirius noted she had called him harmless and said nothing about herself. She was just a kid, Pads, he reminded himself. She's not a bad guy. She's a good guy who'd had some pretty bad stuff happen to her. In fact, she's not a guy at all.
"Sirius? Sirius? Black, are you in there?"
Sirius jolted out of his thoughts and turned back to Flint. They were hiding out in an abandoned warehouse as the Aurors were going mad searching for them. They were in a muggle area, and they hadn't used any magic since they'd arrived, and unless the Aurors were going to wander in to that particular warehouse they were safe.
"You're not a guy," Sirius said aloud, and then cringed.
Flint raised an eyebrow. "Thanks for noticing, Sirius. Means a lot to me. So, when are we getting to Surrey?"
"You're not going to Surrey. Too dangerous."
"Black, a few hours ago we waltzed into Diagon Alley which is filled with Aurors and wizards who'd kill us given half the chance. I'm not too worried about going on a trip to Surrey."
"You're staying here."
"Black-"
"Have you ever been to Surrey, Flint?"
"What? No -"
"Excellent. Bye."
Sirius spun on his heel and Apparated away, leaving behind an annoyed witch, who said aloud to the empty warehouse, "Git."

Ok, so three things.
1- I can't stop laughing at how Sirius would look in a pencil skirt.
2-I never understood why Harry didn't just forge Uncle Vernon's signature on his Hogsmeade permission form. Harry's supposed to be a bit of a rule breaker, and come on –me and my friends have been forging signatures and notes since year seven and it just seems like the sort of thing Harry would do. Oh, whatever.
3-PLEASE READ -I mention that Harry thinks he let a girl called Rosie die. This little plot bunny was originally going to be a whole different fic, but I decided while writing this that I'm going to make this fic a little more about Harry (and possibly Remus because let's face it – Remus is awesome) instead of just about Sirius and Flint and the Harry/Rosie thing will be explained in a later chapter, although I might still do the Harry/Rosie story separately in greater detail.

Thanks for reading. It would mean so much to me if you could drop a quick review (it would also mean I write the next chapter quicker).

-GNU xx