As usual, fredfred deserves huge thanks for betaing. His help has improved the story a lot.

Chapter 11: Breakthroughs

Dunstable, Bedfordshire, Britain, September 25th, 1995

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

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

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

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

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

"Enter, Corban."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Dark Lord had returned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, milord."

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

"Yes, milord."

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

"Yes, milord!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hogwarts, September 29th, 1995

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Interesting."

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

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

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

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

Harry frowned at that.

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

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

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

London, Greenwich, September 29th, 1995

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You might say so." Definitely grinning.

"Something good?"

He slowly shrugged. "One might think so."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

London, Greenwich, October 2nd, 1995

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mr Fletcher frowned at her, but Miss Dubois laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hogwarts, October 4th, 1995

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

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

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

"Let's not," Ginny whispered.

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

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

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

"Very funny, Fred," Angelina shot back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What about Percy?" Harry asked.

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

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

"Tell me what?" Harry asked again.

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

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

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

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

Ron nodded and Ginny made an agreeing noise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wow!" she heard the dog, Mr Black, say. "That's the biggest cat I've ever seen! Weirdest looking, too."

She looked at him, sitting behind the cage he had conjured around his desk 'for my own safety', then at herself. And gasped again. Her hands were covered in fur. Fur the colour of her hair.

And not just her hands. As she quickly found out, all of her skin was entirely covered in fur. But nothing else had changed. She hadn't turned into a cat. She had just turned into a furry girl.

"It's an impressive first step," Mr Black said, not bothering to hide his amusement as he ran his wand over her body. "I would have expected you to grow claws or fangs, first. James grew antlers - tiny ones."

"And you?" Hermione asked, jerking and glaring at him when he poked her belly with the tip of his wand. "What was your first physical change?"

"Tongue," he said, bending forward and cocking his head to look at her shoulder. At least she hoped it was her shoulder, and he wasn't trying to look down her shirt.

"Really?" That sounded… dubious.

"Well, I think so. It certainly felt different. James blamed it on the hangover we had and said he didn't see any difference." She groaned at that. Couldn't the man be serious, for once? "My nose was my first physical change," he added after a snort.

"Ah." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "So, can you reverse this?" If he couldn't, she'd have to go to St Mungo's. And that would probably lead to another article in the Prophet - judging by all the information Skeeter had, she must have a network of informants covering all of Wizarding Britain.

"I think so." He straightened and nodded.

"You think so?" She raised an eyebrow, or would have, had they not be replaced with fur.

"Well, if my Transfiguration skills are not up to the task, we can simply shave you. Those spells I know by heart!"

She growled at him - this was not the place or time for jokes.

"Oh. We might need to check your throat too. That sounded very animal-like." He was grinning widely again.

Hermione gritted her teeth. No wonder her cat spirit wanted to maul the dog!

Crookshanks was waiting for her when she got home, perched on the fence. He jumped off and landed with a thud on the pavement as soon as she got closer, then came over to her to sniff her legs - and her hand once she bent down to scratch his head.

"So, do I pass inspection?" she asked, smiling at her pet. He was rather jealous, Hermione had noticed, of other cats, and didn't like their scent on her. And if any other cat dared to enter the yard… the first time that had happened, he had woken up the entire family.

Crookshanks sniffed, then studied her, then sniffed her leg again.

"What's wrong?" He wasn't hissing, so that was a good sign, but usually, he'd go on to the door, expecting her to follow and feed him first thing once inside. Oh. Of course! "That's my fur you're smelling," she said. "Better get used to it."

He miaowed then turned around and walked to the door, tail held high.

Hermione hoped that that was a good sign as well. She'd rather not have to explain to her parents why her cat was suddenly jealous of her. Not after she had to defend her wonderful pet against her parents' unfair, judgmental comments. It wasn't his fault that he looked like he did!

With her hair, Hermione could certainly sympathise.

And she had healed the small scratches Crookshanks had left on her dad's leg after he had accidentally sat on him. And thanks to the Mending Charm, his habit of using her mum's favorite armchair as a scratching post was no trouble either!

It wasn't as if Crookshank damaged books, after all.

Hogwarts, October 15th, 1995

It was quite unfair, Harry Potter thought as he tried to spot his opponent. Sirius was using Harry's own cloak against him. And his godfather was having far too much fun in this training session - or 'lesson in constant vigilance'. Harry still didn't know exactly what was so funny about that.

Where was Sirius? It was hard enough to spot him in normal training sessions, when he was using conjuration to gain cover and concealment, but now… "Keep your eyes open!" he whispered.

"That won't help much," Ron, at his side, whispered back. We can't see him, remember?"

And Harry doubted that they could hear Sirius. If at least they could use the Human-presence-revealing Spell… "Watch the ground! He can't fly and use the cloak!" He whispered.

"Good idea!" Ron agreed. "If the dust gets disturbed…"

"We need more dust," Harry said through clenched teeth. A flick of his wand conjured motes of dust that floated in the air.

"Gotcha." Ron added lights that made the motes sparkle slightly.

Now they had just to watch for disturbances in the air. You couldn't move easily without at least displacing the air. Maybe if they added some colour effect to the dust… Something caught his attention. Dust moving in the air! "There!" Harry yelled, swishing his wand. "Stupefy!"

"Stupefy!" Ron's Stunner was half a second behind Harry's, and slightly offset. Both passed through the area without hitting anything. But Harry was already casting the next. If they cast enough spells they were bound to hit some…

He felt a spell hit him - from behind! - and everything went dark.

Sirius's smiling face was the first thing Harry saw when he regained consciousness. "Good idea with the dust, Harry. But you forgot something."

"What?" Harry groaned and shook his head as he recovered fully from the Stunner with which Sirius had hit him. "How did you do that?"

"It was a diversion," Ron answered. "He made the air move there, and once we started casting, we didn't pay attention to our backs any more. Right?"

"Yes," Sirius admitted. "I realised what you were doing, and so I created exactly what you were expecting. And you fell for it."

"Hook, line and sinker." Harry sighed.

"Don't feel bad," Sirius said. "You two did very well. You worked together better than some Auror teams I've seen in my time." He frowned. "Granted, that was in the last months of the war, and they probably had less training than you two… Anyway, let's do it again!"

Harry exchanged a glance with Ron, then nodded. This time, they'd beat Sirius.

They didn't. But it was close - at least in his opinion.

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, October 17th, 1995

Hermione Granger was about to sit down on her mat in Mr Black's study when he spoke up. "Before we start with your next attempt to save the gold for a fur coat, I have an important task for you."

"What do you need, sir?" She was curious about what he considered 'an important task'. As her nominal employer, he usually let her sort and file his mail, so he didn't have to read all of it, and check his bills. That she still attempted to keep his schedule was a testimony to her sense of duty - he certainly didn't seem to care much about most of his appointments. Or he simply liked to rile her up by pretending not to care about his own affairs as much as she did.

He swished his wand, and a stack of parchment flew over to her. "I need you to check this for signs of forgery and tampering."

She blinked. Why would… "You mean, you want my tutor to look it over." She didn't have any practical experience with forgery, after all. His grin told her she was correct. "I can ask him, but I can't promise anything." Mr Fletcher had made his opinion of Mr Black, and of such attempts to use him, clear, after all.

"I know. Which is why I expect you to ask very nicely. It concerns your other best friend's family, after all."

"Ron?" She connected the dots at once. "These are from Percy's office?" She stared at the stack in a new light.

"Copies."

"That might make spotting magical tampering difficult." While the Doubling Charm could create perfectly identical copies, they started to degrade at once, even if the rate of degradation was usually far too slow to affect anyone using a copied item.

"A very skilled wizard cast the charm." Mr Black grinned. "Unless you take weeks to check the parchments, any irregularities you detect won't be due to the spell."

"Ah." That meant Dumbledore was directly involved. And it explained how copies of such important and supposedly secret documents had appeared in Mr Black's hand. "I'll do what I can," she said.

"Good! Now let's start turning you into a furry little troublemaker again!"

The glare she sent him only made his grin grow wider. Sighing, she sat down on the mat and started to focus on the change, as she called it, again.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Have the form follow the spirit...

She had a tail. A swishing, human-sized tail she didn't seem to be able to control as she craned her neck to look at her backside. Mr Black coughed and she saw that he had conjured a large mirror. She ignored it, of course - she wanted to look at her tail, and not at her reflection!

She reached to her back and gripped her tail, trying to make sense of the confusing sensations that caused. "Weird. I can sense it, and sense through it, but I cannot control it," she remarked.

"That's a cat for you," Mr Black said. "You should really use the mirror, though." He was talking far too loudly too.

She huffed. If she wanted a mirror, she'd conjure one herself! "I'm fine," she said, pulling the tip of her tail towards her face to study it.

"That won't work with your ears, unless you manage to pull them off," he said.

"My ears?" She turned her head to look at the mirror and froze at the sight. Her tail escaped her grip as her hands rose to the sides of her head, confirming what she saw in her reflection.

She had cat ears.

Unfortunately, she didn't have cat claws, or she would have taught the snickering dog a lesson.

London, Greenwich, October 18th, 1995

"So, Black wants me to check this for signs of forgery or tampering." Mr Fletcher looked at the stack of parchment sitting on his desk as if it was the most offensive thing he had ever seen.

"Yes, sir," Hermione Granger said, struggling not to bite her lower lip as she stood next to him - her tutor had told her a few times that such habits got thieves recognised, unless they used them consciously to enhance their cover.

He scoffed and sat down in his favorite armchair. "Figures. I've expected such a 'request' for some time. He hasn't changed at all."

Hermione's eyes widened a little as she wondered if she would receive another tidbit of information about her tutor's mysterious past. "I wouldn't be able to tell," she said carefully. "I've only known him since his exoneration."

"But you know him quite well by now, don't you? Or you think you do," Mr Fletcher added with a snort.

She couldn't deny that, so she inclined her head in agreement.

"He shared a secret with you, and you think he's your best friend." Mr Fletcher said, glancing at her. He hadn't asked her to tell him what she was learning from Mr Black, not outright, but Hermione felt as if he expected her to share the information.

"No. I'm aware that he's using me." She wasn't a naive young girl.

"And he is trying to use me as his personal thief. Too noble to do his own dirty work, is he?"

"It's not for him," Hermione said, choosing her words with care, "It's for Mr Weasley and his son."

"That's the only reason I haven't vanished the parchments. Arthur's a good man."

Which implied that Mr Black wasn't, Hermione noted. And that Mr Fletcher knew Mr Weasley as well. Which meant that Mr Weasley had been a member of that mysterious 'Order' as well. And probably still was. "Yes, he is. Although he hasn't shared any secrets with me," she added.

Mr Fletcher chuckled. "He wouldn't. He's one of the most dependable men I know. Not as reckless as Black - and not as careless either."

She couldn't help herself. "That sounds like you're speaking from personal experience."

"That's not my secret to share." His smile was very thin.

Hermione knew what he meant. She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. "That doesn't have anything to do with this."

"Au contraire," he said, with a fake French accent, "as our dear Jeanne would say. It's all connected. Although it might not be Black's plan. He's as subtle as a dragon come feeding time."

"I think he changed after Azkaban," she retorted - Mr Black could be subtle, in her opinion.

"Perhaps." His tone told her that he didn't think she was correct. "But I've already heard about this affair - Mr Smith's relatives were delighted with the opportunity to wreck Arthur's career. They were not as crass as to call him a 'blood traitor' in my presence, but their sentiments were clear."

She almost gasped. "I didn't think the Smiths were that bad." Arrogant, yes, but such bigots as to resent another pureblood for his more liberal views?

"They weren't - or hid it well. Things have been changing lately." Mr Fletcher looked at the stack again. "This might be part of it." He sighed. "You can tell your employer that I'll be looking into it. For Arthur - not for him."

She didn't like the way Mr Fletcher stressed 'employer', as if she was more loyal to Mr Black than to him, but she nodded anyway. The most important thing was to help Ron's family.

Hogwarts, October 20th, 1995

Sitting in the Headmaster's office, Harry once again imagined his mind as the centre of a wide, open area where nothing could approach without being seen. But that wasn't true, was it? he suddenly thought. Training with Sirius had proved that you could approach unseen. And the Headmaster had snuck past his defences with Legilimency as well. So often, in fact, during their 'lessons' that Harry could no longer stand hearing the constant claims that few had Dumbledore's skill and experience any more - as if Harry didn't know that Voldemort certainly was among them.

But then, he and Ron had found a way to counter Sirius's stealth attacks, hadn't they? The key wasn't to watch out for anything catching your attention, but to remain aware of everything. He couldn't focus on an intrusion, he had to focus on himself. As if he was trying to spot Sirius's - or Remus's - next attack.

Because someone was trying to enter his mind, not sneaking up on something he guarded. He wasn't standing in an open field - everything was him. He was the field, in a way. Or his mind was.

He focused on that thought. Focused on his mind. Imagined it floating, isolated. No, not isolated - it was just that there was nothing else. No space for an intruder to wait and plan. There was just his mind, and a foreign influence.

He hadn't closed his eyes, but he didn't see the Headmaster's any more. He didn't see, he sensed. No - he simply was aware. He didn't care how; that would only create a weakness anyway.

And for the first time since he had started training, he sensed Dumbledore without the Headmaster making it obvious.

"Well done, Harry! You detected me - that is quite a feat."

"Thank you, sir." Dumbledore's praise was genuine, Harry Potter thought - unlike the last few sessions. He smiled, proud of his success. "I finally managed to wrap my mind around this."

"You managed to free your imagination from the physical limitations we so often place upon it."

Of course, Dumbledore would realise what he had done. Harry nodded.

"That is the first step towards mastering Occlumency - truly mastering it," Dumbledore went on. Harry blinked. What was… "Now we will focus on pushing intrusions out of your mind."

Oh. Of course. Harry felt very stupid for assuming that he had actually accomplished a lot. Seeing an attack didn't mean he could counter it - Sirius's lessons had taught him that as well. He sighed. "I suppose we'll start on that then?"

"Unless you are too tired to continue."

He shook his head. "No, I'm good."

Voldemort wouldn't let him rest or prepare, after all.

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, October 24th, 1995

"Mr Smith has finished his examination of the documents you provided," Hermione Granger announced as soon as Mr Black had closed the door to his study.

"Oh?" He cocked his head sideways in apparent surprise.

She sighed at his antics. "I did call ahead and say that I had urgent news."

Mr Black shrugged. "That could have been about anything - boyfriends, rivals, robes. I don't claim to understand the priorities young witches have these days."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I would never bother you about such trivial things." She had far more important things to care about.

"It wouldn't be a bother at all, believe me." He grinned widely at her. "It would be good to have another point of view in addition to Harry's."

"Not everything is about Harry," she said firmly. Not in the way Mr Black insinuated, at least.

His grin widened. "Of course not."

Trying to make him understand that he was wrong would be pointless, and only encourage him, so she pulled the documents out of her pocket and unshrank them. "They were tampered with. Magically altered by a very skilled wizard," she said as she put them on his desk. "Mr Smith didn't recognise the caster, though."

"You can call him Mr Fletcher, you know. I already know his real name," Mr Black said as he sat down behind his desk.

That didn't mean she'd say it, of course - the best way to keep a cover or a secret was to never let either slip, no matter how safe it seemed. "Percy's signature was copied to the forms with a custom spell."

He nodded. "As expected." Leaning back, he sighed. "I wish your 'tutor' were here. While I do not doubt your talents, I would prefer to discuss details with him."

"I can ask him to meet with you," Hermione said. That seemed sensible to her, seeing that both men already knew each other. Far more sensible than using her as a go-between. "Unless you're meeting him in the Order," she added, as if it was an afterthought.

He laughed. "Nice try, Miss Merriweather." He quickly stopped, though. "But I've learned, at great cost, that secrets shouldn't be shared with anyone who doesn't need to know them," he added, looking at the wall behind her.

She shrugged. She knew that as well, but it irked her that she didn't know about the past that her tutor and her employer shared. It made dealing with both more difficult, too. "So, will that be enough to save Mr Weasley's career?"

"It'll help," Mr Black said in a rather non-committal tone. "We can't exactly use them to prove Percy's innocence, but we can use it to acquire some leverage."

Hermione nodded - as she had learned to her own detriment, in Wizarding Britain, having leverage was better than having proof of your innocence.

Mr Black swept the documents in his own pocket with a swish of his wand and stood. "Now, let's see what amusing mishap you'll produce this evening," he said with a wide grin. "Neither James nor I ever managed to accidentally vanish our clothes, after all."

She glared at him, flush with both anger and embarrassment, at the reminder of that particular incident. "That won't happen again," she said in a clipped tone, not bothering to point out that an animagus's clothes had to vanish for the duration of their transformation, so that had been at least a partial success. Even if it had been very embarrassing.

At least Mr Black couldn't tell Harry about it. That would have been horrible.

Hogwarts, November 20th, 1995

"The coast is clear," Harry Potter whispered, looking around the corner of the hallway leading to the Astronomy Tower.

"What?" Ginny asked in a whisper, right behind him.

"No one is around," he explained. The prefect patrol was over, and the next wouldn't come near this area for an hour - if they even bothered; some prefects were rather sloppy when it came to nightly patrols.

"Good. Let's go then!" She pushed past him, then threw a glance over her shoulder at him. "Unless you've got cold feet."

He chuckled - as if! - but he glanced at his map once more to check that no one was near them before he followed her. By the time he caught up to her she had already unlocked and opened the door to the tower.

"You'd think they'd make a little more of an effort to lock up the tower," he whispered as he stepped on to the stairway.

She grinned. "Who said they actually try to stop anyone? I consider it more of a test - if you can get into the tower, you're old enough for the tower. It's a Hogwarts tradition, after all!"

Harry smiled widely - that was a tradition he wholeheartedly approved of. "Let's go, then!"

"That's my line!"

They reached the top faster than Harry had ever managed for an Astronomy lesson. It was the new moon, so only the stars provided light, but they hadn't come here for the view.

"So…" Harry said, "we're here."

Ginny nodded. "Yes." She was licking her lips, he could see that even in the dim light. Was she nervous? They had come up here to snog, after all - it had been her idea, too. Or should he say something more romantic? Use the cold as an excuse to embrace her - even though Warming Charms dealt with it?

He snorted. This wasn't their first date. He reached out to her, pulling her into his arms. She made a throaty, almost moaning sound before their lips met, and then it was like in the broom cupboard two days ago. Better - it didn't smell like cleaning supplies.

When they broke the kiss, her hands were inside his shirt, and his were under her sweater, on her back, and both were breathing heavily. Their eyes met, and then they kissed again, and their hands started to wander.

Then his scar erupted in pain, and he felt blood running down his face. Ginny's shriek sounded weirdly muted, he thought as he fell to his knees. Then she wasn't there anymore, and he was staring at a man - a dead man. Or dying. So much blood. But he sensed the connection. He wasn't overwhelmed like last time.

"Harry! Merlin's beard! You're bleeding! We need to call a teacher!" He felt her hands grabbing his arm, trying to lift him. She almost broke his concentration.

Despite the pain, he raised his hand. "Stop, Ginny!" he pressed out through clenched teeth. "We'll go to Dumbledore." As soon as this was over and he could walk again.

And then he retched at what he saw.

"You had another vision."

"Yes, sir." Harry Potter said as he pressed a handkerchief against his bleeding scar. "I wasn't knocked unconscious this time, though. I didn't fight it either." He raised his wand. "I can copy the memory for you."

"Very impressive," Dumbledore said, "but please do not strain yourself overly."

Harry would have shaken his head, but that would hurt too much, so he simply extracted the memory and let it float into the vial on Dumbledore's desk. The effort made him feel light-headed, though, and he sagged in his seat, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Harry!" he heard Ginny exclaim.

"Do not worry, Miss Weasley. The wound looks far more serious than it is." Dumbledore sighed.

"That wasn't a pain curse," Ginny said. "He didn't hit his head this time. His scar just started bleeding. And you expected this."

Harry didn't know exactly if she was talking to him or the Headmaster, or both - but she sounded angry.

"The secrecy was - and still is - necessary," Dumbledore said. "For Harry's sake. His life depends on it."

Ginny gasped. She looked pale, Harry though. She wasn't the one bleeding, though. "I think I need to go to the Infirmary," he said.

"Poppy has been informed," Dumbledore explained. "I think we shall claim you two had an accident during a rendezvous… on top of the Astronomy Tower."

Harry gasped, then groaned at the pain this caused.

"Did you spy on us?" Ginny asked. She was angry again, or still, he realised.

"It was simply an educated guess," the Headmaster explained. "I was a student once myself. Of course you'll have to serve detention for that as well."

Ginny gasped again, but Harry couldn't care less right then.

London, Diagon Alley, November 20th, 1995

Hermione Granger slowly and carefully crept forward. She couldn't rush this - the roof she was on was slick with rain, and a slip could easily send her tumbling down two stories. Unless Mr Fletcher caught her. She buried that thought. This was her final test. She had to act as if she wasn't aware of her tutor's presence.

She reached the edge of the roof and peered down at the street below. At this time of the night, no shops or pubs were open - other than the Leaky Cauldron, which didn't seem to ever close - and so this part of Diagon Alley was dead, but there were still Aurors patrolling. Aurors who would take exception to a black-clad figure on a roof.

Even if she wasn't here to steal anything. This time. She just had to slip inside the wards and out again. She had done that before, and the wards on this building - which housed 'Henry's Hats' - weren't any stronger than those on the Allisters' house.

Below her was the window she had chosen as her point of entry. As she had found out during her preparations it led to a work room - no one would be there now. A last check of the Alley… she froze. Someone - two people - were walking down the street. Aurors? She knew their schedule, and they shouldn't be here.

For a moment, she was tempted to simply remain where she was. They couldn't see her from below, even if she weren't disillusioned. But she would be in range of a Human-presence-revealing spell. When on patrol, Aurors usually didn't cast such spells without a reason - but they usually weren't patrolling this part of the Alley at this time.

Silently cursing, she quickly climbed back to the ridge of the roof. She almost slipped in her haste, but managed to recover her footing, then pulled herself over the ridge and slid down the other side. She caught herself at the edge, then pressed herself against the tiles. Even if they cast the spell now, she wouldn't be in their range. And if she were, the marker wouldn't be high enough to be seen from the Alley side.

Or so she thought. She couldn't see the Aurors any more, but a quickly and silently cast Supersensory Charm let her hear them. As far as she could tell from their muttered complaints, their schedule had been changed to free up other Aurors for an emergency.

She sighed with relief - they weren't here for her - and waited until she couldn't hear their steps any more before returning to the other side of the roof. She had a test to pass, after all.

"Good thinkin' there," Mr Fletcher said an hour later, back in his flat. "Ya weren't careless, trustin' them to act as normal even though they had already changed their schedule."

Hermione nodded. As if she would be careless, after all his lessons about caution!

"Ya went through the wards quickly and without trouble, too."

"I had studied them beforehand."

"That ya did. And ya cased the joint thoroughly, and made a clear getaway." He smiled, though Hermione thought he looked a little sad. "I don't like to admit it, but you're ready to help with a real heist."

"Yes!" Hermione smiled widely, despite the qualification about helping. She had passed her tutor's final test!

"Don't get cocky, though," he added, shaking his head. "Especially since you haven't learned Apparition yet."

"I won't," she assured him. She had done it! She had passed!

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, November 21st, 1995

"What'll it be this time? Furry forepaws? A tail and cat legs? A cat's snout?"

Hermione Granger ignored Mr Black's prattle. She was close to mastering the change. She knew it. She had managed pretty much every body part so far. Just not all together, nor in the right size.

She closed her eyes and tuned the dog out. She was a cat. A graceful, smart, elegant cat. A cat who prowled the night. Like she had done last night. She remembered climbing on the roof, peering down at the stupid humans below her, a shadow in the night, too smart and too quick for them to see much less catch. She was a cat who went wherever she pleased and did whatever she wanted.

She… she blinked. The room had changed. The red and gold banner behind the dog was now greenish and gold. And the other colours seemed to have faded somewhat… She shot up - and found herself jumping. Higher than she had expected - and she landed on four paws. Gasping, she checked her body. She was a cat! A beautiful brown-haired cat!

"You did it!"

That was the dog. She looked at him. He was moving around his desk. His big, sturdy desk. With a gleeful yell, she jumped on the desk, startling him as she sent the parchment there flying as she moved towards him. She jumped off the desk as he stepped back and landed on his chest, her claws finding purchase on his shirt.

He even tried to shake her off, the dolt! But she dug her claws in - into his skin too - and held fast.

Then there was no shirt any more. Nor any wizard. Just a big, black dog. For a moment, they stared at each other.

And then the chase was on.