Author's Note: My eternal gratitude to QPS, GoodGirlzDead, Danii, BEN, WaveMasterYami, and Frodo'sPen for reviewing!

SIXTH YEAR

"Word on the street is," said Sirius casually, leaning an arm on the desk, "if one were to have need of certain powders and potions of a sensitive nature, you're the guy to talk to."

"Depends," grunted the scrawny shaggy-haired boy. His bangs fell into his eyes as he hunched over the textbook he was reading in the minutes before class began, trying to hide it from Sirius. He looked like the kind of kid who would die rather than be caught reading. "Who'd you hear that from?" he continued in a gruff voice, trying to sound tough.

"Oh, you know," Sirius said easily. "The street. Like I said earlier. I just knelt down and it whispered to me. Mostly sweet nothings, but there were a few snippets of useful information."

The boy peered up at Sirius through his curtain of dyed black hair, silent. "That was supposed to be funny," he said suddenly. "I get it. You're funny. I didn't think you'd be funny."

"I'm much more of a strong silent type, I know," Sirius said sadly. "People often get the wrong impression. Curse of my life, I swear."

"Sirius Black is funny," the boy repeated, too himself. Louder, he said, "You're supposed to be all intimidating and shit. It's your rep. I'm not intimidated." He leaned back and crossed his arms, glaring at Sirius. "I'm disappointed."

Sirius leaned closer. "Listen, kid. I don't have the patience to play 'who's tougher' games with a nancy boy Third Year with fluff on his cheeks and desperate need of a haircut just so he can try to act cool in front of his little buddies." From his robes Sirius withdrew the broken handle of a broomstick and tossed it on the desk. "Can you help me or not?"

"So I'm the one Sirius Black comes to when he needs help?" said the boy with a self-satisfied sneer.

"You know what?" Sirius grabbed the front of the boy's robes and dragging him forward. "You want intimidating, you'll get intimidating," he growled. "Ever try holding a wand with broken knuckles?"

"What'll I break them on, then? Your face?" The boy said the last part a little less confidently than before, with a tiny waver in his voice. Being at Sirius' mercy had that effect on people.

Sirius paused. "You're brave, kid. I'll give you that. Maybe we'll make something of you yet." He let go, and the boy fell awkwardly back into his seat with a squeak. "You'll have to do better than a 'your face' joke under pressure, of course," he added as an afterthought.

The boy looked shocked and a little pleased by Sirius' words. "Um uh let's see here," he stammered, picking up the broomstick just to have something for his shaky hands to do. He frowned at the jagged end. "This isn't really my area. I just blow things up. This is subtle. You need to find the Larcener."

"The Larcener? He have a name?" asked Sirius.

"Lars Dingle, I s'pose. And he's actually — well, you'll find out."

"Thanks, kid." Sirius reached over and ruffled his hair. With his hair sticking up in different directions, the boy looked extremely young. "Oh dear, maybe not." Sirius patted the boy's hair back down. "Anyways, I owe you one."

With that, he left the classroom. The other Third Years, who had broken off conversation to watch, erupted into excited chatter.

One boy who looked faint with jealously leaned over. "Dude," he whispered urgently. "Sirius Black called you brave! Sirius Black owes you one!"

Something went thud on the table in front of Lars, who looked up from the small cauldron, eyes magnified by huge goggles, and blinked.

A very good looking guy was standing in front of Lars, looking expectant. Lars, to whom things like this simply did not happen, let out an eep and dropped the rest of the dried foxglove into the cauldron all at once. The potion gave up a huge poof of green smoke in protest. Coughing, Lars tried to wave it away.

"I have a problem with a sabotaged broomstick," said Sirius, motioning to the broken handle before Lars. "I was told the Larcener might be able to help."

Lars pushed the goggles up and leaned over to examine the piece of polished wood. "This was a nice broom once," she said.

"Wait. You're Lars Dingle?'" exclaimed Sirius, astonished. "You're a girl!"

Lars blinked at him again. "You're Sirius Black. You're a boy!"

Sirius recovered quickly. Lars, with her large goggles barely holding her frizzy hair down, made an odd picture. He chuckled. "Well, I haven't made sure lately. Would you like to check for me?"

Another thing that did not happen to Lars was being flirted with by guys making suggestive comments. She blushed deeply and tried to duck her head, causing her goggles to fall back down over her eyes.

Sirius reached over and pulled the goggles off over her head. "That's better."

Lars was sure her cheeks were so flushed that they were bright pink. "I need those," she said nervously. "You don't really want to make a Detonation Draft without protection."

Trying to keep a straight face, Sirius said, "I believe you are the only person in all of Hogwarts with that particular problem."

"Not the only person," Lars said without thinking. "Though she never does use proper eyewear."

"Eh? What's that?" asked Sirius.

Lars remembered who she was talking to. "Oh, just the girl who taught me how to make it in the first place. Speaking of problems, yours is rather simple."

"Simple?" he echoed.

"Yes. Only an Elderberry Paste could have done that."

"Of course! How silly of me not to think of it. An Elderberry Paste. It's obvious."

Lars snorted, then looked horrified at herself. Sirius hid a smile. "How might one go about making this paste?" he asked.

"Just a few simple ingredients. Snakeskin, dew, powdered pineapple, those kinds of everyday items. Oh, and the droppings of a spotted hawk owl."

"No elderberries?"

"No elderberries."

Sirius paused. "Isn't that rather counterintuitive?"

"It smells like elderberries. And it decays wood."

"Good lord, I'll never eat another elderberry again."

Lars giggled.

"So would you say this is a complicated paste?"

She snorted again. "Hardly. Just plop the ingredients in and boil. It was actually used in the Middle Ages to clear complexions. The decay thing is just a side effect. Not even a very useful one, since it takes a while to work and isn't very powerful."

"Perfect for slowly destroying a broomstick," muttered Sirius. "Wait, what was that you said about an owl?"

"One of the ingredients is the droppings of a spotted hawk owl."

"Where is it that I've seen a hawk owl?" wondered Sirius out loud.

Lars shrugged. "Good luck with your investigation." She stirred her cauldron, from which another green smoke cloud erupted. Sirius was gone before it cleared.

"You idiot!" burst out James.

"What?" Sirius asked. "I looked them up. Apparently they're really rare and expensive. A bird of the wealthy. And I know I've seen one of those bloody owls around somewhere."

"Maybe that's because," James said sarcastically, "that bloody owl you see flitting about from time to time is mine!"

Sirius' mouth went O.

"I can't believe they used my own owl to try to kill me!"

"It is rather morbidly poetic," Sirius agreed. "If it didn't mean a dead end on our last lead, I'd take the time to appreciate it properly."

"Padfoot, I'm never speaking to you again."

FIFTH YEAR

Lars Dingle was facing her mortal enemy, the Red Admiral.

This time, she had come prepared, armed with a large net, a jar of nail polish remover soaked cotton, and, for back up, her wand. Lars wasn't very good at wand work, which was partly the reason most of the magic she worked involved something bubbling over a fire. Also, it was the reason she had to wear an eyepatch for the entire second half of her first year at Hogwarts. Not that she minded too much the piratical attire, once she got used to the teasing, but the fact that she'd almost poked out her own eye was rather uninspiring. It was far from a decent war story involving nautical adventures fraught with danger on the high seas. Still, late a night, eleven-year-old Lars lay in her bed, imagining peg-legged mad sea captains, monsters of the deep, treasures untold, and swashbuckling swordplay.

The Red Admiral landed on another flower and slowly extended its proboscis into the nectar chamber.

Lars, who had been lying in wait, attacked. A high pitched battle cry, a flash of webbed net, and a tightened jar later, Lars was victorious.

"Er, pardon me," said someone a bit off to the side. "I hate to disturb this spectacular capture, but I'm supposed to pick up a special order from you."

It was Paul. As always, when in the presence of a boy, Lars said the first stupid thing that came to her mind. "Oh, for our quirky quixotic quidditative quicquidlibet?" She gave him a big wink, then mentally smacked herself. Lars always said things she shouldn't and embarrassed herself horribly when she was flustered.

It didn't seem like Paul noticed her slip of discreetness."Yes. Once again, I'm reduced to errand boy," he said sadly. But he flashed her a playful grin that made Lars' knees feel a bit like jelly even as she giggled at his ridiculousness.

Then she remembered that Paul hadn't come all the way out here just to talk to her. "Here you go." She withdrew a small vial from her robes. "Anyone drinks a drop of this and they'll sing like a bird."

Paul pressed a hand to his open mouth in mock horror. "What kind of awful people do you think we are that we would interrogate our own schoolmates?"

Lars giggled again. "No, silly. Literally sing like a bird. Tra la la. A walking musical, complete with spontaneous dance numbers. Dum dah dah dum DAH DUM DAAAAAHH!"

Grinning, Paul said, "Thanks again, Larissa. You're as brilliant as always. Good luck with taming your, um, little winged beastie. I assume you're going to milk poison from his fangs?"

Recovering first from being called brilliant, Lars was soon launched into a nice afternoon chat with the funniest boy she knew.

SIXTH YEAR

The Forbidden Forest was significantly less frightening during the day.

But no less dangerous.

The dappled light made it seem almost peaceful under the trees where we waited.

"I'm getting old," I groaned.

"Nonsense," said Amanda, picking up a fallen branch and testing its weight. It crumbled with rot, and she tossed it aside in favor of another. "Sure, you don't fit into ventilation shafts with your old ease, but think of all the other things you can do."

"Like what? Get caught during a getaway because arthritis is slowing me down? Forget the disarming spell at a crucial moment because my memory's gotten spotty and I've just realized that the petunias need weeding? What if I — god forbid it — neglect to always bring a towel?"

"How about," Amanda pointed out calmly, "none of that matters, because you now you can get out of anything by seducing men with your feminine wiles?"

"With my what?"

"Feminine wiles."

"That. Is a brilliant idea, my friend."

Amanda eyed me. "Oohkay. Maybe it would be better for the world, judging by that glint in your eye, if we forgot I ever suggested that."

"You think I should practice on Paul?"

"Practice what?"

"My feminine wiles. If I'm to use them, I must keep them sharp."

"Alex," Amanda said sternly, "if you sharpen your feminine wiles on Paul, he will never sleep again."

"Because he's lusting after me?"

"Because he's plagued by nightmares."

I considered this. "So what you're saying is, Paul is off limits."

"What I'm saying is, practicing your feminine wiles is off limits."

Somewhere off to the east came a faint call of "Ca-caw rawr!"

"That's my cue," I said. "The hounds will be here in forty-five seconds. Luckily your ban on practicing doesn't extend this kind. Well, I'd best be off. Trees to climb, streams to lose my scent in, et cetera. Don't miss me too much."

As I sprinted off, Amanda shouted out, "Don't build any death traps this time! The Keeper of the Grounds wants them all back in once piece!"

Author's Note: Well you didn't think Alex would have the patience for all those quarter turn stirs every half hour type nonsense, did you?