I'd like to thank fredfred for betaing. His help has improved the story a lot.

Chapter 21: The Trouble with Secrets

London, Ministry of Magic, July 15th, 1996

"Ah, Mr Weasley. Early today?"

Percy Weasley nodded at the the Hit-Wizard standing guard at the fireplaces in the Atrium of the Ministry while he cleaned the soot and ashes from his robes - high-quality, but not too high-quality; perfect for a junior member of his department. "As usual, Perkins," he said with a polite smile. "You know how it is when you're new." Or when you had almost been sacked following an intrigue.

"Ah, yes, I remember." Perkins certainly remembered the scandal that had almost cost Percy and his father's careers, but he was polite enough not to mention it. He was a decent enough fellow - for a Hit-Wizard, as Nymphadora would say; the rivalry between the Aurors and the Hit-Wizards was a constant of the Ministry. A constant source of needless friction, Percy thought, but it wasn't as if he were in a position to do something about it. Especially after barely surviving a scandal.

On the other hand, he was in a position to do something about other problems, which was the real reason he was always the first of the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee in to work. Entering his office - barely larger than some of the broom cupboards at Hogwarts - he quickly checked whether anyone had been tampering with the spells sealing his desk and filing cabinets. There was no sign of any tampering, and the more subtle spells he had prepared to tell if anyone had entered in his absence hadn't been triggered either.

So far, it seemed the measures he had taken to guard against another attempt to frame him were working. He grabbed a stack of forms from his desk and left his office again. He was on a mission, after all.

It didn't take him more than a few minutes to reach the offices of the Floo Network Authority. A quick glance at his watch confirmed that it would be another thirty minutes until shift change. Perfect. He schooled his features, then entered the office with a frown on his face.

"Oh, no, not again," he heard the clerk on duty mutter as he approached the desk.

"Pardon?" Percy asked in his best no-nonsense voice.

"I said 'morning' - it's been a long shift," the clerk said quickly.

"A long shift? I wasn't aware that the regulations governing night shifts had been amended."

"It always feels longer at night," the man - a Greengrass, but only very distantly related to the main branch of the Old Family - replied.

Percy sniffed. "No matter. I'm here to check up on another report of some foolish wizard stepping into a fireplace in front of muggles, and I require your assistance." He waved a sheet of parchment in front of the man's face.

"Err… the regular shifts starts in twenty-six minutes. They'll be able to assist you with everything you need." Greengrass smiled weakly. He hadn't even looked at the report.

Percy glared at him. "This will take less than a quarter of an hour."

"But I need to prepare the paperwork for the shift change. I can't hold up the whole schedule for your request."

"And I can't wait that long!" Percy exclaimed. "I'm swamped with work - why do you think I'm here so early? Just point me at the logs and I will look for the report myself!"

Regulations forbade granting anyone from outside your department access to its records, at least unsupervised. But Greengrass had been up all night and would be too tired to care about anything other than going home - this wasn't the first time Percy had done this.

"Alright, you know the way. But don't accidentally destroy any records, ya hear me?"

"Pardon?" Percy didn't have to fake his anger at the insinuation; he had been framed, and most people with any sense knew it. Not that Greengrass qualified, of course, or he wouldn't break regulations.

"Nothing, go ahead."

Percy sniffed and strode past the clerk, to the Records section. As soon as the door closed behind him, he summoned the scrolls covering last Friday's Floo Network traffic. Aaron Rosier had left the Ministry at exactly five o'clock; Percy had timed the man himself. And if he had gone straight home… Percy smiled when he found the line showing the destination. Even if it wasn't Rosier's home it might be the home of another Death Eater.

He quickly created and shrunk a copy of the scroll, stashing it in a mokeskin purse stuck to the inside of his robes, before looking for the record related to the report he had shown to Greengrass. He already knew what he would find, of course - Percy had arranged the original incident through Dumbledore.

It would have been easier to make up a report and file it himself, but only amateurs made such mistakes with their cover. Not to mention that he didn't want to risk any investigation into his activities revealing tampered records. Especially not when handling genuine, if arranged, incidents effectively would also help revive his career.

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 16th, 1996

Harry Potter sighed as he sat down on the couch in the living room and grabbed one of the magazines strewn around at random on the sideboard. He sighed again when he noticed that it was the latest issue of The Quibbler - he had read that one already. The next one he picked up was 'The Journal of Arithmancy'. He hadn't read it, and had no intention of doing so - he wouldn't understand very much of it, anyway. It was Hermione's subscription. If only she would show as much talent in Defence as she did in other subjects… He shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Hm? What don't you understand? Or who?" Sirius asked, looking up from the muggle bike magazine he was reading in his favorite seat.

"Hermione." He pressed his lips together so he wouldn't add a curse.

"Oh, that's normal. Countless wizards with far more experience than you have tried and failed to understand witches." Sirius grinned.

Harry stared at him. "You claim to be an expert on witches."

"Exactly. You've come to the right wizard." Sirius grinned widely and dropped his magazine on the floor as he leaned forward. "Now, what did Hermione do to confuse you?"

"It's not what you think," Harry said before his godfather could insinuate anything. "I don't understand how she can be so brilliant in Charms and Transfiguration, but can't manage to defend herself."

Sirius grinned. "Ah." He nodded. "Well, just because she is good at learning spells doesn't mean she's good at fighting. Not everyone can think on their feet."

"We're not talking about duelling, or making snap decisions under fire here," Harry corrected him. "She's barely able to dodge simple volleys. You don't need to think when all you have to do is keep moving." He snorted. "And I know she can move very quickly - you should have seen her jump out of her bed when I brought her her O.W.L. letter." He smiled at the memory.

"Oh?" Sirius was leering now.

Harry held up a hand. "No joking about being quick to jump into beds, or whatever you were about to say." He rolled his eyes on seeing his godfather pout. "I know she is smart - she catches on to things quickly. I know she can move really fast when she wants to. And I know she is more athletic than I thought. So why can't she do better in our training?"

"You've peeped at her? You used your glasses on her?" Sirius sounded far more proud than alarmed, in Harry's opinion, but at least he showed some concern.

He glared at his godfather. "No! But she was sleeping in just a T-shirt and shorts." Short shorts.

"Ah." Sirius nodded. "But she didn't hex you for seeing her like that?"

"Of course not!" It wasn't his fault, after all.

"Ah."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't start with that again. If Hermione fancied me, she'd have said something." His friend certainly wouldn't have given him advice on dating other witches.

"She might be shy. Or she thinks that you're not interested."

"Hermione? Shy?" Harry scoffed. His best female friend didn't act shy at all - she gave her opinion on anything, whether you wanted to hear it or not. And whether or not he was interested… that didn't matter. "Anyway, I need to find a way to make her improve in Defence." Stinging Hexes obviously weren't enough to motivate her to dodge. And only a madman would threaten her books.

"She might simply be slower to adjust to Defence," Sirius said. "Don't worry, I'll take over her training when you return to Hogwarts."

Harry doubted that Sirius would have more success - his godfather and his best friend got along better these days, but they still fought often - but it wasn't as if he had a better idea. He'd just have to keep at it.

London, Greenwich, July 17th, 1996

Hermione Granger cleared her throat and put down the issue of 'Curse-Breaking Monthly' she had just finished - with a mental note to re-read the article reporting the latest news from the City of Dead. "Mr Fletcher?"

She saw him frown slightly in response, then grin. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

She rolled her eyes. She wasn't about to call her tutor by his first name. That wasn't done. Not before she was an equal partner with him, at least. But she didn't want to talk about that, and refused to be baited. "Do you think I should stop pretending to be worse at Defence than I am?"

"Ah." His grin changed slightly. "Are you sick of getting pelted with Stinging Hexes every day?"

She scowled. "Harry's started to vary the spells." Stinging Hexes hurt, but getting hit by Dancing Feet or Tickling Charms was far more humiliating. "But it's not about that." She could handle it. She had endured far worse after her expulsion, after all. And Harry at least didn't enjoy hexing her, unlike the dog. "I feel bad for lying to my best friend. Especially when he's spending so much time trying to help me."

"I see." He wasn't grinning any more. "Do you think you're treating him like a mark?"

Which was something Mr Fletcher had warned her not to do, Hermione knew. "I think that we - Sirius and I - could tell him that we downplayed my actual skill in order to make the Death Eaters underestimate me." Which wasn't entirely untrue.

He slowly nodded. "You could do that. It's a good excuse. And he might not be too hurt by the deception if you come clean now." She winced at that - Harry would hate being lied to. Especially by his godfather. "However," Mr Fletcher went on, "he will not forget that you were deceiving him by hiding your actual abilities. And that might be a problem should he actually become an Auror after Hogwarts."

Hermione bit her lower lip, then nodded. "He might suspect that I'm hiding more than that."

"He might make the connection between the thief with a grudge against a number of pureblood families and the sneaky witch who managed to deceive her best friend," her tutor confirmed. "It is by no means certain that he will suspect you, but it's a possibility we can't dismiss out of hand."

She sighed. Harry was smart and he was being trained by a paranoid Auror. He would suspect her if she admitted the deception. "I still don't like lying to him."

"It's hard, lying to your friends and family. But it's necessary for people like us. The more people know our secret, the greater the risk of someone revealing it - accidentally or not." His eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment as he continued. "At least you will not have to worry about your friend's ignorance endangering him."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Potter's being trained to deal with Death Eaters," he explained. "Anyone trying to hurt you through him will regret it."

"Ah." She bit her lower lip to refrain from asking whether he was speaking from personal experience. His expression told her enough anyway. "I'll have to improve then, enough so Harry won't worry too much about me, but not more," she said instead. This was not easy, as she had already found out. Especially since she also had to improve for real - Sirius wasn't satisfied with her yet either.

Mr Fletcher smiled again. Someone who didn't know him as well as she did wouldn't have caught the lingering pain in his eyes. "It'll be good training, though - if you can fool your best friend, you can fool your enemies as well."

That should be 'when', not 'if', Hermione thought as she slowly nodded.

Wiltshire, Harnham, Britain, July 22nd, 1996

Hermione Granger padded along the small street, sticking close to the hedgerow on the right side. Rosier's house was ahead, past a large former farm. She ignored the dog barking like mad at her as she passed just outside the range of his leash - the stupid animal was almost strangling himself with his futile efforts to reach her.

She sat down at the corner, still in view of the guard dog, and studied Rosier's home. Nothing had changed since her last survey. She heard someone yell at the dog behind her and darted into the hedge between the two properties - best not to draw attention from a muggle.

She crept onwards on her belly until she was at the edge of the rather neglected lawn, then dashed across it - and through the wards. She came to a stop behind the old rain barrel at the side of the house. A moment later, she was back on two feet and pulled the bug out of her pocket, putting it down on the ground. Then she changed back, and picked it up in her mouth.

The barrel's cover was old and rotten, but she was a lithe cat; it wouldn't break under her weight. Two jumps later, she was on the sloped roof, and after a short climb, she was staring down the chimney. She couldn't see any obstructions. Perfect.

She released the bug, which slowly floated down the shaft. If everything went according to plan then it would seek a hiding spot on the ground by itself. It was out of her hands, or paws, anyway - her job was done.

On the way back to where Sirius and Mr Fletcher were waiting, she passed the farm again, tail and head held high as the dog once more tried to strangle himself with his leash.

London, East End, July 22nd, 1996

"That was boring," the dog complained as soon as they were back in the safe house they were using while Harry was staying at Grimmauld Place. "I almost fell asleep."

Hermione Granger rolled her eyes at Sirius. "At least we won't be lying when we tell Harry that you just sat around and were bored while I did all the real work." Her friend - and Jeanne - had been told that they were meeting a member of the Wizengamot today.

Mr Fletcher shook his head at her. "As if Black would actually manage to stay silent during a meeting. He likes to hear himself talk far too much."

"He also doesn't like hearing others talk about him as if he weren't present," Sirius shot back.

Hermione cleared her throat before the two could have another row. "Pointless complaints of being bored aside, is there anything relevant that we need to discuss about today's mission?"

Mr Fletcher was about to answer when Sirius spoke up as if he wanted to prove Hermione's tutor right. "We now know that animagi make the best burglars?"

"We already knew that if a house lacks wards against animals, an animagus can sneak in," Mr Fletcher corrected him. "But that doesn't help us much - almost all manors will be warded against animals, and most heists will require more than simply dropping a bug down a chimney. More than you can handle, Black."

"I could have done this mission by myself!" Sirius said.

"A trained animal could have done it," Hermione retorted, "provided that they could climb." Which a clumsy dog couldn't. She snorted - the dog would probably have broken through the rotten lid on the rain barrel.

"I bow to your far greater experience in that area," Sirius said, his grin turning it into an insult. He actually did bow, too!

"Settle down!" Mr Fletcher said, stopping her from cutting the dog back down to size. Call her an animal, would he? But her tutor wasn't finished. "To answer your question: No, there's nothing of relevance to discuss. We did our job, without any trouble. And without anyone deviating from our plan," he added with a glance at her.

Hermione frowned at the rebuke. It wasn't as if she would have entered the house by herself, even if she had seen a way. At least not without a very good reason.

"So, can I do the next house?" Sirius asked.

"We don't have a next target yet," Mr Fletcher pointed out.

"I'm planning ahead." There was that insufferable grin again.

"You're not going on a heist by yourself, Black. You lack both the necessary training and experience," Mr Fletcher said.

"Well, I guess I could take Hermione with me. Chasing a cat up a tree would be a good cover," Sirius said, rubbing his goatee.

"Certainly not!" Hermione glared at him. "It would draw attention to us," she added as an explanation, although the indignity of such a farce was reason enough to shoot it down.

His grin widened. "Well, we can use that plan as a distraction then."

She knew he was just doing this to rile her up - at least she hoped so - but the dog was really asking for a hexing!

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 24th, 1996

Harry Potter dropped into a crouch and sent three hexes in rapid succession at Hermione - a Stinging Hex and two Paint-Splash Hexes. All of them missed since she had started moving as soon as he had begun to flick his wand, and had jumped to the side. It wasn't a graceful jump, he noticed as he cast a Dancing Feet Charm, but she kept going despite stumbling, and even cast a Shield Charm on the move, which deflected his spell. A few more steps and a rather short slide took her behind the bench next to her.

He grinned - he had made the same mistake back when he had started getting trained by Moody. A swish of his wand later, the bench turned into water and he was shaking his head at the thoroughly waterlogged witch.

"If you're not on familiar ground, make your own cover, don't trust anything left by the enemy," he said, quoting his instructor.

She glared at him as she stood up and dried herself with a quick charm. "This was supposed to be familiar ground - I live here!"

"As do I," he retorted. "And I prepared the room for this session, didn't I?"

"That's what teachers do." Hermione's glare hadn't lessened.

He almost blinked - him, a teacher? He hadn't thought of himself like that. "I prefer trainer," he said. "But the point is you can't trust your opponent." He snorted. "Trust me, Sirius will be even worse - I learned this from him."

"Great." She shook her head.

"But you've made progress - that was a promising start." He smiled at her. Encouragement was good. "You just need to work on your jumps. That was a little clumsy." He blinked when her glare grew far more intense for a moment - he was just being honest.

She huffed, then quickly conjured a few walls around her position, smiling toothily at him before the last one hid her from view. "I'm ready!"

He sighed. At least she was improving now, albeit more slowly than he was comfortable with. How could she conjure walls that easily, and yet be so slow to adapt in a fight? He pondered the question while he conjured a mattress. A quick Levitation and Banishing Charm later, it was floating above her position, where he transfigured it into water. The yelp he heard a moment later told him that she hadn't thought of conjuring a roof.

"Hiding like that won't help you," he said as he started to vanish the walls. "Your goal is to escape a fight, not hunker down and hope someone will come and save you." In the last war, such help had almost never arrived in time. "And you can't see what your enemy is doing if you hide like that either."

"It was just a temporary solution," she said, still scowling as she once more dried herself off.

"And what would have been the next step?"

"Create an escape tunnel," Hermione retorted.

Sirius would probably take exception to Hermione digging - or vanishing - a hole in his floor, Harry thought. "Can you create one quickly enough to outrun pursuit?"

"I could fill it up behind me."

"Can you do that and dig faster than they can vanish the material?" He raised his eyebrows.

"That should be possible with a specialised spell…" she started, then sighed.

"Which you don't have," Harry said. "Let's focus on tactics that use spells you know." Judging by her expression, Harry wouldn't be surprised if she actually learned such a spell in the future. He cleared his throat. "There's another thing."

"What?" She narrowed her eyes at him. She didn't take criticism that well, Harry knew. Nevertheless, they had to talk about it. He pointed at her exercise clothes. "Your clothes."

"What about them? They don't restrict my movement."

"They're rather baggy," he said.

"They're comfortable," she shot back.

"They're also prone to snagging on things when you move. An enemy - like a conjured animal - could also grapple with you more easily thanks to all that loose fabric." There was a reason Auror and Duellist robes were close-fitting.

She hesitated for a moment, then tilted her head slightly. "Wouldn't it be better if I trained in clothes that are similar to those I am likely to be wearing during an attack?"

"Yes," he said, and she started to smile. "But," he continued, "that's why you might want to change how you dress normally, too. Maybe a tighter..." He trailed off when he saw her staring at him as if he had asked her to strip.

"I think Hermione has a problem," Harry Potter said an hour later in Sirius's study.

"Why do you think that?" Sirius asked, glancing up from the letter he was reading; Hermione had mentioned that she had prepared his correspondence.

"I suggested that she should dress in tighter clothes - to be less vulnerable in a fight", he added before his godfather could misunderstand, "and she looked as if she wanted to curse me, before telling me that she wouldn't change how she dressed." Very loudly.

Sirius laughed. "You were lucky, Harry. There's no good way to tell a witch that her robes are ugly."

"I didn't say they were ugly," Harry protested. "Even though they aren't the most stylish clothes. But they're a liability in combat. She would be much safer with tighter clothes."

"I'll have to remember that line!" Sirius said, grinning. "Well, if I wasn't in a relationship, that is," he added.

"It's not a joking matter, Sirius!" Harry shook his head. "Why won't Hermione listen to me? I don't understand. She's supposed to be smart and sensible."

"Ah…" Sirius trailed off, which wasn't a good sign, in Harry's opinion. "She's probably simply being stubborn. You know how she is. The more you tell her to wear something more flattering, the more she digs her heels in. Not that she would wear heels," he added with a grin.

"Fortunately, she at least wears sensible shoes," Harry said.

"Well, I think she would look quite nice in high-heeled boots." Sirius was slowly nodding. "And stockings and a basque. And a leather jacket."

"What?" Harry was about to ask how Sirius could come up with such a combination when he noticed that his godfather was actually reading an issue of 'Bike'.

He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Sirius was obviously no help with this. Remus was at Hogwarts, and no expert on witches anyway. And Harry would certainly not ask Jeanne for help. That left…

He nodded. He would have to call Tonks.

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 25th, 1996

Hermione Granger looked at herself in the mirror - a normal mirror; she neither wanted nor needed to listen to an enchanted mirror's 'helpful advice', thank you very much - pointed her wand at her brown mane, held in a ponytail, and cast another charm. Immediately, her hair changed from a perfectly fine brown colour to a deep black which wouldn't look out of place on a cat's fur.

Nodding, she changed, landing on all four paws with her usual grace. Unfortunately, even looking with her cat's eyes, which offered her a slightly different range of colours, she could tell at once that her fur hadn't changed colour and had stayed brown.

She changed back and sighed. She had cast the most advanced Hair Dyeing Charm she knew - and she had thoroughly researched that family of spells - but it seemed that even specialised charms didn't affect her other form any more than the basic Colouring Charm did.

"That would have been too easy," she muttered. But there were alternatives, she thought as she grabbed the bottle of muggle hair dye from her dresser, even if they were not as convenient as a simple spell would have been. If only cats could use wands!

Thirty minutes later, she was looking at a rather badly dyed blonde in the mirror. Mr Fletcher would never let her get away with such a sloppy job, but it was good enough for testing. Once more she changed into a cat.

And once more, she had brown fur. And while that meant that she had an easy solution should a certain dog try to dye her hair pink again, she did need a way to change her fur colour if she wanted to keep using her cat form on heists. She could let Sirius or Mr Fletcher cast a charm on her, of course - but that would vanish should she need to change into her human form to cast a spell, like on their last job.

In a pinch, she could use a Hair-Colouring Potion, of course. But in order to drink a potion as a cat, she would need to conjure a bowl - which would be left behind. Maybe she could create a self-vanishing water bowl…

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and she quickly changed back. "Yes?"

"It's me." The dog.

"Come in!"

"I just wanted to tell you… what happened to your hair" He was staring at her.

She rolled her eyes and cast a quick charm to restore her real hair colour. "I'm experimenting."

"Well, that one's a failure!" He shook his head. "It looks like someone sprayed you with bleach. You should go black instead."

She glared at him. He didn't need to be so blunt. "I was testing how hair-dyeing charms affect my fur's colour."

He blinked for a moment. "You tried to dye your hair and hoped your fur would match it?"

"Yes."

He shrugged. "Could've told you that that won't work. I tried that out myself, at Hogwarts."

She felt stupid - she hadn't even thought of asking him. She bit her lower lip. "Potions work, but I need a bowl to drink them as a cat, and I can't easily dispose of it afterwards."

"Really?" He looked surprised. "Just conjure it for a short time, instead of trying to make it last hours." She winced and he grinned at her. "Never overlook the lazy solution to your problem."

"Dumping it on someone else?" she shot back.

"That works too!" he agreed, nodding several times. "I do it all the time."

"I know," she responded with an overly sweet smile - he did it to her, after all.

He ignored the implied rebuke and looked at the bottles and vials she had lined up on her dresser. "If Harry saw this he'd stop worrying about you," he said, rubbing his goatee. "But if he knew you are dyeing your hair, it would endanger your disguise."

"What?" What was Harry worrying about…? She groaned. "Did he ask you to tell me to dress in tighter clothes since you're my nominal employer?"

"No," Sirius said. "Even though you look better in leather." She sighed in relief - until he went on: "He asked Tonks for help. Moony told me."

An Auror giving her what amounted to fashion advice! Hermione clenched her teeth. Sometimes, Harry's protectiveness was really aggravating.

Most of the time she liked it, of course.

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 27th, 1996

"Wotcher!"

Hermione Granger forced herself to smile when she heard Tonks cheerful greeting. She had been expecting this visit. She turned her head and nodded at the Auror standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. "Hello, Tonks."

"So, I was dropping off something for Sirius, and I thought I should check on the most recent addition to his household, see how she's faring," Tonks said, stepping inside Hermione's room. "Not too bad, looks like," she added, nodding towards Hermione's bookshelves.

"Harry asked you to talk to me, didn't he?" Hermione said.

Tonks flinched, then smiled weakly at her. "Guilty as charged."

Time to see if she could put the witch on the back foot, Hermione thought. She made a point of looking at Tonks's clothes - combat boots, ripped leggings and an open leather robe with lots of pockets and a tattered hemline over a blouse, all of it in black. "I don't think that the punk witch look would work for me." Her tone indicated that it wasn't working for the Auror either.

Tonks must have noticed, since her smile grew more teeth. "Well, I don't know about punk, but the 'frumpy wallflower' look definitely isn't working for you."

Of course it wasn't - that was the point of her disguise. Hermione frowned, though, and raised her chin slightly. "It's comfortable."

"I'm certain that we can find clothes that are both comfortable and more stylish," Tonks said, "as well as less of a risk in a fight."

"I don't think I should change how I dress just to conform to someone else's idea of how witches should look." Hermione sniffed.

"I'd be the last to tell you that, trust me!" Tonks shook her head. "You should have heard my parents berating me about my fashion choices!"

Hermione could imagine that - not from personal experience, of course; her parents hadn't disagreed with her choice of clothes. And she hadn't had a rebellious phase anyway. Not an openly announced one, at least - she was certain that her parents would have a few words to say should they know that their daughter was training to become a professional thief. "So why are you here then?"

"Because you should be dressing like you want..."

"That's what I'm doing," Hermione cut in.

"...but you should make an informed decision," Tonks went on. "And the security risk is real, trust me - I've had some rather embarrassing moments when my clothes snagged on furniture."

Hermione's eyes widened slightly. "In a fight?"

"No… just daily life." Tonks waved. "Trust me, billowing robes look cool, but they're not really practical in cramped spaces."

"I'll take your word for it," Hermione said, "but my clothes aren't that bad." She tugged at her sweater for emphasis. "I don't see Harry or Sirius dressing in skin-tight clothes either," she added.

"And we're all very glad for that!" Tonks exclaimed, laughing. "But no one's asking you to dress like that. Well, no one who knows what's good for them." She grew serious. "Your clothes aren't that bad, but they could be better. Safer. You don't fill your pockets with lead before you go swimming, do you?"

"Well, if I were to go scuba diving, I would wear a weight belt to trim myself," Hermione said.

Tonks stared at her with narrowed eyes. "I said swimming, not diving."

Hermione sighed. Time to try her cover story. "I don't want to dress up," she said, glancing at the floor and trying to sound both reluctant and honest, "or the Prophet will take it as proof that I'm a gold-digger out to seduce either Harry or Sirius. Or both." That would hopefully be enough of a reason to keep any compromise from compromising her secret identity.

"Ah." Tonks nodded in apparent sympathy. "Well, there's a lot we can do without making you dress like some French tart."

"Are you talking about Jeanne?" Hermione asked, wondering if Harry had asked Tonks's help with that problem as well.

"Of course not!" Tonks said. "I would never say a bad thing about my dear cousin's future wife." She shook her head wildly for emphasis. "Even if she does dress a little… French."

"And doesn't have to deal with the Prophet questioning her intentions towards Sirius," Hermione added. The Selwyns must have a lot of influence with the press. Or it was the fact that Jeanne was, although illegitimate, a pureblood and not a muggleborn. And lacked a criminal record.

Tonks shrugged, then perked up. "Anyway, let's see what we can do with your clothes!"

Hermione once again forced herself to smile. It didn't look like she could simply shrink her sweater and trousers until Tonks deemed them sufficiently grapple-resistant.

Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, July 31st, 1996

"Happy birthday, Harry."

"Thank you, Ginny." Harry Potter's smile was as forced as Ginny's looked. "I'm very grateful that your parents let me have the party here again."

"Mum insisted," Ginny said.

Did that mean Ginny had been against inviting him? "Ah," he said, nodding.

"It makes sense - Grimmauld Place doesn't have that much space." Ginny frowned at him as if that was his fault.

"Yes. And there's no Quidditch pitch either." He glanced at the pitch, where most of the other guests were flying. And where he had been headed until he'd almost stumbled into Ginny.

"Yes." She seemed to hesitate a moment, then turned her head towards the table in the garden, where Hermione was talking to Bill about Arithmancy or Curse-Breaking. "Hermione's wearing different clothes from usual."

He sighed. "Oh, yes. And it was a pain to get her to change. She was too stubborn to admit that her old clothes were not suitable for a fight."

"Ah." Ginny nodded. "They look better than her old ones, too."

He shrugged. Hermione's current clothes - rather drab robes - were still far from flattering, in his opinion, but now she wouldn't get caught in any hedges through which she tried to crawl.

"Well, I'm getting some more cake," Ginny said after a moment, nodding curtly.

"I'm going to fly some more," he replied, then turned away.

Harry Potter barely noticed the Bludger headed his way as he banked left. There was a glint below him - the Snitch? No, just something shiny on the ground. He rolled to the left, the Bludger speeding past him, and started a dive. Below him, the former Gryffindor Chasers were outflying their opponents - Bill, Dean and Seamus - easily, though Ron managed to block Alicia's throw. Team Weasley was still behind five goals.

He saw Ginny circling far above the field, and grinned. She was too stubborn to shadow him, which meant she wouldn't get near the Snitch. Once he spotted it, Team Gryffindor would win.

Another Bludger flew towards him. The twins were focusing on him now and he couldn't expect any help from his own Beaters - neither Hermione nor Luna were any good with the bats. And the less said about Neville's performance as Keeper the better.

He pulled up and let the Bludger pass beneath him. It would take a few seconds to turn around, which meant he could look around again… There! A golden glint speeding across the field, close to the ground!

Harry dived. The second Bludger came at him, but from an angle. He dismissed it from consideration; it was too slow to reach him. The Snitch abruptly turned left and sped up, but Harry easily compensated, trading more height for speed. Another turn, right this time. Towards him. He pulled up and rolled at the same time, reaching out with his left hand, and he felt the Snitch slap into his palm hard enough to bruise.

But he had made the catch. Team Gryffindor had beaten Team Weasley. And he had beaten Ginny!

"Hey, Hermione! That was some nice flying!"

Hermione Granger finished storing her loaned broom in the Weasleys' shed and turned to look at Seamus. She frowned at him - her performance couldn't honestly be called good or nice. "You are aware that Luna and I playing as Beaters was a handicap to compensate for the Chasers playing with Harry?"

The boy's smile didn't falter. "Well, it was nice for you. I know you don't like Quidditch."

"You're actually wrong - I quite like Quidditch. I'm just not good at it," she corrected him with a glare, hoping he would get the hint.

He didn't - probably because he was looking at her chest, and not her face. Her new robes weren't exactly tight, but they didn't hide her bust as much as her old ones. "That's great!" he exclaimed. "Who do you think will win the next championship?"

"Probably Puddlemere United," she answered. "They improved their Chaser line again."

He nodded. "I think you're right. They've been great before, and got better. Although the Harpies might give them a run for their money."

She was tempted to correct him - the Harpies' Seeker had retired, and her replacement was new to professional Quidditch - but that would mean spending more time talking with a boy who was clearly still fixated on one thing - and it wasn't Quidditch. Fortunately, she spotted Luna stepping out of the house. "Perhaps. But I need to check on Luna now."

She left the boy. And she left him his wallet, this time - Mr Fletcher had been clear about how dangerous it was to be predictable. Even Seamus might grow suspicious if he lost his wallet twice in a row at Harry's birthday parties. "Hey, Luna! How are you doing?"

The blonde witch smiled. "Molly fixed my arm, see?" She held out left arm. "No bruises any more." She pursed her lips. "But we were supposed to hit the Bludgers, not the other way around."

Hermione nodded. "We tried. And our team won." No thanks to them, though.

Luna, though, beamed. "We did! And with a wide spread, too!" Then she frowned again - although it looked more like a pout to Hermione. "Next time, I want to be on Team Weasley, though."

"So you can play as Chaser?"

"Among other reasons, yes." Luna suddenly started towards the table in the garden. "Now let's go and eat our victory cake!"

"I think that's still Harry's birthday cake," Hermione said with a smile.

"That's alright since he won the game for us!"

"We could have beaten you, if Fred and George had focused on disrupting the Chasers' formation. By trying to both hinder you and them, they achieved nothing. I told them so, but they didn't listen." Ron sighed before taking another forkful of cake. "But we'll need to replace them, and Alicia and Angelina as well, this year."

Harry Potter shrugged. "Ginny can play Chaser. And Demelza is good as well."

"Yeah. But we don't have any good Beaters. I've been keeping an eye on the pick-up games," Ron said, frowning despite the excellent cake. "And we can't count on you winning the games for us. Not with, you know." He waved with his free hand at the trees in the distance. Or maybe the pond.

Harry understood, of course. They couldn't count on him. Not with Voldemort out there. He sighed. He knew that fighting Voldemort - and surviving - was far more important than Quidditch, but it was still galling.

"Ah, there're Hermione and Luna," Ron said.

Harry looked up and saw the two witches walking towards them. Well, Hermione was walking. Luna was closer to running. "Has the cake gone bad in the time we were playing?" she asked. "You were frowning. You don't frown when eating cake unless it's bad cake. And Molly doesn't bake bad cakes." She gasped. "Did someone tamper with it?"

"No, no," Harry was quick to reassure her. "I just thought of something unpleasant."

"You shouldn't be doing that on your birthday either," she admonished him before taking a slice for herself and one for Hermione. Or, rather, two slices for herself - Hermione took another one. Luna could eat like Ron, when it came to cake, Harry noted.

"We were just discussing our prospects for this year's Cup," Ron said. "Is your arm OK?"

Luna just nodded, her mouth full of cake. She held out her arm to Ron.

"Your mum fixed it," Hermione cut in. She was eating slowly, unlike the others.

"Good." Ron sat back.

Luna seemed to be pouting, but it was hard to tell with her cheeks stuffed. Harry almost expected her throat to bulge like a snake's when she swallowed before announcing: "Oh, I almost forgot: We have found even more evidence of the muggle conspiracy to hide the existence of Nargles!"

"You have?" Harry asked. He glanced at Hermione, who looked as wary as he felt.

Luna nodded several times. "Daddy tracked the Nargles to Downing Street, but he was arrested by muggle Aurors before he could find their lair. The muggles were acting on direct orders from their Minister, which proves that this conspiracy is rooted in the highest levels of muggle Britain!"

"Your father tried to break into Number 10 Downing Street?" Hermione's voice had gone up an octave, Harry thought.

"He tried." Luna held up a finger and lowered her voice. "The building is warded; another piece of evidence that it is a breeding ground for Nargles. We'll be exposing everything in the next issue!"

Harry glared at Hermione. This was all her fault for cracking a joke about Westminster.

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 1st, 1996

"Hello, Harry!"

"Hello, Jeanne." Harry Potter smiled, even though he didn't feel like it. Sirius's girlfriend - fiancée now in all but name, or so he understood - was still far too friendly in his opinion. And he had been looking forward to having breakfast without her. "Already up?"

"Yes." She grabbed a croissant and sat down in what had become her usual spot. "Sirius is still asleep. He keeps working late," she added with a sigh.

Order missions, Harry knew. Not that he would tell the witch. He shrugged.

"Like Hermione," Jeanne went on.

"Yes." What did she mean by that? Hermione had always worked very hard, even at Hogwarts. "She's his secretary," he added.

"And she lives with you."

She didn't say 'us', he noted, though he didn't know if that was a good or bad sign. "Yes. Her parents are travelling the world."

"She's recently been changing how she dresses." Now the witch was smiling, rather patronisingly.

"Yes?" He took a sip from his tea. What was her point?

"Did you notice?"

"Of course I did." He had told her to, after all.

"Ah." Her smile widened. "Did you tell her that?"

He shook his head as he took a bite out of his own croissant. That would have been rubbing it in, and Hermione did have a temper. Unlike Sirius, he didn't like provoking her.

She sighed. "Harry, a girl likes to be noticed if she makes the effort to dress up. You should at least compliment her, even if she still has a lot to learn about fashion."

He winced. "That's not how it is," he said. "I told her to change since her old clothes were too baggy for her."

"Oh?" She looked both surprised and amused.

"She's not dressing like this to impress me," he explained. "It's for her safety."

Judging by the way she shook her head, she didn't believe him. "And you wouldn't have any ulterior motives?"

"She's my best friend. And she doesn't fancy me, or she would have told me so." Harry narrowed his eyes. She probably had gotten this notion from Sirius.

"That's not a denial."

He rolled his eyes at her. "If I fancied her, I would have told her so as well. Straight." He was a Gryffindor, after all.

"Mh."

Repeating his words would make him sound childish, so he didn't. He made a point of reading the Prophet instead. And ignoring her giggle.

Hogwarts, August 2nd, 1996

"Thank you for coming," the Headmaster said with his usual smile. "Please have a seat." Behind him, his phoenix familiar trilled, then went back to grooming his wings.

"Thank you, sir." Hermione Granger sat down.

"And thank you for the memory of your exams. It was very interesting to see how the home-schooled students are treated."

"It was my pleasure," Hermione answered. "Although I think some of the examiners didn't appreciate being put on the spot like that."

"It was the least I could do." Dumbledore's smile grew more apologetic. "If things had gone differently, you would never have had to face them."

"And they wouldn't have had to test a muggleborn," Hermione added.

"Quite." He nodded. "You did very well, considering your circumstances."

"Yes. Considering." She would have done much better, Hermione was certain, had she stayed at Hogwarts. She wouldn't be an animagus, though. Nor a thief. Still… "You mentioned that you had a question for me." Which he apparently couldn't ask through the fireplace - nor trust to ask at Grimmauld Place. And for her. Not for Sirius, Harry or Mr Fletcher.

"Indeed. I would like you to listen to a record, if you would be so kind."

"A record?" She frowned. That sounded… Ah. "From one of the bugs we placed?"

"Precisely." He smiled at her, as if she had answered a question in class. "From your latest 'heist', I think Mundungus called it."

"The Rosier job."

He nodded. "It shouldn't take too long."

"I've got time to spare," she said. Why would he want her to listen to such a record? Her eyes widened. Either it concerned herself or her family - or the Dark Lord.

He flicked his wand and an antique gramophone flew towards him, gently coming to rest on his desk. A quick tap later, the record started playing and two voices filled the room. One of them sent a cold shiver down her spine. Voldemort.

"You promised me access to your great-aunt's library, Aaron." She wouldn't ever forget that voice. Nor that tone.

"I did, milord. But Aunt Serena is stubborn und suspects the worst of everyone, even of her own family. She's warming to me, though. I just need a little more time to gain her trust." That had to be Rosier.

"You said that before. This task cannot be delayed indefinitely."

"I'm doing what I can, milord."

"Are you?" There was a mocking and threatening undertone audible now.

"I cannot appear too eager, or she'll grow suspicious. Ever since the death of her husband, she has grown very possessive of his library." Based on his wavering tone, she could imagine how nervous Rosier must have looked.

"With good cause, Aaron. Your task is of crucial importance. Succeed, and you will be rewarded. Fail, and you will wish that I killed you instead of your family."

"Yes, milord."

She heard a door open and close, presumably the Dark Lord leaving, and then Dumbledore stopped the record.

"That was Voldemort," Hermione said before he could ask. "I recognise his voice."

He nodded. "I thought so as well, based on your memory, but I needed to be certain." He smiled, a little ruefully. "Old age affects the hearing, after all."

She didn't think that was the reason that he had called her. "The Dark Lord hasn't found what he's been looking for, then."

She was fishing for information and, judging by the Headmaster's smile, he knew it. He nodded, though. "Indeed. His followers have not met with much success, not least because of your own actions." He sighed, suddenly looking years older. "But that might not amount to much if he succeeds in gaining access to that library. Ottokar Rosier was a man who did not hold with the idea that books should be banned, no matter their content."

Hermione nodded - that was a view she shared.

He sighed again. "I believed so as well, once, but history proved me wrong."

She tilted her head, accepting his rebuke, but nothing more. She could handle any knowledge. And, she added to herself, it wasn't as if the Headmaster had asked her and her friends to destroy such books, but to recover them.

He went on: "Anyway... Ottokar collected a great many tomes, and among them might very well be some of the most infamous works on blood magic. Might, mind you - I would not have thought that he would go as far as that."

"You want us to check and recover any works covering blood magic that we find."

"Yes. One tome in particular - 'Of Blood and Magic'." He leaned back. "It will be no easy task. Aaron has not overstated Serena's attitude. She suspects - not without cause, given what we just heard - that her relatives would rather inherit her estate sooner than later, and has accordingly taken precautions even Alastor might consider slightly excessive."

"Alastor Moody?" She had heard a lot about the man. He was, in her opinion, at least partially responsible for Harry making such a fuss about her clothes.

"Yes. While Serena is not as skilled as Alastor, as the head of the Rosier family, she has access to vast resources to compensate for that. Her manor will be full of all sorts of defences, both old and new."

Like the manors of other Old Families. Such as the Parkinsons, the Greengrasses, the Davises, the Bulstrodes and, of course, the Malfoys.

Hermione smiled.