It had not been hard to find the article.

Since she had essentially escaped from prison after being let out of another prison, she had been engrossed in the task of finding news. Magical newspapers were generally enchanted to look like muggle newspapers floating in the wind when they entered a nonmagical area; it was some sort of transfiguration ward, but the process could be reversed. The other girls found her to be about as interesting as she promised, regaling them with tales that they probably thought were fabricated, and by consequence she had been allowed to stay a little longer. Grabbing a few discarded newspapers out of rubbish bins and out of the gutter, conscious of the fact that some of them probably really were muggle newspapers, she decided she would have to use the Leaky Cauldron entrance, and that required her to come up with a false identity.

Hannah eventually settled on that of a squib named Wendelona Wycross, who just wanted to get into Diagon Alley for a newspaper, she decided she would ask someone at the pub to open the portal on her behalf. She could probably figure out the pattern herself with her wand, since it had come with the brochure sent to the parents of magical children, but her wand was an identifying factor, and she wanted something as far from her actual identity as possible. I really can't afford to cast spells, because of the Trace, so if someone asked me to do something in return, I would be at a loss.

Walking there while her new friends were out, she had her wand in her jacket, where she would hopefully not be tempted to reach for it, but still able if she needed. The goal was to be as forgettable as possible, so she spared the time of thinking up some kind of interesting backstory and resolved to instead just act like a bit of a mendicant. She'd have some kind of sob story about why she needed help, and that she was looking for ads in the paper, but no one in the wizarding world ever wanted to hire squibs, and she could not stand to live in the muggle world when she knew something better was out there.

Getting to the place without being spotted was at least doable, after she stole some black hair dye from her roommates, which she hated and would have to pay back later. She really could not stand looking in the mirror and seeing her hair the way it was, but she guessed most normal girls had that problem, at least from time to time. She ducked through the crowd and stood by the bricks in the back, waiting for someone to come along. It turned out to be an older witch in a green suit that was already being transfigured into robes.

"Excuse me, could you please let me through? I'm a squib and I'm-" The witch rolled her eyes and took care of it without any further explanation. That's right. The vast majority of people in the world do not care about me at all. Ever since becoming a werewolf, it had been less of a chilling thought and more of a reassurance. When she thought about the people about whom she could realistically say she cared, it was a short list, at least on a personal level. Outward from that list, there were distant relatives, friends of friends, fellow Hogwarts exiles, and girls her age. Strangers meant virtually nothing to her when she was being honest with herself, unless she had something non-trivial in common with them.

Walking down Diagon Alley in normal clothes, she felt a little out of place, but perhaps that was what people expected to see, someone who felt out of place. She knew the newspapers were not sold in convenient boxes on every corner, but with a little luck, she would not need to try to buy any. As she ducked into a dark alley, she got out a few of the discarded papers, one of them transfiguring itself into a recent edition of the Prophet.

I don't need that. I had access to it the entire time I was in the Ministry school. Walking further down the darker, quieter street she came across a newsboy drinking what looked to be his twentieth firewhiskey. He had taken to resting on a bench.

"You a muggle or somethin', birdie?"

"I'm- I'm a squib. Do you have any papers apart from-"

"Yeah, yeah, I got yeh. 's about the only reason anyone comes to see me." He was digging through a leather bag when she noticed that his skin was not just pale under the eerie light; he really was deathly white. "These've been sellin' better'n ever in the last forty years, 'least among our sorts." He handed her a recent Quibbler.

"You're a vampire, aren't you?" She could smell blood as clearly as she could see him.

"It's not so bad, not really. Can't seem to wreck my liver no matter how hard I try."

"Well, looking like you do, do they ever let you into the pubs?" she asked, reading. Her understanding of kinship seemed to have updated itself to include fellow dark creatures.

"They know me around here. Even if they didn', they'd prob'ly still let me in. Think I met the Dark Lord 'round here once- mighta been '91." He scratched his head as she thumbed through the magazine. Most of this is rubbish. "Then again, it mighta been before the war. That'd be the first time I met him, workin' at Borgin and Burke's. Don' think much of it; everyone runs into me eventually."

"Borgin and Burke's?"

"Right down that way. They've got a sign, or can't you read- ah, well, they haven' fixed the damn thing in ten years. I do believe Burke's dead, but Borgin's still there. Couldn't tell you why old Tom Riddle wanted to work there."

"I'll have to ask Borgin, then. Thanks for the-" His palm was sticking out, but she gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks fer that, Miss. I'll be tellin' the mates I finally got one, I will." The strange boy scampered off. Now I can't entirely rule out that he's a normal twelve year old. What accent was that?

Running the back of her hand over her mouth, she made her way over to the store, reading a pointless article about magical creatures that she was relatively sure Hagrid had never mentioned. Well, I guess it could be something like a cryptid from anywhere else... weren't those based on real animals? She nearly walked into a darker witch as she stepped out of a strange building, the smell of cologne all over her. She stopped dead in the street as she read the next article, hearing Ron's voice in the words. She imagined if the girls from the house could see her, they would make fun of her. They would call her lovesick. Whether that was true or not, she could not care less, and their saying it was even less important.

Putting her back against a wall and sliding down, she shelved her other plans. She read every word of the interview twice. Where's Hermione? What happened to her? The text was not being terribly explicit, but she decided it was unlikely her friends would give away her location. She must be doing something important... I know she didn't just leave. She took note of the time and place where she was meant to meet Ron, stuffing the rolled-up magazine into her jacket. That's something else I can't let the normal girls find.

Going into the store, trying to counter the possibility it would close at odd hours, there was a strange wizard manning the counter. He asked her if she needed any help finding anything and she resisted the urge to ask about coffin brochures. He was being nice, to be sure, but no one that old and creepy was going to get away with addressing a teenager. It was less of a knee-jerk reaction of hers and more of a fact of life, she decided. Perusing the dark artefacts as though something would jump out and tell her that Tom Riddle had been present decades ago, her eyes rested on a familiar word.

"That's the cup of Helga Hufflepuff," Borgin explained, appearing behind her somehow. "Not our usual wares, no, but it was a bit of a rare find."

"May I ask how much it is?"

"I'll let you have it for an even million." Hannah rolled her eyes while turned away, possessed of not even the slightest doubt that she was getting a substantial discount. She was still curious, however.

"How did you get it?"

"This old witch named Hepzibah Smith left it to young Tom Riddle in her will. Couldn't imagine why; I think he just went over there and said he liked it. Didn't have any other family, I don't believe." He squinted. "What House were you in Hogwarts, if I may ask?"

"I was in Slytherin," she said, noticing he hardly blinked. "I can tell you a few of the passwords we used to get into the common room." Neville wrote them down on his hand.

"I wouldn't know them."

"I can tell you about the Bloody Baron." Neville recounted a few of the stories he told from his life.

"So could anyone else who got him talking once or twice." Borgin was a tougher nut to crack than she had thought. It was obvious what she was doing and why she was doing it. Anyone who wanted to get him talking about artefacts would claim to be in Slytherin.

"I can tell you a little about the basic prerequisites of blood purism."

"There's a good lass; no need to repeat them here. There's taboos on some of those words." He was leaning forward as he said it, indicating genuine concern. It must work like the Trace. "Don't want any Ministry folk in here."

"I understand that perfectly. Would you happen to have any mechanism of keeping the Trace off me?" she asked, having heard some rumors. He gestured for her to look around the shelves. It seemed reasonable that he would not know everything that he had in the store. "So the Dark Lord used to work here?" she asked.

"I contain the honor, if only just. The current government would prefer to light everything up down Knockturn Alley, overturn every stone, but they would be surprised what they would find here."

"Resistance?"

"Sadly, no, all of that has left for the continent, we believe. Couldn't have happened at a worse time, either. Grindelwald has been released from Nurmengard." Hannah nearly dropped the shriveled hand she was holding, but disguised it as an effort to pick up a black amulet on a bottom shelf. Guaranteed to protect against werewolves. Well, I could've used that a few years ago. Touching it proved painful.

"They won't... attack each other, will they?" If they do, it will be all the good we can hope to come of it. Destroying Secrecy is the last thing we need now...

"I'm afraid it was all over the Prophet, and I can't figure out why they'd lie about something that went well for them. Had it straight out of the mouth of one of his old subordinates. Ministry's not claiming credit for his release though."

"They don't know who did it?"

"Even if they did it, they wouldn't say it. Wouldn't want to alienate all the continental governments that have to deal with the fallout. Word to the wise, a couple o' Death Eaters already said they would not tolerate the mere existence of old Grindelwald." That's a strange statement to make. Why are they going after him when he just got out? Why not try an olive branch?

"Oh, well... I should probably get this one." She put an amulet on the counter. The label specifically said it would counteract the Trace and active wards. "Do you have anything that can get the wards off my wand without destroying it?"

"I'll throw it in. I've had lads your age darkening my door all hours of the night about that. There was a boy named Evan who wanted the same amulet. Did you ever run into him?"

"He's the Heir of Slytherin," she responded, acting confused. "Of course I ran into him." Hannah donned the amulet, acting like she was digging through her jacket for gold. "Is there any way I can test this thing out?" she asked, handing Borgin her wand.

"Of course," he said, looking her wand up and down. "Definitely ten inches... Mahogany..."

"Phoenix feather."

"One moment." He excused himself to the back of the shop, returning with an almost identical wand. "Should fit you. Try any spell you like. Last thing I want is the Ministry trampling through the shop, see."

"Lumos," she incanted, the light charm working perfectly. She pointed the wand at him, acting excited. "It really is working perfectly... and no one's going to know I cast it?"

"Not a soul."

"That's excellent. I promise not to ask how you got it, or so many of them you happened to have one that was the same as mine."

"Right, right..." he trailed off. He could not have been less prepared for the stunner, as indicated by his head hitting the counter.

"I could take a guess, though."

Hannah doubted anything else in the store was obtained illegally, since stealing probably meant death on this particular street, but she did not have the gold for the amulet and that was all there was to it. She could put up with stealing from Death Eaters and the people who were directly helping them. Looking around the shop for anything else she could use, she saw a strange, triangular space on the floor surrounded by dust. What used to be here? Where did it go?

Seeing nothing that could explain it and unable to justify further investigation, she decided it could have been sold. Without anything else that caught her eye, she left the store and walked out, putting her wand away and scanning the area for Ministry employees. Seeing none, she kept her guard up until she was back at the Leaky Cauldron, where she needed to figure out her next move. The meeting was pretty soon, and she had no way of getting there at the moment. I guess I could sneak onto a normal train, as long as I have my wand and I can use it with impunity.

Looking around at the crowd in the pub, she decided she had to be suspicious of everyone, including the little old witches with seltzer water, the perfect disguise for dark wizards and Aurors alike. If the world gets mad enough, there might be nothing but little old witches in the pub. She got up and left, still not knowing where she was going. I hope they have enough seltzer.

Getting back out onto the streets, she resisted the urge to thank the normal people for being normal. Her mind almost immediately returned to the task at hand. I can theoretically summon a broom to my position if I see one, but outside of that, I'll have to find a train schedule and get an early start tomorrow. She knew nothing of how to make portkeys or apparate, and the Floo Network was about as dangerous as marching right back into the Ministry. Getting back to the house, she found the girls were already there. Her amulet and wand were already concealed, having already used the latter to change her hair back to blonde.

"Hi, Hannah- is this you?" Maggie asked, holding out some kind of wanted poster.

"Depends, what do they think I did?" she asked, squinting at it.

"Apparently you killed over a hundred people in an explosion." Well, more like an implosion.

"I'm sure they deserved it," she muttered. "When was this, yesterday?"

"No, this was a few days ago... the thirteenth-" Damn. They thought I would try to establish an alibi among normal people. "You didn't do, it though, did you?"

"Why would I do that? What in the last few days has indicated that I'm a terrorist?"

"This is your picture." It was somewhat strange to her that the photo was not moving.

"I'm sure it is. I don't know why they suspect me of anything. Maybe it was a wrong place, wrong time sort of thing. I really couldn't tell you the first thing about building bombs or planning this sort of thing." If muggle police see me, they might be under orders to shoot me, general policy be damned. I can't take a train. She wanted to throw a tea kettle at someone, or maybe just have a cry. I was just being stupid again. Why did I think I would only be wanted in the magical world? They have to have contacts in regular law enforcement who can act as an extra set of eyes.

It seemed the girls were willing to at least give her the benefit of the doubt as they saw she was getting upset. She could hardly blame them for suspecting her when she had been a stranger mere days ago. She had been as honest with them as the Statute would allow, going so far as to tell them a little about how Hogwarts worked, though she had to change a lot of things, but they could probably still tell she was not being entirely honest. They could probably tell I was pulling Edenborough Academy out of my arse.

Not for the first time, she wished she had her friends with her.

Lying on the couch as everyone else went to bed, Hannah doubted that she had killed everyone in the Ministry school at the same time. For one thing, she was relatively sure that some people could have created expanded spaces within the expanded, space, leaving them with refuge in case the place collapsed, or perhaps even stabilizing the collapse. There was no way she was going to be so lucky that her enemies would have no means of keeping themselves alive, but she might have killed a few innocent people, the ones more likely to never have seen it coming. She tightened her grip on her wand. I'm not staying a prisoner just so that the prison can stay up. Sooner or later they would have killed me- or they wouldn't, because then they would be next.

She thought of Ron, Hermione, and Terry, and what she had told the girls about each of them, which the Ministry would hopefully not be able to use when they were questioned. Most of what was necessary for the stories was just their personalities... but I did tell them how I felt about each of them, and if they're captured before I find them, all the Department will have to do is subject them to the same treatment I had and they'll have me back before long... The idea reminded her of thinking about dying while being held prisoner so that her friends would not try to get her out. It's the same now as then. I can't give up.

"So, you and this Ron fellow..." Jackie had asked yesterday. The four of them were talking through a movie on the video player. "Did you ever do anything?"

"It never got that serious," she said, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

"He must not have liked you as much as you like him," Lottie observed. "I mean, you'd be fighting him off, s' long as he's a red-blooded..."

"I just told him it was moving too quickly already. So, really, it would be my fault. I know he likes me, and I know he would do most anything for me, but... it occurs to me now that we might not be compatible. We never really went through the tests of talking and dating." That much was obvious, since it was the reason it felt like everything was going at a faster pace than she would have liked. It was like one minute we were friends and then the next minute we were trying to do stuff together... I never figured him for the type to hesitate, I suppose...

"Well, maybe you just needed some time apart, and if you both still like each other..." Maggie paused. "Actually, you should let him react to seeing you first. If he's broken your heart, you can at least keep your dignity by pretending you never liked him."

Somehow it was impossible to think of Ron with another girl, even after several months. He wouldn't give me up for dead this quickly... it would take him even longer to stop punishing himself.

"Thank you," Hannah said. "I think he would feel worse if he saw me blubbering about it, though, so I'll probably throw my arms around him the moment I see him."