Harry Potter and the Emerald Sigillus

by The-Nameless90

With Dumbledore gone, Grindelwald's remaining followers are finally able to carry out their plans for "the greater good" and install a Nazi-Germany-like regime. But luckily, the Deathstick found a worthy successor who will oppose them. Based solely on the original 7 books, Harry's story is continued. Realistic, increasingly powerful Harry, no AU. BOOK 3/3.

3. A New Task

- Chapter Three -

A New Task

When Harry woke up, he was greeted by a bright light that did not fit with the windowless cellar, even with the light orbs from the Deluminator. As soon as he became aware of the incongruity of his situation, his eyes popped open and he sat up. He was in one of the upstairs rooms of the Dumbledore House, the one he and Ginny had chosen for themselves when they moved in with Aberforth. A blank painting of Albus Dumbledore hung on the wall beside the canopy bed, and on the bedside table were Harry's round glasses and wand.

Harry felt a warm feeling in his heart - Ginny could hardly bear to let him wake up in that damp cellar, and after the moon had set and he had turned back to a human, she opened the door and brought him up to their room. She herself was not here, Harry lay alone in the white linen bed, which was almost blinding in the light that streamed through the round window.

He covered his eyes and, kicking off the covers, slowly sat up in bed. His muscles ached now, as they had the last full moon, as if someone had torn them one by one and then welded them together; he had never felt such a muscle ache after a Quidditch practice as he did now. Beside the bed was a small three-legged stool, as if someone had sat on it while Harry slept; beside it, on the top of the chest of drawers, lay a neatly folded set of clothes. He crawled out to dress, but as he started for the wardrobe, someone in the room called out:

'Good morning, Harry!'

He almost threw away half the pair of socks he had in his hand and spun on his shaft. He immediately saw who had startled him: the blank painting hanging on the wall was no longer blank.

'Professor Dumbledore!'

The late headmaster of Hogwarts looked at Harry from behind his half-moon shaped glasses with a serene smile. The kindly features of the old man's face were not marred by his painted features, and Harry was still embarrassed whenever he spoke to the portrait, still seeing in it the flesh and blood, breathing Dumbledore, the greatest wizard in the world.

'I see you're awake. Did you have a nice night?' the painting asked. Harry winced.

'I wouldn't say that, sir. It was a full moon...'

'Oh, of course! I forgot... You know, as a painting, it's a little difficult to feel the passage of time. For me, for example, you'll always be the good-natured little boy from the cupboard under the stairs I met...' he looked at him with a fatherly smile, but Harry could see a hint of sadness in it.

'But so much has changed since then!' he replied, and started to get dressed. Dumbledore nodded.

'It's true, Harry, it's true... But it pains me to see that little boy has become - please excuse the language - a broken man.'

Harry was a little taken aback by these words, and froze for a moment as he pulled on his sweater. Was he really broken by the many and seemingly incessant wars that had dominated his life and the lives of his friends?

He shouldn't wonder, he reminded himself, for the shadow of the Fourth Tower loomed over them every minute of every day, and they were threatened by an enemy perhaps more terrifying than Voldemort. The oppressive days have taken their toll on him more than anyone else, as the former beauty of the bright full moon had become a new enemy for Harry, and it was certainly taking its toll on his appearance - just last week he had discovered his first grey hair in the mirror while brushing his teeth in the morning.

Yes, Dumbledore may be right... But by the time he pulled the sweater over his head, he had a confident smile on his face and turned to face the painting.

'Don't worry about me, Professor,' he told him in a voice that was meant to be light. 'I've just been a bit overworked lately.'

Dumbledore was smiling too, but Harry knew he couldn't fool him that easily - in fact, there was no way he could fool him, who knew him better than any of his teachers, any of his friends. To Dumbledore, whether he was a painting or not, Harry was like a mirror. The wizard just looked into it and saw everything.

'Goodbye, Professor,' Harry said politely, then stepped out of the door.

Already in the spiral staircase that runs down the middle of the house, he could hear the radio and the sound of Ginny singing as she worked in the kitchen downstairs, perhaps preparing breakfast. Then he glanced at his watch and was shocked to see that it was past noon and that instead of breakfast, it was most likely lunch that was being prepared downstairs.

He ran down the stairs and, on reaching the ground floor, saw Ginny in her apron, cooking. She hadn't heard him wake up due to the music, so Harry was able to sneak up behind her, and with a sudden movement, quickly grabbed her from behind by the waist and lifted her up. She gave a great shriek of fright and dropped the cookbook she had been leafing through, as Harry laughed at her.

'For the love of Merlin!' she cried, as a laughing Harry put her down and kissed her neck. You scared me!'

'What's for lunch?' he asked, still laughing and ducking Ginny's playful slap.

'If you keep this up, you'll be lucky if you get to eat a piece of toast!' she replied angrily.

Harry picked up the cookbook she had dropped, but before he could look at it, Ginny snatched it out of his hand.

'No peeping!' she said sternly, in a manner reminiscent of Mrs Weasley, which made Harry smile. 'You'll know when it's done... In the meantime, don't disturb me!'

Harry held up two hands in surrender, then sat down at the table and poured himself a cup of coffee. Even though he had slept until noon, he was as tired as if he hadn't slept a minute. An involuntary groan escaped his lips as he sat down and stretched his legs; Ginny turned around, her expression no longer reminding him of her annoyed, playful mood of a few seconds before.

'How are you feeling?' she asked Harry, her voice full of concern.

'A bit weak.'

Ginny nodded in understanding.

'I bet... But the potion had some effect,' she added in a slightly more animated tone. 'When I went in to see you, you weren't naked. Your clothes were still on, only torn in one or two places.'

'Really?' wondered Harry. He himself did not feel that the potion he had drank had done any good, for he could hear his own howl, which was the howl of a wolf, and see his clawed fingered hand digging into the iron door.

But then he also remembered that he had been conscious for much longer than he had been during the first transformation. And he remembered the bitter crying outside the door, a thousand times worse to hear than to see his own body change. But he didn't want to tell Ginny that, he didn't want to let her know he was there, and he tried to talk to her, because it might upset her even more.

Many times he couldn't tell where Ginny's limits were because she was such a strong and confident girl who rarely let her tears flow. She never seemed broken, and Harry couldn't have imagined it about her.

'Do you remember... anything from the night?' Ginny asked anxiously, as if reading his mind.

'No,' Harry shook his head, 'Just that there was a storm...' Ginny looked at him strangely.

'It didn't rain a drop last night,' she said, surprising Harry, who was almost sure he had heard the sound of thunder and wind before he fell asleep.

'I sent an owl to Hermione when I brought you up,' Ginny continued. 'She said... how did she express it? "Half-success is no success" and that she'd look up some of the more "brutal" magic from the ministry's library - because she has a new idea.

'Oh dear, Hermione and the dark arts...' Harry sighed, but at the same time he thought of her with gratitude.

'I think Hermione sees the werewolf's curse as another challenge,' Ginny mused, with sauce pot in her hand, 'A seemingly impossible task that she wants to solve.'

Harry was well aware of this side of Hermione, which sometimes got the better of her to a downright frightening degree. He only had to think of the case of Rita Skeeter, or her obsession with finding out the identity of the Half-Blood Prince, and he was already sure that Ginny was right.

'She left with Ron shortly after dawn,' Ginny continued. 'They didn't even wait for their coffee; when I woke up, they were already putting on their shoes. They must have really missed work.'

Harry smiled; he attributed the hurried pace to something else.

'Ah... It's just that they hate being locked up in here, too. Especially after Nurmengard...' he gave her a meaningful look, but she said nothing.

They talked little about the prison when they were together, neither Ron nor Ginny liked the subject, but Hermione brought it up all the time, and Ron often argued with her about it. As Hermione had said, they couldn't pretend it hadn't happened, because their time in prison had had too great an effect on their lives; and it was now showing, Harry supposed, in the way they ran away from home at the first opportunity, almost maniacally looking for something to do.

'What I wouldn't give for a low-paying job where I'd have to work overtime every day!' he mused aloud, and then, hearing Ginny's incredulous laughter, added: 'If you've got too many problems, it's best to create new ones - as a distraction.'

'I'm sure Dumbledore would say something senile like that, too,' Ginny pointed the wooden spoon at him, and Harry was reminded of the Professor's visit this morning.

'You know, when I woke up, he was here... errr... I mean, his painting.'

He was caught mid-sentence for a moment, because Ginny spun like a whirligig. But she blushed almost immediately when she realised what Harry was talking about, and turned back to the bubbling pot in shame.

'And what did he say?' she asked, in a voice that sounded thinner than usual.

'Nothing much...' Harry scratched his head (trying not to think about how bad his former headmaster thought he looked). 'But I'd like to talk to him later. I hope he'll be able to help with the memories... He's also found Voldemort's weak spot, maybe he can give some useful advice about the Nameless.'

Ginny just glanced back over her shoulder and answered him:

'Harry... He's a painting. They are not capable of thing the person they are modelled on,' she said quietly, dejectedly.

'I know that...' Harry muttered. 'But still...'

'He will only tell you what he would have told you in his lifetime. He cannot absorb anything new, because he is an exact and permanent copy of the living person. It lacks the soul...'

Harry nodded silently as he listened to her words, which did nothing to cheer him up. He was aware that the portrait Dumbledore could not be as brilliant as the original, but as Ginny had said, the painting was a replica of the living person - so the portrait had all the memories and not inconsiderable life experience of Albus Dumbledore, and Harry hoped it would help.

'You know,' Ginny continued, 'a lot of people have made the mistake of trying to pretend that nothing happened when a close relative died and had their portrait taken: they would talk to it, laugh and cry with it, practically live with it... But a portrait cannot be a true companion in life. People grow old, people change, children are born into the family and old people die. A painting doesn't know how to deal with that. It cannot mourn someone who was young in its time... Or think of Mrs Black's painting!' Ginny suddenly remembered. 'Sirius had always been her outcast son, even after everyone in her family had died. She's still the noble Pureblood, still waiting for Voldemort to come to power.'

'How do you know so much about wizard portraits?' Harry frowned after listening to Ginny.

She shrugged.

'From Hogwarts...' she replied casually, most of her attention on the bacon sizzling on the bottom of the casserole. 'Flitwick had a study group about magical objects. And I used to go to that every now and then.'

'Study group...' Harry muttered under his breath. 'Ron told me you were also in the chess club. And you've had Muggle studies... and you even had time for Quidditch?'

'And the gobstone club, and the book club, and the summoning club of the Ravenclaws... Oh, and I've been to Madam Pomfrey's healing class now and then.'

Harry whistled appreciatively.

'You were obviously not bored!'

'Mum says I can't sit still on my arse,' Ginny agreed. 'Speaking of, Mum... She told me to ask you who you'd like to invite for your birthday.'

Harry gave a tired groan.

'I know you don't like the fuss. But you're about to turn twenty-one - an important age in a wizard's life,' Ginny finally smiled at him again. 'Besides then, when the party is over, you might as well come and watch me train. Gwenog has the first one scheduled for the thirty-first...'

'Training?' Harry was puzzled.

'Yes, we'll start preparing for the match against Wimbourne next week,' she replied, in a tone as matter-of-fact as if she had announced that she was going to the shop to buy milk.

'I thought you'd been thrown out of the Harpies after you made the stand crash on Kingsley!' wondered Harry, who had completely forgotten about his girlfriend's sporting career, which had begun to climb as steeply as his life had fallen...

Ginny just shook her head and smiled.

'Ah, no! Gwenog was actually beside herself with joy. Ticket sales doubled after people heard of my performance. As a matter of fact, I got a huge round of applause when the box came down - it seems everyone has been waiting for the players to attack the spectators ever since... So, are you coming?'

Harry didn't have to think about it for a moment.

'Of course! But what will your mom say if we step outside?'

Ginny leaned down close to him and whispered:

'She doesn't have to know,' she said, and then she kissed him on the nose and turned back to the stove.

As she was busy in the kitchen, occasionally tolerating a tangled strand of hair, her freckled face became floury with a few pale white spots. Harry watched her sitting at the table and found himself smiling to himself. With a wave of her magic wand, she peeled a bowl of potatoes, and with another wave, she lit the pot of soup underneath, while the dough kneaded itself on the kneading board.

Reaching for the tea towel, Ginny caught Harry's gaze.

'What... what is it?' she stared back at him, puzzled.

Instead of answering, Harry just jumped up, caught her and kissed her, which made Ginny giggle in surprise, but eventually she relaxed completely in his arms.

'What was that, Mr Potter?' Ginny murmured with a wry smile on her face. Harry replied with a strangely dry throat:

'I think it's another effect of the wolf's blood...' he said hoarsely to Ginny, and then suddenly he had her by the waist and was putting her on the table, and she squeaked, but the next moment her arms were around Harry's neck and she was pulling him to her to kiss her.

'I see the full moon is really driving you wild...'

They were just about to get into something much more pleasant than cooking when a pop and the sound of the front door creaking open immediately afterwards startled them. Harry was already reaching for his wand when he noticed that it was only Ron standing in the doorway, his head turning more and more red.

'Khmm-khmm... Sorry to disturb you...' he hissed annoyed, as if he had been the one who got disturbed by the cuddling couple, and not the other way around.

After a mumbled "hello", Harry tucked back his sweater, which for some strange reason was almost around his neck, and Ginny brushed her disheveled hair out of her face in a nervous gesture.

'You know what I was thinking?' said the girl caustically, who was obviously terribly annoyed by her brother's arrival. 'If you had received a knut of pocket money from our parents every time you showed off your inimitable talent for bad timing, you would be richer than the Malfoy's by now!'

Ron stepped inside and let the door slam behind him.

'Sorry, next time I'll be prepared to find a bantering couple in the middle of preparing lunch!' came the grumpy reply.

Ginny also blushed slightly, then slid off the table and began to dust off the flour on her apron.

'I don't see any damage done to lunch,' Ginny glanced at the kitchen counter, 'unlike your head, which is about to...'

It was here that Harry felt it was time to quickly intervene and divert the topic before a bloody sibling duel broke out.

'Tell me, how are things at headquarters?'

Ron had gotten over his recent annoyance in an instant (unlike his sister, who was still staring at him with her hands folded), and launched into a long rant about Harry's former colleagues and the other "file clerks" in the Ministry.

'Proudfoot told me to give you his regards, and that you should drop by some day... Of course, he doesn't know you've got the wolf disease – Neville and the others have kept their mouths shut, fortunately, so your secret is safe for now. Everyone else says hello - except Dawlish, who hasn't said a word to me all day. Commander Robards, however, made me promise to nag you until you reapply for the traineeship. He told me that because of our Nurmengard adventures, we have far more experience than half the Aurors at the headquarters, including himself... I didn't argue with him. And he was in such a good mood that he promoted me!' Ron announced proudly, as Harry and Ginny stared at him surprised.

'Yeah...' he nodded with a swell of chest that would have put Percy to shame. 'Please meet the new squad leader of the burglary subdivision. I don't have a squad yet, but I'm the same rank now as Dawlish, so I can call him an idiot loser whenever I want.'

He laughed at his own remark, then sat down at the table opposite Harry.

'But I actually came home early for another reason,' he continued, leaning closer. 'Robards put Dawlish on the Diggory case. He said we were perfect for the job, because we'd dealt with them before, so I spent most of the morning calling former Order members to see who knew what about Mundungus Fletcher.'

'And did you find out anything?' Ginny asked.

'Yes, more or less... Dedalus Diggle used to see him sometimes in Knockturn Alley, Hagrid hasn't spoken to him since the war, but Hestia Jones saw him once in Hogsmeade, and swears that at the last Order meeting Dung stole her watch... Then I spoke to Aberforth over the fireplace, and he said our old thief was just now sitting in the Strangled Cat, sipping brandy.'

Harry looked at him.

'What?'

'I'm surprised at my luck too,' Ron nodded, 'So I'm going over there now, Aberforth will keep him busy so he doesn't disappear again... Are you coming with me?'

Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise at his friend's unexpected offer.

'Are you serious?'

'Of course I'm serious!' snorted Ron.

'But this is an official investigation, civilians cannot be involved!' Harry opened his arms wide, remembering the hundreds of pages of regulations and laws he had read during his short apprenticeship, many of which only covered what an Auror could not do.

But Ron just shook his head.

'As a squad leader, I have the right to share information with outside experts if the interests of the investigation require it,' he said in a pompous tone, as if reading from a rule book, and it made Harry laugh out loud, as his friend reminded him so much of Percy or Dawlish at that moment.

Ginny giggled too, then looked at Harry and slowly stopped laughing. Harry knew that she could see it in his eyes how much he wanted to go, wanted to get out of the house, after all, it was obvious to him why she had invited him to her Quidditch practice in the first place.

'Take your invisibility cloak with you!' Ginny said just that, and blew Harry a kiss as he happily flipped open the magic chest in the corner of the living room, from which he retrieved the unique garment.

'Take care of yourselves, pay attention to everything and everyone...' she continued, addressing her words mainly to her brother, when Harry was already putting on his shoes and Ron was impatiently drumming on the doorjamb.

'You're starting to sound like Mum!' Ron said.

Ginny glared back at him angrily, and even put her hands on her hips for the effect. Her floury palm left a white mark on her apron.

'There!' Ron pointed at her with two hands. 'That's what I'm talking about! Just like Mum! I'm getting scared of you, sis...'

'All right, get out of here!' Ginny waved fiercely, producing a floury cloud in the air, and hurried back to the kitchen.

Ron patted Harry gleefully on the shoulder, who almost collapsed due to his weakened state, as if he had been patted on the back by Hagrid. They walked out of the house and stopped on the hilltop, where they had a wonderful view of the valley below them and the welcoming houses of Godric's Hollow, illuminated by bright sunlight as if it were a kitsch landscape.

'Finally...' sighed Ron loudly, as if it was him who had been locked up in the Dumbledore Tower.

Harry wrapped the cloak of invisibility around himself, then took Ron's outstretched hand and they apparated together. With a quick turn, they plunged into the suffocating void, which was like a narrow tube or tight iron straps stretched across one's chest, squeezing all the air out...

They arrived on the always dirty and grey London quayside, where huge buildings with sloping slate roofs, rusty containers, and empty oil drums, were lined up in a great jumble. Beside them, a huge but decades-old ship crane loomed into the sky, with strange welding marks indicating some serious repairs. Harry remembered well the night when the crane had crashed with a bang into the river - the Viking, the first-born dementor, caused this to their dismay when Marius Prince, the blue-skinned man, approached them with a mission...

Harry's head ached just thinking back on what they'd been through since then, so he stopped paying attention to the long shadow cast by the crane. Even the Ferris wheel in the distance, or the top of Big Ben, did not improve the sad scene; all was dominated by decaying industrial paraphernalia and the image of rotting boats and cargo ships bobbing on the Thames.

'This place hasn't changed a bit,' Ron muttered under his breath, and Harry had to agree. He nodded, but then realised his friend couldn't see that.

'Yeah, not really...' he said, and together they headed for the largest warehouse, which they knew behind the magical concealment was the entertainment venue known as the Strangled Cat.

In broad daylight, the bouncer didn't sit outside the door, but they knew that the pub area was open at this time of day for certain guests, such as those looking to book a table or just pop in for a quiet drink during the day. Ron confidently walked up to the entrance and banged on it three times with his fist. Almost immediately, the high peephole in the ironed door slid aside and a pair of unfriendly, furtive set of eyes appeared.

'What do you want?' the doorman asked in a high voice.

'I'm Ronald Weasley from Auror Headquarters,' Ron introduced himself with the formal coldness that Dawlish always did with every person he met, then showed his badge, 'I'm here to see Aberforth Dumbledore, he knows I'm coming.'

Harry's eyebrows shot up behind the invisibility cloak. He hadn't gotten around to getting a badge, so now he took a good look at the gold medallion strapped to the leather, which showed the embossed image of two crossed wands in front of the MM-emblem. The eyes watching from behind the door squinted at the badge, then at Ron's face, then the latch slid back into place, and the next moment the door creaked open loudly.

'I told you to oil that damn door!' came a voice from deep inside the club – a very familiar, raspy voice.

'Excuse me, boss...' muttered the dwarf who opened the door, not very enthusiastically, and got off the bar stool, then shouted back to the owner of the rasping voice: 'The Weasley guy is here!'

Ron grinned and went into the hall, Harry sliding in close behind him before the dwarf slammed the door.

The dark, windowless room was where the ticket booths were, but now the curtains were drawn behind the booth glass and the price board had been removed from the wall. An arched passageway led on to the cloakroom, and through it, now tearing the curtains wildly apart, charged through the peppery-faced Aberforth Dumbledore.

'Stop shouting, you goddamn fool!' he snarled at the dwarf, who leaned back with his hands on his hips from the old man, who was a giant compared to him. 'I told you to tell me alone when he arrives!'

'I spoke only to you, boss!' the dwarf opened his arms in bewilderment.

'Yeah, and the whole pub could hear it...' Aberforth seemed about to tear his hair out in his helpless rage, but then he managed to calm down and strode away angrily towards the inside of the pub. He just nodded his head for Ron to follow, which he did, laughing to himself.

Harry could still see the dwarf waving angrily at the departing Aberforth from under his cloak, his middle finger outstretched.

'The staff doesn't seem too happy about the change of ownership, Ab,' Ron said thoughtfully as they stepped through the curtain separating the cloakroom from the pub.

The Strangled Cat was undergoing a makeover, and because of this, a dozen or so house-elves were working on the stage rebuild and decorations: they took down the huge, hanging, stuffed cat from the the side of the old stage, and two elves were busy fixing a giant boar's head in its place.

On the way, Aberforth snapped at two other wizards who were playing cards instead of serving a few idle guests.

'They should be happy that I let them keep their jobs! Such an incompetent bunch... yikes!' He spat on the already dirty, sawdust-stained floor to express his opinion.

Harry counted, and saw a total of six guests in the room, but he did not recognise Mundungus Fletcher in any of them. He knew well, however, that the red-haired thief was a master of disguise, and so he took a good look at everyone in the room. Two of them were drinking a very good vintage of Ogden's Old Firewhisky at the bar, despite the early afternoon, and had a good chat about the recent match between Puddlemere United and Pride of Portree, and loudly berated the referee. One of the house-elves was also seemingly stealing the day, sipping butterbeer at the bar while his companions worked diligently. Behind him at a table sat a group of three, talking to each other with their heads bowed and almost without a sound. One of the odd, mismatched trio was a man with long, chestnut-coloured hair in a pony-tail man in a distinguished suit, another was a bald wizard with his face richly decorated with tattoos and various body adornments, while the third wore spectacles and was most reminiscent of Neville.

As they passed the table, the three of them stared at Ron and Aberforth, but a scowl from the old innkeeper was enough to make them turn back to their drinks.

'Aberforth...' whispered Ron in his ear, after he too had looked at the drinking people. 'Where is Mundungus?'

'Don't look for him here,' came the reply, also in a whispering growl. 'I've taken him to one of the private rooms to keep him occupied until you get here. When this is over, you owe me the price of a bottle of mead, Ronald...'

At that moment, there was a loud, ripping sound, followed by a thin roar and a clatter that broke the stillness of the pub.

'What in the name of...?'

Aberforth, Ron and the invisible Harry spun towards the stage, and saw the elves working to pull down the old black curtains, squirming under the torn drapery on their backs and shoulders.

'What the bloody wrath of Merlin is going on here?' Aberforth roared angrily, and the elves, frightened, immediately stopped shouting and lined up in front of their new master, one after the other, with only their drinking companion watching from a distance with alcoholic eyes.

'We're terribly sorry, master,' one of the mouse-voiced elves squeaked, wringing her fingers in shame.

Harry suspected that the elf would really break her fingers soon if Aberforth didn't stop him. The old man, however, did not say a word to stop the self-punishment, only demanded answers.

'The curtain is torn, master!' squeaked another elf, whose companion, standing next to him, was beating his own head with a wooden mallet. 'It's made of old material, it easily tears.'

'We tried... ouch! To stop... oh! But...' continued the one hammering himself, then he stopped, and all three elves turned back at the same time and looked over their shoulders, to their increasingly drunk companion.

'I see...' whispered Aberforth with eyes so ominous that even Ron gulped loudly, though he hadn't the slightest reason to fear the angry innkeeper.

The inebriated elf - a fat, slightly comfortable-looking fellow - held up the butterbeer jug as if to greet Aberforth, then continued to sip the drink.

The other elves were awkwardly whistling, staggering from one foot to the other (or banging their own heads with hammers), while their master staggered up to the drunken worker, snatched the jug from his hand and threw him out the door of the pub, shouting at him not to set foot in there again.

'... And this is yours too!' he threw a green top-hat at the elf furiously, which he got off the head of the dwarf at the door, who cried out indignantly at his boss.

'You'll get another one!' Aberforth yelled at him.

When he went back to Ron, his face was still red, and Harry was not surprised that the house-elves obeyed in alarm when he snarled at them to clean up the mess.

'So...' Aberforth blurted out, turning his attention back to Ron. 'Where was I...?'

'Mr Weasley!'

Harry and Ron jumped back at the cry, and Aberforth gave a resigned groan.

'What the hell is it again?' grumbled the old man.

The bespectacled member of the table of three stood up and gestured politely towards Ron.

'Mr Weasley!' he said again, much louder than he should have.

Both Harry and Ron were anxious; if Mundungus, who was drinking in the private room, heard the shouting, he might run away immediately.

The slightly paunchy man was not much older than Harry and Ron. He wore a pointed goatee on his chin alongside his cropped haircut and approached them with a friendly smile. Ron quickly turned and walked on, hoping the stranger would take his meaning, but he had no such luck.

'Wait! Mr Ronald Weasley! Can I talk to you for a minute...?'

'Piss off!' hissed Ron between his teeth.

The man was a little taken aback by the rude tone, but he didn't back down. Harry had even considered casting a temporary silencing spell on him, but that would have been very rude to a presumably very persistent fan.

'Mr Weasley, I'd really just like to take a moment of your time and...'

'You have already took too much!' Aberforth growled at him, and all three knew why:

Mundungus Fletcher tried to sneak out unnoticed from the small private room where Harry and his friends had once tried to celebrate George Weasley's birthday in good spirits.

When the man was revealed, he froze, staring at them like a deer caught in the headlights of a car before a collision. They stared at each other for a heartbeat, then Mundungus, a former Order member and compulsive thief, took off at a run, dashing with his short legs with surprising speed.

'MUNDUNGUS!' roared Ron, and drew his wand.

Harry did the same, but instead of running after his friend who was chasing their former comrade, he left the cursing Aberforth in the lurch and left the pub through the coat-room. The dwarf, who was standing in the room, fell back swearing when Harry, who had arrived unseen, shoved him. With a loose wave of his wand, he swung the door open, and it slammed loudly against the wall...

He ran out into the sun and rounded the building to get in front of Mundungus, but the Strangled Cat's warehouse complex proved to be bigger than he expected. He ran as fast as he could, but was furious to find that in his weakened state from the full moon he was nowhere near his old strength - his legs were losing strength with every step, and he was panting more and more violently. He was sure that by the time he got to the back door, Ron would either have caught Dung long ago, or they'd be chasing him across the quay...

But he was wrong: just as he reached the back wall of the warehouse, the door of the other exit swung open, and the short-legged burglar strode out, dodging one of Ron's stunning curses.

'Stop, you filthy thief!' the boy shouted, and not long after he too ran out of the building, chasing after Mundungus.

Harry, taking advantage of the element of surprise given by his invisibility, paused, patiently located the fleeing wizard, aimed slightly ahead, and fired a quick leg-locking curse.

Mundungus Fletcher lunged forward with a momentum that sent him skidding on the tarmac for a good two metres, ending up among a pile of cardboard boxes that smelt of rotten fish.

'That's it!' cried out Ron, looking in the direction of where he thought his friend was. 'Wasn't such a bad idea to bring the cloak after all, was it?'

Harry took off his invisibility cloak and could finally exhale. His sides stung, his forehead was beaded with sweat, and he leaned on his knees to breathe deeply.

Ron's joyful expression darkened slightly when he saw his friend's condition.

'Are you OK?'

Harry just waved a hand and nodded with a gasp, but noticed that Mundungus was obsessively trying to find something in the countless pockets of his worn coat.

'Watch out!' Harry shouted back, and Ron reacted immediately, just before the wizard could pull out his spare wand, which he seemed to have hidden in the lining of his clothes for just such an occasion.

'Expelliarmus!'

Ron's spell caused the wand to fly from Mundungus' hand, and with a bubbling sound it disappeared into the dark waters of the Thames.

'What do you want from me again?' the man screamed, sprawled helplessly in front of Harry and Ron. 'Are you trying to completely finish me off or something?!'

Harry walked over and stopped beside his friend.

'Mundungus, you're under arrest,' Ron said hastily, pointing the wand at the wizard.

'What?!' he shrieked loudly. 'You are arresting me? You should be arrested for what you did to me!'

Mundungus Fletcher looked exactly as Harry has remembered him: a short, bandy-legged wizard with straggly ginger hair, and a constant nose-biting smell of tobacco, now mingled with the sweetly alcoholic scent of expensive mead.

'You ran away, Dung,' Ron shook his head, 'I yelled at you to stop, but you ran like a wild kneazle. We had to force you to stop...'

'That's not what I'm talking about!' the wizard shouted at the top of his voice. 'You know very well what I'm talking about! Or dare you not tell in front of Harry?'

'What...?' grimaced Ron, and then he and Harry looked at each other.

Mundungus was also staring at him now, as if expecting his help, but Harry could see that the memory of their last encounter was still vivid in his mind, when Harry's former house-elf Kreacher had beaten him up with a frying pan to find out who he had passed on the locket he had stolen from the Black House, one of Voldemort's Horcruxes.

'I don't know what you're talking about, Dung,' Ron continued. 'We're taking you in because we have a witness that you broke into the Diggory house.'

'Bullshit I did!' the wizard interjected, and then looked at Harry again. 'Don't you know what hey and Hermione made me do? They used the Imperius curse on me!'

Harry gaped, but Ron laughed out loud.

'All right, enough of this nonsense! Dung, you've drunk more than a winning Quidditch team, you still stink of elf-made wine...'

'No! No! I'm telling the truth! He cursed me!' the man insisted vehemently, seemingly convinced of his own truth.

Harry was not aware that Mundungus had any understanding of Occlumency, even at a beginner's level, but his look seemed to him to be completely sincere.

'Harry, believe me, this damned wanna-be Auror used the Imperius curse on me!'

Ron sighed wearily, and was about to calm their suspect with a stunning curse when Harry caught his hand.

'Wait, let him speak!'

His friend could hardly believe his ears, and stared at him with a pale expression.

'What?! Do you believe what he says...?'

'Of course not, but Dung may have met some people we'd really like to catch, if you know what I mean...'

Ron shook his head, puzzled at first, then slowly realisation dawned on his face, and with it, amazement.

The idea of how Mundungus' impossible meeting with Ron and Hermione could have happened came to Harry in a flash. The two Faceless who took their forms, Irony and Moebius, the Selwyn siblings, were still out there somewhere, having killed Tom Abbott and Kingsley Shacklebolt in their escape from the Leaky Cauldron.

'Dung... When did you meet Ron and Hermione?'

The wizard looked from one to the other with alarmed eyes, apparently unsure whether to believe Harry or whether he was being played for a fool. Finally he spoke, but he spoke only to Harry, glancing at Ron occasionally, as if afraid that he was about to cut him off.

'I ran into them the day before yesterday. I was here in the Cat, and they came up to me... They said they wanted a drink, and I said do whatever you want...'

He was silent for a second, and glared at Ron again, but Harry saw his friend listening to Mundungus' words with a look of complete astonishment on his face.

'And? Go on!' he urged him.

'They talked about them breaking into a place... but they don't know how to, and they need someone with experience in this sort of thing... But I wouldn't...!' he suddenly turned to Ron. 'I told you I quit the parties! I'm not breaking into anybody's house, I'm just selling cauldrons! But they didn't care! They said that if I didn't agree to break in they'd make me... So, Harry, I tried to get out of there, poured my drink into this guy's carrot-face and pulled out my wand. But his girl was faster than me...'

'And all this happened here in the Strangled Cat?' Ron asked doubtfully. 'How come nobody saw anything?'

'Because I was in a separate room, like now!' Mundungus snapped. 'I like to drink alone.'

Ron muttered something about "the ox drinking to himself", but the wizard didn't hear him.

Harry thought about it. So what Irony and Moebius needed was someone with burglary experience. That might even fit the bill, he mused, since the brother and sister pair were mostly talented at disguise and Occlumency, which was why they could play their parts for so long. It's possible that they're nowhere near as experienced at robbery.

'And then what happened?'

Mundungus went on reluctantly:

'They forced me with Imperius... They told me to break into that house, deactivate the protection spells like I usually do. And they looted the house... They took almost everything of value: silver, gold, porcelain, even the money. They were almost going to search the upstairs, but then the witch in the nightgown appeared and started to scream, and they ran away, completely forgetting about me... Luckily the Imperius wasn't as strong and I was able to take care of myself. I ran away too, but I didn't see a single knut of the party...'

When he finished, none of them said a word for a long time. Harry and Ron looked at each other in silence, and knew that they were both thinking the same thing: Dung's story was too strange to be pure fiction.

'What now? What are you going to do to me?' the wizard growled. 'Do you want me to break in again? Or will you lock me up me for your own crimes?'

Harry leaned over to Ron and whispered to him:

'We cannot take him in. They'd question him and then you would be under suspicion. We have no evidence against the Selwyns.'

Ron's eyes widened.

'But they've already taken our shape with Polyjuice Potion, the Ministry knows about it!' he hissed in a strangled voice, which Mundungus understood nothing of, but stared at them in alarm.

Harry gave his friend a pitiful look.

'And how do you explain to them that they've been drinking an ever-lasting Polyjuice Potion? If Headquarters were to open an investigation against you, even your father would have a hard time getting you out of the trouble... Not to mention the fact that you have to be at the Ministry!'

Ron was not happy about the development, but nodded his head in agreement.

'You may be right...' he muttered, then cleared his throat and turned to the terrified prisoner. 'Dung!'

Mundungus flinched at the address, but regained his composure when Ron told him the good news.

'You're lucky, man! We'll let you go this time, but stay away from the "parties" in the future, understand?'

'I'll stay away if you stay away from me!'

Ron made a wave with his wand and stopped the leg-locking spell.

'Then you are free to go...'

Mundungus didn't need to be told twice, he immediately disapparated, never looking at the two boys again. Harry and Ron stood around the scene of the interrogation for a while longer, both of them mentally digesting what they had heard.

Harry had no idea what the two Selwyns were looking for in the Diggory house. From what Dung had said, it didn't sound like they were going after Ciaran, but rather like a simple robbery - as if Irony and Moebius were in dire need of money. As Harry thought about it more, he realised that this might very well be the case, since the failed mission meant they could hardly expect a warm welcome back at the Nameless. They can no longer have their own appearance back either, so they must hide without a home and money...

'Do you think it was really the Selwyns?' Ron frowned. Ever since he and Hermione had been told that they had been impersonated by a pair of Faceless siblings for several months without their friends noticing, he had every desire to catch the two fugitives.

'No, I was thinking that you and Hermione had secretly become burglars...' joked Harry.

'Ha-ha... But seriously, where could those Faceless be hiding? Knockturn Alley maybe? Or are they camping in the wilderness like us...?'

Harry then suddenly had an idea:

'The Selwyns' house was seized by Auror Command when their Death Eater father was arrested, right? We even searched that joint once!'

Ron laughed.

'Hah! I'd be happy to have such a "joint", but you're right, that's when we went to our first house search with Dawlish. I remember he was mesmerised by a cursed mirror, and the poor sod just stood there drooling...' he anecdotally recalled with glee.

'Maybe we should go there again,' Harry suggested. His friend looked at him doubtfully.

'I don't think they'd be such idiots as to hide right there...'

'Why not? Who would look for them there?'

Ron poked his chest in response, and Harry smiled.

'Indeed...' he nodded cheerfully. 'Now we'll make them pay!'

Ron had a satisfied grin on his face, too, as if he could feel Moebius Selwyn's throat in his grasp.

So they went back into the Strangled Cat through the back entrance that Dung had run out through, which turned out to be the staff entrance. Aberforth waited for them by the lockers with his arms folded, apparently watching Dung being chased and interrogated from inside.

'Hey, kid,' he greeted Harry, not surprised that he suddenly appeared.

'Thanks for your help, Aberforth...' Ron muttered.

'You've seemed to be doing fine without me,' said the old barman. 'But then why did you let the fool go? Tomorrow he'll be here again, drinking in my pub, selling me his stolen goods...'

Harry shook his head.

'Let's not discuss this here. We'll talk at home...'

'Are you going to sleep here again?' asked Ron Aberforth. The old man shrugged.

'There's a lot of work here...' he growled under his moustache, but Harry wasn't fooled.

Aberforth hated that house and didn't sleep at home whenever he could. He remembered that the Dumbledore Tower had stood unused for years while Albus had been at Hogwarts and Aberforth had been at the Hog's Head. He knew that the old wizard had too many bad memories of that house, after all, it was where his mother and sister had died, where he had duelled with his brother and Grindelwald, ruining all their lives. The house was a grim monument to his own bitter fate.

'Put on the cloak before someone sees you,' Aberforth quickly diverted the conversation, and Harry did so.

They went back to the pub, where the elves had finally installed the giant hog's head above the stage, and were now busy mounting large, rusty letters; one dangled acrobatically from the rafters, holding his partner by the leg, who was fitting a heavy-looking G-letter into place.

'What will be the name of the place when it is finished?' Ron asked in a chatty voice as they passed the platform. 'An Inn of the Ugly Big Chopped Off Head?'

'Rubbish!' roared Aberforth and spat again. 'I don't do inns any more, there is only trouble with the guests who sleep here... No, I'll leave it as it is, I just have to remodel it because the previous owner had a sick taste,' he waved his head at the huge stuffed cat now lying in one corner, staring glassy-eyed into space.

Meanwhile, the last letter had been put in place, and now the inscription was above the prepared head:

THE MERRY HOG

In Harry's judgment the hog's head was anything but merry, but he preferred not to say so; for Aberforth was at last smiling contentedly, which seemed to please the house-elves immensely.

They said goodbye to the old man (Harry only whispered so no one would notice), and at the same time congratulated him on his new pub and promised to come to the opening, of course, with Ginny and Hermione.

'You can tell the other good-for-nothings,' Aberforth yelled after them, when they were already standing in the cloakroom doorway, 'Longbottom and his wife and the rest of the scallywags from the DA...'

'I will!'

Ron beckoned him and they left The Merry Hog to be able to disapparate. On the quayside, Harry saw the three wizards who had been drinking at one of the tables earlier, including the bespectacled, goateed man who had approached Ron. All three were staring at them, hands in their pockets, which immediately set off alarm bells in Harry's head.

He glanced at Ron and saw that his friend had also noticed the lurkers, and now he too had slipped his hand into his pocket.

'Harry...' he muttered between his teeth, his mouth almost still.

'I know,' Harry said back, and under the invisibility cloak, he pointed his wand at the tallest one, the tattooed bald wizard, and with his other hand he took Ron's arm.

'Let's apparate quickly, I'll keep an eye on them!' he suggested, and Ron breathed a quiet 'okay'.

Harry saw the tattooed man pull a wand out of his pocket and point it at Ron behind the cover of the other, long-haired wizard. Ron spun, dragging Harry with him into the suffocating void, exactly at the same time as the bald wizard shouted the incantation...

'Laqueus missil!'

They were not hit by a curse, the quayside, the grey suds of the Thames, the image of the London waterfront disappeared from before their eyes, and for a few moments they saw only the vibrant darkness as the suffocating journey continued.

They arrived in front of Dumbledore's house, exactly where they had started from less than an hour before, both panting as if they had just been in a chase again. Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he pulled off his cloak.

'Who were they?' Ron called nervously to his friend who appeared beside him.

'I have no idea, but they were looking for us, that's for sure...' panted Harry, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He couldn't tell if he was sweating from nervousness or the after-effects of the full moon, but his mind was racing at the appearance of the three mysterious strangers.

'Anyway...' said Ron again, 'at least they couldn't follow us here...'

'I wouldn't be so sure of that!'

They both spun at the sound and were petrified at the sight.

The three wizards stood there facing them as they had on the quay, the wand in the tattooed-faced man's hand pointing at them. And from its tip, Harry noticed with great difficulty, came a thread the thickness of a cobweb, glistening in the sunlight, and connected to Ron's shoulder.

'We have finally found the vanquishers of Voldemort!' said the tattooed one, and his companions nodded. 'Let's have a little chat with these heroes!