-12-

December 1996

"Sure you haven't heard anything?" Sirius pressed his wand against the old man's throat. He looked just like any other beggar on the streets of Knockturn Alley, dressed in thin rags that offered no protection against the biting cold wind.

"No, no, nothing," the wizard repeated, holding up both hands. His thin hair, damp with sleet, stuck to his skull, making his ears seem abnormally large and his head too small; his muddy green eyes were wide and pleading. He made for a truly miserable picture, but Sirius wasn't misled by his appearance. This man was one of the best-connected to roam the streets of Wizarding London. He was a well of knowledge; every secret made its way to his ears, every rumour, even when whispered behind closed doors, eventually found him.

"Think again," Sirius said. "I'll make it worth your while." With his free hand – the one that wasn't holding the man at wand point – Sirius reached into his coat pocket and took out a bag full of coins.

The man followed the bag with greedy eyes and licked his lips nervously.

Bingo.

"Let me feel it," he demanded.

Sirius gripped the bag securely, lowered it into the man's hand, and allowed him to feel its weight and the shape of the coins.

"Twenty Galleons. Quite a lot for what I'm asking."

"Not enough, if you-" the man started to say, but Sirius cut him off by digging his wand deeper into the soft spot between his collarbones. The man started coughing, but only when his face was turning red did Sirius release the pressure.

"Want to start over?"

The old man glared at him. "As I was about to say-" he cleared his throat, probably to get rid of the scratchiness lingering in his voice "-the information you seek is connected to certain individuals, which makes it worth a lot more than twenty Galleons… But," he continued at Sirius thunderous expression, "I'll make an exception for you, Mister Black. Twenty Galleons will do."

He paused for dramatic effect. Sirius rolled his eyes. "Get on with it."

"Alright, alright. Patience is a virtue, you know?"

"Start talking," Sirius said through gritted teeth.

"Um, well, a few months ago, shortly after Mr. Potter's little trip to Diagon, a man came down here. Started asking all sorts of questions. If anybody had seen the boy before, if anybody knew where to find him, and-"

the man paused again, then smirked

"-if anybody knew where to find another, certain individual. It seems he believes this individual to be connected to the boy and the key to finding Mr. Potter. He never mentioned Mr. Potter by name, but it was obvious who he was talking about."

"So, who was asking the questions? And whom was he asking about?" Sirius pressed on. He could barely believe it. After all this time looking, after searching for Harry high and low, after questioning every street rat he came across, he was finally getting closer.

"No, no." Snow crunched under his heavy boots, as the man quickly took a step to the side. All of a sudden the wand Sirius had taken off him at the start of their encounter was back in his hand, pointed at Sirius.

When Sirius stared at him in shock, the man started laughing. "I might be old, but I'm more than fit. How do you reckon I protect this pretty little head of mine, full of secrets as it is?" he said, tapping a crooked finger against his temple. "It's been fun so far, Mr. Black, but let's get to business."

Sirius knew when to admit defeat and grudgingly lowered his wand; the old man did the same.

"Twenty Galleons will only buy you one name. Either that of the man who asked the questions or that of the individual he was asking about."

"And what will the second name cost me?"

"Another twenty, I'm afraid. That's some rather sensitive information you're after."

"Ten."

"Twenty. Take it or leave it."

"Fine," Sirius ground out and retrieved the second bag of money from his coat pocket. Money wasn't really a problem anyway, but he detested being outmaneuvered.

"You came prepared, I see." The satisfied smile plastered across the other man's face made Sirius wonder if he had somehow known that forty Galleons was the exact amount Sirius carried with him today.

"Of course. I suspected you might need some convincing."

"Then let's not dally any longer. Mr. Malfoy was the one asking the questions-"

"Malfoy?" Sirius' blood ran cold. That bastard was never up to anything good. If he was looking for Harry…

"-and Mr. Black was the person he was looking for."

"What? He was looking for me?" Sirius asked surprised. Why would Malfoy be looking for him? He knew where to find him. And why would he think that Sirius had anything to do with Harry's disappearance?

"Oh no, not you-" the old beggar was grinning from ear to ear, his deeply wrinkled face unpleasantly reminding Sirius of his family's old house-elf Kreacher "-he was asking about your Uncle, Alphard Black."

"Alphard Black has been dead for years."

"Be that as it may-" The old man waved his wand and the two bags of coins wiggled out of Sirius' grasp, landed on the snowy street with a dumb thump, and jumped right into the pockets of his tattered cloak "-but that's who he was looking for. I'm never mistaken. It was a pleasure doing business with you."

He turned, took a step into an adjourning alley, and Disapparated with a loud crack, leaving Sirius standing in the last light of dawn, his head brimming with even more unanswered questions than before.

.

February 1997

Harry was sitting high above the ground on a gnarled branch of an old tree. His breath came out in white puffy clouds, and his fingers were stiff from the cold, even though he applied warming charms every so often. He was on high alert, keeping a close eye on the wintery landscape unfolding beneath him.

Flap-flap… Flap-flap…

The sound of bird wings in motion had him turning around just in time. A black crow was flying at him at high speed; its talons poised threateningly, its beak white open in a battle cry.

Caw-caw…

His wand already in hand, Harry pointed it at the bird as fast as he could, a curse leaving his lips just in time. He hit the bird right in the chest. It squeaked as if surprised, fluttered its wings one last time, and then finally gave up, allowing gravity to take over. It made hardly a sound when it hit the ground, the thick snow mantle swallowing most of the noise.

"Number nine," Harry murmured and returned to his previous position. Now there was only one animal left – a squirrel if his memory served right.

He waited and waited, but the animal didn't show. When the sun started to descend, bathing the snow-covered treetops in a soft orange glow, Harry resigned and climbed back down.

Maybe something had gone wrong? Maybe he hadn't cast the curse well enough or-

Without warning, something small and furry jumped at him. Its sharp claws dug through his clothes, scratching his chest raw. Harry instinctively took a step back, but of course, that didn't help, not when that thing was attached to him so firmly. He grabbed it by its neck, trying to rip it off him, but the little bugger twisted its head and bit his finger.

Harry quickly removed his hand and reached for his wand.

In the meanwhile, the animal climbed up further. Harry could feel its tiny claws digging into the sensitive skin of his neck. If he didn't hurry he was sure he'd get to feel its sharp teeth a second time too.

He pointed the wand at the animal and consequently himself, and hoped the little bastard would hold still long enough to aim at it. If he hit himself instead… well, he'd probably end up as squirrel dinner.

"Petrificus Totalus."

The animal froze. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, plugged the animal off his neck, and dropped it into the snow. It looked funny, frozen in its position as it was - its tiny muzzle wide open, teeth bared, its legs pointing towards the sky.

He shook his head and aimed a severing charm at its neck. On his way home, he started healing the scratches the squirrel had left behind on his neck and hands. He was almost done when he reached the hut.

Al was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book.

"Make sure you don't drag any snow inside," he said without looking up.

Harry rolled his eyes – secure in the knowledge that Al wasn't looking – and started applying drying charms to his clothes.

"You don't always have to tell me that, you know. I don't think I ever-"

"Remember that day you dragged in so much snow it nearly flooded the kitchen when it melted?" Al said, finally looking up with raised eyebrows.

Harry grinned. "Yeah, but that wasn't an accident, was it? I wanted to build an igloo."

"Inside the house, next to the fireplace."

"Well, it was rather cold outside that day," Harry said, "and that was years ago Al. I was, what? Twelve? And I thought I'd found a spell to stop snow from melting. Of course, I wanted to try it out."

"Of course," Al said. He tried to sound annoyed, but Harry saw the humour and warmth in his eyes.

"So what did you get up to tod-" Al stopped when Harry pulled his shirt over his head to heal the scratches on his upper body

The lines around Al's eyes crinkled, and Harry knew the old man was moments away from bursting into laughter.

"So… um, what got you this time? A sparrow? Or maybe a rabbit?"

"Squiwwl", Harry muttered under his breath, his face turning red.

"What?" Al said, enjoying the situation way too much. "I didn't quite get that."

"A squirrel."

For a moment Al stared at him disbelievingly, but then he started to laugh. "If I," he said between bouts of laughter, "only had a Pensive… Oh Merlin, what wouldn't I give to see that. Harry Potter and the Big Bad Squirrel."

"It was an especially tricky one," Harry defended himself. "When I Imperiused the animals to attack me, I tried to make them be more careful, stay hidden until I turn my back to them, stuff like that. It seems to have worked well. Which is a success too, I think."

"Yes, yes," Al agreed. "You're really getting a handle on the Imperius Curse. It's not like I don't approve of this hobby of yours. Sharpens your reflexes, teaches you to stay alert… but to imagine-" Al laughed again "-too funny."

"And you'll never get to see it." Harry stuck his tongue out at Al and took a seat opposite him. "You got a letter?" He nodded towards the envelope on the table.

"Yeah. Another job," Al said. "Lucius Malfoy again, the wizard you met last time."

"Condescending twat."

"Old purebloods, the Malfoys. Thinking too much of oneself is like a birth defect in that family. They can't help it."

"Yeah well… He sure didn't try. So, what's the job?"

"Not sure yet. But apparently, it's a bigger one, and Malfoy suggested that I bring you along to help me. What do you think?"

There was no question about it for Harry, if Al needed his help, then he would of course accompany him. But well… that didn't mean he couldn't get something else out of this.

"Well," he said, pretending to think about it, "can I visit Diagon Alley afterward?"

"Don't see why not."

"Then I'm in." Harry grinned. Since it was him who had ultimately finished the job last time, Al had insisted on Harry keeping the payment. Apparently, contract killings paid quite well. If he remembered the prices correctly, then he should have enough money to buy one of the brooms at the Quidditch Shop. He could hardly wait for the day to arrive. He would finally get to fly.

.

March 13th, 1997

"Harry!" Al bellowed. "Hurry up, the Portkey activates in two hours, and the clearing hasn't moved any closer since last time."

"I'm coming, I'm coming." Harry ran towards Al, tying his shoes with a flick of his wand as he went.

As always, the woods were a peaceful place. The snow had started melting long ago, but the undergrowth was still sprinkled with small flecks of white here and there. They reached the clearing just in time for the Portkey to take them away.

"The job today starts earlier than last time," Al said, stepping through the door of the London apartment. "Don't get too comfortable, we're just here to retrieve the target's address."

In contrast to last time, Al had no problem descending the stairs. Harry knew he was still in pain – Al believed there was something wrong with the tendons that the scele-gro potion had not been able to heal – but it didn't seem to be unbearable anymore. They once again hailed a taxi to take them to their destination. Al took out the letter from the apartment, his worry lines deepening as he read on. "Can you cast a privacy charm?"

Harry nodded, flicking his wand.

"HELLO!" Al shouted.

Harry nearly jumped out of his seat. "What the-"

"Just checking," Al said, nodding towards the driver. "Your silent casting has improved impressively. Now, about today. We're only supposed to intimidate the target. According to Malfoy, the guy is highly trained in some muggle martial arts, loves those muggle bullet weapons, and has no qualms using them. He's so dangerous that Malfoy thought it better if I didn't go alone, and that never happened before. If we lose control of the situation and this man in any way tries to harm you, don't try to be smart about it, just use your magic, understand?"

"But if I use magic and the Ministry or Malfoy gets wind of it, won't that damage your business?"

"I have been working this job for a long time, I won't mind retiring a bit early."

Harry knew that was a lie. The packages they received from someone in the Wizarding World, the money Al saved for when he was too old to work - it was all tied to this job. Without it, Al would be stuck in the woods with no contact with the outside world.

"You sure? I'm quite good at fistfights too, if you remember." Harry tried for a cheeky grin, but it fell flat.

"If that guy is as dangerous as Malfoy says, you won't stand a chance. Just keep your wand at the ready."

The taxi stopped in a quaint-looking neighbourhood. Middle-class homes stood in a row on each side of the street, their front gardens showing off neatly trimmed bushes and identical flowerbeds.

A shudder went through Harry. This reminded him way too much of the Dursleys' home.

"Everything alright?" Al asked.

"Yeah, just… a bad memory."

Al laid an arm around Harry's shoulder. He didn't press Harry for more information – he never did – but the gesture of support was all Harry needed to shake the bad feeling.

"So, don't tell me our exceptionally dangerous mystery man lives here," Harry said, trying to encompass the whole ordinariness spread out before them with a sweeping motion of his arm.

"Nah," Al said. "We'll walk there. Didn't want the taxi to drop us off right in front of the house, if something goes wrong it wouldn't do to make us prime suspects. Having wanted posters with your face on it plastered all over town isn't as glamorous as it sounds."

They stopped at a crossroad. Al turned left, then right, but both streets looked exactly the same, just like the one they'd just walked through. He grumbled something under his breath and retrieved Malfoy's letter from his coat pocket.

He glanced at the street names to both sides, back at the letter, and then led Harry straight ahead.

"That's the problem with muggles, you know," he said. "They lack fantasy, any spark of individualism. A wizard would shrivel and die in an environment like this, but they feel right at home, perched together like the sheep they are." At the next intersection, they turned left. The distance between the streetlamps grew bigger, and the terraced houses made way for larger mansions.

Al stopped in front of an imposing three-story building surrounded by an iron-wrought fence with pointy finials. The gate was locked but swung open without a sound once Al was done with it.

"From now on, no magic until strictly necessary," Al whispered and signaled Harry to follow him down the pebble-stone path. Every step they took made a squelching noise that seemed obnoxiously loud in the silence of the evening, and Harry wished he could cast a silencing charm. Alas, it was not to be.

No light shone from behind any of the high arched windows, there was no car in the parking spot, and the garden was wild and overgrown, though it looked like it had once been well cared for. If Al didn't insist that their information was reliable, Harry would have thought the house abandoned.

The lock on the front door was easily dealt with, too easily, a tiny voice at the back of his head whispered, but Harry didn't have time to ponder that thought. Al was holding the door open, urging Harry to come inside.

They stepped onto a dark red carpet and followed it down a long hallway. The walls were decorated with rather eerie-looking oil paintings of richly dressed men and women. Bathed in the silvery glow of the moonlight falling in through the windows, the paintings' inhabitants looked almost alive.

Harry could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end; there was something off about this place.

"Al," he said softly, almost inaudibly, tugging the man's sleeve. Al turned slightly and made a shushing motion with one hand while pointing at the closed door at the end of the hallway with the other.

Dull light was filtering under the door, beckoning them to come closer. They moved forward, the thick carpet muffling the sound of their footsteps and as one held their breath when, for a short moment, a shadow broke the light.

There was definitely someone on the other side of that door, moving around, maybe pacing up and down the room.

When they reached the door Al turned back, resting a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, looking at him questioningly. He knew Al was giving him a last chance to back out, to turn around and wait outside, and even though he would have loved to do just that, Harry nodded reassuringly. This house was giving him the creeps; he sure as hell wouldn't leave Al all alone.

Al pressed the door handle down, pushed the door open, and stepped into the room, closely followed by Harry. Both of them had their knives in hand, prepared to deal with any threat they might encounter - only there wasn't anybody.

The room was large and airy, and obviously used as an office, but apart from a large desk, an office chair, a fully stacked bookshelf, and an impressive layer of dust, it was empty.

But they had seen the shadow of someone walking, hadn't they?

His instincts were screaming at Harry that something was completely, utterly wrong.

Then he heard a noise.

Only the rigorous training Harry had subjected himself to over the last few months allowed him to turn around in time to dodge a beam of light aimed at his back.

"Al!" Harry shouted, grabbing him by his arm and dragging the older wizard down with him.

The man standing in the doorway cut an imposing figure. His black cloak did nothing to hide his broad frame, and he had a crazy glint in his eyes that made a shudder run down Harry's spine.

This man was dangerous, no doubt about it.

The man stepped fully into the room, shooting a curse at Harry as he went. Harry summoned the office chair in its path, and at the same time followed after Al to take shelter behind the desk.

The man grinned at them, slowly licking his yellowed teeth. "And here I was afraid this would be boring."

Another curse shot at them but was deflected by Harry's hastily raised shield. The next one was directed at Al. Without waiting for the result Harry returned fire.

"Bombarda."

With a lazy flick of the other wizard's wand, the spell was batted aside.

"Stupefy! Bombarda!"

"Malfoy!" Al shouted beside him, and Harry's attention snapped to the man who had just entered the room. For a moment Harry hoped that the wizard had arrived to help them, but when he came to a stop next to the other man, Harry realised with growing horror that they had to fight their way past not only one, but two wizards.

"Good evening Alphard, Harry," he said pleasantly as if they were meeting for tea - as if he hadn't lured them into a trap.

"I'm afraid we're on a tight schedule," he said without averting his eyes from Harry. "Let me worry about the boy, you take care of Mr. Black."

Harry had heard enough.

"Avis," Harry cast, hoping the flock of birds would distract the two wizards. "Redactum Skullus." He was done kidding around. "Reducto."

"Try to get out of here," Al said.

"Not without y-"

"If you get the chance, you run!" A curse aimed at Al's head cut their conversation short. His face distorted by rage, Al hurled both his charmed knives at the wizard.

The birds Harry had conjured burst into flames.

Besides him, Al jumped to the right, and the bookshelf behind him was hit with a curse and went up in flames.

Harry wanted to help Al, but he had hardly time to breathe. Now that the birds were out of the way, Malfoy was making ground fast – curses left his wand faster than Harry could blink.

"Secate!" Harry cried, dearly hoping the dark cutting curse would meet its target. Malfoy avoided the curse by a hair's breadth, and Harry angrily banished the heavy desk against the other wizard.

Midway through the room, the desk started to crumble, and by the time it reached Malfoy, it was nothing more than wood flour.

A volley of spells forced Harry to defend, rather than attack.

"Protego," he shouted; out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Al go down.

Blood, so much blood. It was pouring out of multiple wounds on Al's neck, arms, and upper body, drenching his clothes and the carpet beneath him.

"Al," Harry shouted. He wanted to rush over and heal him before it was too late, but first, he had to deal with the wizards- He turned to them, a curse on his lips- He was hit. The grip on his wand slipped… he heard it clatter to the floor… then everything went dark.

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