Got a chance to make it happen down in N-Y-C

But I am fallin' on hard times and today here I-B

Endin' up rappin' in the apple from the square to the park

And I ain't givin' up my chance to up and leave a mark

My OG niggas in the hood don't want me back no mo

Ended up messed up in some foolishness with a crip and a ho

Tellin' all my peeps of the man-in-the-hattin'

I ain't losin' my latin

And I ain't never found lackin'

When it comes to my rhymes

Lines sublime

This time

Gimme some o' mine!

'Cause I rather be rappin' than dealin' bags for a dime!

The heavy man jovially thanked Ron as he dropped a fiver in the street performer's tin. Him and the beatboxing skinny one beside him were both wrapped up in thick ragged coats to protect from the frost.

"Give it up for my brother from another mother, you are kind like no other!"

Ever since he got here he was surprised by how much noise there was. People on phones, music, shouting, cars, sounds, smells… It was hard to adjust, but it seemed like the raucous city was made for him. At every corner and then some you could find some cart or stall selling a multitude of foods Ron had never even tasted. If he were honest with himself, he liked Manhattan at least as much as Underhattan, the wizard part of New York.

He finished off his hotdog, tossed the napkin in an overflowing bin and entered the lobby of the building where he lived. He greeted the receptionist, Sally, a squib in her forties. He pressed the button on the old elevator, so old you sometimes had to pry open the grate in front of it to get in, and pressed the third floor button twice. Both muggles—or nomag as they called them here—and wizards lived in the building. Intricate charms were weaved into the residence to make that possible.

The second-third-floor was entirely wizard inhabited. Twelve apartments where an enterprising young witch or wizard would try their hand at living in the big city. As soon as he put his key in the door numbered 33, he heard the door beside his swing open.

"'Sup, my man?" Mark said.

"Yeah, all right," Ron replied, stepping in and leaving the door open.

Mark followed in and made himself comfortable in one of the armchairs. Meanwhile Ron went to the fridge for some coke.

"So Kelly is coming, so is Jack, Elliot, Rhonda… Lisa is coming too."

Ron feigned indifference. "Yeah, okay."

"Come on! Everyone knows you have the hots for her."

"Shut it, I don't."

"She likes you too, I think. Must be that accent," Mark said, pursing his lips in a crude imitation. "Brilliant, my good lass! Might I say you look lovely in that Korn T-Shirt, your mascara is simply delightful! Cheerio!" He laughed at his own joke. "But seriously, New Year's Eve in the city? It's gonna be great. Crazy, I tell you, nomags know how to party, and we've learned a few tricks."

Mark had been living in New York for two years. He worked for a magical clothes shop in Underhattan. When Ron first arrived, full of dark thoughts and self-hate, Mark had come knocking. Before he knew what was happening, ten wizards and witches were crammed into his apartment opening beers, Bluespice Rum and ordering pizza. Things hadn't changed much since then. He found it impossible to dwell on home too much with the hectic pace of things.

Rhonda peered from the door and walked in, going to the fridge and getting herself a beer. She drank from it and kissed Mark, sitting on the arm rest.

"How was your day, hon?" Mark asked.

"Awful, just fucking awful. Everyone thinks because it's a portkey, they don't have to plan. Had fifteen Chinese mags insisting they had to leave today. Didn't speak a fucking word of English. One of these days…" She made a gesture as if holding a rifle. "Gonna go all nomag on them."

"I was just telling Ron about tonight," Mark said.

"Yeah," she said with a smile, "Lisa's coming. When does she get off?"

They both expectantly looked at Ron.

"Seven today… I think."

"Yeah good," she said, slipping onto Mark's lap. "Elliot and Jack are getting an early start. Saw them in the Salem with some witches already. I told them not to keep us waiting or we'll just leave them on their own."

"They'll be here," Mark said assuredly. "You already ate?" he asked Ron.

"Yeah just a little."

He turned to Rhonda. "Pizza or Sergio's?"

"Sergio's, I want some fries and a burger before we start drinking."

They talked for a while. Ron, some time after coming here, had gotten restless. His vacation seemed more like busy-work than anything else. However the more time he spent here, the more he thought that if they could open a store here, they would make a killing. The US had no equivalent to the Wheezes. Zonko's had never expanded, even before the restrictions.

There were curiosity shops in Underhattan, but nothing on the level of what you could find in Britain. Last week he had visited the east coast and saw how boring the Los Angeles Sun Market was. A lot of magicals in the US thus preferred to entertain themselves in the muggle areas. It was sort of a rite of passage. All through their schooling they would more and more get to know their nomag counterpart and be more comfortable fitting in. It was a stark contrast to Britain. At first he had been surprised. The understanding back home was that US wizards enforced the Statute of Secrecy even more harshly.

In a way, they did. Half the Magical Congress' funding went into the Statute Taskforce and the Auror Force. Countless charms and spells ensured nomags would stay ignorant, a far cry from what he observed back home. They had a saying in the US that you're never more than fifty feet from an Auror. It sounded exaggerated to Ron, but it got the point across.

Twenty minutes later, Jack and Elliot came in, cheery and tipsy. "Told you we're dependable," said Jack. "Tell your girlfriend that, Mark."

"I'm right here you fucking retard! Last time we had to wait half an hour to get to the movies because of you two sad fucks." Rhonda said.

"It was an emergency," Elliot plead. "How often do you meet two Japanese witches?"

"Cool it, you horndogs," Mark said. "It's already seven, I guess Lisa should be here soon."

Jack and Elliot explained what they had been doing—going after witches, or occasionally nomag girls as they did. Not too long later, Lisa appeared beside Kelly. Lisa had long black hair and brown eyes. Ron felt pangs of self-hate and longing when he saw her. Of all the girls in the world he had to fall for a librarian. She worked at the Underhattan Archives as an archivist, and according to all sources it was the greatest library in the magical world.

"Hey everyone," she said. She smiled at him. "I think we'll freshen up and we can leave?"

"Sounds good," he answered.

While she got ready, he cleaned up his place. Mark and Rhonda helped him with a few spells to keep the apartment in order. "We'll probably end up back here anyway," he said, vanishing a beer bottle.

They went downstairs for a burger and fries at Sergio's. They talked about the whippole league, a sport seemingly like quidditch, but in Ron's opinion clearly inferior. You couldn't be a wizard living in the US and not know about whippole, so he had started to follow the AWP (American Whippole League). Mark and Rhonda even took him to a match in the Appalachians. It lasted four hours and by the end he still didn't know how the scoring worked. But after some explanation, he could make sense of it, and even enjoy it.

They took the subway to a bar in Queens that served cinnamon spiced beer and drank there. He talked with Lisa. She always wore clothes that in a strange way reminded him of what a dark witch would look like. Lost of black and lace, paired with a jacket and T-Shirt of some muggle band. She had let Ron listen a few times, and it had taken every ounce of self-control not to blurt out that it was awful.

She was a muggle-born, although they didn't have a name for that in the US. When he had first used the word in front of Mark he had frowned and told him how strange that was. "Magical is magical. Just, don't use that word here, you don't want to have to explain it."

So he hadn't mentioned it any more. He truly was hopeless. No, he wasn't over Hermione, even thinking about her was painful. Lisa was a contradiction to his desires to forget all about home. She even had a high-pitched, whiny voice sometimes that reminded him of Hermione. It felt good talking to her, and it hurt badly. But with alcohol at some point the bad feelings would fade and he would just enjoy himself.

Around nine-thirty they got up from their comfortable seats and back to the subway.

"I'm getting us into the sweetest club tonight," Mark said. "It's called the Under-Over. Gonna have a lot of mags there too, and spooks to keep things in order if it gets out of hand."

The subway and streets were jam-packed. Ron started to understand what he meant about New Year's Eve in the city. It was like a giant engine revving up higher and higher, waiting for the fateful strike of midnight. They exited the subway and walked a block to find a neon-blue sign above a black double door. A man with large sunglasses stood to the side of it. Mark waved at him and walked up.

"I'm Spencer. Liam told me to come in tonight."

The man nodded and opened the door, which lead into a lobby where a woman was sitting at reception desk. She smiled and pulled up a box. "Welcome to the Under-Over. The blue bracelets are for magicals and the red ones for nomags. You can get into the backroom with the blue ones. The bar takes both dollars and galleons."

"Wicked," Kelly said, putting on a bracelet and handing one to Lisa.

He took one and it seemed to tighten around his wrist.

"It'll fall off next morning," she said.

They went through another set of double doors, and music blasted from the inside. A steady techno-beat and flashing lights blurring Ron's vision. The Under-Over was already packed with partying people. Tables with champagne on them, beer, shots of Bluespice Rum on a tray. Looking around, he saw a mix of blue and red bracelets talking and mixing together. To his left Lisa talked with Kelly, and they were both laughing.

Fear gripped him for a moment, thinking of Lisa getting lost in the crowd and finding herself laughing with a man wearing a red bracelet. An unwarranted, undeserved pang of jealousy. He felt himself closing up, retreating like he had months ago. Mark was there to pull him back out of his nightmare.

"Let's get a table, huh?"

They ordered drinks, and he felt himself relax, taking in the crowd. He made easy conversation with Lisa. Frequently, Jack and Elliot would get up and approach groups of women. By the third try, they got two girls with red bracelets to join them, and bought drinks for them. Some time later a blonde man with a green shirt approached and Mark got up.

"Liam! Awesome place, just awesome. Meet my friends."

Mark introduced Liam, who apparently owned the club. He shook their hands and briefly sat down, sipping on some Rum while he talked with Mark.

"You seem a bit tense," Lisa said to him. "You always kind of seem tense."

"Yeah… maybe," Ron answered.

He was always somewhat tense no matter what happened. Ever since his arrival and meeting the group, he had always waited for that moment when one of them would find out what he did. He felt dirty not telling them, but he couldn't find the courage to. So far, his worst fears hadn't materialised.

"Just relax!" she laughed. "Enjoy the evening."

"Thanks," he said, "I'll try."

Liam looked like he was about to leave, but before he did, he addressed them all very excitedly. "You all have to visit the back room. Yeah, yeah, don't play favourites, but I can't help it. I kept the best stuff for us, stuff you can't show off to just anyone."

"We'll check it out," Mark laughed. "I'll see you around."

When Lisa turned back, Kelly was chatting up a red bracelet two tables away.

"Maybe we should check it out," Lisa said.

"Mark?"

"Yeah, sounds good. Jack—oh well."

Both Jack and Elliot seemed to be making good progress with the girls they were with and told them to go ahead.

"I'm fine right where I am," Elliot said, putting an arm around a girl named Jessie.

Kelly didn't want to come either, giving Lisa big eyes saying 'can't you see I'm busy'. The four of them went through drapes guarded by more men with sunglasses and entered the comparatively quiet back room. About a dozen blue bracelets were assembled here, a few in pairs and the others at the same table. Encased in the wall behind a bar was a long line of illuminated spirits. Ron could even spot a bottle of Ogden's on the shelf and a few others he recognised.

They sat down in the couches next to an empty table.

"This is very cosy," Rhonda said, leaning against Mark.

A man came to take their order and he couldn't resist asking for a shot of firewhisky.

"I'll take one too," Lisa said.

They drank and the minimalist clock on the wall passed eleven. On their fourth round of drinks, Mark stopped the server. "What else do you have? Liam said he kept the best stuff. Anything we'd want to try?"

"Depends on your tastes," he replied.

"I think we're up to try anything tonight," Mark said.

The server nodded and came back with a sort of menu. Mark whistled as he read it, and passed it to Rhonda.

"Wow, yeah. They really outdid themselves," she said. "My mom would faint if she saw half the things on here."

Ron took the menu and soon realised what he had stumbled upon. Gigglewater, dreamweed extract, sporewine. There were two dozen things on the list, and quite a few of them illegal in Britain. However he knew that US wizards liked to keep their freedom. Market restrictions were almost nonexistent.

"Bloody hell," he exclaimed, passing the menu to Lisa.

"I've only ever tried gigglewater," Lisa said.

"You never tried prairie snow?" Rhonda asked.

She shook her head, and Rhonda smiled at Mark and laughed.

"It's pretty awesome, Ron. Bro, you have to try it."

"It's not dangerous?" he asked. His mother had warned him about strange potions and preparations.

"Nah," Mark said. "It is crazy though. Makes you feel like you're standing on top of a mountain. That's kind of exactly what it does. Do we get some, then?"

Ron looked at Lisa in a reflexive motion. She shrugged. Mark excitedly called over the server and asked him for four scoops of prairie snow. He returned with four tiny bowls filled with a snow-white kind of foam. Ron eyed it warily. Rhonda and Mark clinked the bowls, saying cheers.

He felt Lisa bump his shoulder and hold up her own bowl, her painted black lips tentatively smiling. He clinked his own bowl to hers, saying 'cheers', and knocked back the prairie snow.

The moment hit hit his tongue, it felt like he was standing atop a mountain. He knew he wasn't there, but he could feel the height, the clouds drifting around him standing on a peak. His eyes downcast, he peered into the endless fall from the mountain. Oh, how easy it would be to jump, to fall down the sheer cliff below, into whatever the clouds obscured. A chill wind wrapped around him, filling him with confidence and determination.

"Wow," he heard from Lisa. "Awesome. It's like I'm on top of the world."

"Yeah…" he replied faintly, gazing at Lisa's form standing on a different peak, black hair among the misty rarefied air. "You look nice."

From the distance between the cotton mass separating them, she smiled. In his fabulation, she looked far away, but he felt her shoulder press against his. "Thank you", she said, her voice carried by the wind.

The high lasted almost all the way to midnight, and he felt elated for long after the that. They cheered the New Year, hugged. Jack and Elliot had come to the back room to celebrate with them. Kelly apparently had latched on very definitely to her red bracelet friend, and from what they were saying she would probably go home with him.

A few drinks more and time passed. They went back into the subway and back to their apartment, where they shared a few night-ending drinks. Lisa told him it was a great night and kissed him on the cheek, making him feel like a million galleons. For the first time in months, he went to sleep without a sliver of doubt entering his mind.

#

He woke up to a knock on his door. Blearily, he twisted in his bed, trying to figure up from down. He felt sluggish, finding his pants and putting them on and his shirt before answering the door. It was Mark with a brown paper bag.

"Got us bagels, figure you'd need it after a heavy night. Hell, I do too."

"Thanks yeah, I just got up," Ron said, rubbing his eyes.

Mark made himself comfortable at Ron's dining table and munched on a bagel. Ron went up and set some tea to boil, joining him.

"Feeling all right?"

"Fine," Ron said.

"Good. We all had a lot of fun."

"So did I," he said with a grin.

"Oh," Mark said, pointing behind Ron. "You've got mail."

Ron turned back and looked at the red mailbox planted next to his entrance. This is where his mail was delivered, the US did not really use owls for delivery, especially in the city. So every morning his mail magically popped into being inside his red mailbox. However it was rare for that to happen these days. He got a few letters on Christmas, but none from Percy or his father.

He wondered what it was. He went over to the kitchen and took the tea, flipping the flag of the mailbox and opening it to reveal a single letter. From the writing he could see it was his mother and his stomach turned. He served tea and opened the letter, sighing when he realised it wasn't a howler.

No one had sent him one, not after his failure or later. Some things just weren't good enough for a howler, he mused. As he read the letter more and more of the good feeling from last night faded, dread mounting with every word. Something to tell you—you won't take it well, but you need to hear—you have to be happy for them—hope you had a good New Year— Reading the last words of the letter, his hands were shaking. It felt like his own stupid mistakes shoved in his face all over again.

"Bro, you okay?" Mark asked worriedly.

Ron got up and paced, his expression turning from anger to despair as the letter crunched in his hand. He stopped in front of the window, breathing heavily. Why did it feel so bad? He had already lost her. Why did it being him hurt so much more? A silent moan escaped his lips.

"It's my ex-wife," he said hoarsely, "she found someone else… and it's my best—former best friend, I guess. And it's all my fault."

#

Hermione sighed, checking her bag and things one last time. It was only going to be a day trip, but she tended to over-prepare. A good thing, she decided, as it saved them on more than one occasion. She took out the coat-hanger they would use as a portkey and looked one last time towards Mathilda, who looked bored by being saddled with her task. Although she always looked somewhat disinterested.

"You know what to do then?"

"Babysit the commission of uselessness for a day? Yeah I can manage," she smiled.

"You have to make sure they don't alter the bill except for the one point."

She sighed and Harry put an arm around Hermione's shoulder. "Please stop worrying for one bloody second? Mathilda knows what to do, she knows more about legislation than I would ever care to."

"Fine," Hermione sighed, mollified. "In case something happens on our end, we have our beacon."

"Ring the bell and I'll be right with ya," Mathilda said with a wink.

"We appreciate it," Harry said. "But… we really have to go now. Wouldn't want to be late on a first appointment."

"Of course," Hermione said, and took the gourd of polyjuice out of her pocket. She downed the potion and transformed into a blonde woman almost a foot taller. Harry drank his and turned into a brown-haired man in his forties.

"Talinn, here we come," Harry said, taking hold of the coat-hanger.

Hermione activated it and they were pulled magically a distance of hundreds of miles all the way to the Estonian capital of Talinn, in a deserted field. When they got there, they trudged over to the road and he held up his wand. Twenty or so seconds later, an old looking green bus appeared. Estonia had its own version of the Knight Bus. The driver greeted them in Estonian.

"We need to go to the Talinn Magical Market," Hermione said.

"Turg, jah. Is iz sickle for ride."

The inside looked more like a fancy salon, square with benches on the sides. They were seated and the bus took off, past endless tight streets and into the maze of clay coloured roofs and grey stone. The bus darted at lightning speed towards a pier and kept going. Just when they thought it would plunge off and disappear beneath the cold waves, a whole new part of the city appeared, a mirror of what they had gone past. Warped grey stone covered in red shingles, all surrounded by a blue-grey mist. A hidden peninsula out on the sea, the Talinn Magical Market.

The bus stopped near a bench where alleys led deeper into the market. "Ghave a good day," the driver said. He closed the door behind him and took off again.

"It's supposed to be the fourth largest in Europe," Hermione said. "No wonder, it's beautiful."

It was, so magical, so busy, and so old looking. Gregorovitch's wand shop was located on one of the main streets of the market. The layout was in a cross at a 30 degree angle and Gregorovitch's shop was located on the diagonal. They walked forward, past shops selling ingredients, books—which Hermione had to force herself not to stay at for too long—and all kinds of different things. One pet shop had a large badger looking thing out front that belched sulphuric mist periodically. Hermione frowned for a moment, thinking that Hogwarts could have organised trips to other parts of the magical world.

Past a fancy looking shop selling robes was the elegant wooden sign of Gregorovitch. A wooden wizard stood next to the sign, wand raised high. Going inside the shaded shop, she almost hoped their meeting wouldn't be too long, so they could explore the rest of it at their leisure. "We'll definitely have to come back," she said to Harry, who nodded in approval.

Malachai Gregorovitch sat on a stool behind the counter, fiddling with something made of wood. He looked up. "Good day," he said in perfect English, "I'm glad you decided to visit." He stood up and swished his wand, closing the blinds and turning the sign on the door. Clearly, he had no doubt about who they were, even with polyjuice. Not that impressive, since they had written beforehand, but still worth noting. "Follow me to the back of the shop."

They entered a small sitting area in a rounded corner with a small window. From the chair opposite them, Gregorovitch took a corked beaker and poured it into three silver adorned glass cups. "Polyjuice antidote, so we don't have to start this guessing."

"We brought our own," Harry said, "but thank you."

"Of course. I don't mean to say this isn't a friendly meeting, but better to clear the air. Our world is full of deception, after all."

As if to confirm what he said, Hermione cast a poison detecting charm and it came back as simple polyjuice antidote. They all drank it and Harry and Hermione returned to their familiar forms.

"Well…" Gregorovitch started, brushing the hair out of his face. "I have so much to tell you, if we're to become friends. Really, I can't tell you how glad I am you accepted my invitation. I believe it would have been a mistake not to."

"We have been terribly busy," Hermione said.

"Naturally."

"Not to be too blunt," Harry said, "but what was your interest with us?"

Malachai laughed. "What's not to be interested in? I guess it's best I start this way… yes. Suffice it to say for now that I'm not the only one with a keen interest in you, either recently or since the end of the War."

"In what way?" Harry asked.

"Also a difficult question to answer, but I will try." Tea was served as promised. A black strong blend to heighten the senses. "More than half a century ago saw the last great leader of our time. I mean Gellert Grindewald of course. In his prime, there was no person who would outright oppose him and his ideas, save for one you are well acquainted with, I suppose. They were powerful ideas, ideas of wizardly grandeur, of a destiny."

He sighed and looked artificially sad. "This didn't last, of course. Power corrupts, at least it seems to. Personal grudges become personal goals and any sense of destiny is lost in meaningless personal trifles. Long before his fall, a great many of his followers saw this coming and disappeared. One of those people was my father."

"A follower of Grindewald?" Hermione asked.

"In a sense," Malachai said. "Many people have grand ideas but no one to make them true. It takes more than magical prowess to change the world. Oril proves as much! Oril Devinov, once a close friend of mine. I thought he might be someone to change things… Alas, he made a foolish mistake. He got lost in the dark arts for the sake of the dark arts and now he lies where all self-consuming wizards do, in Tartarus, in the deepest depths."

Malachai sighed again. He seemed to do a lot of that, though he didn't seem physically tired, but he did speak deliberately and with purpose. "I only took notice of you recently, I admit. There is a reason for that. The reason is very simple: I might have an idea what curse it was Oril used on you."

Harry sat up taller in his chair and Hermione couldn't help but mimic his enthusiasm.

"You think?" Hermione said, still sceptical.

"So much of magic is guess-work, but I'm sure you'll agree it makes sense." He coughed and got up, reaching for a book atop a bookcase against the wall. It bore no markings on the cover, only black leather. A thin, worn book. He opened it to a hand-written page and pushed it towards them. It was in Cyrillic, so it was difficult for them to make out, but whatever she could make out was alarming.

For some time, Malachai helped translate, helped point to the finer points of the curse that made it up, to bring them to a hesitant revelation.

"It severs the link between soul and body… at least that's what it seems it does," Harry said looking at Hermione.

"If what Malachai says is true, yes, that's what it seems like."

"Hold on," Harry said. "How does this even link to what happened to me? How can you say with any certainty that's what he used?"

"Here comes my second confession," he said, arms outstretched. "I know Miss Cudas quite well, she did some post-graduate study at Durmstrang and we kept in touch. I questioned her extensively on your case, though she didn't mention your names, but I could guess easily enough… as I first guessed she was involved in helping you. If the curse had a limited effect on both of you, then that might explain… I hope this isn't too much of a shock, but your sudden step into politics and recent events certainly prove it was life-changing."

Both of them kept silent on that count. They knew something was changed, but in what way? Instead she started to think out loud.

"If this was the curse, then a curse-split might have mitigated its effects. A person only dies when body and soul are disconnected, but… if it happens partially… if it somehow managed to… dislodge our souls unsuccessfully from our bodies, then…"

"The rumours of your perspicacity were not exaggerated," Malachai said. "Yes, it took me some months to come to the same conclusion. The body partially made unfit for the soul would not leave it so readily. The soul is not divisible… even in the case of horcruxes—don't look so surprised now, I am a learned wizard—the soul remains connected. However, it would need to inhabit a smaller part of the body, limit its influence. I digress, this is all getting very metaphysical indeed."

"Congratulations, Gregorovitch," Harry said, "I am now utterly confused. But to get back to what I was asking, why seek us out?"

"More of a hunch, really. I dismissed you before your incident because you seemed to walk the beaten path. But now? Pillars of the Wizengamot! Dictating law! And from what I hear, doing so quite unopposed, and you cannot imagine my surprise when the details of your bill made its way to our little corner of the world. I am… impressed. You possess certain qualities and ways of thinking that only deepen my curiosity."

For the first time since they arrived, Malachai smiled with unbridled honesty. His dark eyes glinted in the light of the oil lamps in the sitting room. "When we talked at the ball, I wasn't entirely sure, but every step you take only raises my interest. Never mind that, I must trust my instincts sometimes, and my instincts tell me you will do great things, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger."

"How do you fit into this?" Harry asked.

He took a moment to lean backwards and a chill filled the room, one Hermione found familiar. She felt it whenever Harry and her would engage in their newfound destructive pleasures. "I have friends," he said, meshing his fingers, "friends who think like you. Like us. Friends who have been in hiding, or in oblivion for over half a century. Friends who saw their fathers and mothers disillusioned with a wasted cause. Imagine harnessing half a century of hope. Now that! That is power."

"And you're helping us because…" Hermione chanced.

"Because I too, still hope."

#

AN: When inspiration strikes, it strikes. Whoever thought I'd start a chapter with a rap? But it worked.