Posted 9/2/2015

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This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.


Chapter Seventy-Four - Thievery

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"... so that's our plan so far," Harry closed, folding his hands as he watched Snape's livid expression. "I guess you could say I'm planning to bring the fight to you. And with your help, we should have the advantage – assuming, of course, that you start the necessary preparations sometime."

"You're willingly risking the lives of the students," Snape hissed, and for a moment, Harry thought he might have drawn his wand to begin a duel in the kitchen.

"I've already told both you and others that Hogwarts will need to be cleaned up either way. Once the troublemakers are locked up, the rest will be a lot easier," Harry pointed out. "And you'd have the surprise on your side as well. What, do you think Pettigrew is too much for you? Or Malfoy?" Guessing by the eye twitch, Harry had hit a spot, but he didn't care. "Good," he continued, "that simplifies matters. If you have a better idea, then by all means, do tell me where I'd have a better opportunity to get as much support. With you, McGonagall, Flitwick, and whoever is willing to help –"

"You said as much already, Potter," Snape spat. "You are asking a lot."

"Well, it's a big gamble," Harry said with a shrug.

"We wouldn't ask if we weren't certain it could work," Daphne added.

"It's all or nothing," Harry continued. "But look at it this way. All we need from you – all we really need, mind – is for you to allow us to get on the grounds of Hogwarts. That's it. We're not asking you to take a stand with us. We're not asking you to go back to Riddle's side and tell him what is going on."

"You are asking me to open up the gates and allow you to have your decisive battle at Hogwarts," Snape summarised with barely suppressed anger. "You are asking me to trust you to know what you are doing. I'm well-aware what you think of me, but I am the headmaster of the school. I am entrusted with keeping the students safe. All of them."

"Which is why we're staying away from the castle," Harry reminded Snape. "Once we're on the grounds, we'll set up our line of defence. You can go back and keep the students as safe as you want to. In fact, while we'll win this war outside, you might as well gather up any teacher willing to help and round up the Death Eaters at Hogwarts. You know, the Carrows, Malfoy... Pettigrew."

Harry carefully avoided smiling. Ever since he had integrated Voldemort's memories, he had a good idea about why Snape might have chosen to work against his former master. Snape's feelings for Lily Evans were a surprise, and Harry might not have known what to do about it if he'd still been a child, but due to decades of memories from Riddle, Harry had seen enough that something so trivial didn't unsettle him significantly. However, that didn't mean Harry couldn't use it as motivation for Snape. Pettigrew had betrayed Lily Potter. Snape might like a shot at revenge. If he killed Pettigrew, then the rat would at least be taken care of, even if it wasn't at Harry's hands. If Snape didn't kill Pettigrew, Harry and Lupin would have a chance for a last confrontation.

"Do you think the budding Death Eaters-in-training will put up a fight once their leaders are taken out?" Harry added with a pointed look. "Or would they try to run? Would they really try to fight you? McGonagall? Flitwick? Those that might actually try shouldn't be any problem for either of you."

"It is still a risky plan, Potter," Snape sneered.

""I never said it was risk-free," Harry admitted. "But it's not as risky as you make it out to be. It's a fight we know is coming, and one we can prepare for. Apart from that, what choice do we have?"

Snape held his gaze before nodding curtly. Harry took it as a tentative agreement.

"I will return to the school," the Professor announced, "before you can come up with any other ridiculous ideas."

"Professor Snape," Daphne spoke up, getting to her feet, "do you mind if I asked you about my friends?"

With another curt nod, Snape turned to the door, Daphne joining him.

Once he was gone, Hermione released a breath she had to have been holding in for the longest time.

"That was something all right," Ron added, looking glum.

"Well," Harry sighed, "at least he agreed to it. What's next on our list?"

Hermione answered almost at once. "Refining the Portkeys, particularly removing any safety that might stop us from sending people into danger. Also, finding a way to safely transport them. I was thinking about an enchanted bag, but we'd have to be careful the Portkeys don't activate accidentally. We really don't want any of our weapons to backfire on us, do we? Other than that, we'll have to step up the training. Neville and Ginny are still struggling with spell deflection, and Luna's aim seems off."

Harry nodded, thinking back to what he'd seen in the mirror. There was some truth to it – his friends at Hogwarts needed all the training they could get. After all he'd seen from the Wizarding world, he knew most witches and wizards only followed if they were inspired to do so. If their plan to secure Hogwarts for the resistance was meant to go anywhere, they needed as many leaders as they could. If they wanted to succeed, they needed Neville, Ginny, and Luna to lead the uprising where the teachers could not, so that enough wands would overpower any budding Death Eaters.

"I might have some ideas about that," Hermione mused. "Maybe we could try emulating Muggle TV? My mother," she explained with only a small twitch in the corner of her mouth, "tried learning Spanish that way – before work demanded too much of her time, at least. But those broadcasts do exist, and the people doing them probably put some thought into how to teach people something in a completely hands-off way."

"Do we have Muggle TV?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, no. But it shouldn't be too difficult, considering all I'd have to do is sneak into someone's house and taking some notes," Hermione argued. "It's been a while since I last saw any of those broadcasts. But with magic on Muggles no longer being tracked..."

Ron stood up abruptly and walked to the door.

"Ron?" Hermione called out, tilting her head as if to get a better look at his friend's face.

He turned, sending her a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You do your thing. Don't mind me, I'll just... The prisoners. I'll go look how they're doing."

"No better or worse than this morning I assume," Harry spoke up.

"Well, something might have happened," Ron tried. "So you do your thing with coming up with all these new tricks for us, and I'll make sure our prisoners don't... wake up or something."

"They won't," Hermione pointed out, narrowing her eyes. "You know that; we know that. They're perfectly safe. They're also still dosed with sleeping draughts. What's up?"

"Nothing," Ron said, shrugging unconvincingly. "Nothing's up. Everything's fine." He turned, about to leave the room, but found himself unable to – a shield shimmered into view each time he tried to climb the stairs.

Whirling around after three attempts, he glared at Hermione. "Let me out."

Hermione lowered her wand. "I won't. Not until you've told me what's wrong with you."

"Wrong with... ? Wrong with me? I'm not –"

"Ron," Hermione interrupted him with a glare. "Lying to us? We're your friends, you can trust us. I can tell something is bothering you, but I can't help you if –"

She broke off, seeing Ron's fleeting glower. "I'm fine," he growled out, "or I would be if you'd let me out."

In response, Hermione slipped her wand back into her sleeve.

Ron glared at her. "What's wrong with you?"

"With me?" Hermione laughed, momentarily amused.

"Why're you keeping me down here?" Ron challenged, squaring his shoulders.

"Why do you want to leave?" Hermione countered, rising from her chair.

"Well, it's not like I'd be any use to you, would I? Don't know anything about Muggle contraptions, do I? Got the wrong Weasley for that, and I doubt Dad would be any help either." Ron growled. "So why not do what I can? Checking on the prisoners?"

"Unnecessarily checking on them?" Hermione reminded him. "The sleeping draught won't wear off for another forty-eight hours, and apart from confirming that they're still alive, there's little you could do for them. They're not aware of what is going around them. Well," she added, glancing to the side in contemplation, "I guess I could teach you how to treat them so they won't get any sores –"

"Think I could handle that?" Ron laughed, but there was something other than humour in it.

"Well, it's not that difficult," Hermione reasoned, "and with a few days of training –"

"Ah, so you'd have me as your apprentice? Teaching me all there is to it?" Ron asked. To Harry, it sounded almost like a challenge.

Hermione seemed to have picked up on it too. "And what's wrong with that? It's actually a fairly good idea, now that I think about it, and it'd potentially free up some of my time. Or at least allow for more flexible arrangements around the house."

"So you'd be free for more important things while I'll do what you can't be bothered with?" Ron accused. A moment later, he seemed to have noticed what he'd said and realized his flawed logic, but couldn't take it back. Instead, he blinked, stepping back and straightening up.

"The reason why I'm doing it right now," Hermione hissed, "is because taking care of our prisoners is more important than what I don't have time for right now. That's how this works, Ronald. I prioritize, which is why the responsibility of taking care of our prisoners comes first and delegating that job to you would give me the chance to dedicate more time to less important issues that might still help our cause."

"I – I didn't mean –"

"I know," Hermione argued, "but you nevertheless said it without thinking it through. Now tell me why you're acting this way! Why lie to me – to us?"

"I didn't lie," Ron tried feebly, but whatever he had wanted to say got stuck in his throat, from the looks of it. Years of friendship had taught him to not challenge Hermione.

"I... I guess I could take over that job," he told her, avoiding her eye. "If it's not a problem, I mean. I could try, at least."

At Hermione's pointed look, he elaborated. "Well, it's just... Here we are, and you and Harry start planning, and I can barely understand what you're talking about. What do I know about Muggles? What help could I be?"

"You're already taking care of our stocks," Harry reminded him.

"And you two come up with all these fancy tricks and tools," Ron continued, pulling a face, "and you have all that knowledge, and Hermione, you're... you, brains and stuff. And I'm... me." He sighed, grimacing.

Harry felt like knocking some sense into Ron, but Hermione's confused look and silent prompting kept him from walking over to the redhead.

"So?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're you, I'm me, and Harry's Harry. That's how this works."

"You wouldn't understand," Ron grumbled.

"Try me," Hermione dared him.

"I..." Ron waved his hand around half-heartedly. "We're at war."

"I've noticed," Hermione told him, crossing her arms.

"And, well... this war, it means we do what we can. It tests us and forces us to rely on our strengths and talents," Ron continued. "Harry's pulled ahead of anything normal teenagers could achieve. He can do things I wouldn't have dreamed of, I'm sure."

"He also cheated his way into the knowledge," Hermione pointed out with a small twitch of her lips.

"I didn't cheat," Harry complained, but she only sent him an amused glance.

"And you," Ron said as an ugly look crossed his face, "are you, constantly improving. Everything you do, everything you try, you always master. You're a class of your own, above the common crowd."

A ghost of a blush stole on Hermione's face, but it was gone just as quickly. "And you're not," she finished his thought. "There's no need for you to have to and no need to feel bad about it. Comparing yourself to Harry is nonsense – he's got decades of knowledge on you due to a stroke of luck, not talent. Harry isn't a normal teenager."

Harry refrained from complaining, instead letting her continue. For one, she had a point. Even without the task in front of him and the fame or the relative standard of normalcy when applied to teenagers, Harry knew Hermione was right. For another, he felt this might be best solved by Hermione. While he could help her make her point, he saw it as an opportunity for both of his friends to connect to one another on a new level. If Hermione managed to show that she liked Ron despite his flaws and weaknesses and was even willing to help him come to terms with himself, then Ron might be willing to open up to her in turn.

"And once you start applying yourself – really applying yourself, I mean, instead of doubting yourself at every turn – you might be surprised at what you can do," Hermione added. "It's not inability holding you back, Ron. I know you think you're inferior, but that's what you think, not what is necessarily true. If you want, I can try looking up some good reference material to show you how you can get yourself out of that mindset. It's all a matter of perspective."

"Reference material. Yeah, and then I'll stop being 'inferior'?" Ron laughed dejectedly, obviously knowing the answer already. "As if."

"You're not inferior," Hermione groaned, pinching her nose. "You just compare yourself to unreasonable standards like Harry or me. This war has forced us to grow up, and neither of us is normal. If you want to compare yourself to someone, compare yourself to..." She broke off, apparently unsure who to name.

"Ever since you got your own wand," Hermione tried, sending Ron an understanding smile, "you've been doing fine in practical applications of magic. You're average, Ron. That's not a bad thing."

"It is when only the best is good enough," Ron argued. "It is when our lives might depend on being more. War, remember?"

Only the twitch in her eye told Harry that Hermione was rapidly losing her patience. "A lot of average people do their part in this war. Your father is average."

"Is not!" Ron spat, balling his fists.

Harry bit his lip, silently agreeing with Hermione.

"He's got a good heart," Hermione said, glaring, "but he's neither a skilled fighter nor exceptionally talented in anything we could reasonably make use of. Do you think any less of him just because of that?"

"He's a great man," Ron hissed, returning her glare.

Deciding it was time to jump in, Harry straightened in his seat. "Hermione didn't say anything to the contrary, just that he isn't an exceptionally valuable asset for his skills. He's got contacts, though. That might be a way for him to play his part. Your Mum, however –"

"Leave her out of this!" Ron shouted, taking a step towards Harry.

"She's a stay-at-home mother. What'll she do, ground the Death Eaters? Whack them with her pans?" He shrugged, ignoring Ron balling his fists in rage. "There's a reason why Dumbledore had her organize the house when he was heading the Order instead of sending her on missions. When was the last time she actually duelled anyone?"

"She's a great witch!" Ron snarled, daring Harry to disagree. "Who cares about... ?" He slowed down, frowning.

"If it doesn't matter with her," Harry added, leaning back as he watched his friend trying to work out the conflict he was faced with, "why would it with you?"

"Doing what you can is enough," Hermione finished the thought. "You are contributing to our cause, Ron. Get it through your head, being average is not bad."

After a moment of silence, Ron frown deepened. He pursed his lips, lost in his thoughts. "I'll check on the prisoners, yeah?"

With an angry snap, Hermione dispelled her shield blocking the exit.

Once Ron had left up the stairs, Hermione collapsed in her chair.

"What," she groaned, "is wrong with me?" Answering Harry's silent question, she wordlessly pointed at the spot Ron had been moments before.


Leaning against the wall, Dudley kept an eye on the crowd. People were milling about, doing their last shopping before Easter. Had it really been over half a year that he had parted ways with his mother? And over four months that he had joined up with Sarah?

Looking back, he thought he'd done rather well, all things considered. He was still alive – knowing all he did now and who he had been, it was fairly impressive. He'd learned to take care of himself. And ever since he'd helped Sarah, they'd managed to improve steadily. No longer did he have to hide behind dustbins or steal meagre meals.

Having Sarah around had put a stop to that mostly because she could do what he couldn't. As much as he had learned to blend in with the crowd, he was still a bit too noticeable due to his size. While people were more than happy to not spend too much time looking at him, they did if they were forced to. Sarah on the other hand was almost a natural at avoiding suspicion. She also had exceptionally nimble fingers – one bump in the crowd, an embarrassed smile, and an angry glare at some random passer-by somewhere behind her, and Sarah could sell her story to almost everyone. Yes, having a cute girl around had a lot of advantages Dudley had never thought about in his old life. Maybe he should have befriended one when he'd still lived on Privet Drive. It would have been a very valuable addition to his gang.

Dudley glanced around once more, but didn't light his cigarette. No police in sight. Now it was time for Sarah to act. He could see her approach a middle-aged man at the news-stand wearing a pin-striped suit. Not the best, Dudley mused, but better than nothing. High risk, high payout, he reminded himself. Two or three wallets could buy a decent meal and maybe even a proper room for once. If they were particularly lucky, it might also buy them a train ticket. Never say long in one place, Dudley had reasoned. Not only did it mean being gone before the police could catch up to them for their thefts, but it also fit their cover story of a young couple in love travelling the country. The less people got to know them, the less likely either Dudley or Sarah would stumble over some inconsistency.

After a quick glance around the street in order to not stare at one spot for too long, Dudley looked back just as Sarah reached up high to pick up a magazine high on the rack – high enough that she had to get on her tiptoes and conveniently lose her balance only to fall into the arms of her intended victim.

It worked, and with a little stab of jealousy, Dudley watched as the middle-aged man caught Sarah. At least he would have been rewarded with a nice peak down her shirt, Dudley reasoned, which was a lot less than he saw on a regular basis. Posing as a couple did have some advantages.

With an embarrassed blush and some kind words, Sarah thanked her unwitting victim and paid for whatever she had picked from the news-stand.

They'd do something nice that evening, Dudley decided. If she'd gotten enough, they'd go some place nice, maybe a hotel. Or they'd dine first. Not dine as he had back in his old life, but dine like two teenagers might who had some money to spend. Properly prepared food instead of cheap grub from dirty stores late at night sounded like a good idea. Something of a reward for both of them, even.

Just as usual, Sarah strolled past without acknowledging Dudley, but hidden by her body, their hands met and a wallet was passed that Dudley pocketed in the blink of an eye. The magazine had already been dropped in the bin, and with practised ease, she tied her hair back, putting her jacket on for good measure. As distracted as the man in the pin-striped suit had probably been, there was a good chance he'd be unable to recognize Sarah.

Once Sarah was gone from sight, Dudley left his spot and walked to a spot near a shabby alleyway that led to a winding net of narrow and littered backstreets. It was part of their usual plan – they would pass the loot and split up again. It wasn't perfect in any way, but better than nothing. After two or three thefts, they'd leave separately with Sarah staying in the crowd for a few minutes and Dudley using the long way through some side streets, only for both to meet up a few streets away. People were happy to see a somewhat intimidating boy leave or pass,allowing him to go unhindered, but seeing a girl like Sarah leave with him would have drawn attention they could do without.

An older couple walked past, the woman watching Dudley suspiciously while the man complained loudly about teenagers' wrong choices.

Sarah had picked her next target, Dudley realized, seeing her head towards a café. With barely a frown, Dudley followed her at a distance.

Public places were fine, but they usually stayed away from places where people lingered. A café meant dozens of eyes that could see something going on. High risk, high payout, he reminded himself, and started looking for whoever Sarah might have chosen.

A couple caught his eye, standing in the middle of the bustling place. The woman had her grey hair in a plaid; the bald man glanced at something in his hand that was hidden from view by the crowd. Both wore coats that reminded Dudley of the older women in their old neighbourhood – at least twenty years out of fashion and likely bought when the couple had been in their prime. Then again, he mused, catching a peek at the woman's collar, they might have just picked whatever was available at a second-hand store. Neither of the couple seemed the type for spiked leather collars.

Dudley stopped in his tracks, blinking. The couple didn't just stand in the crowd, he realized. They stood out in the crowd. They seemed out of place – not enough that the disinterested people passing them couldn't put it down to weird fashion sense, but enough that Dudley could. Unlike most, he knew of one group of people who would have odd fashion sense and not blend in with the crowd.

He headed towards the couple, inwardly cursing at their misfortune. Of all the people Sarah might have chosen to pick-pocket, it had to be a couple of wizards. Who knew what kind of protections they had? Harry had had all kinds of books and things with him, so what would an older couple have? Maybe they'd have some kind of alarm on their belongings? Or maybe they could track everything down wherever it was?

Misfortune struck again, as it often happened when one least needed it – a gaggle of teenagers stepped into Dudley's path, costing him precious seconds. So close, Dudley thought, ignoring the glares he received from a boy with enough piercings to give any proper person a heart attack.

He was too late. Just before he close enough to warn her, Sarah had accomplished her goal and reached into the woman's handbag. Maybe magic, maybe mundane awareness caused the man to look and notice what was going on. Surprise and sudden alertness flashed on his face as he turned to grab Sarah.

Dudley shoved a random passer-by into the man. They had to escape as fast as possible, even if it meant drawing attention to themselves. Using the cover of confusion, Dudley started running, pulling Sarah along into the crowd. The moment they were a few feet away and hopefully hidden from sight, he slowed down and turned towards a nearby alley. If they had any luck, the wizard would only know how Sarah looked – easily rectified – and would look for anyone trying to run away.

Sarah had caught up with him and the situation, it seemed, falling in step with Dudley. With a quick brush through her hair, the tie was gone, after another brush, she wore a black woolly hat.

Resisting the urge to look around, Dudley marched over to the alley, praying to God that nothing would go wrong. So far, he hadn't heard any commotion behind him, and hoped he hadn't injured anyone. Unfortunately, not hearing the inevitable shouts for Sarah's capture made him more nervous than Dudley already was. The man surely seen what Sarah had done, so why wouldn't he call for help?

Once they were in the alley, they quickened their steps and took the first turn down another back street filled with dustbins and turned right at the first opportunity. Halfway to the next corner, Dudley heard a woman behind them calling out. Mouthing a curse he didn't want to say, he was about to turn around a rush their followers, using the surprise to give Sarah a chance to escape when a gunshot echoed through the street.

Dudley threw himself to the ground, pulling Sarah down with him. Only a moment later, his brain caught up. Since when did wizards use guns? Hadn't Harry always waved that stupid stick around? But then, who had Sarah tried to pick-pocket?

Ahead of them, the man stepped around the corner, slightly out of breath. He had his hand pointing at Dudley and Sarah. Then Dudley noticed the wand in his hand.

Wizards then. He wasn't sure whether it was better or worse than the alternative. On one hand, wizards tended to be dangerous and lacking common sense. On the other, it meant Dudley knew who he was dealing with. Wizards then, Dudley thought, trying to recall what he knew about them. Wizards used wands for their magic. Wizards disliked dealing with Muggles, yet this man hadn't attacked Dudley or Sarah, merely fired a warning shot, it seemed like. From what Dudley knew, Harry's enemies liked violence, so this man might not be one of them. But he was still a wizard with a wand.

What would he be without one? If Dudley could just get close enough, he might be able to wrestle that wretched stick from the man's hands, and after that, he might have the advantage. Why had he learned boxing, if not to hit someone? And hitting, Dudley thought, was something he was quite good at.

Unfortunately, the man stopped a few feet away. Come on, Dudley urged him, come on closer.

Behind him, Dudley heard someone approach, gasping for air. The woman had found them. Could Sarah take her? The woman hadn't looked like much, but neither had Harry while still forcing Dudley's family to play nice with him.

The wizard waved his wand, and an odd calm descended as the echoing noise from the city was muted.

Magic, Dudley sneered.

"Return it," the wizard commanded.

Definitely not Harry's enemies, which was good. And he apparently didn't seem too keen on involving the Muggle authorities and had decided to solve the issue himself, which meant one of two things – either the man knew how to fight, which would be very bad for Dudley, or didn't consider Muggles a credible threat.

Sarah struggled to sit up next to Dudley, and he followed her example, feeling stupid lying on the ground.

Now that he got a better look at the wizard, he noticed the shabby shoes and slightly oversized pants, held up by braces.

With pursed lips, Sarah pulled the handbag from inside her jacket, the man's wand pointed straight at her heart.

The woman walked over from behind them and took it back. However, she didn't join her – partner? Husband? Dudley couldn't quite figure it out.

A few moments later, the woman spoke up. "It's still there."

The man nodded curtly, but still stayed away from Dudley. Wait for your opportunity, he told himself.

"So," the wizard said, looking down on Sarah, but directing his wand at Dudley, "who are you? How did you find us, and where are the others?"

Dudley blinked. "Find?" he asked.

"You've got your bag back," Sarah spoke up. "I'm sorry about all this; I really am. We both are. I – I promise we won't bother you any more, just... please –"

"Silence!" the man shouted. In the quiet around them, it didn't echo at all.

Dudley decided he didn't like it one bit, not just because he had been taught to dislike freakishness, but because it was unnatural and had to require a lot of power and skill to turn off sound.

"Tell us what we want to know and this will be over quick and painless. Well," the wizard added with a cold smile, "mostly."

Sarah flinched next to Dudley, but kept her eyes on the man.

"So, how did you find us?" the man repeated.

"We didn't," Dudley spoke up. "We don't even know who you are –"

"Liar," the wizard interrupted.

"But it's true," Dudley insisted. "We're just..."

He hesitated as a thought came to him. He had been about to reveal that they were just Muggles, but realized that he would have to admit that they knew about magic. What would happen then?

In the summer of 1992, Harry had returned after his first year at the school of his. That year, Dudley's father had had some guests one evening, and Harry had been sent to his room. For whatever reason, he had come down and smashed the cake that had been meant for dessert. Harry's bit of magic had led to an owl informing the Dursleys that Harry wasn't allowed to use magic outside of school. But a year later, when Harry had done something to Aunt Marge to blow her up like a balloon, not only had no letters arrived, but some wizards had brought Aunt Marge back later that evening. The wizards had said something about changing Aunt Marge's memory to keep magic secret.

So what would happen if Dudley revealed his knowledge of magic?

"What, stalling for time?" the man in front of him mocked. "Your friends won't find you. Your friends won't even know you're here." He whipped his wand down, and something flashed brightly, startling Dudley. Blinking away the after-images, he saw a smoking crack inches from his leg. Next to him, Sarah stared wide-eyed and pale-faced at the same spot.

"Talk," the wizard ordered.

"We're just trying to get by," Dudley answered. "Trying to get some money. For food and a room, you know? We really don't know who you are. You just looked like easy cash, that's all."

"A likely story," the wizard scoffed, raising his wand.

"We should leave," the woman spoke up, walking around in a wide arc. On one hand, both of Dudley's enemies were now on one side and in his view; on the other, Sarah seemed too shocked at the display of real magic to be counted on for help.

"We need to –" the wizard began, but the woman cut him off.

"Leave," she said with an imploring look. "The longer we stay in one place... and if those two could find us, then –"

The wizard nodded again. "Fine." To Dudley, he added, "It'd have been easier if I'd known what to erase. Maybe keep that in mind – assuming you'll remember it."

He brought his wand down, but missed – the woman had pushed his hand aside, pointing her other at Dudley. She too held a wand and kept a wary eye on Sarah and him.

"Wait," the witch said.

"Leave, wait. Make up your mind," the wizard grumbled.

Instead of answering, she straightened up, intoning, "Achoo wand!"

Nothing happened.

"Muggles," the witch told her partner, looking slightly relieved.

"So just meeting us, then," the wizard answered.

"Wait!" Dudley shouted, raising both hands as he decided to take a risk.

If these weren't Harry's enemies, but still planned to erase Sarah and Dudley's memories, then there was little to lose by admitting they knew about magic. But if they were like Harry's friends, then they might be reasoned with.

"Wait. Muggles, yes," he said, glancing from one pair of eyes to the other. At his side, Sarah awoke jerkily, glancing fearfully at the wands and wizards in front of them.

"We're Muggles," Dudley repeated, "but we know about your world. About the war in your world," he added hastily, "against this Lord –"

"Don't!" shouted the witch, suddenly panicked.

"– Thingy," Dudley finished, blinking at her outburst. "Got a wizard in my family, that's how. And we're on the run. Don't want any trouble, you know? I – You don't want to hurt us, right? Don't want to... Well, leave. Leave and we'll for – We'll never tell. Just let us go and you'll never see us again."

The witch grabbed her partner's arm, almost as if she tried pulling him away.

The wizard narrowed his eyes, but didn't move. "You don't have to tell. There are other ways."

A shiver ran down Dudley's back. The way the wizard talked, it reminded him of Harry. "Why would they use those? Just two Muggles, right?"

The wizard opened his mouth to say something, but froze when the witch squeezed his arm.

"What gave us away?" the witch asked.

Dudley blinked. "What – ?"

"– gave us away?" she repeated.

The wizard narrowed his eyes. "Yes," he agreed. "How likely is it to run into a Muggle who knows about the Magical World?"

"Err," Dudley mumbled. "I don't know? How likely, I mean. I don't have a head for numbers, honestly." Remembering the other question, he turned to the witch. "Your clothes. They're wrong."

"We got them from a Muggle store," the witch said, looking worried.

"Well, they don't match," Dudley told her. "It's... the coats are more for older people – decades old, you know? - and that collar you've got," he pointed at it, "doesn't fit. Muggles don't dress like that."

The wizard looked at the witch. She shrugged helplessly. "It's not like I spend a lot of time in the Muggle world! How should I know something like that?"

The wizard shook his head. "Well, we'll try to be more careful, so thanks for telling us, but now we'll have to take our leave." He waved his wand around with a bit more flourish than Dudley would have expected. The sound of the city returned. With a curt nod, the wizard spun on the spot, pulling the witch along.

Nothing happened, which both amazed and shocked Dudley. Whatever that had been had failed.

"They're here!" the witch hissed in a panicked voice.

The wizard glanced around. "Yes." His eyes fell on Dudley and Sarah still on the ground. "They're somewhere near. Change of plans. Do you want to survive?" The wizard asked, his eyes already jumping to the end of the street.

"What?" the witch replied, nervously turning this way and that. "Of course I – ! Oh, you mean..."

"Enemies are around, so stay quiet," the wizard instructed. "We're in this together now. Either of us was followed, but they might not expect us to team up. A family of four?" he asked, glancing to the witch.

"What, no invisibility?" Dudley scoffed, getting to his feet.

"Packed as the streets are?" the wizard replied. "We'll look for cover in the crowd." He had turned back to the witch before Dudley could reply anything.

"They're wizards!" Sarah breathed, standing next to him.

"Yes," Dudley confirmed. "And I don't like going with them, but... We're still alive, and if they're worried as they are –"

"Ready you two?" the wizard said. Except it wasn't the wizard standing in front of Dudley, but a younger man with brown hair and sharp features. And at his side was a sullen-looking, frumpy blonde in her forties. Both wore jackets not unlike Sarah's.

"Magic," Dudley grumbled, nodding after a moment.

"Good," the wizard replied. "Best lead us somewhere to the street. Can't be close. From there, we'll see."

They walked in silence, the witch glancing around at Dudley's right, always listening for movement or signs of an attack. On his left, Sarah stumbled along nervously as the wizard followed them, doing whatever he was doing. Halfway through the adjourning alley, Dudley felt an odd shiver run through him – his clothes were tightening around him, and his hair seemed to be pushing against his skull. Magic, he realized. A moment later, Sarah's hat and jacket turned pink.

It felt like an eternity until they stepped out on the bustling pavement and into the crowd of oblivious Muggles, letting themselves get dragged along by the flow.

"Restaurant up ahead," the wizard murmured behind Dudley. "Look casual."

Resisting the urge to dash away, he reluctantly followed the instructions. The wizards hadn't killed them yet, he reminded himself. For the moment, they shared a goal.

"Table for four," the wizard told the finely-dressed waiter with an air of convincing happiness.

The waiter blinked, shaking his head uncertainly as he grabbed some menus. "Follow me, please."

They were led to a table in the middle of the room, but one with a clear view outside. Dudley knew enough about magic to suspect their placement wasn't a coincidence. Neither, he recognized, was the wizard taking a seat facing the window.

Once the waiter was gone to get their drinks, the witch spoke up. "We're sorry about this business," she told them in a low voice. "You must be quite scared."

"We've had worse," Dudley replied, remembering how he had met Sarah in the first place.

The witch blinked, but the waiter returned before she could say something. Once he was gone again, the witch said, "We might as well get to know each other. Maggie." She extended her hand, which was immediately pushed down by the wizard who smiled genially.

"Family, remember," he hissed. After a moment, he added, "Charles. Grant, both of us."

The witch's smile didn't seem quite convincing.

"Evan," Dudley introduced with the name that was probably as fake as the couple's, followed by Sarah giving her name.

"So," Dudley tried, smiling unconvincingly, "you seem to know what's going on?"

Mr. Grant gave a hesitant nod. "We're a bit out of touch. Mostly, we try to stay alive and wait. It's tricky, but we had good teachers." Narrowing his eyes as he glanced outside, he continued, "Carter and Clark. Don't look!" he warned Dudley just in time.

"So... You know them?" Dudley asked, forcing himself to focus on the wizard.

"In a way. It's work-related," Mr. Grant answered.

"I have to say," Mrs. Grant spoke up with fake cheerfulness, "it's nice to see some friendly faces again."

Dudley glanced at the still nervous Sarah sitting as far from the Grants as possible. It seemed it would fall to him to speak for both, no matter how far away he wanted to be from Harry's world at the moment.

Taking a moment to collect himself, he imagined his cousin sitting at the other side of the table and felt part of the tension he felt leave him. Harry he could deal with. Harry was someone he knew, even if he was a wizard. Harry was family.


It's surprisingly difficult getting Ron right - it's the mixture of inferiority complex and teen-aged immaturity. Then again, it isn't easy feeling any self-worth when the best comparison you have available are Hermione and Harry.