My beta-readers, fredfred and InquisitorCOC, deserve a huge thank you. They helped a lot, despite the trying times we're currently going through.

Chapter 40: The Mistake

The Burrow, Ottery St Catchpole, Devon, Britain, Wizarding World, December 23rd, 2005

The Minister shook his head. "Arthur and Harry told me, though I didn't want to believe it. Nobody had been able to find any trace of you, and after seven years..."

Neither Shacklebolt nor Hermione moved to embrace the other, Ron noted. They hadn't been close before her disappearance.

"That's because I had left the castle," Hermione replied. "You would have needed a Seer to find me, not that Divination is reliable." She nodded at Ron. "This is Ronald, a distant relative of the Weasleys."

"Ah, you're a muggle, yes, Arthur told me about you."

"Minister." Ron nodded at him. He didn't like the man's attitude.

"We're still looking into it," Mr Weasley - Arthur - said, "but we haven't found records old enough to determine how we are actually related."

"The resemblance is there, though," Shacklebolt commented with slightly narrowed eyes. Had the wizard seen through the disguise? He was a former Auror, after all, Ron knew. And one of the best, according to Hermione and her wizarding friends. And he had been the Prime Minister's magical protection detail - not a man to underestimate.

"Let's sit down, shall we?" Mrs Weasley said as she entered the room carrying a tray with tea and snacks.

They sat down on the couches, not at the dining table, which had been reduced to a more normal size - for a Weasley family. Mrs Weasley - Molly - conjured some side tables for everyone, to Ron's slight disappointment; he had hoped for floating cups and dishes.

"I was filled in by Harry and Ron," the Minister went on after taking a sip from the excellent tea. "They've confirmed your identity."

"They did, yes," Hermione replied. "They were understandably suspicious."

"It is a fantastical story. How exactly did you manage to leave the castle?"

"I used a damaged Vanishing Cabinet and ended up with amnesia in the middle of a field owned by a muggle." Hermione grimaced. "At least that's what I think is the most likely explanation."

"I thought that you recovered your memory." Shacklebolt steepled his fingers.

"I recovered most of my memories - but of the day of my disappearance, I still only have fragments," she explained. "I don't even know if it was the Cabinet, a curse or something left in the room that caused it. I do think the Cabinet is the most likely cause, though."

"And how did you recover your memories?"

"Gradually, at first." She looked at Ron with a smile. "I started a relationship, and, well, I began to mix up memories of Ronald and my friends. One day, he said something just like Ron used to say, and all my memories returned."

"Ah." Once more, the Minister stared at Ron.

"I was terrified when she collapsed." Ron went with the prepared story. "And I have to admit that when she told me about magic, I thought she had lost her mind." He forced himself to chuckle - it wasn't really a lie.

"Fortunately, we - Harry, Ron and myself - had prepared caches with spare wands and supplies during the war, so I managed to get a wand and demonstrate that I wasn't crazy," Hermione said, reaching out to hold Ron's hand.

"Wouldn't it have been easier to simply visit Diagon Alley?"

"I didn't want to risk entering a country possibly ruled by Voldemort. Certainly not without a wand," Hermione replied.

That seemed to surprise Shacklebolt. "But surely you would have noticed attacks on muggles - they made the muggle news during the war…"

"Yes. But Voldemort was no fool. If he had started to oppress the muggles to a degree that I would have noticed as a common muggle, then the ICW would have intervened. It was entirely possible that he had simply taken control of the Prime Minister, as he had controlled your predecessor, and was biding his time." She shook her head. "I couldn't risk it. Not as one of Wizarding Britain's most wanted witches."

"Well, we set that right first thing after we took the Ministry back." Shacklebolt laughed. "You're still one of Wizarding Britain's most famous witches."

"I saw the statue. And I met my portrait," Hermione told him with a frown.

"You don't like them?" Once more, surprise was visible on the wizard's face.

"I wouldn't like to be remembered like that," she said with a polite smile. "Fortunately, I can do something about that, now."

Shacklebolt's smile slipped from friendly to polite as well, Ron noticed. It seemed that the Minister wasn't happy about the implications of her statement. "What do you have in mind? As far as I know, the portrait was quite faithfully instructed by your best friends."

"I've no doubt that they did their best," she replied, "but they were also most certainly still affected by our experiences during the war at the time they did it." She shook her head. "I just want to set the record straight."

Now the Minister started to frown. "Do you disagree with the historical records?"

"I don't know yet - I haven't had the time to look them up," she told him. "But more points of view, different perspectives, are a good thing, aren't they?"

"Of course," Shacklebolt agreed - though his smile was a little too open to be honest, in Ron's opinion. Politicians, in his experience, didn't like most views that differed from their own. "Are you thinking of entering politics? You were quite the activist as a teenager if I remember correctly."

"Oh, no! I was living as a muggle for seven years - I'm so out of touch with everything and everyone, I don't think I'm qualified to work in the Ministry." Hermione waved her hands.

"Well, a position in the Ministry is yours for the asking - the country owes you a debt, after all. Helping you readjust on the Ministry's Galleons is the least we can do for a war heroine."

"Thank you for the offer, but I'm not hurting for money. And my family comes first."

Shacklebolt nodded. "Of course. Take all the time you need."

Ron wanted to tell the wizard that that was a given but held his tongue.

"I'm planning to," she said. "I just wanted to meet you so you're not caught unaware by my return."

"Ah. I appreciate that."

"We've been discreet," Arthur added, "but some rumours have already started circulating, I think."

"I was seen by two Aurors in Hogsmeade," Hermione elaborated.

"Ah. I did hear something about that," the Minister said.

"I was still dealing with my recovered memories, so I basically fled the scene before I had a breakdown," she went on.

Molly nodded in obvious sympathy. "It must have been a shock."

"It was. I realised that everyone thought I had died. I knew that that was likely, but only in an academic sense. Seeing my statue there…" she trailed off, shaking her head.

Ron wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

The Minister nodded. "I see. I will arrange things so you aren't bothered by the press while you're still adjusting - if you would like that."

"Thank you. I don't want to make a spectacle out of this."

"Of course not."

Shacklebolt was smiling in a slightly patronising way, Ron noted. Probably happy that Hermione wasn't charging the gates of the Ministry to take over or something.

"...and then I jumped into the Vanishing Cabinet, and things went, well, wrong."

Ron reached out and gently squeezed Hermione's hand as she finished telling Shacklebolt over lunch how her part in the Battle of Hogwarts had ended.

"I see. And then you found yourself in muggle Britain, wandless and with amnesia?"

"Yes. Although while I didn't know why, I still knew that I was in danger - that I was a wanted woman. So I didn't go to the police."

"Ah. We had been keeping our eyes out for reports of obliviated muggles," Shacklebolt commented. "The Death Eaters were fond of muggle-baiting."

"I can imagine," Hermione replied with a deep scowl.

"We put a stop to that, of course."

"I've heard. You must have filled Azkaban." Her scowl didn't vanish, Ron noted.

"Most of the Ministry had been helping Voldemort," Shacklebolt replied. He wasn't smiling any more.

"To what degree? I heard you sent Skeeter to Azkaban."

"She was directly responsible for some of the most effective propaganda against muggleborns, which contributed greatly to their persecution."

"I was one of her victims before Voldemort took over - I'm familiar with her 'work'," Hermione said. "However, she was always careful with her wording - using quotes and questions rather than direct claims - or direct lies."

"That didn't change the effect of her articles. And she knew what she was doing," Shacklebolt said with a frown. "She also served as an example to others - a demonstration that the times of 'subtly' spreading Voldemort's poison through euphemism and veiled words were over. We cannot change the people's minds if we let the bigots spread their ideology unhindered."

"Being punished to serve as an example seems like a political decision. Not a judicial one," Ron spoke up.

Shacklebolt looked surprised - Ron hadn't said much during lunch. Had the wizard forgotten about him? Because Ron was a muggle? "I've worked in law enforcement," Ron added.

"Ah." Shacklebolt looked at Hermione again as he replied: "Bigotry was and is a political problem. We failed to solve it after the first war, which caused the second war, with all its horrors. We weren't about to make the same mistake a second time."

"Some principles should be above politics," Hermione commented.

"Yes. Such as the right of everyone to live," Shacklebolt retorted.

"The ends don't always justify the means."

"Sometimes they do."

The two stared - no, glared - at each other for a moment, before Molly interrupted them. "Who wants pudding?"

"Bye, Kingsley! You must visit more often, and without such a pressing reason," Molly said fifteen minutes later, as Shacklebolt and Arthur left The Burrow again. As soon as they had vanished in the fireplace, the witch sighed, though, and turned towards Ron and Hermione. "That could've gone better."

Hermione set her jaw, Ron noticed. "A position in the Ministry, but for the asking?" She scoffed. "I know a bribe when I see one. He just wants my support for his policies."

And the Minister hadn't been as subtle about it as Dumbledore had been, in Ron's opinion.

"Of course he wants your support," Molly said as she flicked her wand and the dishes on the table started to float towards the kitchen. "You're a war heroine. Your word carries weight."

Hermione snorted at that. "My legend carries weight. But I myself? Any influence I have will quickly vanish once I start disagreeing with Ministry policy."

"Didn't you say that you don't know anything about the Ministry?" Molly asked with a frown. "Most of the reforms were ideas you agreed with - I remember your visits over summer. Like the elves being freed."

Ron imagined a teenage Hermione lecturing people and smiled at the thought.

Hermione grimaced slightly. "That's certainly a reform of which I approve," she said. "And I'm the last person to defend Death Eaters - but Azkaban still being staffed with Dementors?" She shook her head. "That's torture."

To her credit, Molly winced at that. But she rallied quickly. "What would have been the alternative? Killing every criminal? Having half the Ministry's trusted employees working as prison guards? You know how many people were killed, and how many helped the Death Eaters. Kingsley is doing what he can to change things. And he's been at it for seven years."

"And I've been away and out of touch for seven years," Hermione retorted, "and don't know anything."

"I didn't say that!" Molly replied, in a tone Ron recognised - there was the temper he had expected.

"Sorry," Hermione said after a moment. "But that's what it feels like. Everyone seems to expect me to go along with everything. It's as if they didn't know me at all."

"Everyone missed you, dear. And they don't realise yet that you have grown and changed in the years since your disappearance. As have they."

That caused Hermione to purse her lips. "I know that they aren't teenagers any more. So I expect others to realise that about me."

"They will," Ron told her. "But it'll take some time."

"My friends, yes. But I've never been particularly close to Shacklebolt," she replied.

"He was a member of the Order of the Phoenix," Molly told her. "He risked his life fighting the Death Eaters."

"We all did," Hermione replied.

"Well, I didn't," Ron pointed out with a grin. Which faltered a little when he noticed Molly and Hermione wincing.

"You fought Russian spies and special forces," Hermione said, "and saved me from them."

"You saved my life," he told her, smiling at her.

"And now both of you are safe," Molly interjected. "Also thanks to Kingsley's efforts."

Ron wasn't sure he'd agree with the older witch - about being safe.

"He didn't do it alone, though, did he? Harry, Ron, Arthur and Percy helped, didn't they?"

"Of course they did!" Molly replied. "We had to win the peace as well as the war."

"That sounds like something Dumbledore would say," Ron pointed out. Although he couldn't say if the old man would mean it.

"He did - well, our Dumbledore," the older witch confirmed. "In our last meeting before he…" She swallowed. "Before he died."

"I don't remember that," Hermione said, frowning.

"He might not have said the same things to everyone - he visited the different cells, to help prepare us for his death." Molly sniffled slightly. "He was such a brave man, facing his death without fear. 'Death is but the next great adventure', he said."

Now that was something the Dumbledore from Ron's world would never say - or, if he did, would never mean, in Ron's opinion.

"Which reminds me - we need to buy potions and other supplies," Hermione said.

"Oh? Of course!. Do you need money?" Molly offered. "We're doing well - Arthur was promoted quickly, you know - the Ministry's run so much better under Kingsley."

"The cache had enough Galleons to make the necessary purchases, I believe," Hermione told her. "Money shouldn't be an issue."

Ron nodded. Dumbledore had very deep pockets, after all - and would pay a premium for magic potions.

"Are you sure? You don't have an income yet," Molly said.

"We'll be fine," Hermione told her before turning towards the fireplace. "Let's go to Diagon Alley," she said, pulling out her wig.

Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley, London, Wizarding World, December 23rd, 2005

Floo travel might not be as uncomfortable as Apparition, but it wasn't smooth by any means, Ron couldn't help but think as he stumbled out of the fireplace in what Hermione had told him was the Leaky Cauldron. He managed to avoid falling down, fortunately - that would have been a bad entrance.

As he straightened, the fire flared up behind him, and he turned in time to see Hermione stepping out of the fireplace as if she were passing through a door. "It gets easier with practice," she said as she flicked her wand and the slight traces of soot on his shirt and trousers vanished.

"I'll take your word for it," he replied, eyeing the crowd in the inn They didn't look particularly friendly, but not nearly as hostile as the guests in some of the London dives he had visited back home. And none of them seemed to have seen through their disguises. Although that old woman in the corner… He looked at Hermione as she took his arm, then glanced at the witch.

"That's a hag," Hermione whispered as they walked towards what looked like the back exit.

A hag? A cannibal? In an inn? "Aren't they dangerous?" And would bullets hurt them?

"They aren't as bad as their reputation makes them out to be," Hermione replied, "and they aren't allowed wands, which is quite discriminatory, but I would be very wary around one of them if I were vulnerable or hurt."

"Ah." That didn't sound promising. It looked as if this inn was more like the Mos Eisley cantina.

But the hag didn't move before they entered the backyard and came face to face with a brick wall.

Hermione hesitated a moment, then tapped half a dozen of the bricks in sequence, and the wall flowed out of the way, forming a gate.

It seemed to be a rather complicated way to enter the main shopping district of Wizarding Britain, in Ron's opinion, but it would definitely keep out muggles.

"Diagon Alley," Hermione announced. "The heart of Wizarding Britain's economy."

"It looks like they'll need a pacemaker," Ron quipped before he could help himself - there were far fewer people in the Alley than he had expected, especially on the day before Christmas Eve.

Hermione chuckled at his joke. "It's a small country. It does get packed in August when every family goes shopping for school supplies."

"I guess they already did their Christmas shopping, then," Ron replied.

"Some might save it for tomorrow. But I think that with the students home from Hogwarts, many families will take longer meals, so they'll probably start arriving soon. I'm certainly looking forward to dinner with my parents." She glanced at him. "Our dinner with my parents."

He nodded with a smile. "So… where do we go first?"

"Ollivanders."

"And what does he sell?" Ron asked as they entered the Alley proper, passing a family all dressed in near-identical robes who seemed to be a little nervous upon seeing them. A little like many people who unexpectedly met a police officer.

"Wands. The wand I had in the cache isn't a bad match - I picked the most compatible from the ones we looted - but I want a wand that is a perfect match. And Ollivander is the best wandmaker in Britain."

"Ah." That made sense.

The sign above the door Hermione led him to announced that the Ollivanders had been making 'fine wands' since 328 BC. "That's quite a claim," he said.

"I used to plan to check the claim," she told him with a wry smile. "I wanted to look up the records in the Ministry."

"Well, a call to Shacklebolt would likely be enough for that."

She snorted. "Don't you start!" She pushed the door open.

The room inside was dark, rather small - or, to be precise, it wasn't extended as Ron had expected - and stuffed with small boxes. He couldn't see Ollivander or anyone else, though.

Then the door behind the counter opened, and an old man with thin, white hair that reached his shoulders stepped through. "Welcome to Ollivanders."

"Good afternoon," Hermione replied, bowing her head. She raised her wand. "I need a new wand. A better match than this one."

The old man's eyes narrowed. "Ash and dragon heartstring. Nine inches, not particularly springy. I sold this wand to Dexter Flint, years ago."

"And I took it from his corpse during the war," she replied.

Ollivander's eyes briefly widened. "Who are you? You look familiar…"

"You sold me a vine wand with a dragon heartstring. Ten and three-quarter inches."

The old man grew stiff. "I've only ever sold one such wand."

Hermione looked over her shoulder, then pulled off her wig. "Yes. To me. The reports of my death were greatly exaggerated. But I lost my wand, and I need a replacement."

"You've been missing for seven years," Ollivander told her. "And now you return in disguise?"

"My friends and the Ministry have been informed. I don't want to spoil the big announcement," she replied.

"And we want to shop in peace," Ron added, "without drawing a crowd or creating a spectacle."

For a long moment, the wandmaker stared at them - at her. Then he slowly nodded.

"Let's see which wand matches you." He seemed to squint at Hermione for a moment, then turned away. "Pine, perhaps?" A flick of his wand had a case floating towards him. "With a unicorn hair core."

"My old wand was vine wood with a dragon heartstring," Hermione told him again, though she held out her hand anyway.

"That was almost fifteen years ago. As you change, your wand changes - or the wand which suits you," Ollivander replied. "Try it."

Hermione flicked the wand, frowning at the light that started to shine from its tip, and Ollivander took it away. Another case appeared next to him. "Pine and dragon heartstring."

The light was marginally stronger, as far as Ron could tell.

"Not pine, then. It seems you aren't as mysterious as you appear."

Hermione snorted. "I'm not mysterious. I merely value my privacy."

"Ebony, perhaps. I think the dragon heartstring suits you still." A new case was opened.

The light was a little stronger still, but it was obvious that neither Hermione nor Ollivander were satisfied.

"Not quite," the wandmaker proclaimed. "Ah! Walnut! You didn't take to it last time, but perhaps…" He summoned another case.

This time, Hermione's eyes widened as soon as she picked it up, and the light was noticeably brighter - bright enough to make Ron look away.

"As I thought. Walnut, ten inches, slightly springy, with a dragon heartstring core. A great but dangerous match," he said with a faint smile.

"Dangerous?" Ron asked. Could wands explode?

"Walnut will work as easily for a noble purpose as for a terrible one. And wands containing dragon heartstring are the ones most likely to serve a dark wizard. That will be fifteen Galleons, Miss Granger."

"Fifteen?" she asked.

The old man merely nodded, and Hermione paid. "Thank you, Mr Ollivander."

"It was my pleasure. I'm looking forward to seeing what you might achieve with this wand."

"So am I, Mr Ollivander."

The old man had all but ignored him, Ron realised. Had he known that Ron was a muggle? Sensed it? Or had he seen through the disguise, and had mistaken him for wizarding Ron, the famous Auror? Ron couldn't tell.

Once they were outside the shop, with Hermione once again in disguise, Ron looked around for any eavesdroppers, then commented: "He didn't seem to be overly concerned about the wand."

"Almost all British wizards use wands crafted by him or his ancestors," she replied. "Voldemort used one of his wands, as did most of his followers. It hasn't kept him from crafting wands that will fit a dark wizard."

"Ah." He thought for a moment. "He seemed to imply that wands have a will of their own."

"Yes." She frowned a little. "I haven't looked into wandlore enough to be able to confirm or disprove his claim. It could be true - I certainly have seen stranger things in the magical world - but it could also be superstition."

It was his turn to snort. "Superstition among wizards and witches - that sounds weird."

"We're humans. Humans are prone to see patterns everywhere, and while that helped us a great deal in understanding nature, it also created a lot of superstition."

That sounded logical. On the other hand, magic wasn't very logical, in Ron's experience. "So, where are we going now?"

"The Apothecary," she said. "I need a few potions. I do hope they sell them there - if not, we'll have to visit Knockturn Alley."

"That's the bad part of the Alley, right?" She had mentioned it before.

"It was when I was at Hogwarts. It might have changed - but I doubt it," she replied.

He nodded. And noted, to himself, that she hadn't asked her friends if Knockturn Alley had changed. So she didn't want them to know about this. If they had to go there in the first place, of course.

As they walked down the Alley, Ron had the impression that there were more people out and about than before - and many of them not wearing robes or cloaks, but trousers and coats. Not very magical, in his opinion. Until they passed the entrance to a wider than normal side alley. The area here was practically deserted. "Knockturn Alley, I presume," he said.

"Yes."

He glanced at it. It looked a little darker. Dingier. And the shops he could see didn't have bright displays - most had sturdy walls and small, dark windows. "Not exactly inviting."

"It isn't. Most people live there because they can't live and work elsewhere - for a variety of reasons."

Most of them bad, he guessed. But they had reached the Apothecary, and he dropped the subject.

Diagon Alley, London, Wizarding World, December 23rd, 2005

"...and that'll be fifty Galleons, ten Sickles and five Knuts," the sales clerk - or should that be saleswitch? - announced after ringing up Hermione's purchases up on an antique-looking register.

Ron watched her as Hermione pulled out her purse. No question about whether they'd pay with a card or cheque, of course - Wizarding Britain didn't use such means of payment. Cash only. Coins only, to be precise.

As Hermione started to count out the Galleons, the other witch's eyebrows rose slightly - was she surprised that they had the means? Fifty Galleons was a hefty sum, Ron had found out, even though the economy of Wizarding Britain was so different that just going by the exchange rate at Gringotts would be misleading.

And they weren't wearing expensive clothes - not even robes. Just comfortable casual muggle clothes.

"...and five Knuts," Hermione finished counting out the sum and pushed it over to the clerk. "Here."

"Thank you! Please come again!" the other witch replied with all the honesty of a used car salesman who had suddenly realised that a customer was actually not wasting their time by asking for the most expensive vehicles.

"These should last us a while," Hermione told her with a nod. "But I'll be sure to return once I need to buy more."

As soon as they had left the Apothecary, her polite smile vanished. "Fat chance of that," she muttered. "I'll brew instead of buying."

"Oh?"

She glanced at him. "I was among the best in our year in Potions. Their stock isn't bad, but I could do better."

"I wasn't doubting you," he explained. "Just wondering why you bought the potions in the first place."

"Because I don't have the laboratory needed to brew potions yet, and brewing in bulk would take a significant amount of time - probably longer than Grindelwald's patience would last." She snorted and added: "And I'm a little out of practice, too, of course."

He nodded - that made sense. "So, we've got all we need to fulfil our part of the bargain?"

"Not quite." She frowned as she tapped her beaded bag. "The potions here will take care of most of Dumbledore and Grindelwald's ailments, but in order to significantly extend their life expectancy, they need potions that the Apothecary doesn't sell."

He raised his eyebrows. "That sounds a little illegal."

"Yes." She frowned again. "Ricklestorf's Restoration Potion. It's restricted because brewing it requires very rare ingredients - St Mungo's is supposed to have the whole supply available to treat certain dark curses that sap a victim's health."

"And that potion can rejuvenate people?"

"Technically, no," she told him. "But it'll strengthen your body for a while - with rapidly diminishing returns as you take further doses."

"I can see how that would lead to restricting its sale." Rich people would pay a fortune. And they'd need even more of the potion for even smaller gains...

"Yes. Any vial is worth a fortune on the black market. As are the ingredients."

"That means Knockturn Alley."

She nodded. "I wouldn't trust anyone there to sell us a genuine potion - they don't know us, so they won't fear retribution should they cheat us, and they might even suspect us of being undercover Aurors on a sting operation. But the ingredients? I should be able to buy them. At least the ones I'm missing."

"You have such rare ingredients already?"

"Phoenix feathers," she replied. "Dumbledore's - the Headmaster's - companion, Fawkes, was a phoenix and so we had a supply of them. To sell them for gold, if we needed the money."

"Ah." He imagined a phoenix getting plucked, and had to suppress a chuckle. You'd need gloves made from asbestos, probably. Or a whole suit.

They had returned to the entrance to Knockturn Alley by now, and Hermione entered it without the slightest hesitation. Ron gritted his teeth as he walked with her. Hags. Vampires. And Dark wizards. Its reputation might be overblown, but he doubted that it was by much. And while he hadn't been here before, he had been in similar areas in his world. Places where you didn't want to be recognised as a plainclothes police officer unless you had backup.

This Alley felt the same, just populated with wizards and witches. He blinked as he noticed something. They were now a little further in, where the locals were walking. And all of them were wearing robes. Very much unlike Diagon Alley, where the majority of the passers-by had worn normal clothes.

And judging by the looks of the locals he could spot, they were all aware of the fact that Ron and Hermione weren't wearing robes. And their sunglasses probably weren't very inconspicuous, either.

Damn.

"The locals don't like us," he muttered.

"I noticed," she replied, glancing around, judging by the way her head moved. "Fortunately, they don't have to like us to do business with us."

Ron met the eyes of either an ugly witch or a not so ugly hag, and they glared at each other for a moment before the woman bared her teeth - yellow, and rather sharper than a human's - and looked away. Had she been able to see through his shades, or had she just been posturing? He couldn't tell. "I think some of them disagree with you," he commented, fighting the urge to draw his gun and fire a few warning shots.

"We're not going to do business with them - just with a shop or two." Hermione scoffed. "And they would sell their own mother for enough gold."

"Well, you're the expert," Ron replied, staring at a wizard in a dark cloak who quickly entered a side alley.

"I haven't been here in over seven years," she said. "But some things don't change."

That didn't sound as reassuring as she probably had intended, Ron noted. "We could leave and return later with better disguises," he suggested. And probably a few more people.

"No, it's not far, and I doubt that they'll start anything in the middle of the afternoon. They didn't dare in my time, and I doubt that the DMLE has grown less effective since then."

He couldn't resist. "'In my time'?"

She snorted and said with a grin: "It's a figure of speech."

"Commonly used by old people."

"Sometimes I feel old," she replied.

He didn't have an answer for that, and before he could think of one, she turned. "Let's go. The sooner we're done, the sooner we're gone."

"Alright."

He still couldn't help feeling as if he would be shot - cursed - in the back at any moment, and then they reached a decrepit-looking shop. The windows were so dirty, you couldn't look inside - something the owner must have intended. And there was a faint stench in the air...

"'Penny's Potions'," Hermione said. "Not as infamous as 'Borgin and Burkes', but still a shady shop."

"I'm feeling better and better about this," Ron commented. It was as bad as the time he and Harry had posed as criminals for a meeting with drug smugglers. He hoped that this would end better.

She pressed her lips together and pushed the door open. "Ew."

The smell - no, the stench - hit Ron's nose a moment later, and he couldn't help groaning in response.

"Oh, sorry!" Hermione flicked her wand, and the stench disappeared. "Bubble-Head Charm," she said, "it'll keep gases and smells out."

"Thank you." That would have been incredibly useful several times in his and Harry's career. But if they hadn't smelled the petrol, they'd probably have died in that affair in the East End.

He shook his head and focused on their surroundings. The store was, once again, not any bigger inside, and crammed full of shelves - there wasn't enough room to push a shopping cart through. And the things on the shelves…

"Penny's the best when it comes to animal parts," Hermione told him.

"Indeed, I am," a raspy voice said from the curtain behind the counter. "And I see my reputation has even spread to muggleborns." The cloth slid to the side and a hag appeared, yellow teeth bared in a crooked smile. "Welcome to my shop."

Ron felt a shudder run down his spine. The hag looked as trustworthy as a drug-addicted politician.

"Good afternoon," Hermione replied. Ron merely nodded.

"What brings the likes of you to such a disreputable shop? Are you, perhaps, looking for the kind of goods that aren't sold elsewhere? Exotic and rare goods?"

"Yes," Hermione told her. "I need a unicorn horn."

"It's illegal to sell anything but unicorn hair, and even that's restricted to licensed specialists and wandmakers," Penny told them.

"The 1981 Magical Creatures Preservation Act only forbade the sale of newly harvested body parts. Unicorn horns aren't perishable goods. I'm looking for a horn harvested before it became illegal to do so."

Penny cackled. "That was changed four years ago, dearie. It's now illegal to sell any unicorn parts no matter their age. Been out of touch for a while, hm?"

"I left during the war," Hermione told her.

"Really." The hag's lips drew back in a toothy, leering smile that made Ron shudder.

"Yes."

Hermione and the hag stared at each other for a moment.

"And you're willing to buy one anyway," Penny said.

Hermione cocked her head and shrugged.

"Restricted goods are very expensive. If there were any for sale, that is," the hag added.

"Yes." Hermione patted her beaded bag. "Money is no object."

The hag's smile turned into a sneer as she stared at them, misshapen eyes flicking back and forth between Ron and Hermione. "You know what they say about offers that you can't refuse?"

"No?" Hermione cocked her head again.

"They're usually poisoned," Penny hissed. "Get out! I'm not selling to Auror stooges!" she yelled.

Ron drew a hissing breath. This was bad.

"We're not Aurors!" Hermione protested, taking a step forward.

"Let's leave," Ron told her. "Now."

"What?" She turned to him.

"I said get out, Aurors!" Penny growled. "I don't do business with your kind!"

"Look, we just need…"

"Let's go!" Ron hissed. "Now!"

"But…" Hermione looked at the hag once more, then shook her head. "We're going."

"And don't come back!" the hag yelled after them.

"That could've gone better," Hermione said once they were outside.

"Yes," he replied. "But we're not out of the woods yet."

"What do you… oh."

There were four people staring at them, two in the entrance to a side alley across the street and one at each of the two corners on either side of them. He might not be an expert on magic, but he knew an ambush by thugs when he saw one.

She grabbed his arm. "Let's just apparate!"

Ron braced himself, but nothing happened.

"Anti-Apparition Jinx," Hermione muttered - and Ron saw their wands come out from under the ruffians' robes.

"Watch out!" he yelled, throwing himself to the side a moment before a red spell hit the wall behind him. He rolled over his shoulder and drew his gun as he came up. The wizard at the corner was still moving his wand around when Ron shot him twice in the chest. The man stared at him, mouth open as his wand fell from his fingers, and he started to collapse.

Then the entrance to the side alley across the street vanished in a cloud of smoke and dust. Rock splinters and a few cobblestones landed near him.

Damn. Ron turned - there was a fourth thug at the other corner. But the ruffian there was gaping at them, his wand pointing at the ground. Ron aimed. "Drop your wand!" he yelled.

Before the man could react, a red spell hit him, and he dropped to the ground.

Ron looked around. As the dust was settling, he could see that the entrance to the side alley had been turned into a small crater. One body was at the foot of the wall to the left, under a red smear. The other was a torn mess at the top of the crater.

No more threats.

Hermione shook her head. "Let me dispel the Anti-Apparition Jinx. Then we'll be off." In a lower voice, she added: "This is a disaster."

He nodded in agreement. This was a fine mess.

Then he heard footsteps. Someone was running towards them. Two figures came round the corner, wands up. Aurors.

He aimed at them out of reflex but didn't shoot. They were police officers.

One of them started to yell: "Department of Magical Law Enforcement! Drop…"

A red spell hit her, and she dropped in mid-sentence. The other Auror dodged to the side.

Then Hermione grabbed Ron's arm, and he felt as if he were squeezed through a narrow metal pipe.

She saw the Auror patrol pass below them, down in the Alley. They were looking left and right as they walked, but not up.

"Not the best and brightest, are they?" Ron commented.

She glared at him - they were on the roof, three stories up, but they could still be overheard.

"Oh, calm down, Hermione," he went on in a whisper. "Those are rookies. They can barely hold their wand the right way. Tonks told us about the recruitment drive, remember?"

She did. But that had been a year ago. Those below might have more experience. And they were now working for the enemy - the Ministry had been taken over.

And, she thought as she clenched her teeth, many of their employees had been quite eager to enforce the latest anti-muggleborn laws. They could take them out easily - they outnumbered the patrol, and they could cut across the roofs to ambush them, as soon as Harry's conjured snake got back with the book they needed. A few minutes at most, and Voldemort would lose two wands.

But those Aurors could also be among those who weren't bigots, just too ignorant or stupid to realise what had happened. Hermione didn't think the Death Eaters would send their most eager recruits to Knockturn Alley to patrol in the middle of the night - that was usually reserved for those who'd earned their superiors' displeasure.

On the other hand, stupid or not, they would enforce those evil laws either way. And it wouldn't help any of the muggleborns they might catch that these Aurors weren't bigots.

She pressed her lips together. No, there was no reason not to attack these two. "Once Harry's done, we'll take them out. Two fewer wands in the Dark Lord's service."

Ron seemed surprised for a moment before he nodded. "Right."