My beta-readers, fredfred and InquisitorCOC, deserve a huge thank you. They helped a lot.

Chapter 47: The Healer

Somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean, January 3rd, 2006

For a group of people being smuggled into the USA, this was a very comfortable trip, Ron had to admit. He, Harry, Ginny, Sirius, Luna and Dumbledore didn't want for anything - the wizarding tent they were inside was spacious. Five bedrooms - wizarding Luna had called it 'the Weasley model', but she might have been joking - and a large living room, even an office on the side and a huge kitchen with a full larder.

On the other hand, knowing that they were in a magical tent, inside a magical trunk, in the cargo hold of an aeroplane, put a damper on it all. They couldn't leave the trunk - well, not without breaking it and dealing with the deadly lack of oxygen outside - they couldn't see out of the trunk and they had no idea what was happening. In theory, they might have been loaded on to the wrong plane and be on the way to Siberia. And the thought of the plane crashing sent shivers down Ron's spine - inside the trunk and tent, they wouldn't notice anything until they hit the ground.

"I have to say, this is by far the most comfortable trip to the United States I've taken in the last few decades," Dumbledore commented as if he had read Ron's thoughts.

"Not the most comfortable trip ever?" Ginny asked.

"That would've been my first trip, on a liner."

"Oh, you mean a ship," Luna said. "Of course, that would have been even more comfortable. Well, if you were travelling first class."

"I was, actually - I had decided to 'upgrade' the accommodations Her Majesty's Government had seen fit to assign me." The old man smiled.

"Oh, a business trip?" Luna sounded eager to know more. "To the USA?"

"Nothing exciting - just a few meetings. There were some disagreements between the United Kingdom and the USA at the time, but I managed to settle most of them."

That would've been the Suez Crisis, Ron thought. Probably - given Dumbledore's past, it could've been anything and might still be classified.

Luna sighed and leaned back in her seat. "You're not going to tell tales."

Dumbledore merely inclined his head.

"Phooey."

"Well, it's certainly the most comfortable trip for me. When I took a ship to America, I wasn't travelling in quite the same style."

"That was in 1982, and you were on a troop transport," Harry pointed out. "To the Falklands, not the USA."

"It's still the same continent," Sirius retorted. "Although I had a tank with me, something we're lacking here."

"We're not going to war," Ron told him.

"Close enough. Hermione told us that the Free Republic of Maine and Vermont has just fought a war against Magical Québec," Sirius replied. "A tank could come in handy. Especially if we're travelling in the USA, where everyone's armed."

"That assumption is actually quite far from the truth," Dumbledore said. "The vast majority of Americans do not walk around armed."

Sirius, of course, was sticking to his guns. Or tank, in this case. "Better safe than sorry, I say. And they drive on the wrong side of the road as well - another reason to use a tank."

He wasn't serious. At least not really serious. But Ron was a little sick of the 'argument'. Even if it did take his mind off of aeroplane crashes. He checked his watch. A few more hours until John F. Kennedy Airport. Then the connecting flight to Portland. And Hermione and Luna - the only ones with legal passports in their group - would have to find a hotel room before they could let them out. All in all, probably ten to twelve more hours.

Perhaps he should've taken the risk and used his own passport. It was genuine, if not of this world. And comparing it with Hermione's hadn't shown any differences. But wizarding Ron wouldn't have applied for a passport, and ever since 9/11, the Americans had become quite strict about checking IDs. He didn't fancy being mistaken for a terrorist. Or having Hermione and wizarding Luna mind wipe - obliviate, he reminded himself - American customs officers or whatever agency was handling ID checks this year.

"Well, maybe you're right. A tank might be overkill for Magical Maine. Losing a war against the French? Even worse, the American French?" Sirius scoffed. "That's embarrassing!"

If Hermione were here, she'd certainly correct the other man. Ron didn't feel like arguing any more. He faked a yawn and went inside his room to take a nap.

There was no need to arrive tired, after all.

Portland, Maine, United States of America, January 4th, 2006

"Ron?"

That was Hermione! Ron was up and out of the tent in a second. There she was, looking down into the extended trunk. He waved. "Hey!"

"Hey."

Wizarding Luna's head appeared next to Hermione's. "Hi, there!"

"Everything's OK?" he asked as he climbed up the steep stairs in the trunk.

"Ah, yes." Hermione nodded. "We're in Portland, in a hotel, just as planned. It took a little longer than we thought, though - traffic was bad." She grimaced for a moment. "And I think that the cab driver took the scenic route."

"I didn't mind - I've never been to Portland," wizarding Luna remarked.

They were in a modest hotel room - just big enough for two young women travelling the States on a budget. The shades had been pulled down, so no one could spot them through the windows. That wouldn't stop bugs, of course, but chances that someone had bugged a room in a randomly chosen hotel were slim.

They'd still check for bugs, of course. You could never be sure.

"We're on the first floor," wizarding Luna told him. "Facing the street."

"Good!" Harry was climbing out of the trunk, followed by Ginny. "Well, it doesn't look like we'll be spending a lot of time here," he commented.

Ginny snorted. "Any smaller, and it would fit into a trunk. Without magic."

Well, Ron's little sister was more than a little spoilt by her experiences as a pro tennis player on tour. He was about to comment on that, but Hermione wrapped her arm around him.

Luna joined them hopping on the bed - there wasn't much room left for anyone to stand around. "Oh… not as springy as I hoped."

"I could change that," wizarding Luna told her, raising her wand.

"No, Luna," Hermione said.

"Phooey."

"Ginny's right, though," Luna said. "It's a really small room. They're ripping you off if you're paying for two."

"See," Sirius said as he reached the top of the stairs, "That's why we should have gone with my suggestion and rented a suite in a luxury hotel. You should never skimp on lodgings if you can afford it!"

"We've got a luxury suite in the tent," Hermione pointed out. "This is just a cover."

"It's the principle of the thing," Sirius retorted. "Spend enough time in a cold, wet small tent on a godforsaken piece of penguin-infested rock in the Southern Atlantic, and you'd agree with me, I'm certain."

"Dr Granger is correct that two young women of no apparent wealth renting a luxury suite would draw attention we could do without." Dumbledore joined them but didn't leave the stairs. "Although I do suggest holding our meeting in the tent. My knees are much better than they were, but I don't fancy spending a meeting sitting cross-legged on a bed."

Ron snorted at the mental picture but nodded. It was a small room, after all, and he could cuddle with Hermione later. And in their room in the tent.

They didn't have much to discuss anyway. Although sorting out who was staying in the muggle part of Portland and who would enter Magical Portland with Hermione and wizarding Luna might take some time.

Magical Quarter, Portland, Free Republic of Maine and Vermont, January 5th, 2006

Portland's Magical Quarter didn't look like Ron had expected. He had expected something like Diagon Alley or the Alte Strasse - quaint, medieval-looking buildings lining narrow alleys filled with wizards and witches.

There were old buildings, true. But many of them didn't seem to have anyone living in them. It looked like more windows and doors were boarded up than not - and that wasn't counting the numerous ruins. And the residents… there was no crowd, just a few groups, and more individuals, on the streets, and all of them looked harried. As if they expected an attack at any moment. Or were looking for an opportunity to attack...

"This does look a lot like Berlin just after the war," Dumbledore commented.

"When was the war with Québec again?" Ron asked.

"It ended six years ago," Hermione replied. She looked surprised as well. "I didn't think it would still be this bad."

"Diagon Alley was in much better shape," Luna commented. "Two more years shouldn't make such a difference. Not after all this time."

Ron wondered when Luna had visited Diagon Alley - probably with the wizarding Lovegoods between Christmas and the New Year's. But she was correct. Why was the capital of Magical Maine in such a state? "Didn't they win the war?"

"Technically, yes," wizarding Luna said. "But they lost a lot of people in the fighting, and they didn't have too many to begin with, not after conscription."

Ron refrained from whistling. That must have been a very bloody war.

"Still, our war was bloody as well…" Hermione said.

"Well, we didn't lose as many people, proportionally, but Kingsley and the others also worked very hard to rebuild Britain," wizarding Luna told her.

"Ah." Hermione looked a little more pensive than Ron would have expected.

"Well, if the situation in the Republic is as bad as it seems, monetary incentives should be very effective in acquiring a Healer's services," Dumbledore said.

"Given how mobile wizards and witches are," Luna countered, "and how sought-after Healers apparently are, any Healers remaining might not be motivated by money at all."

Dumbledore tilted his head a little. "In my experience, everyone is motivated by money - if only for the goods and services you can buy with it. For yourself or for others. Rare is the person who both desires nothing and does not care about others less fortunate than themselves. And I dare say that anyone who stays here to help others wouldn't turn down a generous reward for a small service."

"Some of the wizards and witches cannot easily move to another country," wizarding Luna pointed out. "They might be wanted wizards and too well known to disappear in a crowd." With a frown, she added: "Although we're currently proving that disguises work, so, perhaps, they could've disappeared if they wanted to."

"You mean war criminals?" Hermione asked.

"Or present or former members of the government," wizarding Luna replied.

"Not that one would preclude the other - quite the contrary," Luna added.

Dumbledore seemed to be amused. "In that case, we might want to contact the local leaders, If our own recruitment efforts are not successful."

Ron had no doubt that the old man knew exactly how to handle corrupt warmongering 'leaders'. And make deals with them or their underlings. Pinochet was just the most infamous example of the kind of people the United Kingdom had dealt with during Dumbledore's career in MI6.

Hermione frowned, though. "The people ruling over this country don't seem to be the sort of people with whom we might want to make a deal."

"That depends on the deal," Dumbledore pointed out. "In my experience, it's as easy to enable a dictator as it is to rein one in." His smile widened a little.

"But they will be looking to betray you in turn," Hermione said. "And once they realise that there's an entire world full of muggles without magic to defend it…"

"An irresistible lure for certain people, indeed, I think," the old man said. "The sort of people not many would miss. Obliviating them shouldn't pose a moral challenge, either."

Once more, Ron told himself that he should have seen this coming. Acceptable targets for Obliviation - or even murder. And a war-torn country where even those who'd care about a criminal's disappearance wouldn't have the resources to investigate.

"Ah." Luna smiled widely. "So you might not only help yourself but the people of Maine and Vermont as well."

"In a small but perhaps significant way, depending on who we might find," the old man confirmed.

"First, we need to find a Healer," Hermione interjected. "Preferably without drawing attention or further wrecking the area." She was eyeing the two Lunas as she spoke, so Ron looked at Sirius.

The other man frowned at him. "I'm the soul of discretion. If I choose to be. Which I do, right now, of course."

Ron snorted, but let matters lie. Compared to Luna and wizarding Luna, Sirius had behaved in an exemplary manner.

"Let's look for Healer's office," Hermione said, turning to face the street.

"What about a clinic?" Luna asked.

"A clinic will be too well-guarded," Hermione said. "We'd be asked all sorts of questions."

And that would threaten their cover.

They started walking down the street. Ron couldn't help feeling as if he were part of a patrol in a war movie, with all the ruins around and the passers-by giving them a wide berth.

"Couldn't they have repaired the destroyed buildings with magic?" Sirius asked, staring at a particularly flattened building. As with other such patches, no plants seemed to grow on the ruins.

"They could, and probably did," Hermione replied. "But it's hard work - the Mending Charm only repairs so much per casting. If you're an average wizard, at least. But I would've expected the government to pass out abandoned lots to people interested in rebuilding. This is the capital of the Free Republic, after all. There should be a demand for shops or homes located here."

That made sense. Although…

"There should. But I expect that those who own the land but have no intention to invest and rebuild bribed the government to keep their assets," Luna said. "Perhaps they hope that prices will rise once others have rebuilt the Alley and the economy picks up."

"Or they are afraid that there'll be another war, and don't trust the government to protect them," wizarding Luna added. "They did lose a lot of people."

"And it doesn't take many wizards and witches to start a guerrilla war - or a reign of terror," Hermione pointed out.

And wasn't that a chilling thought?

"Well, there are no Healers advertising their services," wizarding Luna summed up after they had walked up and down the street. "There's also no ice cream parlour, no Quidditch Supplies and no independent newspaper. Obviously, the government of the Republic is unable to provide its people with the bare essentials."

"And there are no Healers advertising in the 'Maine Monitor'," Luna added, holding up the newspaper they had purchased on the way. "There's not much advertising at all, actually - only government propaganda."

"Without a second, trusted source, we cannot determine to what extent the newspaper is misrepresenting the facts," Dumbledore pointed out.

"I know lies and government propaganda when I see them," Luna retorted with a frown.

Ron refrained from commenting - he knew that Luna thought that all governments lied all the time. Although she might be correct with regards to the Free Republic of Maine and Vermont. The pictures and articles in the newspaper, at least the ones he had skimmed, didn't match up with the state of the country's capital. Wizards might be different from muggles, but not so different as to let the centre of their economy lie in ruins when things were going well.

"Well, you can't open a newspaper or turn on the tv without finding either," Sirius agreed.

"Discussing the local government's failures doesn't help us find a Healer," Hermione said. "We'll have to ask a resident."

"And hope they won't report us when we don't want to head to the state clinic," Luna added. "There are always informants and snitches around, especially in areas like these."

"Indeed. It's almost like operating behind the old Iron Curtain," Dumbledore said. "Although I hope that the local authorities aren't quite as efficient as the old KGB or the Stasi. Evading their agents was always a very risky business."

Ron nodded. He didn't fancy facing wizarding agents - the sheer range of options magic granted them…

Hermione frowned. "We have to assume that they'll be on the lookout for spies."

Ron nodded. The political situation on the East Coast was supposed to be highly volatile, with most wizarding enclaves at odds with their neighbours and smaller wars flaring up every few years - at least. Well, they had expected that they would have to resort to slightly shady means. "Well, let's hope that if we meet a spy, they're susceptible to bribes."

Sirius snorted. "Looking at the state of the country, I'd be surprised if they weren't."

"I agree. But there's always a true believer, even in the worst circumstances," Dumbledore said. "We'll have to take our chances."

And be prepared to fight their way out, if the worst came to the worst.

The capital of Magical Maine might not have an ice cream parlour, but it certainly had plenty of dives. Dives that made the Leaky Cauldron look sophisticated. The one they had entered - 'Lobster's Paradise' according to a faded sign sporting a lobster with a broken-off claw above the entrance - was one of the better-looking ones. Which meant it would have fit perfectly into a pirate movie. Right down to the patrons eyeing their group as if they were wondering if they could take them. These people didn't look harried at all.

"We might be slightly overdressed," Sirius commented as they walked to a free table. "I knew I should've picked my set of rags today."

Ron chuckled at the joke, but Hermione replied: "Muggle clothes are perfectly fine. The Republic was founded by muggleborns and is proud of their heritage."

Well, they might not have much else to be proud of, Ron thought, given the state of the enclave.

"Unless they think that we're pureblood spies in disguise," Dumbledore pointed out.

That would be bad. Ron was glad they had a privacy charm running.

The table was a little too exposed for his liking, but at least they had a wall to one side. Hermione, wizarding Luna and Dumbledore sat down on that side. Their two witches, and the oldest of their group. Ron didn't like sitting down with his back to the tavern, but better him than the others. And he could keep an eye on the corner table to the side - he really didn't like the way the three men there were looking at them. Thugs, for sure. Robbers, probably. Or worse.

The waiter approached them with a limp. He had a peg leg, Ron realised as the man reached them, and the hand holding the wand he used to clean the table was covered in scars. "What'll it be?" Judging by the gravelly voice, the man's throat had been damaged as well.

"Ah, we'd like a…" Dumbledore started coughing. Quite loudly and for several seconds. Had he caught a magical malady? Or a curse? If they had to find a Healer… Ron blinked. Oh, of course. "Sorry," Dumbledore went on, clearing his throat. "An old ailment I never got treated correctly." Another cough, then Dumbledore ordered a fire whisky.

Quite an oblique approach.

They quickly ordered - the tavern didn't have much of a selection - and the waiter headed to the kitchen. "Can we trust the food here?" Sirius asked.

"You never asked that in London," Ron told him, "no matter where we ate." And some of those locations had been very dubious.

"If you've survived Army rations, you can eat anything," the older man replied. "But I'm not sure whether or not that covers magical food."

"Usually, muggles are immune to magical maladies," Hermione explained. "Though if the kitchen's as clean as the rest of the tavern, they might not pass an inspection."

"It would give us another reason to look for a Healer," Luna pointed out.

"That is true, although I would prefer not to become sick for real," Dumbledore interjected. "Is there a spell to disinfect food?"

Hermione winced. "I only know a spell that turns the food into stale but safe mush. Edible, but…"

"I see. And, leaving the desire to eat tasty food aside, the good owners of this tavern might take offence to such a blatant display of our trust, or lack thereof, in them." The old man smiled.

"I don't think the food will be bad," wizarding Luna said. "But I know a spell to test that without harming the target. It's very useful on an expedition."

"Oh. Could you demonstrate it?" Hermione leaned forward with an eager expression.

"Of course. It's all in the…"

Ron cleared his throat. "Perhaps later?" He didn't want to annoy the locals more than they had already done.

Hermione actually flushed a little. "Right."

Ron looked round. The other patrons weren't openly staring at them any more, but he didn't miss that they were still keeping an eye - or more - on their table. "I don't think they get many visitors here," he said in a low voice.

"It doesn't look like it," Hermione agreed. "And most of the visitors will probably be mercenaries - or spies."

"Or bounty hunters," wizarding Luna added.

"Bounty hunters?"

"Hunting war criminals," Ron said. "Harry's counterpart mentioned them, remember?"

"Ah, right." Sirius nodded, though Ron couldn't tell if the man actually did remember.

"Then let's hope that the resident independent Healers aren't wanted men," Dumbledore commented, "or they might misinterpret our interest in them."

Ron nodded in agreement. That would be a dangerous and potentially costly misunderstanding. He didn't want to fight a group of wizards if he could avoid it.

"Well, we could claim we are bounty hunters after someone else," wizarding Luna said with a smile. "Someone who isn't in the country. The resident wizards and witches won't feel threatened then."

"Unless they think we're likely to go after targets of opportunities," Luna retorted. "Or would that be 'marks of opportunity'?" She cocked her head and looked at Ron.

He shrugged. "I'm not familiar with wizarding bounties," he replied. Now, Star Wars, on the other hand...

Hermione hadn't spoken up, so she didn't know either, but wizarding Luna nodded. "I think that would be correct."

"Bounty hunter nomenclature is fascinating, I'm sure," Sirius commented, "but it's still a risk, even if we know of a 'safe' mark. Actually, do we?"

"Well, there are a few of Grindelwald's more well-known Storm Wizards still at large," Hermione said, "but I can't immediately recall their names."

"What about Death Eaters?" Ron asked.

"All the famous ones are accounted for," she replied.

"Oh, yes," wizarding Luna agreed. "Harry and the others were very thorough."

"Claiming that we're hunting a Death Eater might also lead the locals to assume that we have close ties to the British Ministry," Dumbledore said. "That might not be advisable if we want this to be kept a secret."

In Ron's opinion, their counterparts must already suspect what they were doing, but the old man was correct.

The waiter returned to the table with a floating tray that looked very impressive, at least to Ron. The food, though, looked as if Hermione had cast her sterilising spell or whatever name it had already on it: mushy potatoes and what looked like ground meat that had been ground too much. He dug a fork into it and noticed that the consistency of meat and side dish was the same.

"It's safe to eat," wizarding Luna announced. "At least from a medical point of view."

Ron lifted his fork with a mouthful, blowing on it so he wouldn't burn his tongue, and tried it. It didn't taste as bad as he had feared - but that was a low bar to clear. Even Hermione's MREs tasted better, in his opinion. And to think that Harry and Ginny were dining in one of Portland's best restaurants...

At least the beer, contrary to everything he had heard about American brands, was decent.

Dumbledore faked a few more coughing bouts during the meal, and once again when he generously tipped the waiter.

"You should get that looked at," the wizard told him.

"Yes, he should," wizarding Luna cut in before Dumbledore could reply. "He'll scare away the wildlife if he doesn't get it treated. Although I think we could probably cast a Silencing Charm on him."

"You're hunters?" the waiter asked.

"They're hunters," wizarding Luna told him. "I'm just here for a good story for my book."

"Oh?"

Ron forced himself not to wince. It seemed Luna's counterpart had decided to adjust their backstory without telling them.

"Yes! I've got the title already: 'Bagging a Big Foot'!" She beamed at the wizard.

"Provided we manage to catch one," Dumbledore added, smoothly going along with her story.

"If you fail, it'll be 'Bagged by the Big Foot," she replied with a toothy smile.

The waiter laughed. "Gutsy, aint'cha? Not many dare hunt Big Foots."

"We don't lack bravery," Dumbledore replied. "Nor stubbornness. And I am quite sure we can handle a Big Foot." Then he coughed again.

"But we lack a Healer," Hermione said with a frown. "We should've hired one, but…" She shrugged.

"Ah." The waiter nodded slowly.

"It's just a cough; it'll pass," Dumbledore replied.

"You said that a week ago," Ron joined in.

Instead of answering, Dumbledore coughed again.

"You really should get that looked at," the waiter said. He wasn't quite taking a step back, but he was eyeing the rest of them with sudden apprehension.

"It's not contagious," Sirius said. "Just annoying."

Another snort.

"That's why I wanted to hire a Healer," Hermione repeated herself.

The waiter cleared his throat. Ron saw that he was fingering his purse. "Well, if you're looking for a Healer, you could ask Old Abe."

"Old Abe?" Dumbledore cocked his head.

"Abraham Rosengarten. He's a local. He won't join you on a hunt, of course - certainly not a Big Foot hunt - but he can treat your cough." The waiter grinned.

Dumbledore flashed another Galleon between his fingers. "And where might we find him?"

"Two alleys down, then left. Green door with a snake on it."

Dumbledore flipped the coin towards the wizard, who snatched out of the air and stashed it in his purse. "Thank you kindly."

"You have our thanks," Dumbledore replied.

"You might have saved our hunt," Hermione added.

"Well…" wizarding Luna tilted her head slightly. "He would've made good bait, at least."

The waiter chuckled at that, nodded at them, and left their table for the bar, where an apparent regular was clamouring for service.

Well, they had a name and a location. Time to go and see if it was the real deal.

"Luna!" Hermione hissed as soon as they had left the tavern and cast another privacy charm, "What were you thinking?"

Wizarding Luna looked surprised. "Thinking?"

"About making up a cover story without telling us."

"Oh." The witch blinked. "When I realised that it was the perfect cover for us, it was too late to tell you - I was just quick enough to beat Mr Dumbledore's response." She nodded with a smile at the old man.

"It was a good idea, I think," Dumbledore told her with a smile of his own. "The attention of the others shifted noticeably after our talk. They showed less suspicion than before. Although some of them seemed a little nervous."

Ron frowned - he hadn't noticed that. He had been focused on wizarding Luna, Dumbledore and the waiter. Sloppy.

"Of course. Hunting Big Foots is very dangerous," wizarding Luna said. "Not many would risk it since the shamans are protecting them. And there's the risk of mistaking a Wendigo for a Big Foot, which is usually fatal. And there's the Big Foot's death curse, though its existence hasn't yet been proven to be more than a rumour."

"Oh?" Sirius asked.

"Yes. It's usually hard to determine if someone was killed by the curse, or by the bounty hunters the shamans tend to send after those hunters who manage to escape their lands," wizarding Luna explained. "Would they have been able to avoid death at the hands of a bounty hunter if they hadn't been cursed? Or is it just coincidence?"

"There's no such thing as coincidence," Luna cut in.

"So, they think we're foolhardy hunters," Hermione summed up.

The other witch nodded. "Yes. People brave enough to risk a battle with shamans and bounty hunters - and people ruthless enough to kill Big Foots." She smiled. "They shouldn't bother us."

Hermione sighed. "You make it sound as if they think we're unicorn poachers."

Wizarding Luna beamed at her. "That's actually pretty close. Big Foots were once revered as manifestations of the forest spirits, you know? At least by some tribes, though I'm actually not sure if they survived the seventeenth century. The tribes, not the Big Foots."

"It's a very good thing we're disguised," Hermione said with a sigh. "First a unicorn horn, now hunting Big Foots. If Harry and Ron hear about this…"

Ron nodded in agreement. That wouldn't help their reputation - nor Hermione's friendship.

"Should we expect interference from these 'shamans'?" Dumbledore asked. "If, that is, they hear about our stated plans."

"That might be possible," wizarding Luna told him, "though I doubt that any spy for the Tribal Nations will risk their cover by striking at us here. Not when they could simply warn their homelands instead so we can be ambushed at the borders."

"How comforting," Hermione said with a frown - she obviously hadn't gotten over wizarding Luna's improvisation.

"It's better than being mistaken for spies ourselves," Luna retorted, frowning at Hermione. "It's easier to deal with a spy who cannot afford to be discovered than with the local authorities."

Hermione pressed her lips together. "We could've picked another creature to hunt," she said.

"I picked the most dangerous, to show that we aren't to be trifled with," wizarding Luna explained.

"Or they think we're suicidal fools," Hermione countered.

"No one wants to fight suicidal fools," Sirius cut in. "Trust me - my old regiment learned that the hard way in Iraq."

Ron cleared his throat. "Shall we check on Old Abe?"

"I think that would be the best course of action," Dumbledore agreed. "It's why we came here, after all."

A decision Ron was starting to have second thoughts about. Maine was certainly very far from Britain - and isolated enough diplomatically that they wouldn't have to fear being recognised and causing an international incident, or trouble with the British Ministry - but the country hadn't recovered very much from the last war, or so it seemed. This area certainly hadn't. And the side alley they entered was deserted - though Ron was sure that they were being watched from the shuttered windows.

"Oh, that Belfast feeling..." Sirius muttered.

"You were never in Belfast on patrol," Ron told him.

"Well, friends of mine were. And now I know how they felt."

Ron snorted at that, though privately, he agreed with the older man's statement - he felt far tenser than in Knockturn Alley. Well, not counting the moment he had spotted the ambush.

They reached a green door with a snake. "How very Slytherin," Hermione commented.

"Do you think he's a former Slytherin?" wizarding Luna asked.

"He might be a British expatriate," Hermione replied. "Although Rosengarten isn't a pureblood name, he could've been a half-blood in Slytherin. Although snakes and green are both traditional symbols for Healing."

Ron hoped that it was the latter - what he had heard of the Slytherins hadn't impressed him.

Hermione knocked on the door, then took a step back as the snake painted on it slithered off.

"Oh! A painting as a doorman!" wizarding Luna exclaimed. "Like Hogwarts, in a way."

But the door didn't magically open. They were left standing in the alley, waiting, and Ron felt as if someone was aiming at him. What if this was a trap? The waiter sent unsuspecting marks to a so-called Healer, only for them to disappear…

He looked around, checking the shuttered windows. Good firing positions, though he didn't know if the gaps were wide enough for spells to pass through. He'd have to assume that they were, then - as Moody had taught him. Great.

But after another minute, the snake returned and the door swung open, revealing a wooden staircase - narrow and steep. Another natural choke point and location for an ambush. Hermione, undaunted, took point at once, and Ron hastened to follow her. He hoped the Lunas would bring up the rear.

Upstairs, another door swung open, revealing a large room with fine, but old, wooden furniture - a massive desk, covered with parchment, large, old-fashioned armchairs and a single couch. And a man who looked even older than Dumbledore. Bald, thick, round glasses and thicker white eyebrows, and a pale green robe with that old Healer symbol, the snake around the staff, on his chest.

"Mr Rosengarten, I presume?" Hermione said.

The old man nodded. "Yes, you're correct. And whom have I the pleasure of addressing?"

He didn't have a British accent, but that wouldn't mean anything at his apparent age. Though the large building with about two dozen children in front of it on that picture on the wall didn't look like Hogwarts.

"You can call me Smith. Percival Smith," Dumbledore replied with a smile.

"You're my patient?"

"If you agree to my offer, I'll be one of two patients," Dumbledore replied. "The other isn't here - some travelling is required."

"A fake name, and a trip?" Rosengarten shook his head. "That doesn't sound like a good offer. It actually sounds like a very dangerous offer. The kind of offer only a fool would accept."

"Oh, an Obliviation of the trip's specifics would also be mandatory," Dumbledore cheerfully added.

"If that's a joke, it's in bad taste," Rosengarten replied with a deep frown.

"We would pay in advance, of course, allowing you to make arrangements to ensure we cannot cheat you," Dumbledore continued as if he hadn't even noticed the man's mood. "And we're offering a very generous sum for a rather standard treatment. Nothing illegal, I can assure you. What do you say?"

Technically, the old man was correct. Technically.

"I don't have a need for more gold."

"We're talking enough gold to revitalise part of the street," Dumbledore told him.

Rosengarten glared at him. "Your offer is sounding even worse. If something's too good to be true, it's too good to be true."

"You can check the payment in advance," Dumbledore repeated himself, then nodded at Hermione, who pulled a small purse out of her beaded (and slightly disguised) bag. She stood and offered it to Rosengarten, though he merely nodded at his desk, so she dropped the purse on it.

The Healer hesitated a moment, then ran his wand over the bag. Ron tensed. If the man decided to curse them, Ron wouldn't be quick enough to stop him.

But whatever spells Rosengarten cast, they were aimed at the purse. After a few minutes, he nodded, then levitated the purse about a foot above the desk and upended it.

A few burgeoning bags fell out. A flick of Rosengarten's wand later, the desk was covered with galleons, and the old man drew a hissing breath. "This is… generous."

Dumbledore inclined his head, smiling widely. "And it's all yours if you help us."

"Who are you?" Rosengarten shot back. "With that much money, you could hire any Healer in Europe."

"We prefer more discretion," Dumbledore said. "As to my identity, well… I was born a Dumbledore."

Rosengarten wasn't the only one to gasp at this revelation.

She hadn't known that the Headmaster had a brother. She should have, she realised. She should have known a lot more about the Order. Investigated the members. Just in case the Headmaster was unable to contact them for her and her friends.

Like now. She pressed her lips together, looking at the obelisk that served as a tombstone for Dumbledore. And at the old man standing in front of it. Aberforth Dumbledore. The owner of the Hog's Head Inn. She had been inside that inn multiple times and never bothered to find out who the barman was. What if he had been a Death Eater spy? "I'm so stupid," she muttered.

"If you're stupid, what does that make us?" Ron replied in a low voice.

"Brain-dead?" Harry chuckled at his feeble joke.

"We should have known about this," she said. "About him. It wasn't a secret - everyone would've known. But I never asked anyone. Stupid." And arrogant.

"Well, now we know. That we need to be on our guard a little more, I mean," Ron pointed out. "It should serve as a good lesson."

It certainly would for her, Hermione knew. She wouldn't make the same mistake again.

"I guess Moody wasn't wrong about constant vigilance," Harry said.

The old wizard turned to look at them. "Auror Moody's a disgruntled idiot," he snapped, and she wondered how he had overheard them. They needed to cast privacy charms on every occasion.

"Hey!" Ron said. "He's one of the best Aurors."

Aberforth Dumbledore's scoff made it abundantly clear what he thought of that achievement, but the old wizard didn't say anything.

"So, uh…" Harry trailed off. "Did Dumbledore - your brother - leave you any instructions concerning us?"

Another scoff. Then a disturbing smile appeared on the old man's face. "Indeed, something like that." After a moment, he went on: "Did Moody train you?"

"He did, but he didn't manage to finish our lessons," Harry said. "We learned a lot, though."

More scoffing. "Moody's an Auror. We're not trying to arrest the Death Eaters, are we? I'm going to teach you how to fight a war."

Hermione had the distinct feeling that her plans for the next few months had just been altered.