Albus' natural flamboyance had made it easy for him to find a low-class Muggle to imitate. When he and Minerva had begun to sort through the supply of Muggle clothes that the Ministry kept on hand for their interactions with Muggles he'd quickly been drawn to a purple coat and hat lined with purple fur. Minerva had managed to procure him a cane, and with the addition of a pair of slacks and a shimmering golden shirt, he looked very much like what the Muggles called a pimp.

Minerva had been far more of a challenge. Unfortunately for her, lower-class Muggle women had a tendency to dress in a manner that was so revealing it tended to be vulgar. Minerva was rather modest about her appearance and was not only too prudish to be comfortable with the idea of wearing much less than a full set of robes but did not have a high enough opinion of her own attractiveness to feel as though she could pull such clothing off to any degree. She'd spent her entire life around her sister and mother, both of whom were very pretty and dressed very well. Minerva had not been able to help but notice that both received a lot of male attention. She had never noticed the same for herself. She'd never noticed how much she looked like her mother (though people often told her so), nor that some men, especially the ones that found themselves spellbound by the utterly unique Minerva McGonagall, were more interested in a woman whose intelligence made itself even more obvious than her beauty.

Albus watched her out of the corner of his eye as she smoothed the fabric of her tight fitting clothing and dabbed at her make-up. It was a shame, in his opinion, to see someone so pretty in that much make-up. It was necessary for their masquerade, but she was made-up to the point that it was almost clownish and it detracted from her beauty.

"I think we are as ready as we will ever be," he said from behind her.

She turned and looked at him. "I wish this weren't necessary."

"I don't think it's so bad," he told her, adjusting the large plum colored feather protruding from the brim of his hat.

"You're wearing more than I am," she replied. "I don't enjoy looking like a . . . a prostitute. I can just imagine what my mother would say if she saw me in this . . . And I can't say I would disagree with her, for once. It's degrading."

Albus' face, changed some by the glamour charm, which had straightened his crooked nose, deprived him of his beard and changed other minor feature enough to make him recognizable only to those who looked carefully, softened. He approached Minerva quietly and placed his hand on her shoulder, much the way he had on occasion back when she was his student. There was something different about this gesture, however, and Albus was suddenly again reminded of the slight but monumental changes in Minerva over the past few years. Even without the bun and through the heavy make-up and clothing he could see it quite distinctly. In an odd sort of way, it was hard to connect this woman with the girl he had taught since she was eleven years old.

"You don't have to do this, you know. I asked you here as a favor. Neither Alastor nor I wants you doing something you don't feel completely comfortable doing."

Minerva's eyes bored hard into his, exasperation and a hard unyielding determination etched into their depths. He'd never seen her look so stern—and she had been an unusually serious student. "I came here because there is a job to do and more than one person seems to think that I would be of use. If I had found that I can do nothing constructive, then I would have already left. However, Alastor seems to think that it would be better if you had someone to guard your back and vise versa. I agree. Moreover, I've already stated my intent to help you. I will not be going anywhere until we have finished with Levings—no matter how much I detest my wardrobe. Now, I think we'd best get started."

"Of course," he agreed with a gentle smile, removing his hand from her shoulder. It seemed oddly sweaty. He concluded that this was likely because he was wearing a fur trimmed jacket in the middle of a rather warm Ministry storage area. It would stop when he got outside and was out from underneath a metal roof.

They emerged suddenly from the side of a large trash bin onto a Muggle street. The Muggles walked by casually, occasionally stopping places for whatever reason, never noticing the peculiar pair of people that had just suddenly appeared in an alley.

"Where to?" asked Minerva.

"The part of town where these attacks have been taking place for the most part is not far from here. I suggest we start there."

"Logical," Minerva agreed.

"Let's be off then," he said, and ever the gentleman, he offered her his arm.

Minerva considered the limb for a moment. She was uncertain how a pimp and his—God, how had she ever sunken this low?—whore would walk together. She knew a fair amount about Muggle culture but she was by no means an expert. Such little nuances were things that escaped her.

Another moment passed. On the one hand it seemed to formal a gesture for two such pieces of filth to engage in. After all, she knew this to be Albus' Victorian era manners to be rearing their head. Yet the fact that it was so formal made it seem almost plausible that two people like the ones they were pretending to be would engage in it. Stealing gestures like this seemed in character. After all, she doubted that actual pimps and prostitutes viewed themselves the way she viewed them.

With a slight bit of hesitation, she took his arm and they were off. She was quite pleased to note that her reaction to his touch, once a shiver that was so powerful he had at times questioned whether or not she was warm enough, was barely a tingle. A decade did wonders for one's reaction to such things. It was good to see how one could make an unrequited love fade with the right amount of distance. It was something she did not want t find herself tangled in again.

It did not take long for either Minerva or Albus to notice the disapproving stares that followed them. Albus felt Minerva grip on his arm tighten as she watched them back and he knew she was uncomfortable. He would have liked to have reassured her—taken her hand in a comforting gesture or some such but he knew doing that would be a mistake. He was supposed to be her pimp after all, not her friend.

Not her old Professor, he added silently to himself, and he wondered why that thought made him uncomfortable.

A man walked by, his child's hand in his own, and Albus could not help but notice how he stared at Minerva. It was as though she were meat on a rack. He found himself extremely tempted to bark at the man, to tell him off for staring a woman who had far better things to offer a man than the base things he was thinking of. The child, his large blue eyes looking around him with the wonder so characteristic and endearing of a child, stopped him from speaking.

"I wish they would stop staring," Minerva told him quietly.

"Just ignore them," he responded, and the thought occurred to him that he should be doing the same thing.

"I can't," she whispered, as her eyes followed and elderly woman with a cane. "Whenever I try that all of the sudden I hear Alastor's voice in my head telling me I should be constantly vigilant."

Albus nodded nearly imperceptibly. Alastor Moody was a bit paranoid, but not without good reason. In his line of work, people needed to watch their backs, lest they find it being hit by a curse. He and Minerva could not afford to simply ignore people. It might endanger their safety, and Albus would never forgive himself if something were to happen to Minerva. He'd asked her here as a favor, after all. He didn't want to be responsible for her getting hurt. He would never forgive himself.

There was another man staring at Minerva now. This one had no child yet wore a look identical to the one before him. Albus could not help himself.

"Stare for too long and I'll charge for that too," he barked at the man.

Shocked, the other man slunk quickly away, trying to avoid the gazes of other pedestrians.

Minerva was quite glad that she was wearing as much blush as she was. Fiery color had risen to her cheeks in embarrassment. She knew Albus had done that because she was uncomfortable with all of this, but the fact was that his method of execution—one that had been perfectly in character for what he was pretending to be—had made her even more uncomfortable. She would loved to have been able to forget what she was wearing and doing here, but everything about the situation made it impossible to forget.

As they continued to walk, the neighborhood around them began to become drastically different. It was less well taken care of, and the people did not stare as much. They were used to people like Albus and Minerva moving about.

Minerva found it strange how much more comfortable she was here, in this dirty, stinking mess of a neighborhood than she had been in the one they had passed through earlier. It was an odd sort of irony.

"Well, we've found where we're looking for," Albus noted as his sparkling blue eyes roved around the scenery. Minerva was careful to avoid staring too hard at them. She was still quite attracted to Albus, and she did not want her life repeating itself. The incident with Malcolm might have been years ago, but it was not pleasant to think about. She was far too fond of Alastor, and saw too much of a possibility for a relationship that was deep and meaningful, to want something like that to occur again. She was forewarned this time and that would save her, she knew.

"Indeed," Minerva agreed.

"The question is, where do we wish to station ourselves around here?"

"The Red Light District, of course."

Albus turned to stare at Minerva. He'd not been expecting that answer.

"I thought you were uncomfortable with your, er, undercover position."

Minerva let out a very short, very nervous laugh. "I am. I just want to do this right. We're dressed like these Muggles, we should act like them too."

Albus gazed worriedly at her. "Men will undoubtably be interested in your 'services,' my dear. What do you intend to do about that?"

A small smile appeared on Minerva's face. It was a look Albus knew well. It meant she was thinking something. "I'll just go with them."

Albus could hardly believe his ears. Had she just said what he thought she said? He felt his blood begin to burn at the idea. The idea . . . it wasn't right! He shook the feeling off. He knew Minerva better than this. There was more to this idea.

"And?"

"Memory Charm."

"Ah." Of course, it was the simplest solution. He wondered why he had not thought of it himself.

Probably because I prefer to make things more complex than they need to be, he thought with an inward chuckle. I do like a good puzzle.

And so they continued walking, looking for the Red Light District. It was not, unsurprisingly, overly hard to find.