Chapter 1: Baby Post
Rowle tugged at the collar of his new woolen sweater. He hated muggle clothes. Despite the thorough washing they always felt dirty and prickly as though the feeling of hatred was mutual. The Grimmauld Place watches were hot, long and annoying. The Dark Lord had been posting Death Eaters outside the place for weeks and all they'd gotten was a glimpse of what might have been an elbow.
He smoothed his blond hair and walked to the corner to meet his stakeout buddy. There was a muffled crack from up the street and Fenrir Greyback strode out of the alleyway between two buildings. Fenrir was impressively built, tall and broad shouldered and unlike Rowle, who was wearing a thick woolen sweater during a heat wave, had managed to dress appropriately muggle in dark jeans, a grey T-shirt and boots.
"I like the haircut," Rowle said as Greyback approached and absentmindedly ran his hand through his new shorter greyish brown hair.
"Yeah," he muttered. "I thought it would make us less conspicuous. After that muggle asked if we were cult members I thought we might be more effective if we blended in better." Greyback shot a glance at Rowle as they walked around the corner of Grimmauld Place. "Speaking of conspicuous, you look insane Rowle. It's hot out and you're in a sweater and rain boots."
Rowle looked down at his outfit self-consciously, "It was the only thing that would fit. It's not my fault that muggle family we killed was full of short people." Fenrir let out a bark-like laugh and Rowle shot him a nasty look. "Besides, I even washed it and it still feels dirty. Muggles are disgusting."
Fenrir arched an eyebrow, "well, I'm sure it'd be much more sanitary if you just bought the clothes instead of stealing them from dead people." Fenrir smirked and put on a pair of darkly tinted spectacles.
"What are those?" Rowle asked quizzically.
"The Muggles call them 'Sunglasses'" Greyback beamed.
"They make you look like a prat."
Fenrir pushed the sunglasses down his nose, "I'm not the one in yellow wellies. Besides, I think they look cool."
"I still think you look like a prat," muttered Rowle, glowering at his rain boots as they walked.
Fenrir swatted Rowle in the chest, "Look at this."
He finally tore his eyes from his shoes and looked at the patch of lawn between numbers 11 and 13. Sitting in the grass stifling little hiccupy sobs with the contents of a zip lock baggy full of cheese crackers was a toddler. She was cherub faced with little halo of curly black hair, clearly pinned to her fluffy pink sweater was large white rectangle.
Fenrir hopped the fence surrounding number 12's little yard and jogged up to the little girl. A moment of panic punched Rowle in the gut when Greyback crouched down in front of the girl obscuring her from view. Rowle looked up and down the street adrenaline lighting his veins as his mind spun through what would happen if Greyback's legendary brutal nature reared its ugly head. The knot in his stomach relaxed as he watched Greyback straighten up and wipe away the big pearly tears on the little girls round cheeks.
Fenrir grinned, "look what I found Rowle. It's a baby addressed to Sirius Black." He reach up and pinched the kid's cheek. "And isn't it the cutest little baby ever?"
Rowle looked and the envelope pinned to the kid's sweater, "I think 'it's a she, Fen. You know all the pink kinda gives it away."
Fenrir shot Rowle a menacing look, "The Dark Lord said to report back when we found anything. I'd say we found something. You stay here and watch for signs of Potter or that Mudblood he's with and I'll go see what the Dark Lord thinks of our little visiter."
Rowle moaned, "but I don't want to stay here. It's hot and these clothes are itchy. You look more muggle anyway . . ." but he didn't finish the sentence when he saw the look in Greyback's eyes. Rowle immediately backpedaled, "not MUGGLE exactly, I mean you're clearly a wizard, I just meant that you blend in better," said Rowle, "like a super spy or something."
Greyback just watched Rowle cringe under his withering gaze, "finders, keepers," he answered and pointed to the spot on the fence they'd called home for the last week.
Rowle slouched over the the fence of number 12 and Fenrir strode away from him little girl in one hand, and pink backpack in the other.
"What's your name little one?" he asked, softening his voice as much as he could so as not to scare the girl.
The small child turned large dark eyes up to his face. He couldn't help but feel like there was something off about them, as though she could see through him to the scared little boy who'd been attacked by a werewolf forty years ago. It made him uncomfortable.
"Angie," said the tiny voice.