The Journal Of
Harry Evans
Provost's Trainee Auror,
Resident of Mistress Trout's Lodgings,
Nipcopper Close, Knockturn District
Republic City, The Realm of Hogwarts
Wednesday, April 1, 246 H.E.
Written on the morning of my first day of duty.
I have decided to write this journal as a record of my year as a Puppy. Should I survive my first year as a Puppy, I hope that it will give me good practice for writing reports when I am a proper Dog. By writing down as much as I can remember word for word, especially in talk with folk about the city, I will keep my memory exercises sharp. Our trainers told us that we must always try to memorise as much as we can and as exactly as we can. Your memory is your record when your hands are too busy. That was one of our training sayings.
For my own details, to make a proper start, I am short for my age. I own only five feet and eight inches while most other coves my age tower above me. I have good shoulders and strong arm muscles, though I am a bit on the slender side – not bulky like. While short I may be, my legs can carry me faster than any mot or cove I know. I have worked curst hard to make it so, in the training yard where we practiced manoeuvres and dodges and on my own. Every morning for the past year I would run as fast as I could, lengthening my stride as I ran to training every morning.
As a boy I was often teased for having a mot's face – mum called it a noble's face. She says I got it from my da and his family. I have high cheekbones and a straight nose that fits my face. My sister Diona says that when they have been broken flat several times I won't have to worry about being called pretty any longer. (My sisters do not want me to be an Auror.) My eyes are emerald-green in colour. Some like them. Others hold them to be unsettling. I like them, because the work for me. My teeth are good and straight not all over the place like some of the brawlers and mumpers I've seen. My hair is a very messy dark brown which looks black when it's dark out or it's wet. It sticks up at every which angle. Mum says my colouring makes me look exotic – I think it just makes me look girly.
I am so eager for five o'clock and my fist watch to begin that my writing on this page has become shaky, not neat as I have been taught. My thoughts are all over the place. I must be sure to write every bit of this first week of my first year above all. For eight long year of living with Lord Dumbledore I have waited for this time to come. Now it has. I want a record of my first seeking, my training Dogs and every bit of work. I will be made a Dog sooner than any Puppy has ever been. I will prove I know more than any Puppy my very first week.
It is not vanity. I lived in the Cesspool for the first eight year of my life. I stole. Then, when I went to live with Lord Dumbledore and his family I studied everything my Lord Provost would teach me about Dog work. For three of those eight year I ran messages for the Provost's Dogs from one side of Republic City to the other, before I went into official Dog training. I know Knockturn District better than I know the faces of my brothers and sisters, better than I know my mother's face. I will learn the rest quicker than any other Puppy. I even live in Knockturn District again, on Nipcopper Close. None of the other trainees assigned to Jane Street kennel do. (They will regret that choice when they must walk all the way home at the end of their watch!)
Hedwig says I count my fish before they're hooked. I tell Hedwig that if I must be saddled with a pure white, golden-eyed talking cat, why must it be a cynical one? She is to stay home this week. I will not be distracted by this strange yet loyal creature who has been my friend since I was eleven years. And I will not have my Dogs distracted by her. They will ask all manner of questions about her, for one – questions that I cannot answer and she will not.
My greatest fear is not that I will cave under pressure – I do very well in combat and other high pressure situations – but that people will stare at me and that I won't be able to keep up with my Dogs because they're magic folk. Because of my looks people stare. They all think I'm mad for joining the Auror Guard when I'm not a proper magic folk. I inherited some magic from my parents but it is not the normal type of magic. I can't even use a wand. Instead, Granny Dorea Black says that I have Natural Magick – an affinity for living things and the magic within them.
I am assigned to the Jane Street kennel. The Watch Commander this year of 246 H.E. is Rufus Scrimgeour. I doubt that I will ever have anything to do with him. Most Dogs don't. Our Watch Sergeant is Madam Amelia Susan Bones, my training master in magical combat and the fiercest and fairest mot I have ever met. We have six Corporals on our watch and twenty-five Senior Aurors. That's not counting the cage Dogs and the Dogs who handle the scent hounds and magic trackers. We also have a mage on duty, Pettigrew. The creepy stuck up son of a silk merchant who bought his way into mage training – not that he's very good. Most normal witches and wizards in Knockturn District, who only learnt what their parents could teach them, are better at magic than Pettigrew. Wormtail, we Puppies call him for his sleezy rat-like nature. I plan to have nothing to do with him, either. The next time he puts one of his grubby sweaty paws on me I will break it, mage or not.
There is the sum of it. All that remains is my training Dogs. I will write of them, and describe them properly, when I know who they are.
Written at day's end after my first day of duty.
As the sun touched the rim of the city wall, I left my lodgings on Nipcopper Close and walked to Jane Street kennel. For our first day of proper Dog duty, we Puppies had no training before duty. I could enter in a fresh, clean uniform. I had gotten mine from the old clothes room at my Lord Provost's house. I wore the summer black tunic with short sleeves, black lace-up breeches and black boots. I had a woven leather belt with a coin purse hidden in its folds, whistle, paired daggers – the proper dueling type, a lead filled baton – no wand since I couldn't use it anyway, water flask hooked to my belt and rawhide cords for prisoner taking. I was kitted up like a proper Dog and ready to bag me some Rats.
Some of the other Knockturn District trainees were already there. Like me they wore a Puppy's white trim at the hems of our sleeves and tunic. None of us know if the white trim is to mark us out so Rats will spare us or so they will kill us first. None of our teachers would say either.
I sat with the other Puppies. They greeted me with gloomy downtrodden faces. None of them wanted to be here, but each district gets its allotment of the year's trainees. My companions, unlike me, feel like they drew the short straw. There is curst little pay or glory here in Knockturn District. Unless you're a veteran Dog or a friend of the Rogue, the pickings are Knuts at best. And Knockturn District is rough. Everyone knows that of the Puppies who start their training year in Knockturn, half give up and quit or are killed in the first four months.
I tried to look as glum as the others to keep them company – and to fit in to be honest. They are grumbling because I wanted to work in Knockturn District and Jane Street kennel in particular.
Madam Bones took her place at the tall Sergeants' desk. We all sat up in attention. We'd feared her in training – all of us. She is a short stocky mot whose family had been in law enforcement since the beginning of the Provost's Auror Guard. She is the toughest mot I've ever met and he combat lessons were always more like a ritualistic beating than training but she sure made fast fighters of us.
She nodded to the Evening Watch Dogs as they came on duty, already in pairs or meeting up in the waiting room. Some looked at our bench – Puppy bench – and grinned. They were probably thinking Fresh Meat. Some nudged each other and laughed as they looked at us. We knew we were the runts of the litter. They didn't need to rub it in. My classmates just hunkered down, enduring the taunts, looked miserable.
"They'll eat us alive," my friend Ron whispered in my ear from his place next to me. He was the second youngest child of the Weasley family. The youngest boy in the family and the most picked on and teased by his five older brothers. All but one of his older brothers went on to become Aurors with good names in other districts but Ron got assigned Knockturn. There is no such thing as a good name in Knockturn. "I think they sharpen their teeth" he groaned.
"Being a muggle healer like my parents wouldn't have been so bad." said Hermione, who had come in after me and was now sitting on my other side. "Go on, Harry – give em' one of them death glares of yours."
Hermione was another of my fellow Puppies. And unlike the most of the other trainees she is a muggle-born witch. She joined the Auror Guard so she could learn to use her magic because if she hadn't, no one would have taught her.
I looked down. Though I am reasonably comfortable with my fellow Puppies, I wasn't comfortable with the Dogs or with some of the folk who came in with business in the kennel because out of all the Puppies I'm the only one who can't use a wand. Some of them think I'm suicidal for choosing Knockturn. They say I'll get cursed by some dark witch or wizard or a Rat that don't want to get caught. I agree with them, I must be mad to want to work in the toughest district without normal magic to protect myself with. None of them know about my Natural Magick abilities and I plan on keeping it that way. Natural Magick is looked down upon, viewed as freakish and abnormal.
"You hate the smell of stewing herbs and other medicinal gunk," I told Hermione. "That's why you went for a Dog. And leave my glares out of it."
Since Madam Bones was at her desk, the Watch commander was already in his office. He'd be going over the assignments, choosing the Dog partners who would get a Puppy or just agreeing to Bones' choices. I asked the Mother Goddes to protect this litter of Puppies and to give Ron someone who would understand that his personality didn't make him weak. Hermione needed a smart pair of Dogs who would talk to her straight and not look down on her because of her heritage. And me?
Goddess, Mithros – heck even Trickster, let my Dogs be good at their work and not look down on me for not being able to do normal magic, I begged.
Who would I get? I know who I wanted. There were three sets of partners who were famous for their work. I nervously crossed my fingers for luck and hissed quietly in the serpent tongue "Please let me get good Dogs."
Outside the kennel, the market bells chimed the fifth hour of the afternoon – the end of the Day Watch and the beginning of the Evening Watch. Dogs going off duty lined up before Bones' desk, their Puppies at their backs, to muster out. When Madam Bones dismissed them, they were done for the day. Their Puppies, six of our classmates, sighed with relief and headed out the door. Before they left they told us what we were in for, each in their own fashion. Some gave us a thumbs-up. A couple mimed a hanging with a weary grin while one just refused to talk – that one spooked me the most. I just looked away. What was so hard for them? They'd had Day Watch. Everyone knew that the Evening Watch got the worst sorts in Knockturn District.
With the Day Watch gone, Madam Bones called out the names of a pair of Dogs. They'd been lounging on one of the benches. When they looked up at her, she jerked her thumb at the Commander's door. The Dogs settled their shoulders, checked each other's uniforms, then went inside. I knew them. My lord Dumbledore had commended them for their services twice.
Once the door was closed behind them, Madam Bones looked at us. "Puppy Ron Weasley. You're assigned to those two Dogs for training. Step up here."
Ron gulped, the rose slowly from our bench to the whistles and applause from the veteran Dogs. I brushed the dirt and lint off his clothes before clasping his wrist and whispering with a conspiring smile "You'll do fine. Don't worry. Now get up there"
Hermione kissed his cheek and wished him luck and our fellow trainees clapped him on the back or shook his hand. Then Ron tried to walk across the room like he was confident he could do the job – head held high and chest puffed out – in front of twenty ordinary folk and the Dogs of the Evening Watch.
We all watched with bated breath as Ron came to attention before Madam Bones' desk. She looked down her short nose at him – probably meant to make him feel small. "Stop that. Relax." She barked. "The Commander's giving them the speech, about how they're not to break you or dent you or toss you down the sewer without getting permission from me first." She continued with a roguish grin down at Ron.
The other Dogs in the room laughed. One of them called, "Don't sweat it, lad. We're all just workin' Dogs down here."
"They keep the honour and glory and pretty gixies for the Unicorn District." That Dog was a woman whose face was marked crossways by a scar.
One of them said, "Up there, the fountains run rose water. Here they run –"
"- piss!"" cried the Dogs. It was an old joke I had heard many times in Knockturn District.
The Commander's door opened. Out came the two Dogs. They looked resigned. The heavyset one beckoned to Ron. "Heel, Puppy. Let's get our glorious partnership rolling. You don't say nothin', see? We talk, you listen." He then clamped a thick heavy hand covered in scars on Ron's shoulder and steered him to the door.
Madam Bones called, "Remember, tomorrow you puppies report an hour early for combat training before your watch. No more easy starts like today!"
Ron's Dogs closed the door to the kennel behind them as they left and Madam Bones called for a new Dog pair to see the Commander. The rest of us Puppies were instructed to wait while one of our number was called up to Bones' desk to wait for his training Dogs. It was a cove named Seamus Finnigan's turn. I didn't particularly like him much. He was one of the folks who teased me during training for not having magic. He barely has it himself. His mama's a witch and his da's a muggle and because of that he can use a wand. Not very well but he could still use one, unlike me.
While we waited for the Dogs to collect Seamus, a citywoman called out, "Sarge? Be there word of who left old Crookshanks' great-grandbaby dead in the gutter?" We all looked at her. She was here to visit a man in the Rat cages out back, mayhap. She had five little ones with her. She must have feared there was some killer out there and had refused to leave them at home.
Bones shook her head. "There is no news, mistress. If you're scared for your own, I'd counsel you to let go of your fear. Crookshanks is the evilest pinchpenny scale and landlord in all of Knockturn District. He buys for knuts what's valued in galleons. If one of the firetraps he calls houses, burns with a mother in it, he sells the orphans for slaves. He's got more than enough enemies. Any of them could have strangled that poor little one."
"Aye, but no one kills women and children," muttered a gruff lookin' Dog. "They're no part of the business."
Madam Bones glared at the Dog who'd spoke. "We'll catch the Rat and flay him alive, but I'll bet anyone here that Crookshanks drove some poor looby to Cracknob Row. Your little ones are safe, mistress."
It's true; Crookshanks is the most hated man in Republic City. It's true also that family is off-limits if they aren't in your enemy's line of work. To kill a rival's child kin is to become an outlaw.
"I'll wager the ol' scale's got the best to seek the lad's killer," a cove in the audience said. "Come on, Sergeant. Who'd Crookshanks buy special t' get put on the murder? I heard he got teams on each watch out seeking."
"He did, not that it's any of your business," Madam Bones said to the cove, not looking up from her writing.
"Who's it on this watch?" someone else called.
Sergeant Bones looked up with a heavy scowl, lookin' ready to tell these folk to hold their tongues. It was old Alastor Moody who spoke up, "Why, me and Longbottom, good cityfolk."
Everyone stared. Doubtless even the cove who had first asked knew that Longbottom's little sister had hung herself but three months back. Her husband had sold her to slavers at the docks to pay of his debts to Crookshanks. She had killed herself in the slave pens – not wanting to be shipped away or sold as a sex slave but also probably hurting at the betrayal. Moody and Longbottom would never sweat to seek Crookshanks' grandbaby's killer, no matter how much his great-grandda paid in bribes. The Dogs picked to hunt the boy's killer from the Night and Day Watches were also Dog's with a grudge. Crookshanks had so many enemies he didn't even know them all.
While Bones read out the names of the fourth pair of Dogs to see the Commander, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks came in. I watched quietly from my seat as the leisurely walked through the rows of seated Dogs and fond a patch of wall to lean on. Of the three good pairs here in Jane Street kennel, they were the best. Shacklebolt was a Corporal, and Tonks was a Senior Auror. Those two could have had any posting in all of Republic City, but they chose to stay in Knockturn District.
One night, my lord Dumbledore had invited them to supper for a task they'd done really well. I hid in the drapes of the little supper room at Provost's House to hear the legends talk. Lord Dumbledore offered them a place in Manor District's kennel, but they had refused. Tonks said, "Shack and me, we know Knockturn District. The worst ones know our methods and our fighting styles. The people of the Court of the Rogue have even memorised our bootprints, bless their silly cracked heads. Not that it would help them with me being a metamorphmagus and all. Knockturn - for all its faults, suits us, don't it, Shack?"
And Shacklebolt, he just chuckled.
"The pickings are richer elsewhere." My lord Dumbledore was amused by Tonks' antics, I could hear it. "The Happy Bags of bribes for the kennels are fatter and richer in other districts."
"We're humble folk," Shacklebolt said. He had a deep velvety voice that dripped of his tongue like honey. "We like humble pickings. And the bones that come from the Rogue's Happy Bags are rich enough."
I knew that I would never get assigned to them. They didn't get Puppies.
Shacklebolt and Tonks gossiped and laughed with their friends among the Dogs as other pairs came out with a Puppy. The Knockturn District veterans are a hard pack of mutts, wearing metal throat protectors (called collars by Rats) and metal-ribbed arm guards as well as the regular uniform. Even other Dogs are wary of these folk, respectful of their ability to stay alive when almost every dark witch and wizard and muggle Rat is out for their blood.
I would be the last one called. My luck in these sorts of situations is infamous. I looked around as my last year mate left with his Dogs. Nervously, I wiped my sweating hands on my breeches. Then I nearly swallowed my own tongue as Sergeant Bones called out, "Tonks and Shacklebolt."
"No!" Shacklebolt looked at me, his brown eyes sharp as they stared down at me. "No. No. We don't get Puppies. We don't like Puppies. No offence, whoever you are. We have never had a Puppy."
"You're past due, then." said Bones, not even a scrap of sympathy in her eyes. "Your luck just ran out."
Shacklebolt headed into the Commander's office like a snake ready to strike at prey. Tonks just leisurely ambled after her partner.
They are a mismatched pair. Corporal Shacklebolt is a dark skinned wizard who stands at about six foot three with long arms, legs and deep-set brown eyes and a long, slightly-curved nose. I think he looks like a hawk for all I compared him to a snake, just moments ago. He is quite popular with mots. His head is completely shaved free of hair. No hair on the top of his head, no moustache and no beard. People said that he'd put down a Durmstrang berserker of a wizard when he'd killed three men in a fight. Just him and his baton - not even bothering to pull out his wand. He's been a Dog for twenty years and had been partnered with Tonks for thirteen of those twenty.
Senior Auror Tonks meanwhile, is two inches shorter than me. She is built strong, wears her bubblegum pink hair cut short in small spikes. She has a small beak of a nose and full lips. Tonks is funny and easygoing for a Dog. Tonks also has a peculiar family magic called metamorphism. She essentially is a shape-shifter and can use her magic to transform into any person or animal. She has often used this ability to impersonate Rats so that Shacklebolt and her could catch even bigger Rats. She could be a Watch Commander , even a Captain if she wanted to be. So could Shacklebolt. Neither of them want it.
"Harry Evans."
From the laughter in the room, I could tell that it wasn't the first time Sergeant Bones had called my name. I slowly got up from my seat on the bench and went to stand before the desk. She looked down at me.
"Don't let them rattle you," she advised. "You've got the best. That's the only extra chance I wrangled for you. And if you're smart, you won't depend on your other connections high up to grease your way."
I looked down to hide my glare. As if I would ask for help from Lord Dumbledore!
"Better not be cooing our tales in his ear, neither." said a Dog seated in amongst the crowded kennel benches.
"He never did when he was a runner. I know he saw plenty and heard plenty then. He had three years' worth of chances to tattle to my Lord Provost." Snapped Moody at the Dog who had first spoken. "Never you worry about lil' Harry."
I just continued to glare at the floor. I hate being talked about. Meanwhile, everyone in the main room of the kennel could hear shouting behind the Commander's closed door. I could tell by the sound of the voice that it was Shacklebolt who wasn't happy.
Eventually Shacklebolt and Tonks walked out of the Commander's office, slamming the door behind them. I added another prayer to my string of them. I wanted to survive my Dog partners. Glowering, Shacklebolt came up to me and looked me over. "I have two rules for you, Puppy"
Lifting my gaze from the floor I stared into his eyes. I could tell that they had unnerved him slightly.
"Speak when you're spoken to and keep out of my way." He finished before he turned to glare at Tonks who had finally joined us. "All right? Time to start the babysitting detail."
Tonks just smiled at me, ignoring the glare her partner sent her way. "Come on Puppy Evans." she chirped merrily.
I followed them outside. I wasn't going to tell Shacklebolt that I well knew the rules to follow with our training Dogs: Speak when you're spoken to. Keep out of the way. Obey all orders. Get killed on your own time. I did have some measure of self-preservation. It was small but it was still there.
"Practice tomorrow at four!" Madam Bones called after me. "Every day you have street duty, Evans!"
Between the kennel door and Jane Street gate is the courtyard where message runners and people with business at the kennel wait. The crowd waiting in the courtyard was bigger than usual. They knew that Puppies were being assigned to their Dogs today and wanted to see who got what. The noise they made when they saw Shacklebolt and Tonks with a trainee was deafening: whistles, laughter, and plenty of comments about how small I was for a boy and even more about my appearance.
I tried not to listen. I just stared at my Dogs backs as we passed through the gate. In the shadows next to the gate I saw a flash of white before it disappeared. Next thing I knew, the white blur came over to walk with me.
"Hedwig," I muttered under my breath towards my wayward cat. Quietly so Shacklebolt and Tonks wouldn't hear me. "Shoo girl! I've got work to do. Go away!"
Pox and murrain, she never listens! I told her that I would be busy this week and that she would have to find something else to occupy her time. The curst cat always finds me. I'd lock her in, folly though it was. I had shuttered the windows and barred them, and locked my door. I had made sure that she was inside – I heard her scratching at the door and yowling angrily as I ran down the stairs. Eventually she always gets out, but I'd hoped that she'd take the hint and leave me be! If only for this week!
"I'm on duty!" I hissed at her with a glare.
"I'd best not be hearing noise from you, Puppy," Shacklebolt called over his shoulder.
I shut up, not wanting to anger my Dogs and flapped my hands at Hedwig. She just ignored me and continued walking at my side, dratted annoyingly obstinate creature that she is. Normal stupid cats stay home when their locked in. Not Hedwig. She takes every locked door as merely a challenge to her progress. I wouldn't have this problem if she was a normal cat.
"Tonks, why is there a cat following us?" Shacklebolt asked. "I don't want to be falling over some stray white cat."
Hedwig bristled indignantly at that comment.
"It's not a stray, Shacklebolt. The little fur-ball wears a collar." Tonks bent down and scooped up Hedwig from the ground. I glared at my cat, silently daring her to kick up a fuss or to scratch or bite. Instead my contrary princess turned her whiskers forward in a cat's smile, and let Tonks scratch her under her chin. Hedwig didn't even struggle when Tonks halted in a patch of fading sunlight to inspect her.
Then she saw Hedwig's eyes. "Mithros. Shacklebolt, look."
Shacklebolt looked at Hedwig's eyes and swore. It's about half and half, who swears and who talks religion, when they see Hedwig's face. I can't blame them. I nearly fell out of the stable loft at my Lord Dumbledore's house when I found a kitten with bright intelligent gold eyes without any whites in them.
"Are you a goddess?" Tonks asked Hedwig.
"Manh!" my smug little cat said. She added a few sounds like mrt, as if to prove her catness. For once they even sounded like normal cat noises to me. So many of her cat noises sound like human speech to me. But maybe that is just my magick acting up.
"If she's a goddess, she chooses not to say," Shacklebolt said.
"She wears Evans' collar," said Tonks as she spied the leather collar around Hedwig's neck. "Do you have a magical kitty cat, or a kneazle, Puppy Evans?" she asked me, raising an eyebrow at my silence. "You may answer."
Silently I just shook my head. She's just Hedwig, I wanted to say. She's smart and a little bit odd for a cat but you get used to her ways. But the words were stuck in my throat. I'm not normally this quiet but for some reason I just couldn't speak today. I never was that great at talking to new people – I was always better if I had something to do to take my mind off it.
"His cat?" Shacklebolt looked at Hedwig's collar. "And with those eyes, she's not magic?"
Ignoring the conversation going on around her, my soon to be sold for dumpling-meat cat reached up and patted Shacklebolt's nose gently with the pad of her paw. "Stop that, you." But he smiled when he said it, and he scratched Hedwig behind the ears. Hedwig rubbed her head against his hand like he was the one who spent precious knuts on meat that he chopped for her himself.
"You brought your cat? Speak up, trainee." Shacklebolt asked, taking his hand away from Hedwig's head and staring at me. "Did you bring her to the kennel?" He continued to ask as he lifted Hedwig from Tonks' hold.
"No, sir." I answered – making sure to look him in the eye as instructed. I didn't think I could call him 'Dog' without permission, or even 'Shacklebolt'.
"She followed you here, then?" Shacklebolt's long fingers were brisk but affectionate behind Hedwig's ears. The little traitor just looked at me and then wrapped her forelegs around his neck.
"It appears so, sir." I mumbled embarrassedly.
"Clever kitty," said Tonks with a grin in my direction.
After one final scratch behind the ears, Shacklebolt put Hedwig back on the ground. "You, scat. Your boy has work to do. Hard work... staying out of my hair."
"Shack, you don't have any hair." quipped Tonks with a grin in the tall man's direction.
Shacklebolt just glared at his partner and started to walk off.
I glared at Hedwig and thought – I have work to do girl! Go home! – while pointing in the direction of our lodgings, hoping she would get the message. She probably would but whether or not she would listen is another matter entirely. Obediently she trotted across the street but not after affectionately batting her paw against my leg as if to say – fine, go play Puppy-dog. I'll just sit over here and watch to make sure you don't get into any trouble.
As we walked down the dimly lit street people greeted my Dogs from doorways and stalls, wanting to know who the Puppy was. I hung my head, trying to make myself as small as possible and wishing that I could turn invisible as the shoppers and stall owners laughed and shouted their offers to buy me or play with me. I wasn't good with all of this attention. I'm the type to hide in the background not play at the forefront. Luckily Tonks wasn't as shy as me when it came to crowds and came to my defence.
"But he's our Puppy, Inknose. If we let him fetch you, she'd just hurt you." She directed at one of the low level thugs that was lounging against one of the stalls.
"Leave the poor boy alone, Wildberry. He's not up to playing with you and you're sisters." Tonks smirks at one of the Doxies lounging about provocatively on the steps of the brothel.
"Shut up, Flint. You ain't paid the Dogs for the last batch of Puppies you sold in Durmstrang!" she barked at a skinny cove eating an apple-fritter.
In between her remarks to the passersby, Tonks began explaining things to me. "Since we're a senior pair, Evans, we have no particular fixed route. Three nights a week, starting tonight, we roam the Nightmarket and Knockturn District between Rovers Street and Daemon Lane, Northgate and Thestral. That's Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. We go where there's likely to be trouble and see if we can't wreak some havoc on some Rat's plans. Thursday and Saturday we're in the Cesspool, Thestral Street to Mulberry and Cherry Orchard. We do our own seekings unless assigned one by Bones, we get papers when we need help on a seeking, and we have our flocks of Birdies who give us what we need in order to seek. And if we have aught that's good, we wander off our wanderings. Shack? Aught to add?"
Shacklebolt looked at his shorter partner. "I'm bored."
Tonks looked at Shacklebolt incredulously. "And you say I'm overenthusiastic about baggin' Rats. At least I know how to train a Puppy. Halt right there, Puppy Evans. Look about you. What do you see?"
It was just too easy. Not ten feet away a pickpocket was moving in on a woman selling pickles. I let my odd sort of magic flow and reached out my senses. I put my hand on my baton, but before I could take any action Shacklebolt slid out from behind Tonks and I and over to the Rat like oil on water. He laid his baton gentle-like on the boy's hand just as the Rat touched the mot's purse. The Rat looked up and Shacklebolt shook his head. The pickle woman started to shriek and hit the thief. Shacklebolt pushed the boy out of the way, gave the pickle woman a smile and passed her a knut. "How about one of your lovely lookin' pickles, sweetheart?"
You would never know that not two minutes ago he was grouching about being bored. And like anyone in Knockturn District she got distracted by the prospect of business. When the mot started to fish for a pickle in the barrel at her side, Shacklebolt raised his baton from the lad's hand. The pickpocket ran.
Shacklebolt traded his knut for a pickle with a bow and took a bite of his snack with a grin to the woman.
"Oh, get on, you. No wonder they call you lads Dogs, thinkin' you can charm an old hag like me with a wag of your tail!" The pickle seller bridled and blushed, then tucked the coin away and headed down the street. There was a new twitch in her hips. I'd wager she'd be givin' her husband an extra-warm night, thinking of the tall Dog who had flirted with her.
It seemed as if, under Shacklebolt's serious exterior was a playful side.
"If her husband comes looking for you, I won't be your second, not after the last time." Tonks nudged him in the stomach with her elbow. "I stood there like an idiot while you made the cove laugh so hard at your jokes he ended up buying all of us breakfast. Some duel that was. Not one spell went flying and I was so hoping for a good duel."
"Well, I didn't curse him or kill him, and the cove didn't want to curse or kill me. Everyone was satisfied. Well, except maybe the seconds." Shacklebolt replied
Tonks just rolled her eyes before looking at me, "Now, Puppy, you saw him. That's good. You'd've made a fuss – maybe not so good. What grade pickpocket was he?"
Great Mithros, a training question. I scrambled about in my brain searching for the answer. Then I remembered and met Tonks' eyes. "He'd no knife, so he was a true pickpocket. Slow as he is, he probably won't live to be a master pickpocket."
Tonks nudged me. "And what's the street word for 'master pickpocket'?"
"'Foist,' mam," I replied.
"So the boy knows the words," Shacklebolt muttered. "So what?"
Oh great. Shacklebolt was back to being grumpy. It looks like his playful nature before was all an act.
Hearing his relpy, Tonks shook her head and elbowed Shacklebolt in the gut. "Stop being such a grumpy-guts, old man." And then she turned to me, "Now you, we don't go around makin' a fuss for minnows, Puppy. I don't like standing before the Magistrate any more than necessary. It's less time spent out here looking for truly dangerous folk."
That made sense. I nodded at Tonks and then looked down and saw that Hedwig had returned to sit at my feet. I tried to gently nudge her away with my boot but she remained steadfast.
"Come on," said Shacklebolt. "The evening's young, and I was thinking we should pay Crookshanks a visit. I'd like a word with him about that load of pink pearls that went missing off of Gemstone Mews. If the old scale is as half cracked by grief as they say, then mayhap he'll get careless in his talk."
I did look up then. He was grinning, with all his teeth on show and a fierce expression on his face. His teeth were strong and white, like the wolves' in the royal menagerie.
"Now, Shack, that's not nice," Tonks told him with an eerily similar grin which betrayed her true thoughts. "He's deep in mourning for little Hugo." Quick as a snake, she looked back at me and asked, "Puppy, who's Crookshanks?"
She had startled me, so I answered without thinking – I always do perform better under pressure. "He's the biggest of the Nightmarket scales. Owns a piece of most of what's lifted and half of the luxury goods, minimum. A quarter of the loaner trade and he's got about twenty buildings in the Cesspool and twenty more in the greater Knockturn District." I suddenly swallowed and remembered where I was and who I was speaking to. "Guardswoman..."
"What do you expect, Dora?" demanded Shacklebolt. "He's lived in my lord Dumbledore's pocket for eight years. He had to have picked up something even if he was completely stupid. Knowing isn't the same as doing." He finished before walking out into the crossing of Gibbet Corner and Feasting Street, where stalls filled the huge square before us. We had finally come to the Nightmarket.
Stalls selling all sorts of mundane and magical goods were covering almost every inch of space within the square and small paper lanterns with enchanted fire burned brightly, illuminating every stall and its wears.
Following after my Dogs I thought about what Shacklebolt's comment had revealed. They both had known of me before I was assigned to be their Puppy. Did they know I was friends with Crookshanks' granddaughter-in-law Ginny, and my mama with his daughter-in-law Annis? Probably not, but should I tell my Dogs...
Trotting to catch up with them, I changed my mind. They didn't really need to know. It was very unlikely that Ginny would come out to say hello to visitors, if Aurors could rightly be called visitors. She hadn't left the house since her baby Hugo was found dead. I could tell Shacklebolt and Tonks I had friends in Crookshanks' household later, when we were off the streets.
The Nightmarket was stirring up for business. The lanterns and torches had just been lit as the sun had just slid behind the wall in Knockturn District, making it darker earlier. Plenty of folk were still at their daily work. This was considered quiet time. Buyers and sellers were talking among the stalls, collecting gossip, beginning to cook, adjusting wares and weapons. It's my favourite time to be in the Nightmarket.
We walked along down the aisles. Stall vendors and market regulars called greetings to Tonks and Shacklebolt. Two other pairs of Dogs worked the Nightmarket, but we didn't see them.
I was trying to wave Hedwig off again when Tonks halted. I could see her button nose twitching. "I smell apple-current patties," she announced with a grin before scampering off in the direction of the smell.
Shacklebolt just shook his head and turned to me, "She's a glutton that one and a real scent hound if I ever saw one." he said, his smile a mocking hook at one corner of his mouth.
Following the direction of his errant partner, Shacklebolt led me down the bakers' and spicers' row of the market until he spotted Tonks. Tonks was stopped stead-fast at a stall where assumedly the smell of apple-current patties had come from. I recognised the stall. I don't know anyone who won't swear before all the gods that Madam Rosmerta is the best baker in all of Republic City. And Tonks' luck was in, because Madam Rosmerta herself was minding the trays of baked goods. "Dora, I should have known that you would sniff out my patties!" she said with a laugh. She even reached over the bench and tweaked her nose. "Give me your handkerchief, you little minx. Master Kingsley, how do you fare this good evening?"
"As always, Madam Rosmerta," Shacklebolt said with a shrug. "None of your daughters could take the stall tonight?"
"Not tonight." Madam Rosmerta placed six fat patties, covered in cinnamon and sugar, on Tonks' handkerchief.
Madam Rosmerta looked as she always had to me: plump – but not fat, her black hair with flecks of gray braided, pinned and coiled at the back of her head, light brown eyes, a small nose and straight mouth with plump lips. She wore her usual brown dress under her white cook's apron. Seeing her like a Dog must, I guessed her age to be about fifty now.
She tied Tonks' handkerchief to make a bundle of patties and handed them over. Tonks reached for her purse with a smile and Madam Rosmerta began to frown, put her hands on her hips and drew herself up as tall as she could go.
"As if any Dog in Knockturn paid me for something to get them through to their supper!" she said in a huff. "I'd smack you right proper if I could young miss!"
She turned to look at Shacklebolt. "Youngsters! No notion of what's a gift!"she huffed exasperatedly before the flicked out a slip of cloth that had been washed so often it was almost sheer and settled three patties on it. "That's for you, Kingsley, since I know you're nicer about your handkerchief than this sprite is."
Tonks mumbled something through her mouthful of hot apple and current filling and pastry crumbs.
Shacklebolt just shook his head at Tonks in rueful disdain (He seems to do that a lot) and leaned in and kissed Madam Rosmerta's cheek. "Thank you," he said, his deep voice amused at Tonks' antics. "Don't mind her. She wasn't housebroke when I bought her."
Madam Rosmerta laughed a good hearty chuckle. Then she looked down. "Hedwig, you little princess, what are you doing here? Don't tell me you've run away from Harry. The two of you are usually glued together as if by a sticking charm."
My friend cried, Look in front of you! In cat speak. It truly amazes me that she can decide who will understand her and who will not. She's done so since I found her when she was a noisy kitten. At first I had thought that it was yet another aspect of my abnormal magick that seemed to run through my family.
This time I was the only one who understood. Madam Rosmerta only chucked at the cat and offered her some fish paste she'd been using for dumplings she fried at the brazier in the stall. When she straightened from feeding Hedwig she saw me, "Goddess bless me, it is little Harry! All grown up and – partnered with you two?" she looked at Shacklebolt and Tonks.
"He's a trainee, not a partner." Shacklebolt smiled, barely. "How'd you get to know her, Madam Rosmerta?"
Out came another worn bit of clean cloth. Madam Rosmerta popped three apple fritters onto it – she knew that they were my favourites, always had been.
"Hey!" quipped Tonks with a pout, "His are bigger."
I grinned at the metamorphmagus and then ducked my head when she scowled at me playfully.
"Well, you'd best take care of him. I've known this little lad all his life, and you couldn't ask for a better-hearted cove," said Madam Rosmerta "I told him he ought to have let me make dumplings out of you, princess, years ago," she told Hedwig as she scratched behind her ears.
Hedwig mewed sweetly and licked Madam Rosmerta's fingers and then looked up at her pleadingly. Rolling my eyes before thinking to her – You are such a suck-up. Tell me you didn't have a beef supper before I left – She just mewed at me and licked her chops as Madam Rosmerta gave her an even bigger ball of fish paste.
Shacklebolt asked, "Madam Rosmerta, did you hear about old Crookshanks' great-grandson?"
Madam Rosmerta looked at Shacklebolt with a raised eye-brow and hands on her hips. She knew she was being played for information. Watching the exchange Tonks gave her a shrug, as if to say, He's my partner. What can I do?
Madam Rosmerta busied herself with pressing dough on a small table by the cooking pot. "As if anyone didn't know about that, poor little mite. It's a disgrace, it is, taking a quarrel with the old man into his family. Barbaric. Whoever did it won't last long, breaking the Rouge's law like that."
Tonks grimaced and Shacklebolt sniffed. The Rogue is old and should make way for someone young and strong who could keep order among the city's thieves. Instead he's fixed the Court of the Rogue to keep himself alive. He doesn't look out for the people of Knockturn District anymore, only his chiefs and the folk who add to his treasure chests.
"Aahh!" a mot screamed a stall over as a very poisonous, black snake slithered over her foot towards Madam Rosmerta's stall. Looking about there were a few more snakes were hidden underneath stalls. There was even one near Madam Rosmerta's ankles.
"Aaah! Scat, you nasty things!" screeched Madam Rosmerta when she noticed the snake. She stood up on a foot-stool and grabbed her broom and began to beat the ground near the snake with it, hoping to scare it away. "Harry, go stand somewhere else! I won't have these beasts scaring away my customers!" she shouted.
Seeing the snake Tonks pulled out her wand. "I'll get rid of it for you."
I wasn't sure what made me do it. I knew I would get in trouble with my Dogs for it. Trainees aren't meant to leave their training Dogs' side. To be completely honest, I wasn't even aware of deciding to do it. I just... All I knew was that my legs were carrying me forward before Tonks could curse or kill the snake and I darted forward and scooped up the snake. The little green snake was a young male, excited to meet a speaker and not as cautious as the others who were still hiding under nearby stalls. Even though I would probably get in trouble with my Dogs, I couldn't let the snake get hurt simply because it brought news to me at the wrong time.
"Be still" I hissed quietly at the snake as it curled around my wrist like a live bracelet.
Looking up, I saw Madam Rosmerta's grateful face before turning to my Dogs. They were positively glowering. "Puppy, you best be explaining yourself right now," growled Shacklebolt, "Before I decide to curse you instead of the snake."
Scummer, I was so dead.
A/N: Wow, I love how this fanfiction is turning out. Even though it is sort-of a crossover it is actually harder to write than a normal fanfiction where I can make up everything as long as it's reasonable.
I hope you have all liked this chapter of Terrier. I would love to hear your thoughts so please review!
-Marcielle-