Obliviate!

He was changing the bed sheets, humming under his breath. He liked working at night. Dusting the curtains, cleaning the windows, polishing the marvellous trunks the children brought with them – it was all so very worthwhile. He made sure to stay away from that dark-haired master's trunk, though, oh yes! He could taste it in the air, smell it, see it in the wood: death and decay. He would not touch the trunk and be made fun of – oh, no! He would be good!

With a nod, he clicked his fingers, sweeping the floor underneath the beds. He felt a measure of pride as he let his gaze wander around the dormitory. All nice and clean – just how he liked it! He would have to check the fire again in an hour, but for now, cooking: pastries, a few dozen loaves of toast … Maybe he ought to mix up the recipes again? A few of the older young mistresses seemed to favour rye over wheat. But the young ones certainly didn't. Oh – he had just the idea. He would simply make both, and everyone would be happy.

Memory Lane

Harry awoke, a faint popping sound that seemed to belong to his dream ringing in his ears. He looked through heavy eyes at his watch: three o'clock. With a sigh, he let himself fall back on his pillow again, wondering why in Merlin's name he felt like baking rye bread. While Harry was perfectly capable of magically cleaning a kitchen, life hadn't required him to learn how to cook an egg – much less anything more complicated than that. With a shrug, he closed his eyes, relaxing. Bread could wait until breakfast.

Much later, strange dreams long forgotten, an annoyingly chipper Draco was dragging him towards the Great Hall.

'Can't I just skip breakfast?' Harry grumbled. 'I could sleep another hour if you just let me …'

'What are you talking about, mate? Breakfast is the meal of champions! Besides, you might want to get some energy for your meeting with the solicitor. Speaking from experience, lawyers can't even say "hello" in less than three sentences and without a hundred Galleons enticement.'

'I'm sure Daphne and Tracey can handle it …'

Draco gave him a patronising look. 'Really, Harry. Tracey, well, okay. But Greengrass? Granted – her big tits might dist–'

'If you finish that sentence, it's going to be just me arriving at breakfast,' growled Harry.

Draco cleared his throat. But, as it turned out, walking a few minutes in silence seemed to be his limit. 'Did something happen between you and Greengrass this summer?'

'What makes you say that?'

'Well, I don't know. Nothing specific. I never could figure her out, you know, not entirely. I mean, sure, it looked like she was just teasing you constantly, but sometimes she seemed genuinely desperate for your attention.'

Harry didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything.

'But, you know,' continued Draco breezily, 'Greengrass doesn't appear to be quite as, well, frantic this year. At least so far. Might be my imagination, course, just saying. So either she gave up on you, or she knows she's got a shot.'

'I'm not sure I want to talk about this with someone who keeps wiggling his eyebrows whenever Parkinson's around.'

Draco smirked. 'Come on, Pansy's got a great body. And she's from a decent family to boot. I hear her father's clawing for a good match.'

'Urgh, are you serious? Or do you simply want to reap the benefits of some little … misunderstanding?'

Draco laughed, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 'Please, Harry! I'm a gentleman.'

There was no way Harry could stand arguing with Draco right now. But then again, maybe Draco had a vulnerable spot to attack as well. 'What does your girlfriend have to say about Parkinson?'

Draco looked blankly at him.

'I meant Hermione, of course,' said Harry, his smile widening even as Draco groaned. 'Colour me impressed! Who would have thought that the son of Lucius Malfoy would have the nerve to take a Muggle-born on a date to Muggle London! Why, that was almost … Gryffindor-ish!'

'It wasn't a date!' hissed Draco. 'I had some business to discuss with her about her teacher – Tracey be damned! She told you, didn't she?! It wasn't a date, okay? You can stop smirking now!'

'Alright, Draco. It wasn't a date.'

'Thank y–'

'I'm sure your father will understand,' added Harry innocently.

Draco blanched. 'Y– You wouldn't!'

Harry smiled meaningfully at Draco as they entered the Great Hall.

'Harry? You wouldn't … would you? Tell me you wouldn't! Hey, I was only joking earlier. Come on!'

But Harry didn't turn around again, taking a seat next to Daphne, nodding at everyone. 'Morning.'

'Hey! Feeling better today?' asked Daphne hesitantly.

'Never felt better,' he said brightly, reaching over the table and giving in to the persistent, strangely specific urge for French toast.

Daphne bit her lip in an obvious effort not to blurt something out. She hadn't done that in years. It was quite amusing that the old habit resurfaced now that Hermione had finally dropped it. Speaking of the Muggle-born …

'Good morning,' called Hermione, inclining her head politely. 'I'm glad we agreed to skip the workout on weekends. Are you all going to Hogsmeade as well?'

'Oh, you bet,' said Amy with a smirk.

'Sure thing!' gushed Tracey. 'We have to spy on Harry's s–'

Daphne's hand prevented anything worse, but Hermione merely shrugged. 'Something you can't tell me?'

'I suppose,' said Harry. 'It's nothing personal. Besides, you do have your lesson, don't you?'

'I do,' she said happily. 'And I think I'm better off not learning too much anyway – at least for now. My teacher told me that it isn't uncommon for pure-bloods to obliviate contacts, colleagues, or even friends that aren't skilled in Occlumency. I'd rather not have my brain addled, thank you very much.'

Most unfortunately, Harry had just taken a small bite of French toast. He tried to pass his little mishap off, and it might have worked, too – if Tracey hadn't been keeping an annoyingly close eye on him ever since that wretched Tonks article last night, that is.

Her eyes flashed angrily. 'Honey?' Tracey asked, her look of rage displaced by one of embarrassment within a moment. 'I've been meaning to ask – do you think you could lend me your copy of Hogwarts: A History? My mum sort of told me to give it a shot, and I–'

Daphne was about to say something but stopped short with a muffled 'Ow!', and Harry had the impression that – for once – she had been on the receiving end of an elbow.

'I've got a copy,' offered Leo.

Tracey waved him off. 'You always scribble into your books!'

Hermione nodded happily. 'Want me to fetch it right now? You can make a start on the first few chapters!'

Tracey looked as if a dream had come true. 'Thanks!'

'Be right back!'

Tracey waved happily after the Muggle-born until she was out of sight. As soon as Hermione vanished around the corner, her warm smile turned glacial. 'Harry James Black,' she spat. 'I saw that look. I know that look! Tell me you didn't!'

'What are you on about?' asked Draco, bewildered.

'Shut it for a second, Draco. This is important! Harry, look me in the eye and tell me you didn't obliviate Hermione!'

Harry regarded her with a passive expression. 'Why would I feel the need to obliviate her? Besides, I'm still nowhere good enough.'

Tracey glowered at him, every feature of her face screaming doubt. 'Daphne, you ask him!'

'W– What? Why me?!'

'Harry prefers not to lie, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's telling the truth either. But I know for a fact that he positively loathes telling you half-truths. Go on, ask him!'

'I don't think I should –' began Daphne, but Tracey cut her off.

'Isn't Hermione your friend, too? Are you okay with Harry killing her memory whenever he feels like it?'

Daphne chewed on her lip again, agonising. Then, with an apologetic look at Harry, she murmured, 'Did you obliviate Hermione?'

All eyes were on him. He could say whatever he wished. No bolt of lightning would pierce the roof of the Great Hall, the jaws of hell wouldn't open just to swallow him. He doubted that Daphne or Tracey would be able to tell if he really tried. But then he looked into Daphne's eyes again, saw her past self standing in front of him, tearing at him, screaming at him, so desperate and fragile – just like him. Or at the grave, when she refused to leave until Harry promised he wouldn't go anyway. With an uneasy feeling, he also remembered his recent talk with Ophala.

'Not exactly. But I had someone else obliviate her.'

Tracey swore so loudly that a few Ravenclaws turned around.

'Why?' asked Amy.

Harry sighed. 'I couldn't risk anyone learning about the contents of the contract I made with Fawley. Hermione knows no Occlumency at all – how could I just let her walk away with that kind of knowledge? I only made her forget a minute or two.'

'Did you ever think about teaching her Occlumency, you arrogant bastard?!' snapped Tracey.

'Tracey!' cried Daphne in shock.

'It would take months and months,' replied Harry, quite reasonable, he thought. 'I'm sympathetic, but you cannot expect me to hold her hand throughout her stay at Hogwarts.'

'Oh, I see! Why would a Black lower himself to instruct someone as plebeian as a Muggle-born?! Not the right blood, see?'

'I'm a half-blood, Tracey,' said Harry calmly.

'That's what you say,' she returned with a nasty scowl. 'But that's not the way you act. She's not family, so she's baggage?! You need to have your head examined! You keep her around to prove that you're better than the bigots, but actually helping – Merlin save me, I'm a Black, how could I be expected to help any Tom, Dick, or Harry?! What a fine friend you are!'

'You're out of line, Tracey,' said Amy coolly. 'Go teach the Mudblood Occlumency for all I care, but don't bother us with your bawling.'

Tracey's eyes were mere slits at this point. With one last killing glance at both Amy and Harry, she turned around. 'You know what? That's exactly what I'm going to do. Will you at least agree not do butcher her memories until then?'

How could he make such a promise?! 'If nothing comes up,' he said.

'I'd really love to smack you one right now – if only …' muttered Tracey, hesitating for just a second before she stormed off.

They all watched her leave. After a few seconds, Draco harrumphed loudly. 'I guess that means she's not coming with us to Hogsmeade?'

Harry grimaced. 'I rather doubt it.'

'I … I think I'd better check on her,' said Daphne in a small voice.

'No.' To Harry's surprise, Leo got to his feet. 'Don't misunderstand, I'm not judging you, Harry. We do what we must. But I still think I'd better help Tracey. She doesn't have the attitude for teaching, and I'd prefer it if she didn't mentally maim a housemate.'

'Hey, how about this!' said Draco, his expression lighting up. 'If we can teach a Mud– Muggle-born Occlumency by the end of the year, you have to come clean and admit that you were wrong!'

'Are you serious, Draco?'

Draco grinned. 'Afraid to lose?'

Once more, Harry shrugged, returning Leo's nod as the two boys made to follow Tracey. Moodily, he played with his food.

Amy stabbed a sausage, inspecting it critically. 'You did nothing wrong, Harry. I don't know what got into them. You've shown more patience with the Mudblood than I ever could.'

Daphne didn't say anything, staring at her own plate, her eyes shielded behind her curtain of hair. And even though Harry still thought Amy had the right of it, his appetite had vanished along with the jaunty atmosphere.

Memory Lane

Leo, Draco, and Tracey, the last of whom kept ignoring him pointedly, had informed them that they'd be preparing lessons, while Amy had proceeded to follow Hermione, leaving Harry and Daphne to walk the streets of Hogsmeade in silence and twofold loneliness.

Daphne hadn't said anything since his confrontation with Tracey, and Harry was at a loss for words. For half an hour, they wandered on – silent and awkward. Their uncomfortable stroll eventually brought them to the outskirts of the village, where they leaned on a wooden fence, casting empty glances over the foothills, the meadows, and the rest of Scotland's glorious landscape.

Harry gazed at it as if he'd never seen it before, as if he wasn't cheesed-off. He'd noticed that Daphne, for once, kept her distance. It surprised him that he even noticed.

'Say …' said Daphne eventually, refusing to meet his eyes.

'Hmm?'

'How would you feel if something were to happen to me?'

Harry frowned. 'What kind of morbid question is that?'

She looked up, her expression dead serious. 'Just answer me, please!'

He cleared his throat, which suddenly felt unnaturally parched. 'I … I think I'd do something really, really messed up.'

She gave a pained little smile. 'I don't think you would. I still remember how you'd cower behind me whenever some other girl would come to visit. Are you sure you wouldn't simply hide again?'

'No,' he disagreed. 'No, I wouldn't hide. That's not me anymore. Besides, even back then I didn't hide when … during that night. Some things are worth standing up for.'

Daphne gave a little sob, jumping to embrace him, pressing him against her.

'Though I admit,' whispered Harry, gently stroking her back, 'the world seemed a bit easier this summer. Maybe I wouldn't mind that kind of hiding away.'

He felt her nod into the nape of his neck and – to his embarrassment – tighten their embrace even further. Two middle-aged villagers on their way back home stared at them, but Harry didn't care, and the woman eventually dragged her well-built husband away. They continued to stand rooted to the spot, he stroking her back, she clutching him as if afraid to ever let go again.

'Every once in a while, I really worry about you, Harry,' Daphne mumbled in a mellow voice that was only for him to hear.

'… Why?'

'You can be so cold … so cold.'

She shivered, relaxing her grip, and reached up with her hands to cup his face. Before Harry knew what was happening, she pecked him on the lips before letting go. 'Come on! We're going to be late for your meeting.'

'I … er … right. The meeting. Yeah, ahem, okay.'

Memory Lane

What had been a tendency for centuries had, unwittingly, been turned into all but a rule these last few centuries. It was the kind of irony Harry enjoyed: the Pillars' attempt to break down the walls of distrust between the Muggle-borns and pure-bloods had only resulted in the radicalisation of formerly moderate conservatives. As such, it wasn't a particular surprise for Harry that he knew the mysterious Slytherin solicitor – at least by name. There were only so many pure-bloods left in Britain, and they tended to keep to themselves.

'Good day, Mr Black. And I see you've brought a lovely young lady – Miss Greengrass if I'm not mistaken? Charming. My name is Thorfinn Rowle. I believe we have something to discuss about a shared acquainted of ours. Oh, but please do excuse my terrible manners. I've had a dreadful day at the office.'

He smoothly kissed the back of Daphne's hand before offering Harry an overly polite bow that immediately aroused Harry's suspicion. He wouldn't be surprised if the man before him was simply a more refined gangster than those he usually defended. Small wonder, then, that he got along with Pettigrew.

'I've taken the liberty of renting a private parlour. I suggest we retire there before discussing any business we may have – at your convenience, of course. I hope you find yourself agreeable?'

'Lead the way.'

Daphne simply shrugged, following Harry's lead. She hadn't even spared the man a second look, though Harry did notice her wiping the back of her hand.

'I hope Hogwarts is treating you well?' asked the blond man in his strangely high voice that clashed with his impressive build. The man looked strange in his expensive, classy robes – out of place. Harry couldn't help imagining the man wearing cheap, sleazy cotton, wielding a broken bottle in one hand and mug of ale in the other.

'Fairly well, yes.'

Harry hated small talk. To be sure, he was perfectly capable of switching off his brain to get it over with, but maybe there were … options. 'I'm relieved to find that our contact is from such a reputable family, Mr Rowle.'

'You are most gracious,' said the man, politely inclining his head.

'I know all about your family, of course. Such noble history!'

Daphne gave him a questioning look. He winked at her.

'Too kind, you are too kind, Mr Black. You do me great honour.'

'Honour well earned. Well earned, indeed. For example, I recently learned that it was, in fact, one of your ancestors whom we have to thank for all the Dementors tormenting our family members.'

'Really?' asked Daphne surprised.

Mr Rowle didn't respond, but Harry gladly helped him out. 'Indeed. Damocles Rowle insisted on using the old fortress of a mad Dark Lord swarming with undying fiends instead of building a new, costlier prison. Almost ironic, isn't it, that Minister Rowle probably did all that to keep the Muggles and Muggle-born in check, but now it's mostly our own who rot away there.'

Mr Rowle's friendly smile didn't waver, though it did look a tiny bit strained now. 'Indeed,' he mumbled. 'Ironic.'

'I do hope I haven't brought up anything unpleasant?' asked Harry politely.

'Not at all. Not at all. Ancient history, I dare say. Ancient history.'

In silence, they walked towards the back rooms. Harry didn't bother to hide his smirk.

If your conversation partner is in a position of strength, kindly undermine his confidence.

His grandfather's lessons on demagoguery had always been entertaining.

The private parlour was barely more than a few chairs, a couch, and a massive table. It was cosy enough, but the cheerful, warm orange drapes and fluffy fabrics couldn't have been a bigger contrast to both the Slytherin common room or Harry's family's style. Snacks, tea, coffee, and several kinds of juice were set on the table, but Harry ignored them.

Without another glance at the solicitor, Harry sat on the couch, assuming a relaxed, if attentive, posture. Daphne automatically claimed the spot to his left, leaving Mr Rowle one of the distinctly more uncomfortable-looking seats.

The man didn't appear to notice. He sat down and extracted his wand, which he laid on the table and out of immediate reach, followed shortly by a neat folder bound in smooth, shiny leather.

'First, Mr Black, as unsightly as it is, I would like to discuss the issue of monetary compensation. My client specifically instructed me t–'

Harry held up one hand to silence the man before clicking his fingers. Cranky appeared, already bowing in his direction. 'Master Harry called?'

'Hand over the money to the nice Mr Rowle over there, please, Cranky.'

'Yes, Master.'

Cranky produced a small sack of Galleons and, after a nod from Harry, reluctantly handed it to the mildly astonished-looking Mr Rowle.

'Thank you, Cranky. You may go.'

'I live to serve.' With another dull crack, the little creature was gone.

The solicitor coughed, glancing into the sack to verify that it was indeed filled with two thousand Galleons. 'If I may?' he asked politely, nodding in the direction of his wand.

Harry shrugged, leaning back and putting his left arm very comfortably on the backrest of the couch. He coolly watched the man cast his charms. He looked quite proficient, at least with those kinds of spells, but Harry wouldn't be surprised if the man turned out to be a decent duellist as well.

'Well,' said Mr Rowle eventually with a little smile as he pocketed the sack into a much smaller, enchanted belt pouch, 'that went much better than I had dared to hope. Could I perhaps tempt you with one of Madame Rosmerta's pastries? They really are sinfully delicious. I admit I did arrange this meeting here at least partially because they are a guilty pleasure of mine.'

'I'm afraid not. It's nothing personal, but I don't share food with people I don't know or trust. But by all means – help yourself.'

Daphne, who was about to reach for her second biscuit, froze. With an almost inaudible whine, she pulled back her hand.

'Now then, Mr Rowle, I suggest you start your pitch.'

'Ah, straight to business it is.' The man produced a little sheet of parchment from his folder, handing it to Harry who gave it a cursory glance. 'This is a signed, witnessed statement of intent that I represent Mr Peter Pettigrew's interests in this matter. While it is not up to me to consent or reject any proposals made on your behalf, I can assure you that I have my client's –'

'Then why should we waste our time talking to you?' asked Daphne.

The solicitor smiled pleasantly at her. 'While my authority is limited, I can only assume that Mr Black here,' he nodded in Harry's direction, and Harry understood the gesture to mean 'This really isn't any of your business, Missy', 'wants to make a qualified decision. As such, we – that is to say Mr Pettigrew and I – feel that my presence is more than sufficient to –'

'And you've got no stakes here whatsoever?' said Daphne, rudely interrupting the man once more.

The man's eyebrow definitely gave a twitch of annoyance, and Harry couldn't help but congratulate himself for bringing Daphne along. 'Since I'm representing Mr Pettigrew, and my recompense is strictly based on the amount in dispute, it is – naturally – in my very own interest to see this deal through.'

'Let me get this straight. You get paid depending on the amount Pettigrew extorts from Harry? Meaning you might stand in the way of Pettigrew and Harry coming to an amicable agreement? As I understand it, Pettigrew and Harry's parents were quite close. It's not unthinkable that they might solve this without money. But you – self-confessed – want this "deal" of yours to involve as much money as possible. I don't think we should be talking to you at all; you're not interested in Pettigrew and Harry coming to an agreement, you're interested in making it as expensive as possible!'

Nice! thought Harry, watching the solicitor with polite interest and hidden glee. It was getting hard not to smile.

'I'll have you know, Miss Greengrass,' said the man, dropping his friendly smile, 'that this is a matter of the utmost privacy between Mr Pettigrew and Mr Black, and I really don't think –'

'Oh, Daphne here has my full confidence. You may treat any word of hers as my own,' said Harry.

The man's face fell, but he recovered fast. 'I meant no disrespect,' he said, bowing politely in Daphne's direction. 'I was merely intending to suggest how very delicate these matters can be. I'm sure Mr Black here is very glad to have a softer, female perspective on his business dealings.'

Harry snorted. He really couldn't help himself this time. If Rowle had wanted to piss Daphne off, he'd certainly achieved just that.

'Yes,' drawled Daphne. 'I'm known for my subtle, softer wiles.' Daphne produced her wand. But unlike Mr Rowle, she put it right in front of her, its tip pointing at the solicitor.

The man frowned, looking disapprovingly at Harry for help. Harry, meanwhile, was busy inspecting the chinaware, refusing to catch the man's eye.

'I think you better start talking fast,' snarled Daphne. 'Otherwise, I'll decide that this really isn't worth our time. If Pettigrew wants money, he should've had the grit to ask Harry himself instead of sending some busybody clerk.'

The man glared angrily at Daphne. 'Mr Pettigrew is in possession of both first-hand knowledge and genuine documents about a person or persons of Mr Black's environment. These documents are irrefutable proof that they have greatly wronged Mr Black. We're prepared to disclose all knowledge pertaining to these events as well as hand over all documents concerned in exchange for the aforementioned sum. Both parties will sign a clause that will penalise any party breaking the confidence of said agreement. That will conclude all business.'

'Official documents?' asked Daphne.

The solicitor nodded, still eyeing Daphne suspiciously. Daphne, meanwhile, was leaning back into the arm Harry had slung over the backrest, smirking.

'And how did Pettigrew take hold of such important paperwork? Considering his … background, we have to assume that it won't be admissible to court. That would make this "proof" of yours about as useful as … as something not very useful at all!'

She needs to work on her eloquence, but someone give this girl a prize already!

'As long as there's proof –'

'Mr Rowle,' said Harry softly, deciding that it was finally time to intervene. 'This has been very droll, but I cannot help but wonder why I should pay you anything more than what you've received already. There is no proof that such "evidence" exists, and we aren't even talking to the person claiming to possess it. You have sparked my curiosity, but that is not enough – not nearly good enough – for me to shower you in more gold than most people see in their entire life. If you really wish something to come of this deal, there needs to be a meeting with Mr Pettigrew in person.'

'I'm afraid that's impossible,' said the man stiffly.

'Then I'm afraid we're at an impasse,' replied Harry with a pleasant smile. 'Come, Daphne. We're leaving.' He held out his hand, and Daphne appeared at his side as if he'd used a Summoning Charm, lavishing smug smiles on the man.

'Wait!' called Rowle as Harry was about to open the door. 'I can't decide this. Can't we discuss this like gentlemen? I'm sure there's no need for dramatics.'

Daphne and Harry exchanged a glance, and Harry grinned at her, nodding. She'd earned the last punch.

'Mr … Raúl, was it?' asked Daphne haughtily. 'I'm afraid there's nothing left to discuss. We shall be expecting your owl. Have a pleasant day.'

Memory Lane

Harry and Daphne were both laughing by the time they were out of sight and earshot, hidden away in the first forlorn alley they had come across.

'That was great!' cheered Harry. 'Brilliant! How did you know?!'

Daphne beamed at him. 'I knew what you were up to as soon as you brought up that Azkaban story. Please, Harry, I know you! And I thought, well, if you wanted to piss him off, I could probably do just as fine a job. I've had loads of practice with Gran, after all! But aren't you worried he's going to call the deal off?'

'Not in the least! Pettigrew got the first bit of money, which proves that I'm at least vaguely interested. He won't let the deal of a lifetime slip through his fingers just because someone twited his stooge.'

'He really was one slimy git, wasn't he?' said Daphne. 'Did you see the size of his hands?! Far from wondering why someone like that is a solicitor, I'm rather surprised he can hold a quill without crushing it! He looks just like the thugs you see lounging about Knockturn Alley.'

Curious, Harry raised an eyebrow, looking her over with mild surprise. 'Knockturn Alley? And what, pray tell, would lead a young lady astray to such dingy parts of town?'

She grinned sheepishly at him. 'I needed some Manticore poison for a potion.'

'Manticore poison?! Ye gods! Be careful with the stuff, won't you?'

'I only needed two drops, and I was really cautious,' said Daphne hastily. After a second, she eyed him suspiciously. 'Are you honestly telling me you've never been down there?'

'Er, no.'

'What?! Are you not telling me or haven't you been?!'

Harry laughed. 'Come on. We've still got some time left.'

'So you have been down there!'

'Occasionally. But always for good reasons!'

'Like what?'

'Like, um, curiosity?' said Harry with a cheeky grin.

Daphne rolled her eyes. 'Since I've been of service to the scion of House Black today, I dare say I've earned some kind of a reward, wouldn't you say?'

'I suppose?'

'Great!' she blurted out excitedly, clutching his hand. 'I need one or two new sets of robes, and Gladrags is still open! You won't be missing a few dozen Galleons more after wasting two thousand on that crook, right?'

Harry groaned, but he allowed Daphne to drag him away regardless.

Memory Lane

Buying 'one or two new sets of robes' took the better part of the afternoon, not least of all because Daphne insisted on making a show of it, parading each outfit in front of Harry, twirling happily, and asking for his opinion.

When the amused shop assistant finally told them that they had better hurry back, Daphne – to Harry's disbelief – made a snap decision and settled on about as many robes and dresses as she seemed to think Harry could realistically carry.

More out of habit than anything else, Harry twirled his wand, waiting for the woman to finish packing. His chin resting on his palm, he ran through the same array of spells he usually used whenever he was out alone (or as alone as Arcturus and, by extension, Aenor seemed to allow).

He wasn't particularly surprised to find two fat ravens sitting on a perch outside the shop. It was driving him mad that he had no way of telling if happenstance or something more elaborate had caused them to end up there.

The rest of Hogsmeade seemed near deserted by now. They were indeed cutting it quite close. All the more surprising was that his lazily cast spell indicated some person lurking in an alley not far from Gladrags.

'Hey, enough woolgathering! Mind lending me a hand?' asked Daphne, barely visible under a heap of bags.

'What? Oh, yeah, of course.'

He spun his wand, jabbing it at Daphne's haul. A few seconds later, he comfortably pocketed the bags in his robes.

Daphne appeared conflicted about this. 'Hmm,' she said. 'Maybe I should get that night blue top, too? Space doesn't seem to be an issue.'

'You've already got so many new outfits that you can pick a different one each day for the next couple of weeks! We can come back here some other time.'

Too late, Harry started regretting his choice of words.

'Oh?' said Daphne, grinning. 'It's a … an appointment, then!'

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his head. 'Come on. It's getting late.'

It was also getting chilly. Harry drew his coat tightly around himself, his gaze travelling over the closing shops and hastily leaving students. Nobody seemed to be paying them any attention as far as he could tell.

'Come on,' he muttered, grabbing Daphne by the elbow.

'Are you dragging me into yet another dark alley, Harry?' said Daphne with a laugh. 'Are you up to something?'

'Yes, but it's nothing frivolous,' he whispered. 'Wands out!'

Daphne jumped, fumbling for her wand, looking around apprehensively. 'Something wrong?'

Harry shrugged. 'Maybe. I can't cast Revelio another time; they'll know.' After a thoughtful pause, he said, 'Do you have your makeup case with you?'

'What?! Yeah, I do. So what?' she said somewhat defensively.

'Lend me your mirror, please.'

Daphne rummaged in her pockets. He'd heard rumours about the things women had in their clutches, obviously, but Daphne seemed to take it one step further. An apothecary or two, a second pair of shoes, pictures, hankies, snacks, medicine, a few magazines, a shirt he could have sworn was his …

'I know it's in there somewhere …'

Harry tried not to stare as Daphne, frowning, produced a dark silk bra.

'I've been wondering where I left that. Oh! Got it!'

Grateful, Harry took the little hand mirror, sidling up the alley his spell had resonated with. Near the last corner, Harry looked up with a measuring expression. There was just enough light left. Slowly, he held the mirror around the corner.

There was his suspicious person – and yet it couldn't be clearer that they were no danger at all.

He stood up, handing Daphne her mirror.

'What is it?' she said in a hushed tone.

'You'll see.'

Holding his wand firmly in his hand, he stepped into the alley. Their would-be stalker, a Hogwarts student going by the robes, was lying face down in the mud.

'Oh!' said Daphne behind him. 'What happened?!'

'I don't know. Let's have a bit more light.'

With a flick of his wand, a warm, orange glow spread along the dirty street, revealing dirt, mild decay, and familiar fine curls …

'Merlin, it's Amy!' shouted Daphne, rushing forward.

And so it was. Harry and Daphne carefully rolled her on her back. Harry noticed that, despite the nippy weather, that she seemed to be quite warm – more so than was natural. Looking her over, he could see no trace of physical injury. She merely looked as if she'd fancied a sleep in some foul back alley.

'Rennervate,' muttered Harry.

Amy stirred immediately. From one moment to the next, she was sitting upright, one hand held defensively in front of her, ready to strike, pounce or flee.

'Harry? Daphne?'

'Amy?' asked Daphne. 'What happened?!'

'I … No idea. Where am I?'

Daphne and Harry exchanged a glance.

'Come on,' said Harry, helping her to her feet. 'We'd better get you to Pomfrey.'