Rats

Harry somehow got through the rest of the week despite the school's rather disproportionate interest in his choice of dance companion. The Slytherins, in particular, were unbearable. Parkinson kept cornering him, offering increasingly salacious incentives to make him reconsider until – finally – Daphne had had enough and took the other girl aside to 'discuss stuff'. Parkinson hadn't bothered him since, though she did seem to glare at Daphne quite a bit instead.

Not as easily deterred, sadly, proved his dormmates. They seemed to be of the opinion that he was bound to confirm or deny their ludicrous theories the more frequently they ran them by him.

'It's a ploy, isn't it?' asked Yaxley. 'Got to be, really. Figured it out right away. You're trying to get back in good with the Pillars, right?!'

'That,' said Zabini, chuckling haughtily, 'is the most ridiculous thing I've heard all week, Yaxley. That bridge was burned long ago. No, you've got it all wrong. I mean, if Granger fixed that messy hair of hers, she wouldn't look half bad. Can't fault a man for trying to roger that.'

Yaxley made a grotesque face. 'You can't be serious! A Mudblood?! Yuck! I wouldn't touch that wearing my dragon-hide gloves.'

'Oh, come on!' said Zabini. 'She's not that beastly. And even if she's a Muggle-born, well, that's what hot showers are for. Nerdy girls are hot! You wouldn't believe what some Ravenclaws are willing to do in exchange for a bit of attention.'

'The both of you can be such charmers,' said Harry darkly, pulling on his robes.

'It can't be that,' said Shafiq thoughtfully, cheerfully ignoring Harry's interjection. He was sitting on his bed, already fully clothed. But discussing Harry's private life seemed much more pressing than breakfast. 'Greengrass has been throwing herself at him for some time now, hasn't she?'

Zabini winked at Shafiq. 'Variety is the spice of life, isn't it?'

'Yeah, but you've seen Greengrass' knockers, right? I mean, they're kind of the centre of attention whenever she walks into a room. If you could tap that, why would you even –'

'Scourgify!'

Yaxley choked on a mouth full of bubbles, spitting foam and soap as he gasped for air.

Harry calmly lowered his wand. 'I think you need to wash your mouth. It's filthy.'

'Gee, lay off him, Harry,' said Draco, returning from the bathroom only to find Harry glaring at a rather pale Yaxley. 'Come on, let's grab something to eat since you're ready early for once.'

'How in Merlin's name am I supposed to sleep if those idiots keep babbling about me?!'

'It's bound to die down soon. All the jabbering, I mean.'

Harry didn't reply. Hands in his pockets, he made his way towards the Great Hall with rather longer steps than necessary.

'You've got to admit it's a bit funny,' said Draco.

Harry scowled. 'Yeah. It's come to my attention that you're highly amused.' As was Amy, he added to himself, but Amy was always on board when it came to making fun of fools.

'Oh, come on! We're having a go at you because you've been such a bad sport about it. What do I care about who you go to the ball with?!'

'That's what I keep asking myself.'

Draco clapped him on the back, grinning. 'It's all good fun. Stop being such a glum bugger!'

Harry scowled but didn't reply.

'At any rate, I think it's kind of neat that we're back to eating together – even if Tracey is still refusing to talk to you.'

And that was true enough. But at least, as far as Harry was concerned, she didn't take every opportunity to leave his immediate presence as she'd done prior to him inviting Hermione. More importantly, Daphne was, to Draco's personal relief, back to her old self. She had even given the Malfoy heir a somewhat lacklustre apology for all the slaps and kicks under the table he'd been subjected to these last weeks. Even Draco had admitted how mature that had been (though he should probably have refrained from adding 'out of character').

'It's strange though, isn't it?' continued Draco in his rather one-sided attempt at conversation. 'You would've thought Greengrass would be jealous over you taking Granger to the ball. Got to admit, I sort of expected you to take her.'

'Don't worry, Draco. I'm only borrowing Hermione for the evening. She shall be returned to your loving care without harm and her virtue inviolate.'

'Haha,' said Draco sarcastically. He gave a shiver, scowling at the stone walls of the lower dungeon levels that were coated in a thin layer of rime. 'Man, it's getting nippy down here again. I hate winter.'

Harry rolled his eyes, waving his wand vaguely in Draco's direction. 'And here I was under the impression you were a wizard.'

'That I am, but not every one of us is an incorrigible smart-arse. On second thought, I think you and Granger are a match made in heaven after all! Thanks though – that spell is handy. It's been getting freaking cold these past few days. If it gets any worse, I might be able to fly barehanded, seeing as my arse'll be frozen to the ruddy broom. Might be easier to catch the snitch, mind you.'

Draco got his wish. If Hogwarts' population had thought the weather nippy so far, they soon found out how very wrong they had been. It became common fashion to wear heavy cloaks whenever traversing the dungeons, and students were in and out of Madam Pomfrey's office on a regular basis. The Quidditch teams had it especially bad. The poor matron was so overworked that Harry voluntarily lent a hand, administering Pepperup Potions in rather worrisome quantities as well as seeing to other minor maladies. Amy thought he'd lost his marbles taking on extra work for no apparent reason, but Harry thought he owed Poppy at least that much for all her under-the-table instructions. Besides, he really enjoyed how awkward and embarrassed the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were when they had to ask him for help.

The only downside was the Matron Black jokes Amy and Draco were so very fond of.

It was late in the evening when Harry approached the old classroom Draco had claimed for his varied purposes. The draughts whistling mournfully through the cracks and old windows smelled of snow, and – indeed – here in the old, abandoned parts of the castle there were small piles of snow gathering in some window galleries. Hermione was very upset by the iciness, but Harry rather liked it. Besides, they'd yet to be disturbed during their Occlumency lessons since he'd taken to opening a few windows of the extensively glazed facade whenever they left; people didn't want to take a step outside in the freezing cold, and Harry had made it so that the difference between outside and inside in this secluded part of the castle was – at most – a matter of perspective.

The rest of them were already there. Draco and Daphne were bickering again, Hermione watching with an insecure little smile. Leo sat calmly at the table, browsing some dusty tome. Tracey stood in the corner of the room, near the fireplace, and even though she seemed ready to crawl into the flames for warmth, she visibly froze as Harry entered. At least she didn't run.

'Finally escaped Pomfrey's clutches, have you?' asked Draco, lazily raising a hand.

Harry rolled his eyes. 'It's voluntary work. Vo-lun-ta-ry. I know you have trouble coming to terms with the concept, but – in essence – it means I do it of my own free will.'

'I don't think anything good ever came of free work,' said Draco sceptically.

'What about progressing human knowledge?' said Daphne with a snort.

'Or music? Art? Helping the elderly?' added Hermione.

'Isn't being a musician about struggling and failing to get famous?'

'NO!'

'Huh!'

'You know,' said Hermione, smiling approvingly, 'I think Harry's doing a very fine thing. Lots of Muggles volunteer.'

'Helping?' asked Draco as if the very concept was a foreign and suspect notion. 'Nah, I reckon Blaise was right about you all along: "Oh, Matron Black. I have this itch down here that only you –" '

'You realise I'm mostly dealing with runny noses, right?' said Harry patiently. He knew better than to react to Draco's taunts. Much better. 'The only steamy thing in the infirmary is the Pepperup Potion – sorry, Draco. Anyway, considering I keep patching up your buffoons of beaters, I thought you might appreciate my work.'

Draco shrugged. 'I suppose. But Pomfrey would've done the same, right?'

Leo cleared his throat. 'Guys – Occlumency?'

'Right, right,' mumbled Draco.

Harry nodded. He was already not looking forward to attending Draco's first match the next week; he didn't want to suffer more Quidditch than necessary for now.

Leo sighed, closing his book with a loud thud. 'This would all be much easier if we knew someone who could perform Legilimency.'

'Yeah,' said Tracey sarcastically. 'Exactly what I need: a friend with the unhealthy habit of looking into my mind.'

'Are Legilimens rare?' asked Hermione.

'Quite rare, yes,' said Harry. 'It's a difficult spell, and you need to have a certain aptitude for it. A … teacher once told me most people need a decade under careful instruction to make it work. And most don't even get that far.'

'So how many Legilimens are there, say, in Britain?'

Harry shrugged. 'No way of knowing, really. Most people who do study it keep it to themselves. It's easiest to catch someone by surprise after all. Probably around twenty or so.'

'That's … not many at all,' said Hermione, relieved.

'Well, there are two here at Hogwarts, so I wouldn't relax if I was you,' said Leo.

'Three,' mumbled Harry absent-mindedly.

'What was that?'

'Oh – nevermind.'

'Wait!' said Hermione, holding up her hands in an attempt to slow the conversation. 'You mean to tell me there are people here at Hogwarts that can read our minds?! Who?!'

'Dumbledore and Professor Snape,' replied Daphne. 'My gran warned me about them.'

Leo, Draco, Tracey, and Harry nodded.

'Er … your families told you to be careful around them? But what about Muggle-borns?! Nobody told us!'

'It's just one of those things, Gr– Hermione,' said Daphne calmly. 'I've never actually seen them use it.'

'Which,' interrupted Tracey, 'could, of course, be good or bad news, so it doesn't really mean much.'

'Hold on, hold on!' cried Hermione, looking even more puzzled than before. 'How could that be bad news?!'

Harry tugged at his robes so they wouldn't crease and sat down next to Leo. 'Legilimency is rare for a reason, Hermione. Of course, you can use it as a hammer, but what good is a delicate device when being used as a blunt instrument? People are usually most afraid of skilled Legilimens reading surface thoughts without them being the wiser. Emotions, ideas, flashes of memories – that sort of thing.'

'So Professor Snape could –'

Harry raised a finger, pointing at the chair Hermione had jumped out of. 'Professor Snape is a teacher, Hermione – not a mind-raping criminal.'

'Presumably,' muttered Leo.

Harry thought that was fair enough. After all, you never really knew. 'Presumably,' he conceded. 'I've yet to see him using the spell actively on anyone during class. And – to be frank – I suppose he has better things to do than to look into the minds of adolescent pains-in-the-neck.'

Reluctantly, Hermione sat down again. 'Then why warn children about them?'

Again, everyone except the Muggle-born (and Tracey, who stared resolutely into the fire) exchanged a short glance.

'People don't trust Legilimens,' said Harry carefully. 'I'm sure you can relate. People fear that kind of power. It doesn't help that most people are either incapable of or don't bother learning Occlumency.'

'People are bloody stupid,' opined Draco.

'So that's why everyone else learns Occlumency?' asked Hermione.

Draco snorted. 'What gave you that impression?'

'But I thought –'

'Most students at Hogwarts are about as good as you at occluding their minds. In fact, you probably already know a great deal more than those poor fellows,' said Leo severely. 'Occlumency is mostly a … cultural thing deeply ingrained within pure-blood society. But it's been falling out of favour since the Ministry … Anyway, all you need to know is that most people have no clue whatsoever about Legilimency or even Occlumency. It's mostly studied as a sort of meditation exercise.'

'But you all know about it!' said Hermione desperately.

Daphne chuckled awkwardly, glancing at Harry for help.

'Yes,' said Harry gently. 'But we're not exactly an … appropriate or statistically probable benchmark you should use to form your expectations of the average Hogwarts student.'

'Oh, why don't you lot just lay it out for her?!' snapped Tracey feistily from her place at the fire. 'Let's see, right here we've got the heir to the darkest family in Britain, the twins of the arguably second most reviled family, Lucius Malfoy's son, and the granddaughter of a political dinosaur with rather antediluvian delusions of grandeur in our little band of misfits and outcasts. We're about as far from average as Dumbledore is from fathering children!'

After a moment of silence, Harry coughed to clear the air. 'Well, something like that, yes.'

'What's antediluvian mean?' asked Daphne in a small voice.

'It means coming from a time before the Noachian Deluge. Basically, it means antiquated. But what about you, Tracey?' asked Hermione, smiling awkwardly. 'You're a half-blood. You're not the daughter of some super conservative family.'

Harry sighed inwardly. All his efforts to bury the hatchet only for one innocent question to pry open the festering wound once more.

'My mom's an Unspeakable,' said Tracey reluctantly. 'Just … don't go blabbing about it, okay? It's not exactly a state secret, but she's not supposed to talk about her work, strictly speaking.'

'Oh. Of course.'

'Back to the topic at hand,' Harry went on. 'Even most pure-bloods study Occlumency either as a meditation exercise, as Leo pointed out earlier, or to help them control their temper. The vast majority never even achieves what you might call a novice rank. They might – at best – recognise that someone is trying to use the charm against them – that's it.'

'What good does that do, then?!'

'Well, most applications of the charm are dependent on eye contact. But I'm sure Draco and Tracey mentioned that,' said Harry patiently. It was hard not to add 'at least'; he often wondered what they'd been doing during their lessons until he'd joined. He knew Tracey was good at Occlumency, but their lessons had been worse than woeful.

'Look, I know Draco suggested I talk about the topic and answer some questions you have, but you'll never get anywhere unless you start practising. What was it you were doing last time I wasn't here?'

'Thought-emotion separation,' said Hermione, groaning.

'Ah. Well, that's a sensible approach. Are you any good at it?'

Hermione stared defiantly at him. 'I'm … working on it. I wish there were some books that –'

Daphne companionably grasped Hermione's shoulder. 'There aren't. I know that stuff is maddening. Just bear with it, okay?'

'Say, why don't we play Advocate? It's a bit more interesting than watching you meditate,' suggested Harry, remembering his own lessons.

'I pass!' Tracey spurted out at once.

'Er, I think I'll pass, too,' said Daphne with an equally apologetic and sheepish grin.

Draco frowned. 'I feel like there's something I'm missing here. What are you lot chickening out for?!'

Harry smiled pleasantly at him. Due to the nature of his household, he'd played this very game extensively with both girls. Draco however …

Leo sighed. 'I really should pass as well, but seeing as I'm responsible for this lesson …'

'What sort of … game is that?' asked Hermione warily.

'Oh, it's really simple. How long should we play, Leo?'

'I … think five each should be more than enough to ruin the evening for the rest of us.'

'Right,' said Harry, still smiling. 'Each one of us writes five personal or embarrassing stories and five made-up stories on similar bits of parchments and leave a short note to prove that they're truthful or fictitious. You can also mark them if you want.'

'Don't do it,' muttered Daphne warningly.

'Daphne! Come on, let her play!' said Harry with a snigger.

Daphne rolled her eyes. 'You're enjoying this way too much. She doesn't stand a chance! No need to make it worse for her.'

'Is this really a game I should be playing?' asked Hermione nervously.

'It's fine. It's a traditional game for pure-bloods,' said Harry.

'Yeah. But truth or dare is a traditional game for Muggles as well,' muttered Tracey with a snort.

'As I was saying, you write those ten stories and make one pile out of it. You can put the stories in any order you like.'

'Do it randomly,' hissed Daphne urgently.

Harry glared playfully at her. 'And then we play. Whoever starts has to read the story of his first snippet. At the end of the reading, that person has to declare whether their story was true or false. That, however, doesn't necessarily need to be the truth either. The others then decide to believe or to check. If they believe, you're done for the round. If they check any of your lies about the nature of your story, you have to read another card. You can show a bluff to have one of those who guessed wrong read next or to reverse the direction of the game. If they checked and you were truthful, they're also next. Otherwise, the person to the left of the reader is next. Obviously, if you run out of cards, you lose. Follow so far?'

'Er, but that means you can only lose if you lie, right?' asked Hermione slowly.

'Unless you get called out for being duped about a bluff, yes. Anyway, the one to start usually tries to work in bluffs at least once to manipulate the order of readers, seeing as he'd automatically lose otherwise. But – of course – you might not want to share your stories anyway. It's a bit more of an incentive if we played with questions, but it'll do for now. Optimally, you'll want to bluff as much as possible when you're behind but not at all when you're winning. Then again, people usually team up against the winner. It's not that simple.'

'But … I mean I could just cheat, couldn't I? What if I lied about which stories are true?!'

'Lying is the whole point of the game, Hermione,' said Harry. 'Cheating is a very traditional part of the rules, and you're extremely welcome to try. But if we catch you lying about your cards –'

'Don't even think about it,' advised Daphne again. 'Seriously! Just don't.'

'You usually play it with secrets or questions, but I suggest we settle on the kids-version for now, since this is your first time playing,' said Harry.

'Why?'

Tracey snorted, crouching down and holding her hands above the flames. 'Because you're going to lose – badly. This game, as stupid as it sounds, has been played for centuries. There are a million little tricks, and you know none of them.'

Harry summoned a stack of Draco's parchment, ignoring the owner's protests as he cut it with a flick of his wand into forty identical pieces.

'That's real parchment, you know?' grumbled Draco. 'It costs money!'

'Yes, yes, I'm sure you'll go hungry for days,' said Harry dismissively, scratching his cheek with his quill. He was just considering putting down ten fake stories when Daphne walked over.

She squeezed herself next to him on his chair. 'You wouldn't, by any chance, be plotting to completely cheat her out of it, would you?' she whispered, eyeing him suspiciously.

He grinned at her. 'Well, all right, I was considering it, but that would be such a lame way to win.'

'Will you let me watch?' she whispered, resting her chin on his shoulder. 'I know all of your embarrassing stories anyway.'

Harry gave her a look. 'That would be because you and your little sister were the driving forces behind most of them.'

In the end, Harry really did put down five rather personal stories about himself and another five similar fake stories. Daphne, meanwhile, was watching him scribble, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

'You know, this is kind of fun,' he admitted. 'I haven't played Advocate in some time.'

Daphne pinched his side. 'That's because even the adults won't play with you anymore. Funny you didn't mention that to Hermione.'

Harry grinned, brushing her hand away. 'Ey, stop that! And for the record, I've never beaten Grandfather.'

'That's like saying you haven't ridden a broom to the moon yet.'

Five minutes later, they were all ready, neat stacks of parchment steepled in front of them. Hermione looked rather nervous, Leo resigned, and Draco pitifully eager.

'Okay,' said Harry. 'As you might have realised, going first is a huge disadvantage, Hermione. The fewer players, the more likely it is that the one starting will finish first. But, seeing as I'll only get to read one or two cards, I'll go first voluntarily.'

'You are enjoying this,' whispered Daphne into his ear, pinching his waist again.

'Stop it,' he chuckled, swiping her hand away again. Daphne reached around his waist, shuffling his stack. She was probably doing it to make it harder on him since it was possible to manipulate the game based on the sequence of your cards, but – on the other hand – a very handy shortcut to winning was watching others write their cards and sort their stack, so it wasn't a complete loss. When she was done, he picked the first card and read out loud, 'Last year, I spent the entirety of the weeks leading up to Yule with a girl you all know. Truth.'

Daphne glanced at the card in his hands and – to her credit – didn't move a muscle. She was still leaning against him, however, and he could feel her tense a bit. Meanwhile, Harry was watching Tracey. She didn't turn around to look at them, but he rather had the impression that she was listening with all her might.

'Oh, come on, Harry!' said Draco. 'We don't want to know what you're up to with Greengrass. Leo, you're next. Any objections?'

'Wait a second,' said Hermione slowly. 'I know you live in London, Greengrass. Daphne, I mean.'

'No asking questions to people not involved, Hermione,' said Harry sternly.

Hermione was nibbling at her quill, staring at him sceptically. 'Oh, well, fine! But I'm … sure you, Harry, said you weren't in London at the time of that … London business. I think you mentioned you had a house there but …'

'Well, it's up to you. You could make me show it, obviously.'

Hermione's brow creased, and she narrowed her eyes. 'Check!'

Harry's smile widened as he slowly turned the card. In clearly visible words, it read 'truth' at the bottom. 'You've got a good memory, but that alone won't help you, Hermione. You're next.'

'All right.' She picked a card, stared at it, took a deep breath and–

'Lie,' said Harry with a deep-drawn sigh.

'Wait, what?! I haven't even started yet!'

Daphne, from over his shoulder, gave Hermione a look of compassion. 'Frustrating, isn't it? But if it's any relief, you don't have to go again, since he didn't even wait for you to bluff.'

Hermione's frown deepened as she turned her card. In her very neat script, it read 'fake' at the bottom. 'How did you know?!'

'The game isn't on hold when you read your own card, Hermione. We're watching you when you read it. If you give such an obvious tell before you steel yourself, I don't think I can help you. You need to disconnect your emotions from your thoughts. If you don't, your body will always betray you in some small way. It's much more difficult to tell a convincing lie than you might believe.'

Draco and Leo exchanged worried glances. 'I believe,' said Harry, grinning like a shark, 'that it's finally your turn, Draco.'

'I'm sorry about making fun of you and Granger, okay?!' said Draco with a hint of panic. 'This is about instructing Granger – not teaching me a lesson!'

As far as Harry was concerned, that was a matter of opinion. He had been looking forward to this. Helping Hermione was all well and good, but Draco had been getting on his nerves with his constant needling. And since Amy was busy snooping around, he would have to be the one to anchor Draco firmly to the ground of reality. 'Now, now, dear cousin. No use begging; we're only playing a friendly game, right? In any case, I think we all have our lessons to learn. But the thought occurs that you might not have fully internalised yours yet.'

'Damn, I mean … Oh, damn it all! Er, team up, Leo?'

Leo looked up from his stack of cards, catching Harry's eye for just a second. He averted his gaze. 'Rather you than me, Draco.'

'Damn!'

Memory Lane

The others had long since left, leaving Harry to restore the room to an acceptable state so that Filch wouldn't get a fit if his bad leg carried him to this part of the castle. Mrs Norris, at least, was known to prowl every nook and cranny of the old building, and the mysterious connection they shared seemed to call the owner to the site of any misdeed his pet discovered without fail.

Sweeping his wand through the air, Harry levitated the last extra chair they'd used, idly making it spin until it fit perfectly into the orderly pile at the far back of the room. Lost in thought, he walked over to the place where Tracey had stared into the embers for the better part of the evening. The flames sputtered and died with another swish of his wand.

Looking at the floor, he noticed that Tracey must have played with the grime. About a hundred scribbles, sketches, and runes decorated the stone plates in front of the hearth, drawn with ash, soot, and coal. Harry recognised most though – to his surprise – not all of them.

His curiosity piqued, he squatted down, running his hand over the drawings. They weren't magical – just scribbles, and he accidentally destroyed a few characters with his fingers. Some runes – like lines in the sand – were slowly dissolving in the draught even as he watched.

A few, however, were still readable.

'Aurea mediocritas,' muttered Harry, his fingers following the outlines of a set of symbols that directly translated to Latin. 'The golden mean …'

With a sigh, he closed his eyes, clapping his hands to clear off the dust. Tracey really was too smart for her own good. Hermione was bound to notice something eventually – maybe even Daphne. It was decidedly odd that Tracey, of all people, had such a melancholic side to her – so at odds with what she tried to live up to.

'Tergeo!'

Harry watched as the runes and lines were syphoned away, returning to their ephemeral origins. He walked over to the large, heavy window, wrenching at the rusty handle until it gave way. For about ten minutes, he revelled in the chilly winter breeze, basking in the grey, mournful light of the moon that smothered the landscape like a silken blanket of grey.

He allowed his mind to wander, watching as swirls of snow waltzed through the air, tangling with the wind. Like a spectator at the sidelines, he looked on whenever a flurry blasted another drift of snow through the imposing wards of the castle, dying the snow – for just a second – in a myriad of fantastic colours, the sound of microscopic chimes ringing with every flake, a cacophony of soundless music unheard by anyone but him.

There were other benefits to letting his mind and – by extension – Occlumency wander.

'No disillusionment is truly perfect, Amy,' he said without turning around.

A twister of turquoise, a whiff of belladonna, and a gloomy shadow hiding amongst the darkness stepped forward.

'All right,' said Amy. 'Not bad. How'd you know? I didn't make a sound!'

'You tend to use too much wand polish,' said Harry with a smile, his eyes following the eddies of snowflakes. 'But that wasn't it this time.'

'You really have to teach me that trick of yours at some point,' grumbled Amy as she walked up to him.

'It's quite amazing that you're able to pull it off at all.'

Amy didn't reply. She pulled herself atop the windowsill, her feet dangling over fifty feet of cold air. 'I know why Granger pulled away from you and Leo,' she said with that special dash of bluntness partial to her.

'Oh? What was it?'

'She found an old picture of your great-grandfather and ours leaving their trial.'

'Ah. How unfortunate. I can see how that might unsettle her.'

'Really? Because from where I'm standing, it sure seems blooming moronic. I'm not my mother – much less anyone before even that.'

'I understand the sentiment, but she doesn't exactly have our kind of insight into family politics, does she? For all she knows, we could still be following those doctrines. And I don't think she's prepared to take our word for it. I wouldn't.'

'For all I know, we could still be following in the Dark Lord's wake,' said Amy brusquely.

'Well, that seems somewhat unlikely. I know that Arcturus, at least, genuinely despised the man.'

'I can see why; some of his hunts on continental families were downright impolite,' said Amy sarcastically.

Harry rolled his eyes. 'You're jesting; I was serious.'

'If you say so. Sorry, but your grandfather is an enigma, and I know I'm not the only one who thinks so. I can't wrap my mind about what's going through that head.'

'Neither can I. But I'm absolutely positive he believes that his father betrayed the family by bowing to a greater power instead of trying to diminish it.'

'Oh, I see.' For a few seconds, she stared into the night with him. 'Can't say I disagree. Only wretches and quitters cower in fear of greatness. If you want it, you need to take it – not grovel at its feet.'

Harry chuckled. 'I've always admired how bold you are. I don't think I could ever utter something like that – even here, right now.'

She glanced at him for a few seconds longer than was natural. 'I know,' she said eventually, turning her head again. 'But it's okay. You've always been too cautious, trying to please everyone. You won't be able to keep it up forever. And then, when the time comes, you'll feel like shedding a second skin, leaving all those burdens and ghosts behind. It'll be like liberation, like waking after a deep slumber.'

'Maybe,' Harry conceded. 'But not today.'

'No … not today.' Once more, they stared into the dark until another thought seemed to occupy Amy. 'Anyway, I also found out why Granger's ransacking half the library. She's desperately trying to find out more about Longbottom's pet office gone rogue.'

Harry let his head rest on his arms. 'I feared it might be that.'

'Why don't you just have someone obliviate her? Problem solved.'

'No … I don't think I will.'

'Because of Tracey?' asked Amy sharply. She sounded almost disappointed – as if he'd failed some secret test.

Harry sighed. 'Because of Tracey and Daphne. I also feel like it would be a tad suspicious if she suddenly dropped her research entirely. Let's find out more about her teachers first. Maybe we can convince her to drop the lessons if they're trouble.'

'Do you really think they have a connection to Longbottom? I mean, that would be bold – especially by their standards. You know that's not how they work; they don't bother with individuals – they want to change society! Isn't this a bit too personal?'

'I don't know,' said Harry, standing up. 'I really don't. Let's find out who Hermione's mysterious teachers are first. Meanwhile, I need to get this Pettigrew business sorted out, catch Dolohov, and make him talk. I also can't help worrying about Sirius …'

'Just another year at Hogwarts, ey?' said Amy, smirking.

Harry gave a languorous grin. 'Exactly. Just another year.'

Memory Lane

No matter how much Harry was dreading their collective visit to Gladrags and no matter how tense he felt at the thought of his upcoming meeting with Pettigrew, time flew by fast. Before he knew it, he found himself marching towards Hogsmeade with his friends, though some of them were displaying a great deal more enthusiasm than others.

'This is going to be great!' gushed Daphne.

Harry could only smile despite himself as he trotted onwards. Hogsmeade was stirring early this morning – people buzzing around, students excitedly dragging their friends from one shop to the next, all wrapped in thick coats and scarves. The rooftops of the small village were all covered by a thick layer of snow with a topping of frost, and there were giant mounds of snow beside every other building. Most chimneys, despite the earliness of the hour, were spitting steam and smoke just like the Hogwarts Express. It was an almost embarrassingly picturesque scene.

'So, on what kind of budget are we operating, Harry?' asked Daphne excitedly as the dreaded clothes shop finally came into view.

Harry gave her a confused look, which prompted Daphne to laugh. 'Right, sorry. Wrong question. Let the shopping commence!'

'Er, I don't want my robes to cost more than necessary,' mumbled Hermione almost inaudibly. 'It … wouldn't feel right to owe Harry that much.'

'Don't worry,' said Harry with a grin. 'I'll charge it against your next twenty birthday gifts.'

'Now that is a relief,' responded Hermione, rolling her eyes.

'This is going to suck,' said Draco.

'I know,' muttered Harry.

'I mean, they have all those blinds to keep us from p–'

'I was referring to the wait,' said Harry loudly to drown out Draco's words.

'What wait?' asked Hermione.

'He's going to have to wait for us to pick something, of course,' said Daphne matter-of-factly, her eyes drilling into the innocently whistling Draco. 'It's common sense that a gentleman will pick something to compliment the lady, isn't it? Come on! The good robes are that way.'

Taking Hermione's hand, Daphne vanished into the hidden depths of the shop, with Tracey following them reluctantly.

'Merlin – there's only so many times I can pretend to be mesmerised,' grumbled Draco. 'Why did we have to come along?!'

'Never fear – I came prepared,' said Harry, rummaging in his pocket.

'Prepared?' asked Amy glumly. 'Did you bring a string and a collapsible chair I can throw myself off? I can't believe you talked me into this …'

'Well,' said Harry, his entire arm vanishing in the pocket of his coat until he produced a small satchel. 'I have here … an Exploding Snap deck –'

'Nice,' said Draco, snatching the cards from his hand.

'… A book called Esoteric Charms and their Utilisation During the 17th Century. Anyone? No?'

Draco, Leo, and Amy looked blankly at him.

'Anyway,' continued Harry smoothly, setting the book aside for himself, 'what else did I pack – let's see – wand polish "Deadly Nightshade – bring demise in style".'

'Oh, Harry – you shouldn't have,' swooned Amy in a rather hilarious imitation of Daphne's voice. 'Thanks, I gue–'

'Amy?!' came the muffled voice of Daphne from somewhere down the cramped, stuffy aisles. 'Can you help us for a second? I need another pair of hands with this!'

Amy's face fell.

'I'll keep the polish at hand for when you get back,' said Harry smoothly, pocketing the little jar.

Amy's eyes followed his hands. 'Well, I can't take that long, right? I mean, they're only shopping for robes! See you guys in a bit, I guess.'

They wouldn't see any sign Amy, or any of the other girls, for another three hours.

'I think this marks my third win in a row,' said Leo smugly.

Harry lazily turned a page, leaning back in his chair.

'You got lucky,' hissed Draco, who was spotting several burn marks on his robes – in addition to missing half an eyebrow. 'Again!'

'I don't know,' drawled Leo, who had suffered a mere burn on his wrist. 'I mean, the competition is getting a bit stale …'

'Stale?! I'm just warming up! You won't even know what hit you!'

'I suppose I could go for another round –'

'All right!' cheered Draco eagerly.

'But how about a wager to spice things up? Ten Galleons and you're on.'

'Ten Galleons?' returned Draco, faltering a bit.

'I can see how you would be concerned,' said Harry, turning another page. 'I mean, you lost three times in a row, right? You might not stand a chance. Probably better to quit while you still have what little remains of your dignity. Losing or being a quitter – do those things really matter in the end?'

'I said I was only warming up, okay?! Fine – bring it on! Ten Galleons!'

Behind his back, Leo gave Harry a covert thumbs-up. Harry grinned at the pages of his book. Goading Draco into competing with Leo in games of skill had been a favourite pastime of theirs for years. They both thought losing was a healthy therapy for Draco's somewhat oppressive character. It also happened to be a major portion of Leo's income.

From some unseen corner of the shop, Daphne's voice reached the boys. 'Hey, can you come over, Harry? I think we've more or less decided already.'

'Already?' repeated Leo disbelievingly under his breath.

'Mate, do me a favour and get it over with fast, please. I'm getting hungry,' said Draco, squinting his eyes with a look of concentration, the card in his hand trembling ever so slightly.

Harry pocketed his book. 'I'll be done in a trice.'

The girls were all huddled around a set of night blue robes that were, contrary to what Harry had expected, rather classic in style – though they did sport some daring accentuations in ice blue near their sleeves and seemed a bit more close-fitting than strictly necessary. They really weren't half as bad as he'd feared – probably Daphne's influence.

'They suit Hermione fairly well,' said Daphne, gauging his reaction. 'And I thought, well, they're not too different from what you're usually wearing. What do you think?'

The girls were peeking at him as if they feared his rejection. More precisely, Daphne looked like that while Tracey looked ready to cry if she had to spend another three hours exploring the vast expanse of the shop. Hermione appeared to be rather self-conscious, alternating between stealing glances at her watch, the robes, and Harry. Amy, behind the other girls' backs, was currently pretending to put a noose round her neck.

'They're not bad,' said Harry cautiously. 'I have to admit, I thought we'd be here longer than this.'

'Yeah, well,' said Daphne rather lamely. 'Hermione has to attend her lesson in, er, about five minutes.'

'All right. Let's speed this up, then.' Turning towards the shopkeeper whose smile didn't appear strained at all, he said, 'I'd like a set of men's robes in that style. Keep the accentuations but change the base colour to jet black. These,' he handed the bewildered little woman a sheet of parchment, 'are my measurements. My house-elf will pick them up next Monday –'

'We … we don't usually do custom-fit special designs, Mr Black,' muttered the woman apologetically. 'And even if we did, it takes about a month at this time of the year to –'

'… and naturally, I shall be paying an additional – say – two hundred Galleons to you personally if you could find it in you to appear at our mansion at my behest for some last-minute fixing and twiddling with the clothes,' Harry finished smoothly.

No matter how precious the fabric, most of the gold paid for the most expensive of robes usually vanished into the coffins of Gladrags Wizardwear Group Ltd. There were a lot of people who didn't make two hundred Galleons a month, and Harry was perfectly sure the assistant he was currently dealing with was one of those.

The woman's posture changed at once, and she smiled the very benign smile of someone who wasn't about to question her customer tipping her for her more than her wage. 'But maybe exceptions can be made on this one special occasion.'

'I'm glad to hear it,' said Harry. 'I think that will be all.'

'Thank you very much, sir,' said the woman, bowing deeply. 'I look forward to the honour of your continued custom.'

Harry ushered the girls, who sported varying expressions from gratefulness, disbelief, to amusement, out of the shop.

'Did you really just bribe the clerk?' asked Hermione incredulously.

'Of course not,' said Harry calmly. 'Let's call it a Yule bonus.'

'You totally paid her off,' said Amy, grinning. 'Good thinking, too!'

'I suppose it's not like … it hurt anyone – I guess,' said Hermione uncertainly. 'Er, what happened to your eyebrow, Draco?'

'What?' said Draco, running his hand over his one good eyebrow. 'Something wrong with it?'

'Not at all. You're perfect the way you are, Draco,' said Harry with a wink at Hermione.

Hermione gave a little smile, her shoulders trembling. 'Well, I've got to go and catch my lesson. See you at dinner!'

They all watched Hermione leave.

'So, what now?' asked Leo.

'Food!' said Draco insistently, raising a hand.

'Honeydukes!' cheered Tracey, raising both her hands as if to double her votes.

'I meant real food actually – not sweets,' said Draco pointedly.

'Sweets are real food. Last I checked, they didn't suffer from existential uncertainty,' replied Tracey, sticking out her tongue.

'You know what I mean!'

'But I don't care,' she lilted loudly. 'Come on! I deserve this after the trials I endured!'

'Harry and I need to hurry to catch that Pettigrew spiv,' said Daphne. 'We'll catch you at Honeydukes or The Three Broomsticks later.'

'All right,' said Leo, waving. 'Try not to get duped.'

Amy, standing behind her brother, winked at Harry. 'I've got a date as well.'

'Really?' asked Tracey, wide-eyed.

Amy smirked meaningfully 'Oh, yes. And it better be memorable!'

Memory Lane

'Is there anything I need to know about Pettigrew? Anything you haven't told the others?' asked Daphne as they made for the Hog's Head.

'He's an Animagus, I think, but other than that? Your guess is as good as mine. Don't know anything about him, really. Do you remember how much Sirius used to brag about all the mischief they got up to while at school? Pettigrew was part of their little gang. I always had the impression he was just a hanger on though.'

'His letters … they were sort of – you know.'

Harry nodded. 'I know. If he got along even remotely well with Sirius, we should probably steel ourselves for a rather eccentric personality. But be careful – people who play the fool are usually the ones taking the mickey, not the other way around.'

Despite the freezing cold and continued snowfall, the Hog's Head was miraculously spared the burden of bristling business. The old barman gave them an annoyed glare as they entered, and the only other patrons were a fat man wearing several patchy cloaks on top of each other and an … individual Harry would be prepared to bet was a real hag.

The last person had to be whom they had set out to meet – regrettably.

'Blast! And there he is – the scoundrel,' cried the portly little man jovially. 'You look just like him – could be his twin brother! But don't worry – I'll try not to hold it against you.' He gave Harry a huge wink, turning his attention to Daphne, who was standing at his side, looking utterly astonished. 'And this must be your little lady friend? Charmed.' Turning towards Harry, he said in a very loud fake whisper, 'She is cracking; keep that one! Aberforth? Three straight Odgen's and three glasses of water! Come on, you two, let's make ourselves comfortable over there. Try not to sit on any suspicious stains, and you're much better off not minding the state of the glasses. Ah – it's been so long. Good ol' Hog's Head!'

Harry cleared his throat. 'All right.'

'Firewhisky?' hissed Daphne, tugging at his robes.

'I know,' muttered Harry from the corner of his mouth. 'Let's just play along for now.'

They took a seat at the far back of the room, out of sight from the entrance. The moody barman approached at some point, slamming the drinks in front of Daphne, Harry, and Pettigrew. Harry wondered if he was the odd one out; the barman hadn't even asked whether they were of age or not.

'So – you all right, Harry?' asked Pettigrew, leaning so far back in his chair that Harry could almost see up his nostrils. Daphne, Harry realised, was still staring at Pettigrew's ghastly Hawaiian shirt and the black scrubs protruding from under the first three opened buttons.

'I'm fairly well, yes, thank you.'

'Boy, I can see you talk, but all I hear is yakking! You really into that pure-blood stuff?' said Pettigrew, roaring with laughter. 'Not so much like Sirius then. You might be stuffier than my old head of house for that matter! You call me Peter or Uncle Pete. Come on: bottoms up! Here's to hoping that'll get you over your good manners!'

The disproportionately thick and hairy arms that made Pettigrew look like the most well-travelled monkey in Britain swiped the glass of Firewhisky, and he downed the whole thing, smacking his lips with a happy sigh afterwards. 'Gosh – I've missed the stuff. Aberforth?! Another round!'

There were a lot of stories about the Hog's Head, but Harry was fairly sure the worst poisoning that transpired here usually involved eating whatever the barman had tried to cook up. Politely, he took a sip.

'That's the spirit! When I was your age, we were out on the piss every other weekend! And don't get me started on what we were up to in the common room or the dormitories, ey? Always hot on the job! Well, Sirius and James anyway. I got to watch whenever they got sloppy though.'

He gave a hearty chuckle, wordlessly distributing another round of drinks. Harry noted that he hadn't ordered any more water. Daphne looked rather alarmed at the second glass placed in front of her when she was still fingering the first, undecided whether to actually drink or not. Pettigrew smiled at her.

'So you're to blame for tormenting the old sod. Had to thank you in person, Daphne! Mind if I call you Daphne? Solicitors are useful and all, but I wanna see the man who doesn't secretly despise them anyway. I was a bit annoyed that the entire thing went pear-shaped but – you know – bygones and stuff. Another round?'

'We're not here to get wasted, Mr P–'

'I told you – Uncle Pete!'

'… Peter,' conceded Harry.

'More's the pity! What – you don't like feeling squiffy?'

'I prefer thinking clearly – especially when I'm meeting someone who's demanding a great deal of gold from me.'

Pettigrew laughed again, slapping Harry's shoulder in an amicable manner. 'All right, Champ. You do you! At least Daphne here knows how to have a little fun.'

Harry looked to his right. Daphne had apparently emptied her first glass of Firewhisky. Currently, she was desperately chucking down not only her own glass of water but Harry's, too.

'That stuff is disgusting,' she said, squinting through watery eyes.

'Aye, that it is,' said Pettigrew. 'But it sort of grows on you – like really catchy bad music. You know? The kind of tune you love to hate.'

'I doubt any music can be that catchy,' said Daphne categorically. 'What's the point in drinking this stuff?!'

'You'll know after your second round,' said Pettigrew, grinning. 'Unless you want to bottle out, Princess?'

Harry sighed as he watched Pettigrew goad Daphne into having another Firewhisky. However apt she'd proven to be when dealing with Rowle, she seemed just as helpless now to Pettigrew's peculiar take on negotiations.

'I still don't feel any different,' said Daphne after her third shot.

'No? All right – looks like we've got a contender after all! Bring it on, Aberforth!'

'No difference whatsoever,' repeated Daphne severely. 'Like – totally none! Let's just get on with the gold … thingy. Is it getting hot in here?'

'What she said,' said Harry, nodding severely. 'Let's get back to business.'

'You in a hurry, Harry? A good deal is like bonking; you have to take your time, you have to appreciate the details – you can't just skip straight to the end, mate. Well, I mean, you can – obviously – but you shouldn't if you want another serving. We've gotta have the dance first!'

'I like dancing,' said Daphne, playing with one of the glasses Harry hadn't touched.

'There you go, Harry! Listen to the girl; they're usually a lot better at thinking straight than us. At least if you've got the hump. Anyway, I have to get a read on you, see if I can trust you. Can't be too careful nowadays. Lots of bad folk about.'

'Indeed,' agreed Harry. 'Tricksters, phoneys, and con men seem to be on the rise wherever you look.'

'What?' asked Daphne, looking around. 'In here?'

'I rather think so, yes,' said Harry.

Pettigrew waved a dismissive hand. 'Harmless pranks and misunderstandings. I'm just trying to survive, just taking what I'm owed, really. The government steals all the time, but when I take what's mine without going to court, they have the nerve to call me a thief? Bloody hypocrites. Anyway, anyone who believes that desperate strangers offer real diamonds for a hundred quid deserves to be taught a lesson – a lesson for bleeding life, that is. Simply doing my bit to fix this broken mess of an educational system. No, I'm worried about the really bad sort. People with money and no scruples. People in good with the corruptionists. People with a name to themselves and no hesitation to use it. Their kind is trouble.'

'And making minors drink hard liquor will assure you that I'm the right kind of trouble?'

'Ah, come on, Champ – 't was nothing personal.' The stupid grin slowly slid off his face, and his misty eyes seemed to clear up, darting from one corner of the room to the next. 'This world's messed-up, and I'm not horsing around here. I know it. You know it. But in contrast to you, I've managed to survive as a small fish in a pond of sharks. I've got no famous friends, no famous name, no money, I'm no blazing fast duellist. I'm neither brave nor strong – I'm not even a particularly vicious cunt. I'm nothing really. No,' he said thoughtfully, scratching his unshaven face. 'Not exactly nothing. I'm a decent rat.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'A rat,' he repeated.

Next to him, Daphne made a face. 'Rats are disgusting.'

'Exactly! Nobody likes rats. Well, truth be told, there are a few oddballs who do, but let's not go there. What I'm talking about,' said Pettigrew, leaning forward and lowering his voice, 'is that I scurry about between the legs of the masters, picking up the crumbs and bits of cheese that fall off the table. But rats listen, Harry. Oh, yes, we do. And we watch. And you know what? Those at the top – at the very top – they like nothing better than to pretend to be a race apart when – in reality – they're simply the biggest, fattest, most impudent rodents there are. This is a world of rats, Harry. I'm just one of the few who doesn't pretend otherwise.'

'Rats, hmm?' mumbled Harry thoughtfully.

'Yes. Rats.'

Harry smirked, leaning back. 'But you have to admit, Peter; some of us are more rat than others.'

The man held his gaze for a second before he leaned back, downing another glass. 'Geez – Sirius could never keep his big fat mouth shut to save his own hide. He told you, I guess? Remus always had a stick up his arse. He would tear right up at the thought of betraying his beloved friends' secrets.' Peter snorted. 'The great twat.'

Harry nodded. 'I won't argue with that.'

'No, I suppose you wouldn't after all the shite he's done to you.'

'You know, we've been wondering,' said Harry.

'We?' asked Pettigrew.

'Daphne and me,' corrected Harry smoothly. 'I know you were friends with Sirius, Remus, and James. What happened after school? You're not exactly shy about the fact that your friendship dried up.'

'Look, kid, your father was as prideful as he was stupid. Oh, he could transfigure a kitten into a tiger in his fourth year, but he was stupid in plenty other ways. But despite his faulty brain functions, he was still the best of them. Sirius had issues – and a really mean streak. Whenever his family was concerned, mostly, and he played the cheeky monkey to annoy them. It also got him laid a lot. But while Sirius had a couple issues, Remus' entire life was built upon lies, deceit, subterfuge, and the ever-present mountain of nagging insecurity. Oh, he could be polite and nice enough, don't get me wrong, but living with all that hate and self-loathing had an effect on him. You can't imagine how tedious it gets after a few years. ''No, Remus. Me not answering your letter within the first three hours doesn't mean anything. No, Remus, we're still totally friends. Yes, Remus, stay over however long you like. Of course, Remus, I'll help you find a job.'' The bloody wanker would've asked us to wipe his own arse if he hadn't been such a bundle of shame! Late bloomer, too. He was starved for affection, and that's why he smothered those who showed him even a bit of kindness. Funny that he ended up betraying your parents' memory, right? That's some delicious irony right there.'

'So you got disillusioned with then? That's it?'

'Pretty much, yeah.'

Harry watched the self-proclaimed rat lean back again, swirling his whisky. 'I don't buy it.'

'That's right!' said Daphne, hitting the table with the flat of her hand, rattling all the glasses. 'We don't buy it. Wait – we don't?'

'No, I don't think so. You said you don't have money, a name, or incredible magical skills. But Sirius and James, at least, had all of that – as far as I'm aware. A person like you wouldn't have ditched a golden calf for no reason. I know your type.'

'My type?' repeated Pettigrew, offended.

'That's right,' said Harry calmly, pushing his last glass of Firewhisky subtly out of Daphne's reach. 'All the world hates the Blacks. Funny though, isn't it, that I can't walk into a shop in Hogsmeade without the proprietor offering me drinks, asking if Grandfather is well, assuring me they're at my service.'

'What's funny about that?' asked Pettigrew. 'Good on you.'

'It's funny,' said Harry, unmoving, 'that they drop the act as soon as another client enters the store. Others could talk, you see. Their loyalty, their service is – in actuality – nothing more than self-interest dressed in a mantle of respectability and humility. You, Peter, are exactly that kind of person, I wager. Oh, I jolly well know that Sirius could be as thick as a brick. And that is exactly why someone like you, a rat, an opportunist, would have studied, known, and used all the little buttons to milk the cow for all its worth. Sirius was cast out of the family – but even what little pittance he received from his uncle would have been more than enough to see him and you through your lives. And James, my father, was wealthier still.'

'Are you calling me a liar, boy?' asked Pettigrew darkly, slamming both hands on the table, leaning forward. The biting stench of Pettigrew's cheap antiperspirant was easily as alarming as his sudden shift in demeanour.

Harry, his fingers within his sleeve gliding over the soothing texture of wood, eyed the little man coldly. 'I suppose I am.'

They stared at one another – until Pettigrew leaned back again, smirking. 'This would've been a lot easier if you'd taken after your flea-brained father more. I never liked dealing with Lily. Too sharp. Too steadfast. Principled, too, though I doubt that's going to be an issue with you.'

'Yes,' said Harry with a smirk of his own. 'It's difficult to cajole someone like that into doing your bidding, isn't it?'

'It sure is,' said Pettigrew with a laugh. 'All right, you got me. Well, truth is, there was this man in a pub …'

'Sounds more plausible already,' muttered Harry.

' … and we got talking, you know how it is. And, well, he kept buying drinks, and I really couldn't help liking the chap – even if his pronunciation was a bit funny. But he was the okay sort of foreigner in my books! Anyway, he offered me a … reasonable amount of money if I left Britain the very next day without ever seeing or writing Lily or James again.'

'How much?'

'Five grand.'

Once again, Harry and Pettigrew stared into each others' eyes.

'Try again,' said Harry.

'Jesus! You must be the joy of every poker table. All right, all right! It was a … substantial sum – as you top dogs say.'

'And you really did it? Just like that? Taking money from a stranger in a pub?!' asked Daphne.

'Well, I was drunk, and I'd had a bit of a fight with James the other day, and I thought – heck, why not?!'

'And you really got the money?' demanded Daphne, incredulous.

'Sure did. The very next day – goblin-approved and shiny as fake diamonds. They weren't though. Fake I mean – not diamonds. Checked, of course.'

'Yes, I'm certain you know all about fake galleons,' said Harry coolly.

Pettigrew didn't seem to hear him. 'That's how it was. I settled abroad, bought a house with a pool and a beach. Scotch, slags, and sunshine. Loved it! But I burned through the money, and that's why I'm here. See? You got to hear my sob story, in the end. Truth is, I'm flat broke.' Pettigrew grinned in what he clearly thought was a boyish manner.

Harry didn't crack a smile. 'How touching. And you never tried to contact James or Lily again?'

'Well, did once, as a matter of fact. After you were born. But, well, I got found out.'

'Found out?' asked Daphne.

'Wait, you don't mean …' began Harry.

'Yeah. That bloke from the pub was leaning against the fence of Potter Mansion, waiting for me. Told me I could either turn around or pay him back. I didn't have the entire sum anymore, and when I told him he smiled really nastily and said that he'd ''find a way to make me pay regardless''. Took to my heels and never looked back. Really creepy. I'll never forget those eyes. Felt like they were piercing straight through me. Bad business, that one. Suppose I shouldn't have trusted a foreigner after all.'

Harry stared at his hands, thinking. 'How long before the attack on the Potters was your encounter with this personable stranger?'

'Kid, I used to drink more whiskey than water; time gets fuzzy like that.' Harry noticed how Pettigrew leaned back again, picking up his glass to hold it in front of him. Was it worth it to press him again so soon? 'I, well, I know how it looks, all right?' Pettigrew went on. 'But I had no part in it, okay? I didn't know someone was targeting them. I'm no murderer!'

'Not that you would've done anything about it even if you'd known,' said Daphne accusingly.

'Maybe … maybe not,' returned Pettigrew. 'Fact is, I didn't know.'

Harry eyed the little rat opposite him, but no matter how long he looked, there was nothing. No tell, not even the hint of a lie. The atmosphere was tense, and it felt as if it was pressing in on him. He could hear Daphne's breathing. 'Fine,' he said eventually. 'So what do you want to sell to return to your life of insouciant luxury? And what have you got to convince me that this isn't just a hoax to get some easy money?'

'I thought you might want something like that,' said Pettigrew, rummaging – to Daphne's disgust – inside of his shirt. Catching Harry's gaze, Pettigrew said, 'Best hidden pocket ever. Nobody's ever tried to steal from here.'

'Can't imagine why,' muttered Daphne, recoiling from the sight.

Pettigrew produced a little envelope and slid it across the table. Harry tapped it with his wand, checking for any kind of magic or poison (or parasite) before he hesitantly opened it.

It was the transcript of Sirius' trial.

Daphne read the stolen document over his shoulder, her breath tickling his skin. She smelled of alcohol. '… consistent, unbudgeable testimony of officers on duty … danger to society … treason … indefinite incarceration pending further enquiry …'

Harry looked up, feeling the anger rising in him. 'Do you think I'm stupid? I know all of that!'

'Wait, wait!' spluttered Pettigrew. 'Look at the note for the file!'

'TBSAB21121986,' read Daphne, frowning. 'What's that rubbish mean?'

'It's Ministry convention,' said Harry slowly. 'Grandfather showed me a few of these. The numbers spell a date, obviously, which refers to the time an order was given regarding the file in question. Next to the left comes the acronym of the competent officer in charge, depending on the jurisdiction. Since this is a case of penal law, it's Amelia Bones. And TBS …'

'Is how the heads mark files they want their secretaries to get rid off – exactly!' said Pettigrew triumphantly.

'Wait – if they destroyed Uncle Sirius' file, how did you get these?!' asked Daphne.

'Good question,' said Harry.

'Bought them from an old school friend of mine. Mixed blood with no real prospect of promotion. Figured he'd make a few quick Galleons with the dodgy paperwork. Had no idea what he'd found, of course, so I was only too happy to take it off his hands. I, smooth customer that I am, knew how serious this was and realised how valuable it was to the right buyer.'

'My family,' guessed Harry.

'Right, but I didn't know how to contact you lot – not that I tried too hard. Your family gives me the willies. No offence.'

'None taken,' muttered Harry. 'But why destroy the file? They even came up with perfectly respectable pretence to keep him locked up …'

'That's the question, isn't it?' asked Pettigrew, pleased. 'And – coincidentally – I may or may not have something to answer that question.'

Once more, silence seemed to press at them. Next to him, he felt Daphne shudder, shifting a bit closer to him. 'This feels really tense,' she whispered nervously.

'Yeah,' said Harry absent-mindedly. 'It do– Wait a second!'

Harry's wand shot in his hand, and he began muttering furiously under his breath.

Pettigrew, seeing Harry reach for his wand, had jumped out of his chair in fright. 'Jesus Christ! Don't scare me like that. Damn, you're fast, Champ! Aberforth?! Aberforth, I need another one to calm me nerves!'

Harry's face fell.

Damn.

'What is it?' asked Daphne, tugging at his robes. 'I know that look. Harry, what is it?!'

'Anti-Apparition and Portkey charms,' hissed Harry, standing up. 'Wands out, Daphne.'

'Wait, did you rat me out?!' asked Pettigrew, sounding strangely appalled. 'You grassed on me! The son of James and Lily Potter?! I can't believe this. You ungrateful little –'

'I did not,' hissed Harry again. 'Calm yourself. Why would I blow the whistle? To impress Bones?' He snorted. 'I don't care the slightest about the wretches you cheated out of their money.'

'Have you told anyone else?!' stammered Pettigrew, going for his own wand and looking nervously around the room. The other guests seemed to have sensed something, too. The man wearing his cloaks was swearing heartily.

'No, only my friends. Listen, I didn't tell on you! I wanted to buy provided the information was good.'

'Too late, I'm out of here,' muttered Pettigrew, pointing his wand.

'Wait – what about the deal?!'

'I like my hide better than our bloody deal. To hell with it!' With a bang, Pettigrew shrank, shrank from the size of a man slowly to that of a particularly fat, strong-armed little rat. It squeaked snottily before it scuffled out of sight towards the door. The other patrons, too, were blending into the shadows.

Suddenly, Harry and Daphne were all alone in a room that felt a lot darker and emptier than before.

'What do we do now?' whispered Daphne, not letting go of his robes.

'Let's get back to Hogwarts as fast as we can. We're sitting ducks. Maybe we can outrun the charms. Come on!'

They stormed towards the door, and Harry didn't stop to open it; splinters and an aching shoulder were the least of his worries. Their dramatic escape, however, was short-lived. Embarrassingly short-lived.

'… under arrested on suspicion of theft, embezzlement, fraud, and betrayal of state secrets. You are not obliged to say anything, but anything you do say will be noted and …'

Pettigrew, de-ratted, was held firmly in the grip of two Hit Wizards. A blond Auror and a few minor employees of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were deep in conversation while another Ministry official was addressing the crowd.

'Everything is perfectly under control, ladies and gentlemen. There is nothing to see. This minute, we've apprehended a wanted criminal due to intel we received earlier this day, and we shall be departing momentarily. The Ministry assures you – you are all perfectly safe.'

Pettigrew, looking beaten and without any of the cheap swagger he'd been displaying in the pub, weakly raised his head, staring accusingly at Harry.

Harry could only shake his head.

What the hell was happening here?! Did someone recognise Pettigrew?

Suddenly, Pettigrew fought against his bindings. 'Have you never wondered why they found where yo–'

A stunner cut Pettigrew short, and he fell to the floor like a puppet bereft of its strings.

The representative speaking to the crowd turned around, lowering his wand. It wasn't just another pencil pusher from the offices. No, Harry was forced to stare into the alert-looking face of none other than Frank Longbottom – the Head Auror.'

'Cripes!' swore Daphne, her hands digging into him.

The man returned Harry's gaze for a second before he shifted around to address his subordinates. 'Get the suspect out of here. An impromptu hearing has been scheduled for this evening. I want him in Amelia's care within ten minutes and the cell double-checked for anti-Animagus charms.'

'Yes, sir!' replied the blond Auror, saluting smartly.

'Good. Get on with it – on the double! Fine work, everyone.'

And – just like that – the round dozen Ministry workers disapparated with a resounding plop. Immediately, Harry felt the magic ease, the nervous tingling in the air die down. The charms, or so it seemed, had been lifted.

'There goes your deal,' said Daphne dryly.

Harry scowled. 'This is beyond bad luck, isn't it?! Now I'll never get to hear what he had to say!'

'Well, at least they didn't take you,' said Daphne, taking his hand.

'Pettigrew was right on that account. I doubt anyone will come to his rescue when it's time for his trials. Rats grow fat on the food of others, but they die as they lived: forlorn and friendless.'

'I thought he was really sleazy. And he as good as admitted to his crimes. Well, to us anyway,' said Daphne. 'But still – this is a bid sad, isn't it? I mean, he was your parents' friend once …'

'Yes, and how loyal a friend he turned out to be. Waste of human flesh. Come on, let's catch the others. I hope their day went better than ours,' said Harry, pulling on her hand.

And I hope Amy, specifically, had more luck than me.

Memory Lane

Not very far from Hogsmeade, deep in the dungeons of Hogwarts castle, in the dormitories for the second years, a black-haired girl opened her steel grey eyes, gaping at the ceiling. Her heart was racing.

She was also fully clothed and in possession of her wand; she was not, however, in Hogsmeade.

'Curses!' shouted Amy, jumping from her bed and running through the dungeons. Outside, it was getting dark already.