A/N: Sorry for the delay. I did not love the pacing and other elements of this chapter, and I was trying to fix it. Hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 5: Stranger Danger

Harry shivered as the early morning chill gripped him, his gaze captivated by the slow rise of the sun, painting the sky in shades of red and gold. He was nestled atop the flat rooftop of the office building, his covert refuge for the past week, where he had been stealthily sneaking in and out and stealing sandwiches, coke bottles, and milk. He had spread out several newspapers he'd scavenged from the town adjacent to the office building. Despite his makeshift bed, the cold sliced through the paper insulation, biting at his skin.

He had wandered through the nearby small town for hours the previous day, his gaze lingering on the displays behind shop windows. Each store offered a glimpse into a world of warmth and comfort so distant from his own. The streets were mostly silent, with only a few pedestrians who either glanced at him with fleeting pity or simply passed by without a glance.

One store had particularly captured his attention—a quaint, interesting-looking shop called "The Hiker's Nook." It was easily identifiable by the large antler head mounted above its bright, polished wooden door, which gleamed gold under the afternoon sun. Inside, the shop was a cluttered treasure trove of goods, predominantly filled with hiking apparel and assorted outdoor gear.

Harry had paused before a rack of children's jackets. They were slightly too large for his small frame but he knew that they would keep him warm. The jackets, particularly a deep forest-green one with soft fleece lining, seemed perfect. He wished he could have bought one, that is if he had anything more than the lone 50-pence coin—a gift from the sympathetic janitor.

His contemplation was abruptly cut short when a large man approached him. The man's wild, bushy beard and the suit straining against his muscular frame made him an intimidating figure. His eyes, filled with annoyance and suspicion, had set Harry's heart racing with fear. Without waiting for the man to speak, Harry had bolted from the shop.

Back outside, Harry's attention was drawn to the warm jackets and coats snugly wrapped around the town's residents rushing in their errands to get to warm interiors quickly. He had been cold before, of course, but the pressing need for warmth had become undeniable as winter's approach loomed closer.

Just the night before, Harry had attempted to create warmth by rubbing sticks together on the rooftop, hoping to kindle a small fire. In his youthful naivety, he had not thought about the dangers of lighting a fire on a rooftop. The fantasy of a crackling fire had taken time to melt in his mind, replaced by the realization that a fire on the rooftop would likely be dangerous, not to mention the likelihood of drawing unwanted attention from the flames and smoke.

It didn't matter either way, Harry was not successful in making so much as a spark. He filed that away as something he ought to learn when he got older.

That very night, as he tried to sleep, the cold had been unbearable, gnawing at his bones and robbing him of rest. Harry had shivered for hours, eventually crying in a tight ball as he huddled his body into a tight shape against the ground. Eventually, he gave up and climbed to the roof once more, hoping that the sunrise might offer some semblance of warmth.

Sitting there, his teeth chattering and his body huddled under a couple of flimsy papers, an idea popped into his mind suddenly. He had managed to sneak into the office building for shelter; perhaps he could employ similar stealth to acquire what he desperately needed from "The Hiker's Nook." The thought of owning one of those warm jackets—to feel the fleece-lined fabric against his skin, enveloping him in its cozy embrace—fueled a burning feeling of desire and determination in him.

He would steal a warm coat, and he would not feel guilty about it! He would pay the owner back one day when he had money of his own.

Harry observed "The Hiker's Nook." from across the street, not understanding that he was being a bit obvious. Harry had peeked on Dudley watching spy movies in the living room a few times, and he had picked up some ideas of how a spy should act. Harry was not aware of how unrealistic and naive he looked.

Harry was acting incredibly suspicious, as he imagined himself as a serious grownup, narrowing his eyes, pretending not to look at the shop.

Despite all of his clumsy efforts, Harry did manage to get lucky. Not many people were around, and aside from a glance or two, nobody seemed to care what he was doing. The morning was peaceful and quiet, the street was mostly deserted except for an elderly man who shuffled along with a newspaper under his arm. Occasional passersby dismissed the odd little boy and paid him no mind.

The minutes stretched into an hour as Harry decided to proceed to step two. Harry found the spying to be rather fun, and the creativity and pretending gave him a sense of purpose, which warmed him up quite a bit.

Emboldened by the game and the lack of attention, he decided to inch closer to the shop. "The Hiker's Nook" was closely nestled between a salon and a dimly lit bar, with just a tight narrow alleyway separating the buildings.

He grew more nervous when he stared at the Antler head mounted on the door, feeling almost like the Antler was watching the street.

He slipped around to the side of the shop, barely fitting his body through the narrow alley between buildings. He surveyed the back entrance, not seeing anything that would be an obvious solution. He then cautiously approached the front again, squeezing through the alley and pretending to look busy.

To his surprise and delight, the front door was now wide open, as if inviting him in. His heart raced with both excitement and trepidation as he stepped closer, put one foot inside, and peered into the shop.

The interior of the shop was the same as it had been the day before. Rows of hiking and travel gear, racks of clothing and winter gear on the far ends of both walls and a whole bunch of random treasures and items Harry did not recognize. The air was filled with the scent of leather and wax, and Harry thought that it was a rather pleasant ambiance. Harry's eyes quickly found the children's jackets, especially the deep forest-green one with soft fleece lining.

With no sign of the intimidating, bearded man in the tight suit, Harry's confidence grew. He darted forward, his fingers closing around the jacket, its fabric soft under his touch. Harry was over the moon! Clutching his prize, he turned me and ran to the door as fast as he could.

Harry reached the door and smashed right into a muscular adult, the last man he wanted to see right then.

The man's hands were swift and rough as he snatched the coat from Harry's grasp. A sharp slap struck Harry's face like a brick, the pain of it shocking him to his core. The man grabbed Harry by the arms, picked up his tiny frame, and threw him onto the street, angrily shouting about "stinkin' homeless rats."

The impact had knocked the wind out of Harry, leaving him gasping on the cold pavement. With great effort and tears freely flowing, he stumbled through the street until he saw a wider alley with trash. Collapsing against a cold, damp wall beside overflowing garbage bags, Harry sobbed quietly into his arms.

It was not the first time that Harry cried, nor the first time he desperately wished to return to the Dursleys. Even with Vernon dead, he just wanted his little closet under the stairs. Nothing could be done to him worse than this. He just wanted to go home.

It was then that a shadow loomed over him, and a voice, warm and concerned, cut through his misery. "Oi, you alright?" the boy asked, extending a chunky bar of milk chocolate towards Harry. Looking up, Harry saw an older boy, about twelve, with messy blonde hair and a mischievous glint in his light blue eyes. He was dressed in an eye-catching bright red royal robe that looked like it came from a play or a Halloween costume, his smile revealing a prominent gap between his front teeth.

"My name's Billy, just Billy."

The next day, David Fletcher was dismissed from his janitorial role. His bosses had complained about more thefts, particularly snacks and drinks from the third floor, and had asked him for an explanation. David had attributed the thefts to what he described as a "poor, homeless boy sneaking into the building." His employers, skeptical of his account and suspecting that he was the thief and not taking responsibility, decided to terminate his employment.

Harry tried to adapt to his new living situation, finding himself in an abandoned crawl space behind one of the shops at the edge of town. The space was cramped and smelly, a stark contrast to the relatively spacious and solitary office building he had grown used to. As he huddled among his new companions—Tommy, Eric, and Ivy—Harry couldn't help but miss his previous hideout.

Tommy was about eleven or twelve years old, a tall, lanky boy with bright blonde hair that hung in shaggy locks around his face. His clothes were worn and too large for his thin frame, giving him a perpetually disheveled look. Eric, on the other hand, was surprisingly smaller than Harry despite being older, with a completely bald head. He had no eyebrows, and dark circles under his eyes gave him a perpetually exhausted appearance.

Ivy was a stark contrast to the boys; her long red hair seemed to glow, catching any stray light that filtered into their dark hideout. Her bright green eyes were always alight with a mischievous spark, and Harry wondered if she ever stopped smiling. Harry felt that the smile had to be fake, because he had never seen anyone look so happy all the time, and he filed it away as a "must be girl thing" and left it at that.

That first night, Harry found it nearly impossible to sleep. The ground was hard and cold, and Eric's snoring filled the space. He snored louder than Harry thought a snore could possibly get. Billy would sometimes reach over in the dark and give Eric a hard whack, trying to stop the snoring, but the quiet would only last for a few moments before it started up again.

Harry kept to himself, reluctant to share details about who he was or where he had come from. He wasn't entirely sure why he was staying at all, but something kept him with the group. His secrecy seemed to rankle Billy, who was used to having control over the group. The next morning, with little sleep and feeling the edge of hunger, Harry faced Billy's probing questions.

"How've you been getting by, eh? Where you been sleeping before you came here?" Billy's tone was sharp, his light blue eyes narrowing into slits as he scrutinized Harry.

When Harry remained silent, refusing to answer, Billy's expression darkened. His light blue eyes glinted with fury, and without warning, he slammed his fist into Harry's face. The sudden pain and shock sent Harry reeling, tears welling up as he gasped, "Ahhhhh, whaaaat?"

Despite the assault, Harry stayed with the group, stubbornly refusing to give into Billy's continued verbal and occasional physical abuse meant to coerce him into sharing his secrets.

Over the ensuing weeks, Harry gradually learned the ropes of surviving on the streets with Billy's crew. Their activities ranged from petty theft to skilled pickpocketing, and occasionally breaking into homes they suspected or knew were empty of its vacationing residents. All of their loot was collected into a pile, from which Billy took a hefty half before the rest was divided equally among them, including inexperienced Harry.

Regularly, Billy would travel to a small town called Gordrick's Hollow which was about two miles to the north to a pawn shop where Billy exchanged their stolen items for coins. Harry began to suspect that Billy was skimming extra coins off the top after each visit to the pawn shop. The amounts Billy reported back seemed inconsistent with the value of the items they had stolen, but without knowing the exact worth of each item, Harry couldn't be sure.

Despite his growing suspicions and the uneasy dynamics within the group, Harry remained, caught in the blurry lines between being in survival mode, having genuine fun learning, and being with children who Harry felt were cooler and stronger than he was. The truth was, Harry just didn't want to be alone anymore, and he couldn't help but stick around.

Harry quickly learned that pickpocketing wasn't just a skill but an art form, especially the way Ivy handled it with such finesse. Their strategy relied heavily on teamwork and took advantage of the bustling holiday crowds or the influx of tourists in a nearby town called Broxfield. Though Harry couldn't see what was so special about Broxfield—it seemed like any other town to him—it was popular with tourists, which made it an ideal hunting ground for their schemes.

The operation was cleverly choreographed. Billy would set the stage by selecting a distracted person, usually a tourist laden with shopping bags or talking excitedly about some mystery or other. With a mischievous glance at Ivy, he would then fling a concoction that mimicked bird droppings—it was actually a mix of yogurt and ash—precisely onto the target's shoulder or back.

As the person recoiled in shock and disgust, Ivy would spring into action. She played the role of the concerned bystander perfectly, her face etched with sympathy as she approached the flustered victim. "Oh no, let me help you with that," she would exclaim, producing a packet of tissues she had pilfered from a local restaurant.

With her cute voice and charming smile, little Ivy would gently pat down the victim's arm, ostensibly helping them clean off the mess. Her movements were smooth and practiced, her hands brushing lightly over pockets and bags. Under the guise of wiping away the faux bird droppings, she would expertly slip wallets, purses, and sometimes even jewelry into her own pockets.

This method, though risky, proved to be highly effective. Ivy's ability to distract and charm their targets was unparalleled, and more often than not, they walked away with a significant haul. Harry was both amazed and a bit unsettled by the ease with which Ivy could weave through the crowd, leaving a trail of lighter pockets and none the wiser.

There was another, far riskier pickpocketing technique they occasionally employed, relying heavily on precise timing and a good dose of luck. Both Ivy and Eric mastered this method, which involved targeting a distracted tourist. With a swift, fluid motion, they would plunge their hand into a pocket, quickly withdrawing it—sometimes clutching an item or two—and then dart away before the victim could even register what had happened.

This approach was particularly effective during the bustling holiday season when the streets were crowded and their targets, often tourists slow to respond, were plentiful. Despite the higher risk, this method once yielded their largest haul yet. They targeted an older man with a cane who wore a very expensive looking suit and shiny dress shoes. He looked calm and blissfully unaware of his surroundings, waiting in line for the popular bakery in town. His reaction was lethargically slow; by the time he turned to see what had happened, Ivy was nearly out of sight, leaving him staring in bewildered confusion. None of them lingered to watch as realization dawned on him, but the wallet Ivy snatched held a substantial sum of money.

The next few months were a blur for Harry Potter. He learned how to steal, how to spy on people without looking like "a total moron" as Billy would tell him, and how to walk stealthily. He began to contribute on runs and found that he enjoyed each successful attempt more than the last.

Billy and the other children were patient with him as they taught him what they knew, though the truth was that they were all improving rapidly with each successful and unsuccessful attempt.

Harry found the action thrilling! His heart would thump loudly in his chest, warmth would flood into this arms and legs, and he would relish the rush of powerful adrenaline pumping through his system.

Yet, despite the growing thrill, Harry I initially wrestled with a deep-seated unease. Each act of theft felt like a violation of a core part of himself, an inner moral compass inherited from…well, Harry wasn't really sure from where. This discomfort, however, began to fade as his skills improved and his role within the crew became more established. His confidence swelled with each passing day, pushing the remnants of his guilt further into the background.

As Harry's abilities grew, so did his body. By the time he celebrated his seventh birthday, Billy bought him a new set of clothes as a birthday gift (and the others had chipped in), which he quickly began to outgrow. The physical transformation was paralleled by his evolving identity; by the time he turned eight years old, Harry no longer looked as malnourished among other children his age, at least on the surface.

Harry spent almost two years with the thieving crew, learning, improving, and even going with them when they traveled to new locations for better and less suspicious hunting grounds. Their success rate improved dramatically, leading to better meals and a slightly more comfortable existence. They had become a cohesive unit, their lives intricately linked by their shared activities.

There was another, more mysterious element at play—an inexplicable mystery that Harry and the others could not comprehend. Periodically, when circumstances seemed against them, events would inexplicably pivot towards the better, shifting the balance in their favor without any discernible cause.

One time, the mark they had targeted started shrieking about thieves, and her grandmother's precious ring being taken, and then a moment later, her eyes had glassed over, and she had quieted down and walked away as if nothing was wrong.

Other times, the subject would faint unrealistically, as if something knocked them out, but it left the crew confused and wondering at their shift in luck.

The scariest moment had unfolded just after an unsuccessful heist, when a victim had caught Ivy red-handed with her hand in her purse. The woman had attempted to strike Ivy, who nimbly dodged the blow and sprinted away. Mere moments later, a Constable approached them, his gaze serious, and it was clear to the crew that he strongly suspected them.

Harry Potter had frozen, his heart pounding, as the Constable began to address them. But then, something odd happened: the officer's language abruptly shifted from clear English to what sounded like nonsensical baby talk. The Constable himself seemed as bewildered as they were, his eyes widening in confusion at the sounds coming from his own mouth. He clamped his mouth shut with an audible snap of his teeth, glanced around with a worried expression as if nervous that anyone else had heard him, and then hastily departed, leaving the children to their trouble.

Billy had stared at Harry with a strange look after that encounter, though Harry had not know why, since he certainly hadn't done anything to the guy. Even Harry knew that the man was clearly having a stroke! Uncle Vernon had described an elderly co-worker close to retirement who had done the same thing and had been rushed to the hospital. He had gone on and on about it during the next two weeks, every supper!

Often, after these fortunate events, the crew would hastily leave the area, largely because Billy, visibly spooked, would mutter about "bad luck" under his breath.

The crew was always on the move either way, searching for new areas with richer pickings and fewer risks of getting caught. They frequently traveled by train, jumping on and off freight cars to reach new destinations. One such journey nearly ended in disaster for Harry when a mistimed jump almost saw him slipping between the train and the platform. Thankfully, he managed to cling on and though he had been exhausted and bruised, he had survived.

Despite these dangers, life with the crew wasn't without its internal conflicts. Harry found himself increasingly at odds with Billy, especially as he grew older and more assertive. Their disagreements sometimes escalated into fights, but these conflicts never fully undermined the deep sense of companionship and rough affection that had developed among the group. There was a genuine bond there, born of shared experiences and mutual reliance.

This period of Harry's life was filled with ups and downs, risks and rewards. He had grown into a capable and confident member of the crew. Harry had found a new kind of family in Billy and the other children, a family bound not by blood but by the unspoken promises of loyalty and protection they gave each other every day.

It all changed, on a fateful day on October 31, 1988, Halloween.

It took almost a year, but finally, the first sign of the thieves had been found, tracked to a once-famous paradise, though the thieves exact whereabouts were still unknown.

Gringotts' reputation had remained tarnished, and despite the efforts of over thirty hit-wizards, powerful members of the wizarding community, and many diligent goblins, success had eluded them. In the end, it was Mad-Eye Moody who had first detected the magical signature of one of the thieves that the goblins had given him. He had pretended to decline Gringott's offer for months, but in reality, he had been searching, looking for clues, trying to find the thieves

Moody had several motivations for taking on the mission. Firstly, he felt a deep sense of obligation to his late friends, the Potters who had now lost their lives and their family vault. Their son was likely still alive, whereever Dumbledore was hiding him, and he deserved to enter the wizarding world with some coin. Secondly, he was curious if he could discover some of the secrets that the thieves would likely know about Gringotts, considering how successful they had been. Lastly, he was confident that the goblins would give in and give him a massive bounty—he had begun his hunt well before any formal agreement had been made.

Moody tracked the thief to Sorcelleria Cove, a magical town in Panama. Home to nearly two thousand magical families, this wealthy community was less than thrilled to see him. Sorcelleria Cove was not just any magical town; it was a hidden gem, shrouded by a spell of powerful invisibility that only parted for those who knew which parts of a very old tree to tap with their wands.

The town of Sorcelleria Cove had once been about three times larger, and far more open. The town had been a neutral place for wizards and witches during the Grindelwald war, though towards the end Grindelwald himself had attacked the village because of their true neutrally and had killed off more than half the residents. Grindelwald himself had claimed that the Fiendfyre had been a mistake, asserting that the caster, one of his followers, had simply "lost control." However, the town had never fully recovered and had since gone far underground, losing many of it's inhabitants.

The town had changed since that fateful day. It had once been home to the wealthiest elites of the wizarding world, with massive homes and impressive gardens. Now, it was still a beautiful paradise, but people were here for a reason and not to show off their estates or large wealth. People came here to escape, or else to become world renown potion masters. The town was now known to have some of the rarest and most powerful potion ingredients, potion sources, and potion masters in all of the magical world.

Sorcelleria Cove had thatched cottages adorned with vibrant murals contrasted sharply with the deep greens of the surrounding rainforest. The air was thick with the mingling scents of flowers, herbs, the salty ocean on one side, and the wild jungle on the other.

Cobbled lanes wound through the village, illuminated by lanterns filled with softly glowing creatures that almost resembled glowing house elves with wings, though they were about the size of an adult human thumb. Their inner light flickered like tiny stars in the lantern's glass. The gentle roar of the nearby waves mingled with the laughter and chatter of the locals. In the center of the town, a crystal-clear spring called "Espejo Místico Manantial" served both as a meeting point and a source of magical water, believed to have healing and regenerative properties.

The local wizards and witches frequented a bustling market, where stalls overflowed with exotic potion ingredients and enchanted artifacts. The market was colorful and bright, offering everything from shimmering dragon scales to strange bottles and jars of moving body parts. The town's pier stretched into the shimmering sea, where magical marine life frolicked among the waves. At night, the waters were lit up with phosphorescent spells cast long ago by the town's elders when the town had first been erected.

Moody's arrival, unwelcome though it was, marked a turning point. His relentless pursuit had led him here, to the heart of this bewitching enclave, where he hoped to find not only the thieves but perhaps also some of Gringotts' deepest secrets.

On the chilly evening of October 31, 1988, amidst the jovial chaos of Halloween, Harry James Potter pushed cautiously through a crowd of trick-or-treating children. The air was filled with their laughter and the rustling of costumes ranging from a block of cheese to ballerinas, from a large cat to a boy encased in a cardboard spaceship.

Harry, disguised in simple green pants and an elf hat sourced from a nearby thrift shop, sported a nose painted bright red. Despite the festive atmosphere, his mind was clouded with unease.

The night before, Harry had been jolted awake from his makeshift bed, his body drenched in sweat. He had dreamt of a face—pale, sharp, and almost...snake-like, laughing maniacally until a burst of green light abruptly ended the vision. The terror had clung to him, a foreboding dread that something was amiss. Yet Harry had done a sweep of the area, looking for danger that he felt was close, but there was nothing but the eerie hoot of an owl in the dark.

As the day unfolded, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that danger was lurking close by. His nerves were frayed, every shadow seemed sinister, and even the most mundane noises made him jumpy. His discomfort was briefly intensified when a large man, dressed as a car mechanic with a scar slashing across his face, gave Harry's scar a peculiar, lingering look.

Harry navigated through the vibrant crowd, his eyes constantly scanning his surroundings until he reached the designated meeting spot where his crew awaited. Ivy, adorned in yellow robes and a green wig, had somehow acquired fake rotting teeth, though she had definitely not started out with that accessory.

Little Eric was still almost as small as he had been two years before, and his balding head had not changed much either. He was dressed as an Oompa Loompa, and he did a marvelous job with his costume choices.

Billy had upgraded to a royal blue king's outfit, which he wore with an exaggerated arrogance that almost bordered on comedy.

Tommy, in contrast, adamantly refused to wear a costume, though he had refused to explain why. He had refused the previous year as well, but none of the crew members had bothered him for an explanation.

The group convened by the chilly metal chairs outside a little ice cream shop, the cold seeping through their costumes as they sat. They exchanged observations on potential marks they had noticed throughout the evening, but Harry struggled to focus on the conversation. He had seen something that was making him even more nervous, but he couldn't place what it was. Something was off about something… something was tickling at Harry's brain, but he could not identify what was bothering him so much.

Something about the night didn't sit right with him. He had noticed a figure lingering at the edge of his vision several times throughout the evening—a fleeting shadow that seemed both familiar and threatening. It was this shadow that now dominated his thoughts, a puzzle he couldn't solve, a menace he couldn't pinpoint. He also could have sworn he had seen a strange swooping bird fluttering past in the dark sky on multiple occasions, though he had never seen it for long enough to identify what it was exactly.

As the others chattered, Harry's gaze drifted back to the crowd, searching for that elusive figure, trying to piece together the fragments of his apprehension. The sense of impending doom grew stronger, a dark worry rising in Harry's chest.

A shiver ran down Harry's spine as the tension in his chest grew and grew.

Suddenly, Harry saw him. A tall thin man with gray hair and a short gray beard, wearing a beautiful embroidered green costume. The man's eyes were staring straight at Harry from the other side of the street, and on his shoulder was a giant black horned owl.

The owl suddenly took off with a shriek, holding a small scroll in its claws. It flew straight to Harry, landing on his shoulders with a strong grip, the scroll dropping into his lap.

Before Harry could even comprehend what was happening, and certainly before he thought to reach for the note in his lap, there was the sound of multiple voices yelling, "AVADA KEDAVRA!" and a group of bright sickly green flashes flew towards his table from multiple directions.

Mad-Eye Moody walked through the town of Sorcelleria Cove, his footsteps slow and controlled. He planted each foot carefully in front of the other, his movements precise and cautious. The thieves had left booby traps for him before, in the many false trails they had left for him, or others searching for them, to enjoy.

Sorcelleria Cove was beautiful, and Moody wished again that he could sight-see more often, instead of having to focus so much on his missions. However, he doubted he would ever let his guard down enough to enjoy vacationing for more than five minutes. "Constant Vigilance!" was not just a motto or a saying; it was how you stayed alive. It was how you kept your loved ones alive if you were foolish enough to have those!

Not to mention that Moody had goals, and he required a lot of gold to make it happen. He would vacation when he was dead, which at this rate would be any day now if he didn't step up his game soon.

The air smelled of recent rain, and the cobblestones were still wet. Moody's magical eye scanned the stones, looking for footprints or the tiniest remnant of a hair that matched the thieves' DNA signature. It would only work on fairly large pieces of DNA, and the footprints would be tricky to identify among the hundreds of feet that had walked this area that very day. But it never hurt to be open to strange and unlikely opportunities.

As he crossed a beautiful stone bridge over a small river—most likely man-made—that led from the Espejo Místico Manantial fountain to the sea, Moody allowed himself a brief moment to appreciate the view. The stars above were exceptionally bright, the magic of the town preventing light from escaping, and possibly an enhancement spell on the starlight that hit the town's shielding to make it appear larger and more brilliant than elsewhere.

He approached the large inn, taking a breath and readying his magic. Moody opened the door to the bar and was greeted by a surprisingly lively scene, given the lateness of the hour. About four dozen people were crammed into the bar—the only one in Sorcelleria Cove—named Brebaje Secreto. The atmosphere was festive, with patrons dancing, singing, and sitting at the back tables playing magical games or brooding over their drinks.

Moody walked to the front of the bar and ordered "your best" in a gruff voice, not caring what he got, but rather using his magical eye to scan each person in the room. He scrutinized everyone: those dancing in a carefree manner, those engaged in animated conversations, and those quietly nursing their drinks. No one matched the magical signature he had from the goblins. Nobody was acting suspicious, and nobody had reacted to his arrival with any panic or fear.

He turned to the bartender, a large man with a massive mustache, wearing a strange leather hat and bright blue robes that shimmered in the light. "I am looking for a stranger, someone who came by the town in the last few months. He or she would be new here."

The bartender, his voice surprisingly high-pitched and friendly, responded, "No, did not see nothing."

Moody tossed a galleon onto the table. It was the wrong currency, but gold was gold. The bartender's eyebrows lifted, and he looked thoughtful. Moody added another galleon, and then another. The bartender seemed to find this amusing.

"I don't need your money to give basic information, stranger," the bartender said in a laughing tone. Despite his words, he swiped the galleons down over the bar table and into his robes with a flourish of his large arm. "You are the only stranger to come to these parts in almost two years. Most strangers are refused entry by the tree. You must have paid handsomely to get in."

Moody's magical eye swiveled, taking in the room once more, absorbing the bartender's words. Moody's presence here, an outsider in this secluded haven, was a testament to his determination and resourcefulness. He had paid a small fortune to get in, though he assumed that whoever had stolen the Potter's entire vault probably had enough coin left to get in without much inconvenience.

It was possible that they had forged documents to study under a potions master, or had insisted on seeing the goods before transport if they had made a large order, but Moody did not think it would be necessary, considering that bribes worked so easily.

He leaned in closer to the bartender, lowering his voice. "I'm not here for sightseeing. I'm on a mission, and I need information. I know there is someone hiding here—someone dangerous. If you know anything, now's the time to speak up. I'll pay handsomely for information that leads to the target. You know who I am, don't pretend that you don't."

The bartender's demeanor shifted slightly, the friendliness in his eyes dimming. He leaned forward, matching Moody's intensity. "This place is safe because we keep it that way. Outsiders bring trouble, and we don't like trouble. But if you're as determined as you seem…there might be someone…"

Moody nodded, appreciating the lead. "Where can I find him?"

The bartender shook his head and said, "He isn't new to the town though. He has lived in this town for nearly eight years now. He did return a few months back, but he tends to come and go. It isn't an unusual occurrence."

Moody looked at the bartender sharply. "I need to know who he is and where he is located"

The bartender hesitated, and then nodded, "He lives in the house at the edge of town, near the ocean. You won't miss it, the house stands out like a plague in this place. But he is nice enough I think, and I would not want harm done to him unless you are sure he is evil"

Moody nodded, though he had not said explicitly to the bartender that the man was evil. He pulled out one hundred galleons in a magical pouch and plopped it down on the bar with a very faint jingling sound.

Moody hoped that the amount would be enough to discourage the bartender from making a fuss about his next actions or telling anyone about his conversation.

The bartender grabbed the pouch greedily, his eyes changing to delight and joy as he started pouring coins out of the pouch, beginning to count how much gold Moody had given him.

Mad-Eye darted out of the back door, faster than a man his age should have been able to move. He checked his right and left leg for the dragon blades. He checked his pouch for his backup weapons. He tapped his magical armor under his robes, and the backup wand strapped to his left arm under his robes.

When he finished double-checking every weapon, protection, and backup that he had brought, he strode toward the direction the bartender had pointed when he had been describing the house.

It was time to catch a thief.

A/N: Believe it or not, but the pickpocketing methods are ones that I have seen in action myself. The method with the bird droppings is very common in France, and the hand in the pocket of a tourist was in Egypt and very common in the middle east.

Please review, it makes my day!