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A Sirius Affair
CAROL&PENNY 2004.05.27. 14:04
Coffee and tea, Chapter 1
Sirius Black had been alone in the coffee bar near Notting Hill Gate for about an hour. He had enchanted a coffee stirrer, which was counting the bags of ground Kona coffee directed by his wand for the monthly inventory. How it was that Sirius Black, a wizard of some renown, found himself working as a night-shift manager of a muggle coffee bar was an interesting story indeed.
Sirius, once the most notorious prisoner to escape Azkaban, had reclaimed some measure of his stature within the wizarding community with his daring exploits against the Death Eaters during Lord Voldemort's second reign of terror. But even with his work against Voldemort's followers during those dark years, many in the wizarding community remained deeply distrustful of him. Following his final victory over Voldemort four years ago, Harry Potter and several select other wizards who were privy to the truth about Black's past had persuaded the Ministry of Magic that Black had, in fact, been innocent of all the crimes for which he had been imprisoned in Azkaban. Although the Ministry lacked the evidence to officially drop the charges and clear Black's name, it agreed that if Black generally avoided the wizarding world, it would not commit any real resources toward capturing him.
Sirius accepted life as a muggle, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. However, he didn't exactly steer completely clear of the wizarding world. Harry, Sirius' godson, had recognised immediately that Sirius could be useful as a regulator, a free- lance witch or wizard who seeks out and fights the dark forces, contracting out services to various organisations. And while Sirius did enjoy his continuing contact with the wizarding world through his regulator services (and had always enjoyed the fights against the dark forces), the work in truth didn't pay particularly well. He needed to eat, and he preferred his flat in London to the caves he'd from time to time inhabited since his escape from Azkaban. So, for now he used his middle name, Ian, and had taken this job of managing a coffee bar. He worked the night shift, which brought him into contact with a relatively small segment of the public and left his daytime hours free for his regulator work.
As he directed his wand through the coffee inventory, he ruminated about one of his current projects for Harry's department in the Intelligence Division of the International Federation of Wizards. The Ministry of Magic had received several reports of muggles obtaining illegal potions, and while these potions had so far been sold for seemingly harmless purposes (beauty potions, love potions and the like), Ministry officials were concerned that the suspected circle of dark wizards might soon sell more dangerous items. Although the matter seemingly would have fallen within the jurisdiction of the Ministry's aurors, the I.D. had become involved because the suspected circle was comprised of wizards of varying nationalities and because they were selling these illegal brews in a number of different countries.
While investigating earlier in the week, he and Harry had caught several of the suspected wizards by surprise as they sold some of the illegal potions to muggles in a Singapore market stall. Before either of them could react, these wizards had landed some well-chosen blows against Harry. One of them had quickly uttered a Vulnero curse, inflicting a large cut across the side of Harry's face. Little did the thugs know that roughing up Harry was a sure way to ignite his godfather's hair-trigger temper. Despite the suspects' initial advantage, they were soon overpowered and had been taken into Detention at the I.D. headquarters for further questioning. Sirius hoped Harry would soon have a report from the interrogation.
Sirius' thoughts were interrupted as a well-dressed woman came in, folding up her brolly as she walked towards the counter. She asked for a hazelnut coffee. He slid the wand under the counter and began preparing her order. As he set out the cup and saucer, he glanced over at her again.
The woman had taken a table near the window and had bent over the leather briefcase beside her chair, flipping through the contents. Pushing some of her dark hair out of her eyes, she pulled out a stack of clipped documents. While she wasn't stunningly beautiful, she was certainly intriguing. "Quite attractive, in an interesting sort of way," he thought to himself as he poured the coffee. He tried to focus his thoughts back to the inventory problem and his work with Harry. He certainly didn't have any interest in engaging in conversation with a muggle customer.
As he set her coffee down, he remarked that he'd never seen her in here before. He could see that she had already focused her attention on the documents spread on the table in front of her, and she looked quite irritated when she looked up at him.
"I got off the Tube one stop early by mistake," she said with a bit of an edge in her voice, but her tone softened as she went on. "I thought I'd walk home rather than waiting for another train," she sighed. "Then I saw this place and decided a dose of caffeine might be a good idea with the pile of work I've left to do yet."
"It's awfully late to still be working," he commented dryly as he tried to remember the last time he'd found a woman this interesting. "But, my, you're out of practice at this game old chap," he couldn't help thinking ruefully. She'd draped her raincoat over the back of her chair and had looked down to wipe some dribbles of rain off her tweed pantsuit.
"Bloody Americans - no concept of the difference in time zones. It's late in New York now too, but have they gone home to dinner and their families? No!" She picked up her coffee and looked up at him. He thought he caught the faintest twinkle of interest in her blue eyes. "They want my comments on all this today," she swept her hand over the stack of documents on the table. "Today! It's tomorrow in my time zone!"
"Who's 'they'?" he asked
"Lawyers. The lawyers for the company my client is purchasing," she went on as she sipped her coffee and met his gaze.
"Lawyer," he thought. "Ought not to get anywhere near her!" But still he couldn't help it; his eyes kept glancing in her direction. "What the devil did you say all that for? You were not going to strike up a conversation with her!" he reminded himself sternly and resolving to move back to the counter. He couldn't stop thinking about her eyes. They were the bluest eyes he had ever seen. "So I should refrain from telling you the joke I heard yesterday about the gang of robbers who broke into a lawyer's office and . . .."
"And ended up with less money than they started out with? My grocer told me that one last week." This time he was sure her eyes were smiling at him. He wondered what in the world she would think of the fact that he was a wizard. Dating muggles was a bit dicey in the best of circumstances. His status as an ostracized wizard complicated matters so much it made his head hurt to think about it. Why on earth was he even thinking about dating at all? He hadn't allowed himself the luxury of thinking about women at all since before Azkaban.
He decided to leave her in peace and went back to plotting different ways to hurt the thug that had attacked Harry. This drill had, for some reason, the effect of calming him down when his anger got the better of him. If he could think through all the ways to hurt a wizard, he might not want to kill them as badly. He'd start by running through the various violent physical methods of destruction that he might use, then move on to the more cunning magical curses, then slowly wade into the poisons, potions, and gaseous methods of eliminating his foe. He of course favored the violent physical methods, but realised he was on very thin ice with the wizarding authorities as it was.
He had been unconsciously fiddling with his wand as he counted the bags of Mocha Horneblende. As absorbed as his customer seemed to be in her reading material, he looked up to find her staring at him over the rim of the coffee cup. "That's some coffee stirrer," she commented.
Black looked down to find his fingers had been fiddling with his wand on the counter. "Oh, this?. . . Actually some kid left it in here earlier. Looks a bit like a magic wand, doesn't it?" "Criminey, you better watch yourself!" he thought to himself. "The last thing you need is to actually be caught practising magic in front of some muggle. A solicitor muggle at that."
"A magic wand?" she repeated as though the stuff of fairy tales rarely entered her conscious thoughts these days.
"Yeah, you know, hocus pocus and all that," he said weakly. Changing the subject quickly and without much thought, he asked her if she'd been to the new Italian restaurant around the corner.
She shook her head and began gathering her documents up. "Brilliant Black. Now she thinks you were chatting her up," he thought.
She was slipping into her raincoat as she walked over to him at the counter. "Well, Mr. . . ."
"Black," he said quickly.
"Mr. Black - as enjoyable as this conversation has been, I'm afraid I'd better get home and pore over these documents so I can fax them out and get some rest. What do I owe you for the coffee?"
He glanced at her ticket. "Er . . .that'll be one pound, fifteen pence."
Their eyes met as she handed him the money. As she finally cut her eyes away and picked up her briefcase to leave, he said, "Hope those documents don't keep you up all night." She smiled and left.
"Good. She's gone," he thought. "You don't need that kind of distraction. Not now." A distraction it was, however. She and her eyes kept creeping into his thoughts. What are those eyes doing here? Go away. I'm thinking of other things here. But they are very nice eyes. And the rest of the package was quite nice as well. WHAT? Yeah, but she actually seemed quite pleasant too. No she didn't, she practically told you to bugger off, but in a pleasant way. My, those eyes were blue."
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Later that morning Sirius was getting home from an otherwise very long and very boring night at the coffee bar. Yawning with fatigue, he checked his telephone messages. He still wasn't entirely used to this muggle contraption, but he needed to keep up appearances in this muggle life. The first message was a reminder that his rent payment was overdue, and the second was his boss asking him to place an order for more napkins, coffee stirrers and similar items during his next shift.
As he relaxed at his small kitchen table, he smiled while the third message played. It was from Harry, who had some new information on the whereabouts of a wizard he wanted Sirius to check out. He always liked hearing Harry's voice as it reminded him so much of James, Harry's father and Sirius' best friend from his schooldays at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He reached for a quill and scribbled down the address Harry was leaving on the machine. Harry had received information that this wizard named Sloan Peregrine lived in a flat on Old Montague Street. "East End," Black mused to himself thoughtfully. He knew many of the witches and wizards in the dark arts community resided in the East End, and surveillance for Harry had led him to that part of London many times before. Harry had suggested that they meet up at a neighbourhood pub on Friday evening so they could discuss this lead and some other matters in more detail.
Still dark and very handsome, Sirius was not nearly so gaunt as when he'd broken out of Azkaban eight years ago. He kept his black hair short and wore a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. He was eight years older than the man in the wanted posters that still hung in the muggle post offices. But who ever looked at those anyway? He had gradually stopped worrying so much that he would be recognised and taken in by the muggle police. He did continue to long for an eventual return to a full-fledged wizarding life, even though he knew that his chances of clearing his name were quite low indeed.
Sirius relived the scene in his head virtually every day - he had waited so many years for that moment. His primary goal in those dark days had been the capture of Wormtail, the old friend that had been responsible for his incarceration in Azkaban. Wormtail had eluded Sirius once more and joined forces with Voldemort; however, unfortunately for both Sirius and Wormtail, Wormtail outlived his usefulness to the Dark Lord before Sirius could get his hands on his old friend.
Voldemort had been holding court in a convenient graveyard once again. Sirius was observing these events in his own animagus form, a large bear-like black dog that resembled one of the legendary graveyard grims. Voldemort and the Death Eaters were planning their final assault on Hogwarts and on Harry in particular. It seemed Voldemort had recently been informed of Wormtail's life debt to Harry Potter, a small detail that Wormtail had deliberately failed to mention when he returned to Voldemort those many years ago.
Although his dreams had always revolved around taking his own revenge against his traitorous friend, Sirius knew he would be just as content to have Voldemort (or anyone) finish the job. Just so long as he could retrieve the body . . . and, at long last, have proof of his innocence. Sirius had assumed Voldemort would use the Avra Kadrava curse and that he need only wait for the Death Eaters to abandon the scene and he could retrieve Wormtail's body. He was already pondering where he should apparate once he had the body.
But Voldemort had a different fate in mind for the hapless Wormtail. As Sirius looked on from the shadows, Voldemort raised his wand and shouted the curse Conflagratum that ignited Wormtail instantaneously. His screams pierced the night sky for a few brief seconds, and within minutes, all that remained of Peter Pettigrew was a small pile of ashes, and a few small fragments of bone. Although shocked and furious, Sirius knew there was nothing he could do. Now there was no one to refute the allegations that he had betrayed his best friends and then murdered 12 people in cold blood. No one to clear his name.
Sitting at his kitchen table, Sirius shook his head furiously as he recalled his helplessness as he had watched that scene. "Don't know why you continue to torture yourself with that memory. Nothing you could have done differently," he muttered to himself as he took his breakfast dishes to the sink. He pointed his wand at them, and after they'd washed and rinsed themselves, they jumped from the sink to the drying rack on the counter.
Later that afternoon, Sirius headed off to check on Harry's lead over in the East End. This particular project seemed almost drearily routine. Harry had heard rumblings that a wizard by the name of Sloan Peregrine was causing trouble with the muggles in the area. But since there wasn't any dark magic involved, the matter couldn't be handled officially by Harry's department. Sirius arrived at the address Harry had provided. The house was dilapidated but was apparently occupied given the overflowing dustbins to the left of the house. He knocked at the front door and waited a few moments for any sign of movement. Hearing none, he threw a quick glance behind him and moved around toward the back of the house. There was a small drive on the left side of the house, which led to a small outbuilding, perhaps a potting shed, and a back alleyway. The backyard was fenced, and he could see a porch on the back of the house and a small herb garden in the backyard. Sirius climbed over the back fence and approached the quiet house.
He pulled his wand from the pocket of his jeans and muttered "Alohomora."
Sirius entered the house, and began stealthily looking for anything that could implicate Mr. Peregrine in illegal activity. There were some papers on the kitchen table that contained the name Sloan Peregrine, which confirmed the tip Harry had given him. He turned the corner and entered the main living area. "Ugh, what a mess," he thought. He could tell by the CDs and pizza boxes that the owner of this house must be closer to Harry's age than his own. Laundry and dirty dishes were stacked everywhere. "How could any self- respecting wizard live like this? After all, how long would it take to mutter a couple of housekeeping charms and straighten this place up?" Sirius wondered to himself as he wandered around. Then he nearly laughed out loud as he realised that he sounded like his father: "I must be getting old!"
He continued on up to the second floor, and in what looked like a spare bedroom Sirius saw all the trappings of someone very well-equipped in the divining arts. There was a table with a large crystal ball, quite a number of Tarot card decks, a large tea pot, a card that read E2: The Enchanted Eye (come to See with us), and a whole bookcase full of Divination texts. As Sirius looked around the room, he rolled his eyes and thought "not another one of these loons." He finished looking around and left through the back door, remembering to re-lock it. He made his way back to his flat, thinking that Harry was getting awfully worked up about nothing more than a crystal-gazing crackpot.
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Hermione Granger was trudging up the four flights of stairs to the flat she shared with Harry, a heavy book bag slung over her shoulder. Next week would mark the beginning of final examinations in her graduate program in Charms at the Stonehenge Center for Advanced Studies in Witchcraft and Wizardry, which was the most prestigious program of its kind in Britain and one of the best in the world. Hermione had earned top marks in her class each year at Hogwarts and had, in her final and seventh year there, received the Order of Golden Unicorn, an honour reserved for a highly select group of Hogwarts students. The standards for achieving the Order of Golden Unicorn were so high that it went unawarded many years.
She had been accepted into a similar program at the world's most exclusive center for higher learning in the wizard world, the Crucible Coven in America, but, in the end, she had rejected the offer. The program in Massachusetts was a five-year program that only accepted 13 witches and wizards per year. Although it was one of the most difficult decisions she'd ever made, Hermione had known she simply couldn't be away from home for that long. Ron's death was still a fresh memory when she was evaluating her choices at the end of their seventh year at Hogwarts, and she knew that the prospect of leaving Harry behind had been perhaps one of her primary motivations in rejecting the Crucible's program. Harry had urged her over and over to reconsider, promising to visit frequently. But she sensed he'd been secretly relieved when she decided to enter the program at Stonehenge in London instead.
They'd moved into this flat in Shepherd's Bush within a month after finishing their seventh year and had been here for nearly four years now. It was a slog up to the top floor of the building, but it did have a wonderful roof garden. The flat itself was simple, consisting of a small living area, an even smaller kitchen and eating nook, two tiny bedrooms and the one bathroom they'd shared without too much trouble. They didn't have much in the way of furnishings as Hermione was in graduate school and Harry's money was still tied up in investments until he was 25. They'd opted for the neighbourhood as it suited their budgets at the time, but they'd grown quite fond of it over the years. They'd found a very good curry place just around the corner, and they often stopped off at the pub just two blocks down from their building.
She climbed the final flight of stairs and rounded the corner to the narrow hallway. She was so absorbed in thinking about all the revising she needed to do between now and next week that she didn't notice Rufus sitting in the hallway in front of their door until she was right in front of him. "Oh, Rufus! Sorry - I didn't see you," she exclaimed. "I'm afraid I was in another world." "Sorry," she repeated absentmindedly, hugging him quickly as he stood up. "Bugger, what's he doing here," she thought as began fumbling in her book bag for her wand to open the door. She never could seem to keep track of her keys.
"We were supposed to meet for lunch, don't you remember?"
"Lunch? Lunch . . .today's not Tuesday, is it?" Hermione had opened the door and they'd stepped into the living area. She threw her book bag in an armchair by the door and walked over to open up the front window. "Great weather. Shame I'm not enjoying any of it with all this revising."
"Actually it is Tuesday," Rufus answered as he looked around nervously for any signs of her famous roommate.
Hermione, who had planned to fix herself a cup of tea and settle in for an afternoon of revising, was not particularly in the mood for socializing. Her mood softened, however, when she saw the slightly hurt expression on Rufus' face. She and Rufus had been dating for about six months now. He was a few years older and was working as a herbologist with Floranica, the premier provider of magical plant life. Tuesdays were his usual day off, and now that she thought of it, she did remember they'd made plans for lunch since she had told him she'd be busy with exam preparations and unable to make their usual Tuesday evening plans.
"I'm sorry, Rufus. I must have completely lost track of time in the library this morning, and honestly, I really didn't even quite realise that it's Tuesday. I'm feeling quite unprepared for these examinations if you want to know the truth." She smiled apologetically at him, as he leaned over to kiss her.
"That's okay, honey. We'll be spending all of tomorrow together at my grandmother's birthday celebration in Dover anyway," he answered, a bit relieved that Harry did not seem to be home at the moment. He reached out for one of her hands. "By the way, did you want to take the 9:45 train in the morning from Victoria? If you'd rather cram in some revising in the morning instead, there's a 11:45 train out of Charing Cross which will still get us there in time for the lunch."
"Your grandmother's party is tomorrow?" Hermione looked up in surprise. "But tomorrow is June 3rd."
Rufus eyed her warily, apparently sensing that tomorrow's plans were looking less certain. "Yes, tomorrow's the third. Is there something special about the third?"
"Well, yes. Don't you remember?" Hermione drew her hand away from his and walked over to stand at the window. "Our friend Ron died on that day five years ago. Harry and I always spend the day together . . . and with Ron's family. We talked about that - I know we did."
"But, everyone's looking forward to meeting you," he said firmly. "And I took the day off specially and everything. We talked about this just last week in fact."
"I'm sorry! I must not have made the connection that we were talking about the 3rd. I've been so completely overwhelmed with work and revising . . . I just didn't focus. I'm sorry. You'll make my apologies to your family, won't you?" She walked into the kitchen and busied herself with beginning to make a pot of tea.
"I know. What if we take the early train in the morning and then we just come back here by late afternoon. You and, . . .er . . . Harry, can spend the evening together, and we can still do my gram's party," Rufus said as he walked into the kitchen area and reached for cups and saucers off the drying rack.
"Oh. I really wish we could do that, but Harry and I are meeting the Weasley family in Chudley at noon to see the Chudley Quidditch match and then going back to their house for dinner. They were Ron's favourite team -- the Chudley Cannons that is. He had his room completely papered in Chudley Cannon posters. And I can't count the number of times Harry and I found him gazing longingly at Cannons robes and specialty items in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies when we would visit Diagon Alley." She knew she was beginning to prattle, but she could see from his expression that Rufus was quite angry.
"I should have known. It's always about Harry in the end, isn't it?" Rufus slammed the saucers down hard on the table. "Why don't you tell me what's really going on?"
"What is that supposed to mean?" Hermione retorted as she rummaged in the cabinet for tea bags.
"Harry. You and Harry!"
"We've been over this before. Several times before if I remember correctly," she said sharply. She was setting out the sugar bowl and taking cream out of the icebox.
"Well, let's just say I'm not convinced."
She glared at him. "Rufus, I've told you over and over. There is not the slightest bit of romantic interest between Harry and I! And I can't believe you'd accuse me of something like that in this case. We're spending the day together to mourn the death of our mutual best friend. Plus, I dated Ron at Hogwarts! Not Harry!"
"Well, it's been awhile since Hogwarts, hasn't it? And here you've been living in close quarters with the dashing Mr. Potter, world savior and all, all that time!" he glanced around the small, cramped flat significantly. "What do you suppose most people think about your relationship?!" His voice was definitely raised at this point.
"I have no idea what most people think! But if they think there's a romantic relationship between Harry and I, then they're dead wrong!" She was shaking with anger to the point that tears were threatening to spill down her cheeks. "This is so completely off-base Rufus. And, I cannot believe you'd bring this up again right now. I've got so much pressure in my studies with exams next week! How can you do this to me?"
"Hermione, don't you see? If there's a choice to be made, it's always made in favour of Harry. Always!" Rufus yelled. He saw the tears running down her face and lowered his voice. "If this death day anniversary was so at the forefront of your thoughts, then why in the hell didn't you tell me about it when we were making plans to go to Dover tomorrow?"
"I told you already. I must have had the dates all mixed up in my head. Look, Rufus, this is just not the time for a big scene about Harry. I've got too many other things on my mind. Maybe we should just . . . see each other later this week."
He stared at her and seemed about to say something more when they both heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps in the hallway outside the door. Rufus glanced at the door and grabbed his rucksack off the counter. Harry came in seconds later with a sack of groceries. Rufus brushed angrily past him, ignoring Harry's greeting.
"What's with him?" Harry asked as he walked into the kitchen with the bag. He looked carefully at Hermione's face, but she turned away quickly. "Nothing," she muttered. "Do you want some tea? I've got some ready."
Quidditch, Chapter 2
The morning dawned on a rare cloud-free day. Hermione turned over and thought again about the terrible fight she’d had with Rufus over this day. She’d just have to make it up to him later, but she would not be swayed by anyone about today. This was their day, and until she was 190 years old, nothing would change that. Their day was the same every year, and it was a fun and relaxing way to remember Ron. Every year, on the date Ron had died, the whole Weasley family would apparate into the Burrow for the day. Harry and Hermione were always expected as well. Well, expected wasn't quite the right word, because no one ever offered invitations or owled to say what they were doing or when to arrive. Everyone just arrived; they just somehow knew what they would be doing. It started two years after Ron died, once Harry and Hermione had left Hogwarts. They had all showed up at the Burrow with the same plan: to go see the Chudley Cannons that day. Even Ginny, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley had the same idea, though they weren't necessarily Quidditch fans. Every year since then, they had all met up at the Burrow and apparated to wherever the Cannons were playing that day.
Hermione got up, showered and dressed. Harry was already up, having gone for a run earlier. He had made coffee . . . "mmmmmm some of that yummy hazelnut kind we got from Sirius," she thought as she walked into the small eating nook. She had always favored tea in the morning, but the aroma of the hazelnut blend was rapidly converting her to a coffee drinker.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and began spreading butter on some toast. "So, you had a bit of a row with Rufus yesterday?" Harry commented in an offhand tone as he set bangers and poached eggs on the table. Hermione had closed herself in her room yesterday afternoon, saying she had to cram for her exams, and she hadn’t re-appeared the rest of the day. About 8:00, Harry had taken her a plate of take-away curry from around the corner, but she hadn’t seemed in the mood for conversation so he hadn’t lingered.
"You heard us?" Hermione said, slightly embarrassed.
"Well, I think the whole block heard you, but I couldn't quite make out the subject matter," Harry offered delicately
"He wanted me to go to his gram's birthday party today. Imagine! Today!" she said, still irritated that Rufus had failed to appreciate the importance of this ritual.
"I guess there will always be people who think they should come first in your life," Harry prompted with a small smile.
Hermione changed the subject, not wanting to discuss Rufus’ jealous accusations with Harry. She picked up The Daily Prophet from the countertop where Hedwig had left it. "Hmmm. . . the Cannons are playing the Minotaurs today. Doesn't Cho Chang play for them?" She peered over her glasses at him.
"Yeah, I think I heard that," he said casually. "It should be a great match. The Cannons have an excellent starting line-up this season. What time does it start?"
Hermione didn't look up from the paper. "Er . . 1:00 in Chudley it says. What time do you want to go down to the Burrow?"
"We need to get there by at least 11:00, don't you think? Mrs. Weasley always makes something tasty for lunch, and I don't want to miss that!" he said, smacking his lips.
She laughed and agreed. "That will give me a chance to catch up with Ginny before the match starts," Hermione commented.
"Like the two of you won’t be ‘catching up’ during the match?" Harry said with a grin. Hermione didn’t reply. Harry laughed at her annoyance, but she knew he was right. She, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley would be talking throughout the match, and would in fact see very little of the action.
One of Hermione’s favourite parts of the day was being able to spend a couple of hours just chatting with Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. She didn't have many female friends, and chatting with the girls was a nice change of pace for her. And, not that Hermione was a slave to fashion, but it did give her a chance to hear about the latest trends. Ginny Weasley had been a year behind Harry and Hermione at Hogwarts. She was very smart and had an artistic streak. She had been hired as a fashion editor for Witches World in an effort to help the magazine appeal to the younger market. She was by all accounts quite successful and had a small one bedroom flat just around the corner from Harry and Hermione.
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When they arrived at the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley had indeed been cooking all morning. No one ever expected a feast, and Fred and George spent a great deal of time every year trying to convince her that they didn't need feeding and that they could get lunch at the game. But Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t hear of it – "too expensive," she would say. They all eventually realised that cooking was one of her ways of coping with her grief.
They arrived sporadically throughout the morning. Percy, George and Ginny from London; Bill, his wife Susan and their sons Simon and Henry from Egypt; and Charlie and Fred from Russia. Charlie’s wife Maggie was recovering from the birth of their second child, Fiona, and much to Mrs. Weasley’s annoyance, he’d left their two-year old son Evan behind with Maggie and the baby. Bill and Susan’s children were, of course, unable to apparate yet, and so they had come over on a commercial flight. They hadn’t brought the children to England in a couple of years, and were planning to stay on for another two weeks as vacation. Percy’s long-time girlfriend Penelope had been unable to make it this year because of final examinations in her graduate program in potions in Edinburgh. It was always a loud, boisterous crowd when they all got together. Particularly dangerous were Fred and George, who fell right back into their twin terror routine. After they’d eaten lunch, Harry stepped into the kitchen to help Mrs. Weasley with the dishes, as he usually did. She could have waved her hand and it would be done, but this was Mrs. Weasley's way of having a few moments with Harry by herself.
"Everything going all right down in London?" she asked.
'Very well, thank you," he said politely.
"You know how much Arthur and I appreciate you and Hermione coming up here for this every year," Mrs. Weasley said, not looking directly at Harry.
"And it means alot to us to be expected," he replied softly as he rinsed a saucepan.
"How is Hermione?" she said with a sidelong glance in Harry's direction.
"She's almost done with grad school."
"Is she still seeing that herbologist? " Mrs. Weasley asked in a nonchalant tone.
"Officially, yes…but, well, after the row they had yesteday, I'm not sure how much longer that's going to last," he offered, realising too late that he sounded a bit like a gossip.
"Oh, that's too bad, " she said concentrating on the dishes. "How about you Harry . . . seeing anyone special?" she added, almost as an afterthought.
"No," he smiled ruefully. "Been a bit busy, and work takes me out of town frequently."
In the most casual tone she could muster, Mrs. Weasley continued, "You know Ginny broke up with Wesley . . . you know, the bloke she'd been seeing in London the last couple of years."
"Is that right?" Harry said blandly.
"Yes . . .," as she turned and gave him a sly smile.
"Well, that about finishes us up, eh?" he stated with a flourish of the tea towel, anxious not to prolong this conversation.
"Yes I suppose it does," she said. "Be a dear and go tell Fred and George to cut out the monkey business. We need to get a move on before we miss the game."
They managed to find 13 seats together, which was a trick in itself, just before the match got underway. Harry and Mr. Weasley volunteered to get butterbeer for everyone.
"So, how's Sirius doing, Harry?" asked Mr. Weasley as they queued up.
"Quite well actually."
"Splendid. Splendid. He must be generally avoiding other wizards as I haven’t heard any reports about him in quite awhile," said Mr. Weasley.
Yes, yes he is, for the most part," said Harry, not wanting to let on Sirius was doing some work in the wizarding world as well.
"Well, here we are," Mr. Weasley said as he paid for the butterbeer. "We’ve got the drinks. Let's go see how the game is getting on, shall we?" Mr. Weasley said.
Harry took a seat next to George, who commented that Harry had just missed a great play by Cho.
"So she’s starting?" asked Harry as he handed George a bottle of butterbeer.
"Yes. She's pretty quick too. You were a bit keen on her for awhile at Hogwarts, weren’t you?"
"Weren’t we all?" Harry said, grinning. "Besides, that was ages ago."
Thinking he was being rather covert about the subject, George offered, "You know Ginny isn't dating anyone at the moment."
"Subtlety never was your strong suit George," Harry muttered as he looked up in time to see one of the Cannon chasers score a goal.
"Just thought you should know, so you wouldn't feel awkward if she brought the subject up," George went on.
"Oh, if she brought the subject up?" Harry said incredulously.
"Whoa, look at that bludger!" George yelled.
With that, Harry shifted his attention to the game. The Cannons were up by 50 points. Harry was still in the habit of spending most of a Quidditch match searching for the snitch.
Down the row a few seats, Ginny and Hermione were engrossed in a detailed conversation of cloak styles. They never did really pay attention to the game, except to glance at the scoreboard every once in awhile.
"So they're attaching the scarves to the cloaks this year" Hermione asked
"Yes, they’re making the scarves with great colors and patterns, supposed to liven up the cloaks," Ginny added, truly in her element. "How's Rufus these days? I haven’t seen him since I ran into you two at that pub a few weeks ago."
"Fine." Hermione looked away, pretending to be interested in the scoreboard. Then, she suddenly blurted out, "Well, actually . . . we had another huge fight yesterday if you want to know the truth."
"Another fight?" Ginny asked quietly.
"Yes," Hermione sighed. "It’s always about the same thing. He just doesn't quite understand my relationship with Harry. He wasn't too keen on me coming here today either. He wanted me to go see his grandmother today. Today! Imagine!" Hermione said indignantly, feeling her temper flaring up again.
"Just exactly what is the status of your relationship with Harry?" Ginny asked slowly.
"Just as it’s always been. He's my best friend," Hermione stated firmly.
"But, Harry comes first with you?" Ginny pressed.
"Well, yes. I mean, well, no . . . not necessarily. But anyone I go out with is going to have to understand that Harry's always going to be an important part of my life."
Venturing into what appeared to be senstive territory, Ginny asked, "So, how would you feel about it if there were someone else in Harry’s life?"
"You mean how would I feel if he had a steady girlfriend? I don’t have any problem with that. Of course, he doesn’t seem to have alot of time; he’s away a lot with his job. Why? Are you interested in that role? Again?" Hermione asked suspiciously.
Ginny blushed slightly, something Hermione hadn’t seen her do in years. "Just exploring the possibilities. That’s all. Wesley and I broke off," she added.
"Oh, I didn't know that. Should I be sorry?" Hermione asked.
"No, I decided everyone had been right all along. He was a bit of a bore!" Ginny laughed.
"Well, I think you and Harry would make a great couple. I always did," Hermione said supportively, smiling at Ginny.
"Thanks. I don’t have any idea how he’d feel about that of course. But, I somehow feel we should at least give it a go and see where it leads," Ginny said, encouraged by Hermione’s response.
For some reason Hermione suddenly felt a bit disquieted by the subject of Harry’s potential love life, and she changed the subject abruptly. "Ohhhhh, did you see that hit that beater took! Ouch!"
Down at the other end of the row, Charlie had squeezed in between Harry and George. "Seen the snitch yet?" he asked. Charlie had also been a seeker on the Gryffindor House Team at Hogwarts.
Harry squinted into the sun. "No, no sign of it. Those bludgers are certainly keeping everyone alert."
"So, how are you doing down there in London?" Charlie asked.
"Just fine, thanks. How's Russia?"
"Cold, very cold," Charlie said with a shiver, but grinning. "Speaking of cold, how's Hermione?"
Harry shot him a glare. "She’s not like that at all!" he retorted fiercely without thinking, surprising even himself with the vigorousness of his response. After all, he had no idea what her temperature was in that regard.
"No need to get upset," Charlie said quickly. "So, does this mean that the status has changed in that cozy little flat you two share?"
"What do you mean by that?" Harry asked, trying to soften his tone. He felt certain that George was taking in this conversation as well.
"Boy, you are dense! Have you and Hermione ever, you know….crossed the line?"
"No! We’re best friends. That’s all," Harry said flatly. "The Line," he thought to himself, "now that's an interesting way to put it." He couldn’t help glancing down the row at Hermione, who was chatting happily with Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. He smiled as she caught his eye, and then he tried to turn his attention back to the game.
Charlie coughed and decided to try and change the subject slightly. "You know Ginny’s not seeing that Wesley bloke anymore," he volunteered.
"Yes, so I've heard," Harry said rolling his eyes. "So have you Weasleys had a family meeting and decided that Ginny and I should start seeing one another?"
"No. Why? Has someone else brought this up with you?" Charlie asked innocently.
"You're the third so far."
"Well, I guess we all had the same thought….she's free, you're free, you live close to one another, right age, get on well with one other. Why not?"
"Why not indeed……well, you've given me something to think about Charlie. Isn't that the snitch over there?" he said, anxious to change the subject.
The Cannons had called a time out, and the commentator was telling the crowd about the next home game and pointing out the various messages that had come up on the scoreboard. Most of them were birthday or anniversary notices. But the commentator paused when a message came up that read "In memory of Ron." The crowd became subdued for a moment, and then the whistle blew for play to resume.
Harry decided to take that opportunity to get up and stretch his legs. He passed back behind the row of Weasleys and squeezed Hermione’s shoulder as he passed. She looked up at him and he nodded, motioning to invite her to join him if she wanted. She said something quietly to Ginny, and he gave her a hand to extricate herself from the seat. Neither of them noticed Ginny turn around and watch them as they walked off, still hand in hand. They wandered off around the stadium, not saying anything for awhile.
They paused for a moment at one end of the stadium and looked out over the surrounding countryside. Hermione looked up; Harry’s jaw was very set and he squeezed her hand more tightly but still didn’t say anything. At last he looked over at her, "Just needed to get some air," he said quietly, taking deep breaths. She didn’t bother to remind him that they were in an outdoor stadium. "Shall we head back now?" he asked and she nodded silently. The grief often seemed to hit them at different times and in different ways.
Hermione squeezed back in between Ginny and Mrs. Weasley when they returned to their seats. Mrs. Weasley was chatting amiably with Susan, while Mr. Weasley and Percy were explaining Quidditch strategies to Simon and Henry. Harry ambled back to the other end of the row. Charlie and George had disappeared to get more butterbeer, according to Bill who was sitting where Charlie had been earlier. "So, Harry, I haven’t had time to talk to you yet much. You’re in London, now?
"Yes," Harry answered, already dreading where he thought the conversation might be heading.
"Such a great city," Bill commented. "I really miss England . . . and London especially. Are you enjoying it there?"
"Why, yes. Yes, as a matter of fact I am . . . . thanks for asking," Harry said, relieved Bill’s questions didn’t concern his personal life.
"Remind me again . . . . what is it exactly that you’re doing these days?" Bill asked.
"Oh, just some investigative work. Nothing too much. Say, do you ever hear frm Fleur?" Harry asked, deflecting the questions about his job.
Bill smiled, but hardly had a chance to answer when Harry looked up and saw it. Right over Cho's left ear. It was the snitch, and the Cannon's seeker saw it too. There was a streak that almost knocked Cho off her broom, then a roar of victory as the snitch was caught and the Cannons had won the game.
As the crowd dispersed, Harry made his way to the Minotaur locker room. He hadn't seen Cho in a long time and thought he ought to be polite and say hello.
As he waited outside of the locker room, his thoughts turned to Ginny. "She is rather attractive. But she's, well, Ginny, Ron’s kid sister. There's way too much history there," he thought.
As Cho came out, she smiled, "Hi, Harry. I thought you might be here today. It's Ron's day, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Sorry about the game."
"Well, that's the way it goes. You know, we probably wouldn't have lost if you'd signed up with us. No chance we can change your mind, is there?"
Harry laughed and shook his head. "No, these days I’m only playing Quidditch for fun now and again."
"Too bad. Did you spot the snitch?"
"Charlie and I had it about two seconds before you nearly got blasted from your broom. What are you flying these days?" Harry asked.
"Just got a new Firebolt Mark III, their new model," Cho said proudly.
"Ah, I've been lusting after that one," Harry commented. They chatted about various Hogwarts classmates until Harry realised he might be holding up the Weasleys. "Listen, it was nice to see you Cho. I better head back to the group. We're going up to the Burrow for some dinner."
"Okay. Say hello to Hermione for me. And Harry?"
"Yes?"
"I’m always sorry about . . . Ron," she said quietly.
Harry just nodded and waved good-bye as he strolled back to the Weasleys and Hermione.
Back at the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley had conjured up a great dinner. Harry had the great misfortune of sitting next to Percy at dinner. Percy was as pompous as he’d always been. He went on and on about the doings of the Department of International Magical Cooperation and how he had to keep his unit in line. He kept asking Harry about his work, refusing to be put off by Harry’s evasive and vague replies. Harry wanted to tell him that he was out making the world safe for idiots like Percy.
When Harry tuned back in to the conversation, Percy was saying he was going to propose to Penelope later in the summer, for her birthday.
"How romantic," Harry commented dryly.
"Well, I try my best at everything I do," stated Percy proudly. "How about you Harry -- Any romance for the dashing Mr. Potter?"
"No, too busy Percy." He got up from the table, "If you'll excuse me, I think I need some fresh air," Harry said abruptly.
Harry went outside and was soon joined by Fred.
"Don't even start with me Fred. I know that Ginny is free and that every single member of your family is just dying for me to ask her out. You all have really coordinated this assault today, haven't you?"
Looking a bit astonished, Fred replied, "I was just going to ask if you saw that new Firebolt Mark III Cho was riding?"
"Oh," Harry said sheepishly.
He and Fred chatted about brooms for a bit, and then Hermione came out and suggested they get back to London as she still had a mountain of work to do for her exams. Harry agreed as he had tired of the inevitable direction of the Weasleys’ conversation that day. They said their goodbyes to all the Weasleys, and Harry heard Ginny promising Hermione that she would stop by their flat with some of those new scarves later in the week.
**********************************************
Once they got home, Hermione made them some tea. They were both very quiet. "Are you okay Harry?" she asked at last.
He’d been staring off at nothing. "Umm . . about as okay as I ever am on this day," he replied. "How about you?"
"It really doesn’t get any easier, does it? I mean . . . there are times when I just want to talk to him about one thing or another, and then I’m surprised when I remember that he isn’t here anymore," she trailed off. They were silent for a bit, and then Hermione said with a quavery voice, "I still miss him so badly Harry . . ." He had looked up quickly when he heard the start of tears in her voice. He leaned over and hugged her, whispering, "Don’t Herm . . ." She thought she detected a slight quaver in his voice, and she resolved to pull herself together, taking deep calming breaths against his chest until she could trust herself to speak. She drew back from him and swiped at her eyes. "We better talk about something more cheerful," she said with a weak attempt at a smile.
"I didn’t get to talk to Fred much – how is he?" she asked as Harry started helping her put away their teacups. They chatted about each of the Weasleys in turn as they tidied the kitchen. Hermione turned to him as he was putting the sugar away and stated, in a very matter of fact tone, "You know Ginny broke up with……….."
"Not You too!!!" Harry exploded. "I know!! She broke up with Wesley and everyone on God's green earth thinks I should be her next boyfriend!!! What is it with everyone? Must I have a girlfriend? Do I have to be involved with someone?! Why can't I just live my life, go on about my business, and be romantically unencumbered?"
"I seem to have touched a sore spot there -- sorry. Besides, Harry, being encumbered, as you put it, isn't all that bad," she added in an effort to make up for treading on an obviously sensitive issue.
"It didn't seem like much fun for you yesterday," Harry commented shrewdly.
"Yeah, well I'll have to try to fix that I guess," she said in a rather defeated voice.
"I’m sorry for over-reacting a bit," Harry said. "It’s just . . . . I heard about Ginny’s break-up with the Wesley bloke from almost every single one of the Weasleys. I’d had about enough for one day."
"I’m sorry for mentioning it then," Hermione said with a smile. Changing the subject, she added, "Are you going to be around this week?"
"I'm off until Sunday, and then I'll be gone for a week or so."
"Good, I'll have some peace then while you're gone to finish up my exams."
"Am I that troublesome a flatmate?" he asked with a grin.
"Oh, no! Not at all. I just thought it will be nice that you’ll be gone and you won’t have to put up with me in a bad temper all of next week while I’m cramming for exams. Oh, that reminds me, I saw that the 100 Club is having a contest tomorrow night. I thought it might be a good break for me. Interested?"
"Will that sit well with Rufus?" Harry asked, not wanting to cause anymore trouble than he already had. Though he hadn’t admitted it to Hermione, he’d heard enough of their argument from the stair landing to hear his own name mentioned more than once.
"He has to work Thursday evenings anyway. I think we ought to go Harry. It’s been ages since we won a contest. I could really use a pick up this week."
"Yeah, so could I. All right -- we should leave here about 7:30 then?"
"That sounds right." Hermione looked at the clock. "I should revise some tonight, but I think I might just turn in. I’m a bit knackered from today." She heaved a great sigh and pulled herself up from the armchair.
"I think I’m going to stay up a bit longer. Good night," he added and kissed her on the cheek quickly as she passed by. "Good night Harry," she said quietly as she headed for her room. It wasn’t until she’d extinguished the lights and gotten into bed that she let the tears she’d checked earlier flow freely.
***********************
It had been a rather busy evening at the Obsidian Coffee Bar when Sirius took over at 9:00. There had been one of those insufferable politically correct folk singers performing in the bar and it was still packed with a wide variety of greenpeacers and other "Save the Whale" types. Sirius hadn't much patience with these types. He'd seen enough real evil to be able to overlook a few clubbed seals. "Not that saving the whales and all wasn't important, but couldn't they work on saving the people first," he thought to himself.
As he moved through the shop making sure the customers were happy, he overheard a couple of patrons discussing the latest psychic hotline ad they'd seen on the telly. They were laughing about how ridiculous it was as Black walked past and thought to himself, "Even the muggles aren't fooled by that nonsense."
Finally there were just a few customers left in the bar. Hearing the door swing open again, he glanced up and smiled as he recognised the attractive solicitor from a few nights ago. "Well, hullo again," he said pleasantly. "You don’t have your briefcase with you this time," he added with a smile.
He was pleased when she returned his smile. "Yes, I managed to fire a salvo back at those insufferable American attorneys earlier this evening. They won’t be able to put anything back on my plate tonight." She was staring intently up at the menu board "Hmmm . . . yes, I think I’ll have a large mocha blend tonight."
"Be ready in just a moment," he said as two college-age men got up to leave. After taking care of their tab, he set about making her order. Now that those young men had left, she was the only customer. He couldn’t help stealing looks in her direction as he made the coffee. "Tidy. Definitely tidy," he thought. He poured the coffee. "You should just serve her the coffee and leave well enough alone," he told himself.
But, as he served the coffee, he couldn’t restrain himself from asking, "So, what brings you back here again so soon?" He was smirking ever so slightly.
"I suppose you think my being back here has something to do with you?" she replied coolly.
"Well, you’re not going to pretend you came out of your way just for our fabulous coffee selection, are you?" he drawled as he leaned on the counter.
"How do you know this is out of my way?" she retorted as she took a seat on the stool at the end of the counter.
"I believe you mentioned that you missed your regular Tube stop – the last time you were here that is. Just a couple of days ago, wasn’t it?" She didn’t reply but just continued to gaze at him coolly over the rim of her coffee cup.
"So . . . Ms?" he prompted.
"Hunter. Cordelia Hunter," she said smoothly.
"Ms Hunter . . . or is it Mrs.?" He was unmistakably smirking now.
"Ms.," she said shortly.
"Ms. Hunter." He grinned and leaned closer to her. "So, Ms. Hunter, are you usually the hunter or the hunted?" he asked.
"Mostly the hunted…"
"I know that feeling. . . ," he commented under his breath.
". . . I have to deal with so many unpleasant people in my line of work. It’s hard to get any peace," she went on, seemingly not having heard his comment. "I came in here for a simple cup of coffee and look what happens: I’m not here 5 minutes and you’re already chatting me up."
"I could probably be easily persuaded to do more than just try to chat you up . . .I have been indulging in some wild fantasies about you, by the way. You are the most stunning woman I have seen in a very long time, but then . . . I don't get out much."
"Me? Stunning? You really don't get out much," she laughed. "Well, I will take that as a compliment. What kind of fantasies have we been having, then?"
"Well, most of them involve various romantic liaisons and, of course, a bit of shagging," he commented dryly. He didn’t look away as she gazed steadily at him.
"Really?" she had only a tinge of shock in her voice "I can’t say as I’ve ever met a man that said that straight away. The honesty is quite refreshing." She took another sip of coffee and asked: "But, don’t you think I ought to know more than your surname Mr. Black?"
"Ian . . . Ian Black." He grinned at her as she set down her coffee cup.
"Well, Mr. Black, why don’t we start with something, I don’t know, a little less intimate than shagging straight away. What about just starting out with some pleasant conversation and then maybe progress to being friends, so long as none of the terms are violated?"
"I don't know, sounds official," Black answered with a wide grin. "Who negotiates the terms for that?"
"Well, I think we could probably come up with some mutually agreeable terms and conditions," she said with a smile.
"All right then. You first."
"How about . . . I'll come in here and talk every once in awhile, and you won't proposition me until we know each other better?"
"That's going to be tough."
"I think you’ll manage just fine." Her eyes were twinkling at him. "Condition number two – we have to be completely honest with each other."
"Well, how about if I just don't tell you anything, and then it can’t be a lie?" he said casually. "Deal?"
"Deal. Don’t you have any terms to propose?" she asked.
"I’ll save my terms for later," he answered with a smirk. "So . . . what really brings you back to this area? Miss your Tube stop again?"
She laughed. "No, once I realised I had a free evening, I rang up a friend. She suggested meeting up for a drink at that dance club a few blocks over that way," she pointed off to the west. "Oh, you know it?" she asked as he nodded.
"I’ve been over there once to see some friends in a dance contest," he said.
"That’s what’s going on over there tonight -- swing dance! We watched a few of the couples but decided the noise was too much. My friend decided to go home, and so . . . here I am."
"A swing dance contest did you say?" She nodded. "Oh, bugger," he grimaced, "I told my friend I'd try to make it down there for that. But, the clerk who normally works with me until midnight rang up and said she was ill, so I couldn’t have gotten away anyway," he sighed. "I don’t suppose you remember any of the couples you saw?"
"Well, I definitely remember one of them. They were excellent dancers . . . a nice-looking couple . . . they really connected," she commented. "I can't remember their names, but he was tall with dark hair and glasses. . . .Oh, and he had some strange mark on his forehead."
"That sounds like it could be Harry and Hermione," Black said.
"Hermione . . . yes, I believe that was the woman’s name. Odd sort of name really. One doesn’t hear it often," she said. "So . . . friends of yours, you said?"
"Well, actually he's my godson -- my best friend’s son. Hermione is Harry’s best friend."
"Looked like more than just best friends to me," she mused, smiling.
He smiled and chuckled. "Just friends . . . so they say anyway."
She looked up thoughtfully, with a bemused smile on her face. "I saw a movie once where the guy said…'a man and a woman cannot be friends because the sex always gets in the way.' Do you think that’s true?"
"Well, now I thought we’d just agreed we were going to start out as friends? I don’t think I’d have agreed to that if I’d known there might not be the prospect of shagging in the future," he countered slyly. He was again thinking she had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.
"Well, maybe in the next millennium. But you're going to have to be much more interesting for me to consider that possibility this year."
"Why? Bad experience in that department?"
"In the whole romance realm if you ask me. Why do you think I'm still single at 35?" she said in a rather exasperated tone.
"Should I ask, or save that for a future encounter?"
"Definitely save it for a future encounter. If there is one," she said hesitantly.
"Well, I drew you back here once . . . you could have easily gone home straight away tonight, couldn’t you?" he said, smirking again.
"I'll give you that one. Maybe I just like the looks of you and won't ever bother to really get to know you . . . that is the sticky part after all."
"Yes, it would be quite sticky to get to know me," he said rather mysteriously
"Oh really?" she seemed intrigued.
"Yes, really," he stated emphatically.
She took the last sip of coffee and stood up. "In that case I think we should leave it on that note for tonight, Mr. Black. For now, I think I’ll head home to bed. Alone," she added with a chuckle.
"That's too bad," he said as she paid him for the coffee, "So, you will be back, then?"
"I may be back. You’re far too much of a mystery to not at least consider it." And with that she left.
He cleared off her coffee cup, unable to stop thinking about her . . . her and her tantalizing eyes. He was still muttering to himself about what had come over him tonight when a group of boisterous twenty-somethings came bustling in. He sighed and resolved to put Ms. Cordelia Hunter out of his thoughts.
Enchanting Eyes, Chapter 3
Sirius had plans to meet Harry at the Churchill Arms, an old pub near the coffee shop, on Friday evening. When he woke up early Friday afternoon, he decided that he wanted to check that address in the East End one more time to see if Mr. Peregrine had left any additional evidence of suspicious activity. As he rounded behind the house, he immediately noticed that there was quite a commotion going on a bit down the alleyway. He could see that a wizard had just put a full body bind curse on a muggle. It appeared that some of the wizard's cohorts were robbing and beating the poor fellow. As Sirius whipped out his wand, the wizard that seemed to be in charge whirled around, saw Sirius raising his wand and yelled "Expelliarmus!" Black's wand flew up in the air and into a nearby dustbin. Sirius leapt back into the shadows of the nearby alleyway and transformed, as he could do nothing for the muggle and did not feel up to a fight at the moment. But, Sirius was all too aware that the wizard had witnessed his transformation.
He heard one of the cohorts yell, "Hey, Sloan, who was that and where did he go?" Sloan began to approach Sirius, looking stunned and angry at Black's interference. But, before he could venture any closer to Black, he suddenly disapparated, mere moments before a Ministry enforcement squad and memory charm team arrived on the scene. The enforcers muttered curses, and ropes sprang out of the air to bind up Peregrine’s friends. With a wave of their hand, the enforcers caused the bound goons to levitate and float off into the waiting Ministry van. Meanwhile, the memory charm squad magically mended the muggle’s wounds, erased his memory of the incident and sent him on his way.
As Black made his way back towards Notting Hill Gate, he wondered to himself "So that was Sloan Peregrine . . . how did he know I was there and what I was going to do?" He also ruminated about one aspect of today’s encounter that had the potential for rather serious consequences. Peregrine had seen Black transform, and this could prove troublesome. And while Sirius wasn’t yet confident that he knew what the implications of that knowledge might be, he felt sure it was not a good thing.
*******************************
Harry was leaning back i
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