Blackmail Epidemic

As always, I would like to thank the people that have helped me so much, JENGEORGE, NervousAboutAngels, and the staff at The Petulant Poetess. They keep me on my toes with their constant vigilance! Thanks to you all.

I make no money, I take no credit. It all belongs to J. K. Rowling.

Chapter 18

Blackmail Epidemic

When Snape and Winky Apparated to Miss Granger's front porch from Viktor Krum's living room, the sky was pitch black, the dim streetlights flickered in a hopeless attempt to illuminate the immediate landscape, and none of the surrounding homes had any but the faintest of lights glowing from behind the window blinds. That was all about to change as Snape vigorously employed the brass door knocker.

When no response was forthcoming, he resorted to his fist. Bang-bang-bang! "Miss Granger!"

A dog began to bark in the distance as two of the windows in houses across the street lit up.

Snape persisted. Bang-bang-bang! "Miss Granger, open up. It's me, Severus Snape."

More lights came on, this time from the house next door. Winky decided it would be prudent to Disillusion herself.

"I just want to be sure that you are alright, Miss Granger. Please let me in."

One of the neighbors opened his second story bedroom window to watch the scene as another onlooker became visible.

Snape ignored his growing audience. Bang-bang-bang! "Miss Granger, PLEASE!"

A woman joined the first neighbor at their window. "She doesn't want to talk to you, you stupid PRAT!"

"It's after midnight," shouted another. "Shut up and go home, why don't ya?"

Snape turned on his heels and glared at the crowd. All he could see were curious silhouettes in the windows, but he knew that they were right. Now was not the time or place for this desperate display of emotion. "Come on, Winky," he said under his breath. And they walked down the street to a nearby park, where they could Disapparate undetected.

Once home, Snape felt dejected and foolish, but most of all, he felt shame for his desire to wallow in self-pity. He had been so determined to feel sorry for himself that he had left Miss Granger in a vulnerable position with a man of questionable character. He had put her in potential danger, all because she had hurt his feelings? No...much worse! Because he had perceived that she had hurt his feelings. What a callous fool he had been. And now she blamed him for what had happened with Krum. Would she ever speak to him again? How was he ever going to mend this rift between them?

Snape fell onto the sofa and buried his face in his hands. He didn't look up until he heard the clank of a glass on the table beside him. "Please, don't say 'I told you so,' Winky," he implored as he reached for the firewhisky. Then he sheepishly added, "Any advice for the village idiot?"

Winky's face reflected a wisdom and compassion that Snape had never noticed before. "Miss knows that master tried to apologize. Miss just needs time. It is very scary when someone stronger tries to take advantage. Miss needs to learn to trust again. It will not be easy, but miss has a brave and forgiving heart."

Snape's eyes narrowed as he soaked up Winky's advice. How could she know so much about Miss Granger's situation? Unless... The horrible possibility struck him. "Winky, did it happen to you? Did someone force himself on you?"

What little color Winky's face possessed immediately went into hiding. She turned away from Snape. "Long, long ago," she whispered to the bookcase, "when Winky was young and beautiful."

"Another house-elf?"

She shook her head ever so slowly as she continued to stare at the wall to wall books. "Winky's first master... Jonathan Crouch, Barty Crouch's father."

Snape noticed that her ears had begun to quiver. He gently placed his index finger under her chin and turned her face towards his. Tears streamed down her little cheeks in torrents. She didn't have to say another word. Her eyes told the whole story. Unlike Miss Granger, Winky would have faced death if she had dared to use a defensive spell on her master. She had had no choice but to succumb. The notion that anyone, man or elf, could treat her that way infuriated him beyond words. Too bad the bastard was already dead. Snape would have taken great pleasure in making him suffer a horrible fate.

His fingers left her face and found her tiny hand. He took it in both of his very gently and looked deep into her eyes, begging her to understand what he was about to say. "You know I would never hurt you, Winky. Don't you?"

She nodded. "Master Severus would never hurt Miss Granger, either. Winky knows that, but Miss Granger must be made as sure as Winky is. It will be hard for her, master. Please be patient with miss."

"Will you help me? Help me make her understand beyond a shadow of a doubt?"

"Winky will do whatever is asked of her," she insisted.

"Yes, but I don't want you to do anything that you are not comfortable with. You know what she is going through. I simply can't imagine. Will you make suggestions as to what I should say and do to make things right?"

"Master wants Winky to tell him what to do?" she asked in surprise. No master had ever asked that she give the orders before. House-elves were always told what to do and expected to obey without question. Although she was a free elf and her current master had always given her much spare time to spend as she pleased, he had never before asked her to be in charge. And all of her former masters would have scoffed at such a notion. "Winky is honored that Master Severus would value Winky's opinion." She freed her hand from his grip and bowed low to him. "Winky will be happy to help master win back Miss Granger's heart." Her tears had begun to dry, thank Merlin, and she was now quivering with excitement.

"So I should just leave her be for a while? How long? How will I know when to try again?"

"When miss appears on the computer again, miss should be ready to talk."

*****

Hermione's fingers and toes had begun to prune up from her extended stay in the bath. She scrubbed and scrubbed herself until her skin became raw, but somehow she still felt dirty. She had read about this type of reaction from rape victims, how they would try to wash the horrible memory away, the feeling of being permanently soiled. She had not been raped – thank Merlin, but she felt soiled just the same.

How long she remained there, she could not say. At one point, she could hear Professor Snape banging on her door, but it was his fault that she found herself in this position in the first place. He had made it plain that he was trying to get rid of her when he had dumped her in Viktor's lap. So why should she listen to him now, just to appease his guilty conscience?

Snape, Krum, Ron, and the entire lot of Weasley males – bastards all! She was better off without any of them. Harry and Hugo were the only two that she would give a rat's arse for. The rest could all go to hell!

When she awoke the next morning, Hermione reluctantly dressed and headed for work. She had already given her notice, but instead of the usual two weeks, she had told them four. She had two weeks of paid vacation time coming to her, and since she would lose it if she didn't use it, she imagined many different ways she could spend that time preparing for her new job at Hogwarts and enjoying the company of her children.

Lunch time approached, and with it an owl from Lisa Turpin-Belby requesting a meeting. It seemed that Rita Skeeter had not shown up for work today, and an inflammatory article by her had appeared in today's Daily Prophet.

Hermione quickly scanned her copy, which she had brought from home but had not yet bothered to read. She found the ludicrous story on page five.

---

SUSPICIOUS STATIONERY?

By Rita Skeeter

As the summer progresses and parents begin to plan their back-to-school shopping, many will surely make a stop at Quintsky's Fine Quills and StationEry. Established in 1989, located at 1603 Diagon Alley in London, Mr. Quintsky claims to sell the finest parchment and quills, plain and enchanted, domestic and imported, in all of Great Britain.

But can he be trusted? This reporter has recently learned from a reliable source at the Ministry of Magic that Mr. Quintsky is not who he claims to be. His name is real, but his supposed birthplace and pureblood status are not what his loyal customers have long been led to believe.

Purporting to be descended from a long line of purebloods from Poland, it was recently discovered that Mr. Quintsky is originally from Russia, and is actually of Muggle heritage.

If he had lied for years about his bloodlines and place of origin, one can only speculate as to other possible falsehoods he may have woven into the fabric of his business dealings. For example, the origin and genuine quality of his 100% papyrus. Is it truly from Egypt? Is it precisely 100% pure? And what about his finest inkwells? Are they really goblin-wrought as he claims? His enchanted octopus ink, does it actually change color? And if so, is it really extracted from those spineless eight-legged creatures of the deep?

The reader must be compelled to ask, "If he can't trust me with his true identity, how can I trust his products?"

---

Hermione scowled at the paper as she angrily folded it back to its original size and shape. Then she tucked it under her arm and marched out to meet Lisa. As she made her way to the lift, her mind sifted through the last several years. How many merchants and business people had Rita exposed like this? People who had lied about their blood lines, but had otherwise been hard-working, law-abiding citizens? Did any of them stay on? Did any of them survive these character attacks? She could not think of one who was still in Britain – at least not living in the magical world. No, they had all either moved on or gone back to live in the Muggle world.

She thought about Otto Steingold – how he had claimed that he had been blackmailed yesterday afternoon as an excuse to manhandle her in his storage room. She couldn't help but wonder if this newly exposed Muggle-born suffered the same fate?

When she and Lisa had settled themselves at Salicia's Diner and placed an order, Hermione relayed her alarming encounter with Otto from the previous day, being careful to exclude any mention of Professor Snape or Viktor Krum.

Lisa became immediately intrigued with this new bit of information, and she vowed to help Hermione in her quest to expose the blackmailer and bring him to justice. They both suspected Rita right from the start, but since her involvement could not be proven, they knew their work would be cut out for them.

"If you could research the Prophet archives for me for any story about exposing Muggle-borns, I would bet ten Galleons that they were all written by Rita."

"I can see if any of them hint at the identity of her 'reliable source at the Ministry.'"

"Or if she claims any other sources," Hermione reminded Lisa. "Perhaps she has an accomplice."

"If she only cites Ministry sources, do you think you could use your remaining time there to research who her possible source might be?" asked Lisa hopefully.

"I don't see why not," Hermione admitted. "I haven't worked on anything interesting or worthwhile for over a year."

"Merlin, that must be frustrating."

"Feeling utterly useless does not exactly do wonders for one's self esteem," Hermione conveyed with a touch of disdain.

"No wonder you're so anxious to get out of there." Lisa shook her head. "Hogwarts will be good for you."

"Yeah." Hermione smiled broadly. "It'll be great. I'm really looking forward to it.

*****

Two days later, Lisa delivered a list of all the Muggle witches and wizards who had been exposed and driven out of the British wizarding world since the second fall of Voldemort over twenty years previous. There were thirteen names on the list. All had moved here from someplace else, but only about half had actually hailed from where they had first claimed. And all turned out to be Muggle-born but had tried to pass themselves off as purebloods.

And, according to Lisa's research, in each article, Rita had claimed to get her information from a "reliable source at the Ministry of Magic."

So, now it was Hermione's turn. She first tried to find out where each of them had disappeared to, but it seemed none of the victims wished to be found – at least not by the wizarding world. That left the Muggle world. And at home, sitting on a desk in her family room, was the perfect Muggle research tool – her archaic computer.

But she knew that if she turned it on and went online to research the names, she would face two problems. Number one: the contraption was very outdated and slow as molasses in January, and number two: Professor Snape would see her screen name in his buddies list box and probably try to IM her. She wasn't sure if she was ready for that possibility.

Well, she could take care of the first problem easily enough. After a congenial telephone conversation with her cousin, his help was easily procured to buy a new computer with all the necessary hardware and software to accomplish her research goals. His enthusiasm took her by surprise. He turned out to be quite the computer geek, and the next best thing to buying new equipment for himself was to help someone else do that very same thing. He was a wealth of information and happy to take her and the kids out in his Muggle car to the biggest computer store in Knottingly.

By Sunday afternoon he had her new, state-of-the-art system set up and running. Hugo and Rose watched in amazement as Hermione magically clicked from screen to screen with no waiting time for the pages to load.

"Isn't that Professor Snape's screen name?" asked Hugo as his finger touched the seventeen-inch flat screen in the proper spot.

"Yes," Hermione admitted. "That must mean that he's online." She was quite relieved when he didn't send her an IM. Perhaps he was surfing different websites and didn't even realize that she was also online. Although she knew deep down inside that she would not be able to avoid him forever, she decided for now to pretend that he wasn't there.

"We studied dinosaurs in school last year, Mum," Hugo informed her. "My teacher encouraged us to use our computers at home to research our dinosaurs. We had to give a written report. I picked the Triceratops, but since Dad wouldn't let me come visit you, I only had a couple of library books to use. So my report was pretty lame. Can we do a search on your new computer and see what comes up?"

"Alright." Hermione beamed at him. She typed in Triceratops and over 100,000 choices came up. "My goodness!" she exclaimed with delight.

"WOW!" shouted Hugo. "This is way better than those dumb ol' library books I had to use."

Once Hermione had Hugo sorted at her computer, she set about cooking dinner for the three of them. A few minutes later, Hugo ran excitedly into the kitchen. "Mum, Mum, Professor Snape sent you a message!"

Hermione felt a sharp pain go through her heart. "What did he say?" She tried to appear relaxed and unconcerned, but Rose noticed her stiffen slightly and raised an eyebrow.

"He just said, 'Hello, how are you?'"

Hermione let out a quiet sigh and closed her eyes. "Tell him I'm fine, but I'm busy making dinner. You can tell him how you're doing if you like. I'm sure he'd love to talk with you instead."

"Can I invite him over to eat with us?" the boy asked excitedly.

"No company tonight, love. We've all had a busy day and I'm tired."

Hugo's face fell, but he seemed to understand as he turned to go IM Professor Snape.

"Why won't you talk with Professor Snape, Mum?" asked Rose suspiciously. "I thought you two were friends."

"I thought so, too," Hermione replied quietly so Hugo couldn't hear. "But I'm not so sure anymore."

Something in her mother's tone told Rose to drop the subject, and when Hugo's appetite for dinosaurs had finally been satiated, Hermione summarily turned off the computer, ignoring the last IM from Snape that beckoned for her reply.

*****

The next morning, Hermione took the kids to Molly's house via Side-Along Apparation. But instead of heading for work, she Apparated back home, where she wasted no time, turning on her new computer to research the thirteen names on Lisa's list.

Otto Steingold's name came up with several choices for information. His clothing store had its own website. His name, address and Muggle phone number were all listed. She could even reach him by email through his store's website if she wanted to!

She discovered that his designs had won a couple of awards at a local fashion show the previous month. And he had been written up in a Bulgarian Muggle fashion magazine six months previously. He certainly didn't seem to miss or need the wizarding world. Hermione couldn't help but smile. If the best revenge is to have a good life in spite of what others try to do, Otto Steingold had most certainly exacted his revenge.

Well, she already knew his story. So she systematically researched the other twelve names on Lisa's list and compiled the information she would need to contact each one. Some had stayed in Britain, rejoining the Muggle world. Others had left the country altogether. But they were all traceable, having kept some form of Muggle identity and profession to fall back on. How sad, Hermione thought, to spend the rest of their lives living a lie. Some of them had even married Muggles. She wondered if their spouses knew the truth.

Approaching any of these people would be very tricky. She was going to have to use discretion and, after what had happened with Otto, extreme caution. So she decided that the easiest person to start with was the newest person to suffer from Rita's Quick-Quotes Quill. But she felt that, for her own safety, she would need a backup. She would have to go into the office after all, to explain her plan and hopefully enlist Harry's help.

Just as she was finishing up, Snape's screen name appeared in her buddies list. She turned off her computer so fast she didn't have time to read the IM that briefly appeared on the screen.

*****

Snape groaned as he helplessly watched Miss Granger's screen name disappear from his buddies list and his IM go unanswered once again. "WINKY!"

She appeared by his side with a pop.

"She was there a moment ago, but she wouldn't talk to me!"

"Wait, Master Severus. That's all that master can do. When miss is ready, miss will talk." She patted his arm patiently.

"But I feel so helpless. Can't I do something?"

"Perhaps," Winky offered thoughtfully. "Does miss care for flowers?"

*****

Harry read Hermione's interoffice memo with great interest. "Do you know anything about this blackmail thing, Ron?" he asked his best friend. "You've seen a lot more of her lately than I have."

"She hasn't mentioned it to me," Ron replied snidely. "Why don't you ask Snape?"

As Harry glared at Ron, he inwardly thought that Snape might very well know more about it than Ron did. But since Hermione had requested his presence after work today, he would not have time to pursue that avenue of investigation.

She was standing in the Ministry lobby, waiting patiently, when he stepped out of the lift.

"This is fascinating, Hermione," Harry admitted. "How on earth did you stumble onto it?"

"Lisa Turpin-Belby and I were talking, and we began to realize that a pattern had emerged in Rita's stories, so we thought that if Otto Steingold was being blackmailed, perhaps the others had been as well. If that's the case with Quintsky, perhaps we can get to the bottom of it before he is forced to close up shop and move on."

"I don't know. I'm sure that article cast quite a bit of doubt in his customers' eyes. Something like that takes a long time for the public to forget. Even if all of his products are genuine, I know I will have a hard time trusting him, knowing that he has been lying to us all these years. Won't you?"

Hermione looked thoughtful as they made their way through the front doors and into Diagon Alley. "But I can't blame him for lying about his identity. He arrived here before the second downfall of Voldemort. He knew that there were still quite a few Muggle-born haters out there. And if he hadn't faked his ID, he would have been rounded up and sent to Azkaban by that Muggle-born Registration Commission headed up by Umbridge during Voldemort's second rise to power. He probably fled blood persecution in his native Russia. Is the desire to succeed and be respected a bad thing? At least as long as a person is honest about every other aspect of his life and business dealings?"

"I guess not." Harry shrugged. "I never thought about it that way."

By now the two had reached 1603 Diagon Alley. Normally, during this time of day in mid July, the place would have been bustling with activity. But when Harry and Hermione pushed the door open, they found that they had Quintsky's Fine Quills and Stationery all to themselves.

Mr. Quintsky looked up anxiously from behind the counter, his face harboring hope for a potential customer. But when he spied Harry, his eyes betrayed a touch of panic. "I haven't broken any laws!" he announced unprovoked. My goods are genuine, just as I advertise them. Please, don't arrest me, Mr. Potter. I have a family to support."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other with great concern. This man had obviously felt immense pressure for some time. He was wound so tight he looked as though he could snap at any moment. Hermione felt especially thankful that she had thought to bring Harry along.

"We're not here to arrest you, Mr. Quintsky. You're right. As far as I know, lying about your identity is not a crime, although it would have been about twenty years ago. I would like to think that the wizarding world would have risen above blood prejudice by now."

The man immediately let out a sigh of relief. Then he seemed to almost magically transform himself as he went into full salesman mode. "Well, then may I interest you in one of my finer quills, Mr. Potter?" Quintsky tried to lead Harry to a display case by the front window.

"No thanks." Harry kept his feet planted firmly where they were, but Hermione followed the owner and began to peruse the contents of the glass case. She spied an ostrich feather quill – not very practical, but lovely to look at. It billowed in an ornate and stately fashion from its upright position in a solid gold, goblin-wrought inkwell. "What about you, Mrs. Weasley?"

"It's Miss Granger, now, actually," she replied awkwardly. "And, no, I'm not in the market at present. But I'll keep it in mind."

The man's demeanor changed again to one of worry. "Then why, may I ask, are you here?"

"We wanted to ask you some questions...don't worry," Harry tried to calm him as he took in a panicky breath. "As I said before, you've done nothing wrong. We have our suspicions that someone has been taking advantage of you, perhaps for a very long time, and we were wondering if you could shed some light on that possibility."

Mr. Quintsky's eyes almost popped out of his head as he stared first into Harry's face and then Hermione's, searching, no doubt, for signs of deception. Then his eyes narrowed. "Taking advantage how?"

"You tell us," Hermione replied. "That way we'll know if our suspicions are correct."

"Suspicions of me?"

"No, no," Hermione explained. "We can't tell you what has happened to others unless the same thing has been happening to you. It's confidential. You see, over the years there has been a pattern developing, and we have our suspicions as to who might be behind it. But we can't prove it. We need to know if you have become another victim. We're not accusing you of anything."

Mr. Quintsky looked a bit confused at Hermione's explanation. Harry interjected. "Has someone been taking advantage of you, and you couldn't risk going to magical law enforcement because of your blood status?"

Suddenly, the man realized what his well-meaning would-be customers were getting at. "Oh! You mean the blackmail?"

Harry and Hermione let out a collective sigh. "Yes!" they said in unison.

"Can you give us any details? When did it start?" asked Harry.

"How much have they been asking for? Any idea who's behind it?" interjected Hermione.

The man fell into his chair behind the counter. "You know about the blackmail?"

Harry nodded. "We know of at least one other who was also blackmailed but couldn't come forward without revealing his blood status and therefore appearing to be untrustworthy."

"That's it. That's exactly why I have never told anyone. I knew that if word got out, my business would dry up and I would have to leave town. Why do you think I chose to fake my ID in the first place?"

"I know, Mr. Quintsky. I am Muggle-born, and I feel the prejudice, too. I am even considered a war hero of some notoriety, and I still sense that many people look down their noses at me like I'm some kind of second-class citizen."

Harry turned to Hermione, sincere surprise on his face. "Do you really feel that way?"

"Sometimes. Look at what Ron did to me with our children. Look how I've been passed over for promotion at the Ministry. Look how you and Ron have both received the Order of Merlin, First Class, and I had to settle for Third Class. I suffered just as much, and I fought just as hard as either of you two did. I should have gotten the same thing."

"Yeah, I agree." Harry's eyes left her face and gazed at the floor for a moment. He felt ashamed of the world that he had tried so hard to protect, that so many people, Muggle-born and pureblood alike, had died to protect. The idealism that had followed the immediate downfall of Voldemort soon gave way as the old prejudices had crept back in to take their place. And although the injustices didn't run rampant, they were still practiced in subtle ways.

"Look at Samantha Frey's Quill and Stationery shop," Quintsky used as an example. "She is a native of Britain, she is a known Muggle-born, and her business has always been slow. I heard that when this shop came up for rent back in 1989 she tried to rent it, but the owner refused on the basis of her bloodlines. But when he thought that I was a pureblood, he was happy to rent me the space. All she could get was that old, run-down place in Nocturn Alley. She sells quality products, just like I do. But she has never done more than scrape by."

"I wonder how she's faring these days?" Harry wondered out loud.

"After that article in yesterday's paper, probably a little better," Mr. Quintsky admitted. "But I bet a lot of my old customers would rather order their products via owl post than buy from her. Just because she's Muggle-born. What a bunch of hypocrites."

"So, the article in the paper yesterday said that you've been here since 1989. When did the blackmailing start?" Hermione glanced at her watch. She knew that Harry would like to get home before too long, so she tried to speed things up a bit.

"Not until He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named came back, and his people had control over the Ministry. I was terrified that Umbridge would find out who I really was, and I would end up in Azkaban. I thought about fleeing the country, but then I knew that I would never be able to come back, so I just stuck it out. It was during that time that someone started sending me those little notes."

"Little notes?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, made of words cut from a newspaper. At first they didn't ask for anything. They were only used to terrify me. They said things like, 'I know who you really are,' and 'you'll keep your head low and obey orders if you know what's good for you,' stuff like that."

"And how long did that go on?"

"Up until about six months after you defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Things had just begun to settle down, and my business had started to build back up again. Then came the demands for money. Just a little at first, but as my business picked up, they began asking for more."

"And how often did the requests for money come?" Harry kept up the pace of the interrogation.

"At the start of every month, like clockwork."

"Would it have been enough for someone to live off of?" asked Hermione curiously.

"No, not at first, at least. They either didn't want to be greedy, or they knew somehow that I couldn't afford to pay more than what they were asking. It was as if they had access to my account at Gringotts and they knew exactly how much I took in every month. Why bite off the hand that feeds you, right?"

"Right," agreed Harry casually.

Hermione scowled. To her, this was all so very unfair. "So how long did it go on like this?"

"Until the start of July, this month. The owl came with the usual request, but instead of filling the little bag with the 700 Galleons that was demanded, I sent back a rather rude note expressing my refusal to shell out another Knut."

"So it took almost two weeks for the article to appear in the paper?" asked Hermione, somewhat bewildered.

"Well, actually, a couple of days later, another owl came with a reminder that I would be very sorry if I didn't pay up. But I sent back another ill-tempered note. So it had been about a week since that second note."

"It must be Rita Skeeter!" concluded Hermione.

Harry shook his head. "Not necessarily."

"But in every case, she has written the articles," Hermione insisted.

"I may be wrong, but I don't believe that it's Miss Skeeter," Quintsky interjected. "She's one of my best customers. She helped me to build my business by promoting my Quick-Quotes Quill. She's always in here buying my products."

"She could be helping to build your business so she can justify charging you more," Harry suggested.

"No, I don't think so," insisted Mr. Quintsky. "Right before the article came out, she snuck in here just before closing when she knew no one else was here. She warned me that the article would be in the morning paper and that she was sorry that it had to happen, but she was under pressure to write it. She didn't mention who pressured her, but she seemed very sincere with her apology."

"There's not a sincere bone in her body!" announced Hermione in disgust.

"I still bet she knows who's behind it," declared Harry.

"Rita's been good to me over the years, brought me a lot of business. Please don't harass her over this. If she has anything to do with it, she is being forced. Perhaps the blackmailer has something on her as well," the shopkeeper offered.

Hermione couldn't quite stifle a chuckle. "I imagine that Rita Skeeter has quite a few skeletons in her closet."

That statement gave the other two a chuckle as well. But then Harry's tone turned somber. "Blackmail is a serious offense, Mr. Quintsky. If we can find the person who's behind it, would you be willing to testify?"

"If there is any way I can help, I would be glad to. But I must admit that he has pulled off the perfect crime."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, puzzled.

Hermione gave him his answer. "Because Mr. Quintsky, and all of the others before him, have now been publicly disgraced and exposed as liars. Their credibility will be in question if they were ever to testify. We would have to get an overwhelming number of victims to come forward in order to build a convincing case."

"Exactly," Quintsky agreed.

Harry sighed. "I hadn't thought of that."

"That's why I never told anyone. It would have exposed me as a liar where my bloodlines were concerned, and no one would believe me anyway."

"And so we've come full circle," Harry concluded. "Well, Mr. Quintsky, we've taken up enough of your time. I've got a family of my own to go home to." He smiled at the shopkeeper, then he and Hermione headed for the door. "Take care. And, by the way, you'll still have my business."

"And mine!" Hermione joined in.

"Thank you." Mr. Quintsky smiled halfheartedly at them as they left. But they all knew that it would do no good. He would be out of business before school started in September.

*****

The next morning, Hermione met Harry in the lobby after spending the first couple of hours in her office filling out a report on her interrogation of Otto Steingold. This hunch seemed to be leading somewhere, and as with any bureaucracy, the proper paper trail had to be generated. Then they headed out to the Muggle part of London through the back alley behind the Leaky Cauldron. This time they were looking for a candy shop owner by the name of Emily Stonington. According to the information that Hermione had acquired from her web search on Monday, the shop was only a few blocks away and within easy walking distance. It was a breezy summer day, and the two friends enjoyed each other's company.

"So, how are Ginny and the kids?"

"Oh, you know... Same ol', same ol'. They drive her crazy all the summer through. She pines for them all year, and then about three days after they get home, she tells me she can't wait 'til they go back!"

Hermione laughed.

"And of course James and Albus fight like cats and dogs. I don't know how the teachers can stand them at school! You know, I was so upset when Albus ended up in Slytherin, but now I think it's for the best."

"Do you?" Hermione could hardly believe her ears. "You were so upset about it after it happened. You even went to see Headmistress McGonagall to see if you could have it changed."

"I know, but the hat's decision is final. Besides, could you imagine the trouble they would get into if they were both in Gryffindor? Anyway, it suits him. He's not a back-stabbing git like some of the Slytherins we grew up with, but he is ambitious and has a real streak of cunning in him. And he can manipulate even the most stubborn adversary to eventually get what he wants."

"He sounds Slytherin through and through." Hermione nodded in agreement.

The conversation lulled for a bit. Then Harry broke the silence. "So how are you and Professor Snape getting along?"

Hermione's brow knitted tightly. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you know. Have you seen much of him lately?"

"Not really. We had lunch last week, but other than that..." Her voice trailed off and she shrugged.

"I thought that you two were best buds now. What happened?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted with a disheartened tone. "I get the distinct impression that he's trying to get rid of me."

Harry's mood darkened. He knew it was none of his business, but Snape's promise of friendship when she needed him most kept ringing in his memory. It was happening just as Harry had feared it would. She was misinterpreting Snape's need to keep her at arm's length as a desire to cut her off. He didn't want to interfere. He knew that to betray Snape's secret would be the end of what hinted at a budding friendship between them after years of animosity. But Hermione had to be his priority this time. She didn't deserve to feel dejected and hurt when Harry knew better.

"Perhaps he wants to put some space between you for your own good."

"What are you talking about?"

"Maybe he's afraid of ruining your reputation."

"My reputation?"

"Yeah, he's a convicted felon, remember. And you're about to start a job teaching other people's children at a boarding school. Pretty big responsibility, you know. If you were seen in public consorting with a convicted felon..."

"People would get the wrong impression, jump to the wrong conclusion, and my new job might be in jeopardy before it even starts." Her lip stiffened as she realized the potential consequences of being seen with her former potions professor. "Damn that conviction. It's just not fair!" She thought about the fact that Snape had come to her house that night when Viktor had tried to force himself on her. She felt a wave of shame and guilt for not answering the door. He had left her with Viktor in hopes that she could find a friend that she could safely spend time with. He wasn't trying to get rid of her. He had been trying to help her. How could she have been so blind? Idiot!

They had reached the candy store, and as Harry opened the door for Hermione, she cast a spell to repel Muggles for the next thirty minutes. They entered, and Harry quietly pointed his wand at the customer at the counter. She had a small child in tow and was about to make a request, but suddenly remembered an urgent appointment and turned to leave. She seemed dazed as she dragged the strongly objecting child with mouth watering and eyes streaming over promised, but as yet unpurchased, candy.

"Oh, that was cruel," Hermione snickered. "You could have let her buy something first."

"I wanted to cheer you up," Harry grinned. "She'll come back later. I promise."

"May I help you?" floated a soft and timid voice from behind the beautifully decorated display case. The aroma of fine chocolates mixed with tantalizing spices filled the air. Each piece of candy was a work of art in itself, with an elaborately decorated surface, fancy shape, and frilly lace cup that doubled as a seat for presentation.

The instant Harry looked at her, the woman gasped. "I know you. You're from my past life, aren't you?" she whispered. "Harry Potter... I read about you in school. You're famous, even in South Africa where I came from. You killed Lord Vooldymort, right? Of course, that was all before my time." She had begun to babble on a bit, apparently from nervousness.

"Are you Emily Stonington?" Harry asked politely, since Hermione was unsuccessfully attempting to stifle a giggle.

"Why, yes," admitted the young woman with wide blue eyes. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, no. Nothing's wrong. We're working on a case, you see. This is my associate, Hermione Granger. We're with the Ministry of Magic."

"I read about you, too. You helped him kill Vooldymort."

"Voldemort," Hermione corrected her as she tried to keep herself from laughing. The young woman's long, blond hair had been tied up in a tight bun and captured in a hair net, as was the custom with anyone in the Muggle world who worked around food. Was it her imagination, or did this girl remind her of Luna Lovegood? The thought made it even harder for Hermione to keep her composure.

"Would you mind if we asked you a few questions about why you left the wizarding world and returned to live with Muggles?" Harry pressed on.

"No, I don't mind."

Harry waited for her to start talking, but after several uncomfortable moments of silence, it became apparent that she needed to be prompted. "So, why did you leave?"

"Leave what?"

Hermione suddenly felt the need to walk to the other side of the room and inspect a case full of pastries.

"Leave us to go back to the Muggles."

"Oh. Well," Emily glanced up dreamily at the ceiling, lost in thought. "I scraped together just enough money to get here from South Africa and start my own business. A candy business just like this one. You never came into my shop when I was located in Diagon Alley. I wonder why?" She looked into Harry's eyes, obviously searching for an answer.

When she remained quietly staring at him, he looked away, but came to the conclusion that he would have to answer her before she would continue her story. "I dunno. I'm a big fan of Honeydukes, so I usually shop there. Been going there since my days at Hogwarts." Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry."

She seemed satisfied with that answer and continued her story. "In spite of your preference, many people seemed happy that they no longer needed to Disapparate to Hogsmead for their candy, and I became an instant success." She paused and turned her attention to Hermione. "Did you ever come into my store?"

Hermione flushed from embarrassment. "No, I'm afraid not."

"And why not?" the girl insisted.

"Like Harry, I'm also hooked on Honeydukes."

"So why did you leave, if you were such a big success?" Harry began to grow impatient.

"What good is working hard and earning lots of money if you have to give it all to someone else?"

"No good at all. But why do you say that?"

"Well, someone sent an owl every month asking me to pay up or they would reveal my big secret."

"You mean the secret that you were passing yourself off as a pureblood when you were really a Muggle-born?"

"That's right. That's the one."

Harry was curious. This scatterbrained girl didn't seem to be the type to come up with a lie like that on her own. "So why did you lie about your blood status in the first place?"

"I didn't want to, but my older brother talked me into it before I came here. We had both learned all about your history in our wizard school. He said that just like the Muggles in South Africa still have certain feelings about skin color, even though most of the blood prejudice is gone, there is still a stigma attached to blood status here in Britain. He said that I would be instantly well-liked if I passed myself off as a pureblood witch. And since South Africa is so far away, who would ever find out?"

"Do you know who did find out? Who exposed you?"

"Well, Rita Skeeter wrote the article, of course. But I don't think she was the blackmailer."

"Why not?" Hermione felt totally perplexed. She wanted so much to blame this on Rita. But none of the blackmail victims had felt like Rita was a willing participant, much less the perpetrator.

"Well, she was so nice about it, so apologetic," Emily replied dreamily, as if she were remembering the incident. "She came in, almost in tears, and told me that she was under intense pressure, that she always liked my candy, and she promised that she would keep coming in as long as I was still in business."

Harry and Hermione exchanged sideways glances.

"She really seemed sincere, but I suppose there's always the possibility that I could have been mistaken. You may find this hard to believe, but people have taken advantage of me before."

Harry finished up the interview by verifying the things that the others had told them and pinning down the important dates in the case, and a promise from Miss Stonington to testify if the case ever went to trial. But when he turned to leave, Hermione had other ideas.

"None of your candy is enchanted or hexed, is it?" she asked with an impish grin.

"No, ma'am. Not any more," Emily replied wistfully.

"That's just as well. I'll take a pound each of your pecan milk chocolate turtles, and your dark chocolate turtles, in separate boxes, please. And then, I would like an assortment of your dark chocolate liquor laced truffles in your finest gift box."

Harry grinned. Somehow he knew that this last request was for Snape.

Hermione paid with Muggle money, which surprised Emily. "I'm a Muggle-born as well," she explained with a smile.

After they were well out of earshot and half-way back to the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione handed Harry the box of dark chocolate turtles. "Here. I know it's a couple of weeks away, but Happy Birthday, Harry."

"What? You mean I don't get the liquor-laced truffles?" He pretended to act insulted.

Hermione smiled devilishly and clutched the fancy gift box to her chest. "No, not this time."

"Be patient with Snape," he advised with a fatherly tone. "He cares for you deeply. His intentions are good, but he most definitely has a lot to learn where women are concerned."

"He's been sequestered from the rest of the world for so long; I'm surprised that he even remembers how to socialize at all."

"He is a bit of a social misfit. Always has been, from what I remember of his memories. Merlin, he was completely inept with my mother. She must have had the patience of a saint!"

They both started to laugh as they made their way through the tavern to the back alley.

By the time they got on the lift to return to their respective offices, Hermione had forgiven Professor Snape completely. She could hardly wait to give him the chocolates. As she pushed open the door to the Magical Creatures Liaison Office, she gasped. There, on her desk, sat a huge open basket with a high-arching woven handle. In the basket lay a beautiful bouquet of elegantly colorful, fragrant flowers. And attached to the red ribbon that tied it all together was a note.