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Yuletide Blessing in Disguise	By : Gandalfs-Beard Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 123887 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 10
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related properties--all rights belong to Rowling. Nor do I make any money from the production of this work.

Chapter List
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London Calling

“So,” Ron began when he caught up with Harry and Hermione the next day after classes; he was by himself for a change, with no Neville in tow for a reason which became readily apparent, “what’d Si -” he glanced around to make sure no one was nearby. “Er... Sirius,” he whispered, “Is it alright if I ask you what he sent?”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” said Harry quietly. “And by the way - I never got around to telling you - just call him Snuffles.”
“Snuffles?” said Ron, looking highly amused. “Yeah - okay then. So, what’d he send you?”
“I’ll show you,” said Harry, “but not here.”
A few minutes later, Harry, Hermione, and Ron were outside, strolling along the pebbly shore of the lake. The day was sunny with very few clouds in the sky and ducks drifted by on the shimmering surface of the water. Harry reached into his robes and showed Ron the mirror.
“What’s that for?” asked Ron, chortling, “Putting on make-up?”
Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes. Harry grinned.
“Nah! It’s a communication mirror - Snuffles has one too. I can talk to him on it anytime I like now. I talked to him last night - him and Remus...”
“Remus? You mean Professor Lupin?”
“Yeah, he’s hanging out with Snuffles,” said Harry. “He told me to call him Remus seeing as he’s not a professor anymore. Anyway, Hermione and I, we talked to them a bit last night. I told them everything that’s been going on lately. ... Sirius doesn’t trust Snape either - oh, that reminds me, I talked to Professor Moody too yesterday.
“Moody said that Snape really was a Death Eater who switched sides and works for Dumbledore now. He thinks Dumbledore’s barking for hiring Snape but said that Dumbledore totally trusts him for some reason. Sirius pretty much said the same thing as Moody. ... He told us that Snape hung out with a gang of Slytherins in school that all ended up as Death Eaters - so he thinks Dumbledore’s crazy for hiring him too.
“But Remus said that if Dumbledore trusts him, then he must have a good reason to, and now I dunno what to think, really. ... I mean, I keep going back and forth - Sirius and Remus and Moody all said that Dumbledore totally trusts Snape - but Sirius and Moody don’t really trust Snape - and Remus reckons that if Dumbledore trusts him then we should too...”
“But I’m not sure that Dumbledore does trust Snape completely,” Hermione interjected, “or if he does, then I’m not sure whether we can trust Dumbledore’s judgment about Snape.”
“What? You? ... Harry, have you checked Hermione for polyjuice potion?” Ron sniggered, and Hermione gave him a withering look.
“Bloody hell! You really mean it,” said Ron, gaping at her.
“Yeah, she does,” said Harry seriously. “That’s why I’m even more confused than ever now...”

~o0o~
Kingsley Shacklebolt and John Dawlish eyed the run-down establishment on the outskirts of Cardiff warily, paying little heed as the rain grew heavier and the wind picked up. Passing muggles noticed the two men in trench-coats, no doubt wondering if the men were considering purchasing and renovating the long shuttered antique shop with boarded up windows.
Dawlish and Shacklebolt drew closer to the building, splashing through the puddles on the pavement, and out of the range of muggle eyes, which slid past the Aurors as if they weren’t there the moment they passed through the concealment and repelling charms which warded against nosy muggles.
The true nature of the building readily became apparent, though it didn’t look in much better shape from within the wards. Dawlish looked up at the grimy sign swinging in the wind.
“The Red-Handed Fist,” Dawlish muttered, “Think we’ll have any better luck than we did at Bullwhip and Cleaver?”
“If we’re lucky,” said Shacklebolt dryly; Dawlish snorted and shook his head.
“Hey, at least we’ve got a name now,” Shacklebolt added. “That’s more than we had before.”
When Shacklebolt and Dawlish entered the dimly lit goblin pub, a number of heads swiveled, some of them scruffy looking wizards and witches. The goblins seemed far less disturbed than the humans, many of whom quickly averted their eyes and shrank in their seats, trying to make themselves look smaller.
Shacklebolt and Dawlish ignored the wizards and witches, and ambled over to the bar, which was short and had a very scratched and stained surface. The goateed goblin bartender eyed the Aurors suspiciously.
“Whaddya want?” growled the bartender. “Couple’a’ ales?”
“Actually, I was hoping you might direct us to Ugrot Jenkins,” said Shacklebolt politely as he retrieved a hefty leather pouch from his trench-coat. “You may know him better as ‘Ugly-face’ Jenkins. I can make it worth your while.” Shacklebolt shook the pouch and it jangled.
The bartender’s bushy eyebrows lifted, and his surly expression changed to one of unabashed avarice.
“That’ll cost you more’n’ a bit,” he said. “Jenkins ain’t one t’cross unless it pays good.”
Shacklebolt smiled and tipped about a third of the pouch onto the bar-top. The pile of gold galleons glittered in the recessed lighting behind the bar, which was a bit brighter than the lighting in the rest of the tavern.
“Yeah - alright then,” said the bartender, quickly sweeping the galleons into his waistcoat pocket. “‘E’s that one over there.” The bartender jerked his head towards the rear of the pub.
“Which one?” asked Dawlish, frowning.
“Are you daft? The one with the ugly face o’ course.”
Dawlish and Shacklebolt peered into shadowy reaches of the tavern where a dozen or more goblins were sitting at round tables or in dark booths. The bartender rolled his eyes.
“The tall one with the squashed nose and short ears - the one ‘oo looks human.”
Shacklebolt spotted the goblin who looked about a foot taller than the others and chuckled.
“Of course!” he said, “Thank you!”
“Don’t mention it,” grunted the bartender.
Dawlish and Shacklebolt made their way past a group of rowdy goblins playing cards with two wizards, a goblin couple snogging, their hands all over each other, another goblin sobbing into his ale at the counter, and what appeared to be a goblin prostitute haggling over price with a potential client.
They reached the rear of the pub unaccosted and made a beeline for the booth where Ugrot “Ugly-Face” Jenkins appeared to be counting a pile of galleons left behind by the disgruntled looking goblin who had just departed.
“Ugrot Jenkins?” said Dawlish.
“Depends ‘oo’s askin’?”
“I’m Shacklebolt, and this is Dawlish. We’re Aurors...”
“Of course yer Aurors,” Ugrot snorted. “I ain’t blind. Whaddya want with me?”
“Ludo Bagman...” Dawlish began.
Ugrot’s eyes widened. He snatched his bag of galleons from the table and darted from the booth, ducking down under Dawlish’s grabbing arms and dashing for the back-door of the pub. Infuriated at having let him slip past, Dawlish lurched after him, only to be halted by Shacklebolt.
“No need to make a scene,” said Shacklebolt.
Dawlish scowled and followed Shacklebolt who was casually strolling to the back-door. The grey light of the rainy afternoon was almost blindingly bright as they both emerged from the darkness into the alley behind the pub.
“Gerrof! Gerrof me!” snarled Ugrot, who was struggling in the clutches of a smirking woman with short soggy brown hair and wearing a trench-coat which looked just like Shacklebolt’s and Dawlish’s. “You’ll be hearin’ from the Goblin Nation about this - I know people...”
“Doubtful,” said the very wet woman, “the National Inquiry Unit would be more than happy to let the Auror Office take the blame for removing a thorn in the side of legitimate bookmakers.”
“Nicely done, Abbie,” said Shacklebolt, grinning.
“Yeah, well, I was trained by Mad Eye,” said Auror Abbie Brixton smugly, “I know a thing or two about takin’ down a suspect without using a wand.”
“I ain’t done nuthin’ wrong! Lemme go!” Ugrot was beginning to sound more desperate than angry now. “I got a sack full of galleons here - you can have the lot!”
“We’re not interested in your money,” said Shacklebolt, his voice calm. “And we’re not that interested in you either, to tell you the truth. We’re more interested in learning a bit more about Bagman’s dealings - finding out whether he’s just been doing business with small fry like you, or engaging with larger operations - say, one of the syndicates.”
“That’s more’n’ my life is worth t’tell you lot,” said Ugrot fearfully.
Shacklebolt retrieved the heavy money pouch from the pocket of his trench-coat once more and shook it.
“There’s about seventy-five galleons left in here,” he said. “It’s not much compared to your life admittedly - but if you’re interested...”
“I’ll take it!” Ugrot blurted out, his eyes gleaming. “I dunno which syndicate they work for, but when I couldn’t cover Bagman’s side bets at the World Cup, he hooked up with a bunch a blokes ‘oo usually operate out of The Silver Sword on weekends. The boss’s name is Morag Gorhammer.”
“Thank you,” said Shacklebolt, tossing the hefty pouch of galleons as Brixton released Ugrot’s arms, “You’ve been very helpful, and nobody will hear about this little exchange from us.”
“Yeah, yeah!” said Ugrot unconcernedly as he shoved the pouch into one of the pockets of his vest. “Now if you don’t mind...”
“By all means, Mr. Jenkins,” Brixton smiled pleasantly.
Ugrot hesitated a moment. Then he tugged his concealing talisman necklace from under his collar, darted down the alley towards one of the Cardiff streets, and disappeared around the corner of a brick building.

~o0o~
Later that evening, Lavender, Parvati, and Neville were quickly brought up to speed by Harry, Hermione, and Ron, minus the information about Sirius and Remus for the time being. At some point, Harry wanted to let them in on that too, but he reckoned that it was probably better to wait until it looked like Sirius was getting closer to being exonerated.
Lavender, who hadn’t been at the gathering by the lake the other day, was as shocked as Parvati and Neville had been at first to learn that Snape had once been - or might possibly still be - a Death Eater.
In the following weeks Harry and Hermione settled back into what was almost a normal existence at Hogwarts. Snape kept shooting them nasty, vicious looks during Potions, but otherwise he seemed to be laying off.
Malfoy was giving them both equally dirty looks as well and scowling jealously whenever he saw them hanging out with Fleur, or Parvati and Lavender, or Ginny and Luna, or all of them together at once. The girls who had been hopefully offering themselves up as candidates to join the “Secret Harem” gradually dwindled. Nonetheless, Harry still didn’t have much opportunity to relax.
Despite the Third Task still being months away, he found himself busier than he had ever been before: struggling to at least catch up to where one would normally be in Beginning Runes and Arithmency at this time of the school year, and continuing Legilimency and Occlumency lessons. Not to mention that Moody was running him and Hermione ragged, training them in tactics and spells, and practicing muggle fighting techniques was more bruising than ever.
Thankfully, Dora was insistent that they take some time off and Moody begrudgingly backed down from his plans to drill them all weekend as well. Dora herself had plans for a date with Fleur but was loath to leave Harry and Hermione without a “secret escort” at Hogwarts.
And thus, despite there not being another official Hogsmeade day until the following month, Dora roped Harry and Hermione into joining her and Fleur for a double date with the permission of Dumbledore. Harry was a bit reticent at first, concerned as he was about running into Rita Skeeter again.
“No worries, Harry,” Dora told him, “I was thinkin’ it’d be more fun to do some muggle stuff for a change anyway. When was the last time you went out on the town in London?”
Harry gaped at Dora in surprise. “Er... Never, actually. The only place I’ve ever been in London is King’s Cross.”
“Oh, right!” Dora scowled. “I forgot about that. Those bloody relatives of yours never took you anywhere fun.”
“How are we going to get there?” asked Hermione, “By floo?”
“Actually, I was thinkin’ about staying off the grid and takin’ you two along by side-along Apparition. I figured it’d be better not to pop up in Diagon Alley and avoid being seen in the wizard world altogether.”
“What about the Trace?” Hermione asked, looking a bit anxious. “Harry may be emancipated, but I’m not.”
“Not a problem,” said Dora. “Apparition isn’t the sorta’ magic that triggers the Trace, and we won’t be needing our wands for anything in London...”
“Er... What about money?” asked Harry, seeing a snag in Dora’s plans to avoid Diagon Alley. “I’ll need to stop by Gringotts and change some galleons into muggle money.”
“I’ve got plenty of muggle money to cover expenses,” Dora retorted with a little smirk, having anticipated Harry’s query. “And I’m not taking no for an answer,” she quickly added as Harry opened his mouth to object.

~o0o~
Saturday in London was perhaps the best day that Harry had ever had as a “muggle.” He set off early in the morning with Hermione, Dora, and Fleur, down the path leading to the cast-iron gates. Once beyond the boundaries of Hogwarts, Fleur and Dora each took hold of one of the younger couple and vanished with two loud cracks.
The moment they reappeared in a small square somewhere in London with a marble statue of Merlin in the middle of a patch of grass, Harry and Hermione both doubled over and promptly threw up.
“Blimey!” Harry grumbled as he recovered, “That was like being squeezed through a tube of toothpaste - my head felt like it was going to explode.”
“Yeah - takes a bit of getting used to,” Dora agreed with a chuckle. “It’s pretty ‘orrible. I prefer a broom myself.”
“Oui!” Fleur tittered as she straightened out her skirt, “Ees not so bien. But ees better for when wearing a dress.”
Hermione glanced across the square when she heard several cars drive by and spotted some muggles on the pavement on the other side of the nearby road.
“Is this square invisible?” she asked, looking slightly puzzled. “Or is it like the hidden platform at King’s Cross?”
“Actually, it’s bit more like Diagon Alley,” said Dora. “This is one of a few apparition spots in London, for use in daylight hours for wizards who want to visit the muggle world without making a stop in the Alley. It’s just got some concealing and muggle repelling charms so that no one will notice us comin’ and going.”
Harry looked behind him when he stepped off the grass onto the pavement and was astonished to see the statue and the lawn shimmer, then the square vanished altogether. In its place was a walled off empty lot with a for-sale sign tacked onto the plywood boards. Nobody seemed to have noticed them apparently emerging from the wall.
“That’s brilliant!” said Harry. “I love magic!”
“The things magic can do still surprises me too sometimes,” said Hermione, taking his arm.
A short bus ride on a bright red double-decker took them to Kensington Palace where they joined the first tour group of the day. As they followed the tour guide through the palace, Hermione beamed at Harry’s awed expression.
“Wow!” he murmured, gawking at the enormous paintings with ornate gilded frames and the intricate murals on the ceiling. “I thought Hogwarts was pretty cool - I mean, it is, but this is really amazing.”
“Mum and Dad brought me here a few times,” Hermione said wistfully, “It really is quite opulent.”
“Zis ees much like Beauxbatons,” said Fleur, who looked very impressed as she peered at the glittering crystal chandeliers above.
Once the tour was over, they strolled through the Kensington Gardens with its immaculate lawns and rows of flowers, all colours of the rainbow, and past fountains and statues, and around ponds with lily pads and graceful, haughty looking swans gliding across the rippling surface. By the time they’d had their fill of the beauteous surroundings, it was getting on for lunchtime and Harry was famished as they had skipped breakfast for their early start.
Another short bus ride took the foursome to Trafalgar Square where they had a look at the statue of Admiral Nelson perched atop his tall column and the flocks of pigeons strutting boldly across the square at the base.
“Blimey!” Harry muttered, as he squinted upward, “You can barely see him up there. What’s the point?”
“It does seem a bit silly,” Hermione giggled, and then she gave Harry a look, feeling a bit bewildered and sad.
“So you’ve really never seen this - not on the television or in the newspapers?” slipped out of Hermione’s mouth; she kicked herself mentally, wishing she could take it back the moment she said it.
“Er... I probably have, actually. I just never paid it much attention I suppose,” Harry admitted, flushing slightly. “I probably saw it now and then whenever Uncle Vernon was watching the news - and probably in primary school too. I know I read about it during history lessons, but we went by it pretty quick.”
Harry felt a bit better when they found a fish and chip shop nearby and took it to eat in St. James’s Park. Sitting on a bench by a pond surrounded by weeping willows and hopeful looking ducks, he spied Buckingham Palace in the near distance. At least Harry recognised that.
He thought about the only other landmarks of London that he remembered from school and news-clips - Big Ben and London Bridge - he couldn’t quite picture the Tower of London and he felt a flash of anger towards the Dursleys. Harry savagely squashed the feeling, not wanting to ruin his day with Hermione. Thankfully he had a big pile of fish and chips and a can of coke.
Hermione smiled as she watched Harry’s expression change while he dug into his fish and chips with gusto, glad that she hadn’t spoiled Harry’s day out too much.
Happily for Harry, the next stop after lunch was a trip to the Tower of London. The cawing Ravens were the first things which caught Harry’s attention. He grinned for much of tour, reminded of Hogwarts as he and Hermione traipsed alongside Dora and Fleur across the stone battlements and through the stone corridors, past gleaming suits of armour.
Up winding stone staircases they went to see the rooms where some of the most famous prisoners had been kept. Harry felt a bit sick when the tour guide mentioned princes Edward and Richard, twelve and nine years old respectively, who were believed by many to have been murdered by their uncle.
“I remember this bit from primary school,” Harry whispered to Hermione, who looked a bit green around the gills herself.
Even though she had learned about it in school too, and had been on the tour herself with her parents when she was younger, Hermione still found the tale appalling.
Harry was most surprised by the bit of the tour which brought them to the Crown Jewels.
“Blimey!” Harry exclaimed. “I can’t believe they keep them here. I would’ve thought they’d be kept somewhere a bit safer.”
The grizzled tour guide heard Harry and chuckled, “Yeh’d be mad ter try and rob ‘em,” reminding Harry strongly of Hagrid’s warning the day he’d entered Gringotts for the first time.
“Got the most up ter date security measures on ‘em,” the guide carried on, “an’ even if yeh managed ter snatch ‘em, the guards’d be on yeh, lickety-split!”
“...Yeh might even find yerself locked up in the Tower,” he concluded with another chuckle, giving the tour group a wink.
“Zat was mos’ informative,” said Fleur, taking Dora’s arm and giving her a peck on the cheek when the tour was finished. “I deed not know so much about Britain before today. In Beauxbatons, we learn vairy leetle of non-magical history of France and Britain. Many thanks, Dora.”
Dora turned a bit pink and grinned.
The rest of the afternoon was spent wandering through Fortnum and Mason and London’s oldest bookshop which was right next door, much to Hermione’s delight. Hermione beamed radiantly at Harry as she led him by the hand up and down the stairs, and through all the aisles.
“It’s got everything you can think of,” she gushed, “It’s much better than W.H. Smith.”
Hermione was so excited to be giving Harry a tour of her favourite bookshop that she practically dragged Harry down a narrow aisle of tall bookshelves and snogged him silly at the far end by a window overlooking Piccadilly. When they came up for air Harry and Hermione both blushed furiously, spotting an elegantly dressed and coiffed woman smirking at them from the other end of the aisle.
“At least you two picked the most appropriate place in the shop,” the woman remarked in a clipped, very posh sounding accent. Then she plucked a paperback novel with a lurid cover featuring a half-dressed man and woman from the bookshelf and marched back toward the staircase.
“You chose this aisle on purpose, didn’t you?” said Harry, grinning when he realised that they were in the Romance section.
“Maybe!” Hermione squeaked, still pink with embarrassment.
Harry raised his eyebrows questioningly, still grinning at her.
“Okay, fine!” she admitted, glaring at him. “You got me! Are you happy now?”
“Yeah - I am actually!”
Harry put his arms around her waist and drew her closer, his grin softening. Hermione bit her lip, her heart racing again as she looked into his sparkling green orbs. Their lips met again for another kiss, this one more languid and drawn out.
Hermione let out a contented sigh when it was over, her arms still curled around Harry, her bushy head nestled against his chest, a smile on her face. For a few minutes longer they held each other and gazed out of the window at the streets of London before deciding it was time to go and find Dora and Fleur.
They made their way back down the staircase and looked around the shop. When Harry and Hermione found their companions, they were both surprised to see Fleur tittering as she and Dora flicked through the pages of a graphic novel.
“You’re into comics too?” Harry asked, looking somewhat bemused.
“Oui!” said Fleur, “Mos’ especially when zey are by French artiste - though ees actually French Belgian...”
“Oh!” said Hermione, her eyes lighting up when she realised what it was they were reading. “Is that a Tintin book, then?”
“Yeah!” Dora grinned. “‘They’re brilliant! I expect you’d like them too, Harry.”
“Er...” said Harry uncertainly.
“Yes, he would,” said Hermione, grabbing several of the graphic novels from the shelf next to Dora and Fleur, and then looking in her purse for her own muggle money which she kept in reserve during the school year, just in case.
“You don’t have to do that, Hermione,” said Harry quickly, “I probably won’t have a chance to pay you back until the summer.”
“It’s alright Harry,” Hermione chirped. “I know you’ve got money in Gringotts, but this is just a present. You’ll love them - I promise!”
“Alright then,” said Harry, knowing better than to object as he rubbed at his itching scar. “Thanks Hermione.”
Following the bookshop, Harry and Hermione both expected they would be returning to Hogwarts, but Dora had other ideas. She purchased a Guardian from the newsstand, and soon found an Indian restaurant nearby. She flicked through the pages while they waited for their dinner.
“Here we go,” she muttered, just as the waitress returned with samosas and bowls of curry and rice. “Right then, what sorta film do you guys wanna see?”
There was a bit of back and forth about the movies while they ate dinner. The food was very different from what Harry was used to eating at Hogwarts and the Dursleys, but he decided that he liked it. By the time everyone had finished, a film had been chosen: an American science fiction movie still running in a cinema not too far away.
“Ze actor - he ees Belgian also, like Hergé,” Fleur told Harry while Dora purchased the tickets. “I ‘ave seen heem before in movie when visiting non-magical cousins. He ees fightair - he fights like you an’ ‘Ermione are being trained to fight by Dora and zat Professor with ze funny eye - he ees a very pretty man.”
“The actor ees pretty, I mean, not ze professor,” she added with a tinkling laugh.
Harry enjoyed the movie very much, and surprisingly, despite all of the action and Martial Arts scenes, he found it extremely thought provoking as well.
Hermione’s warnings in third year about being careful not to be seen when they were using the Time-Turner seemed more apt than ever. Time-travel was clearly not something to be taken lightly - just the smallest change could make things go horribly wrong.
Harry’s scar prickled, and a slight shiver ran up his spine. He hoped that Voldemort never thought of using Time-Turners.
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Yuletide Blessing in Disguise