Chapter 3: Flirting with Disaster

"Well said, young man. Well said indeed," Dumbledore said as he stopped clapping and strode forward, leveling a stern gaze at the trio of Marauders. "As for you, Mr. Potter, I had expected better of you. You know full well you are not allowed to use magic outside of school. I also had believed that you possessed better judgment than this."

"Sorry, Professor," James muttered contritely.

Based on Harry's knowledge of his father's school years, he vaguely suspected that James was more upset with the fact that he'd been stopped rather than feeling any kind of real remorse.

Dumbledore sighed. "Seeing as you're not in school at the moment, I can't really discipline you, but I warn you, Mr. Potter. Don't let anything like this happen while you're at school, or there will be consequences. The last thing we need is people causing trouble."

"Yes, Headmaster."

"Now, Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin, how about you take Mr. Potter to get some ice cream? I find it cools hot tempers quite effectively."

Sirius and Remus both grinned at the idea as Dumbledore handed them a galleon each from his voluminous robes and smiled benignly. "Here you go, gentlemen. Please, do enjoy yourselves. You are on your holidays after all, and Christmas is coming up."

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore!" Sirius and Remus chorused after they had gotten over their surprise. "And have a great Christmas, Headmaster!"

The headmaster chuckled and waved as Sirius and Remus dragged James off to the ice cream parlor. "Merry Christmas, you three!"

Dumbledore turned his attention to the two still remaining. He had readily identified Bellatrix Black from where he had observed the attempted duel, but the fading light of dusk had made it difficult to see the young man with her.

Now that he was up close, Dumbledore observed that the stranger possessed an appearance remarkably similar to that of James Potter. With the exception of the piercing green eyes, his face shared Potter's features, even on up to the messy black hair that had long been a Potter trademark. On the other hand, the stranger sported a paler complexion, slighter build, and shorter height.

"Miss Black," he inclined his head in greeting, not really surprised that he only got a curt nod in reply. "And Mister…"

"Ashworth," Harry said perhaps, too quickly. He fought down the sudden urge to panic when he realized that he had just inadvertently attracted the attention of one of the few people he really didn't want to run into yet.

Harry knew that Dumbledore was far too canny and experienced for Harry to get away with vague or poorly crafted lies. Though he was perfectly aware that he would one day have to coordinate whatever efforts he decided to make against Voldemort with Professor Dumbledore, he just wasn't ready yet. Further, the thought of walking into Dumbledore's office and announcing that he was from the future just seemed too ludicrous. He'd be locked up in St. Mungo's he could say anything else.

"Mr. Ashworth," Dumbledore acknowledged amicably, "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise," Harry replied, trying to come off as neutral as possible.

If Dumbledore noticed that Harry was uncomfortable, he didn't show it. He smiled toward Bellatrix before redirecting his attention to Harry. "I was rather impressed with your handling of the situation just now, and your comments about the houses we have at Hogwarts. You seem to know a lot about my school."

Harry shrugged noncommittally. "It's a famous school. We hear a lot about it, even back at home."

"He's from Australia," Bellatrix supplied when Dumbledore looked at Harry quizzically, holding up her end of the collaboration bargain.

"Ah," the headmaster said jovially. "Would you two care to join me for supper? I hear Tom has a new recipe for shepherd's pie and that is said to be rather good."

"That's quite all right, headmaster," Bellatrix replied.

Dumbledore smiled benevolently at her. "You are not off the hook yet, Ms. Black. You nearly came to blows too. I would greatly appreciate it if you would join us."

Bellatrix looked as though she wanted to turn him down anyway when he continued, "And I wouldn't mind talking to Mr. Ashworth for a little bit-just to get to know him a little better."

Harry almost blurted out why? He composed himself quickly, then thought about turning down the headmaster as well. He didn't want to talk to him so soon; for fear that he might slip and reveal something he shouldn't. On the other hand, if he refused now, Dumbledore would just become all the more intrigued, at least if he was anything like the Dumbledore he knew in the future.

He weighed his options and concluded that it might be better to just bite the bullet, talk to him now, and get him off his back. He would have to be very careful about what he said, so that he didn't spark the headmaster's interest any further.

"Sure. I'm hungry, and it's been a long trip."

Dumbledore stroked his beard as his eyes twinkled. "Fabulous! The Leaky Cauldron is just over this way. I would very much like to hear the tale of how you two encountered each other."

Oh boy, Harry groaned mentally. Bellatrix decided to take pity on him and nodded sharply, indicating that she would come along, though her eyes made it clear that she'd rather not. The headmaster clapped his hands together in delight, and the trio set off for the Leaky Cauldron. The entire way, one thought occupied both Harry and Bellatrix's minds: How in Merlin's name do we explain meeting each other?

The Leaky Cauldron was busy as usual, though Tom was able to show them to a vacant table. Dumbledore, Harry, and Bellatrix sat down and nodded a polite thanks to Tom. They quickly ordered, and Harry took great care to not seem familiar with the menu of the place.

"Ashworth…" Dumbledore began slowly, before chuckling. "Ah! I have heard a great deal about your family… very influential in the past, no?"

"We had a little pull, but that was a long time ago, when we were still here in Britain," Harry replied cautiously.

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Ms. Black mentioned that you were from Australia-most of your family resides there now, don't they? I knew one of your distant relatives, I think. A Lewfidius Ashworth." The headmaster chuckled to himself as he delved into the memory. "Quite a bit of a prankster, but a good man. Fiendish sense of humor. I don't suppose you know him? Probably not. I understand that there are a lot of Ashworths down that way."

Harry and Bella glanced at each other. The conversation was light and it carried on for a few minutes about inconsequential topics until the food arrived. When it did, Harry let out a sigh of relief, grateful for the pause in conversation as the three of them ate. The lull would give him some time to think about what to say should Dumbledore ask about anything he didn't want him to know about. It also gave his frayed nerves a break as he kept expecting the ancient wizard to suddenly pull an about-face and ask something he didn't have an answer for. At times, Dumbledore had seemed as if he could see right through Harry, and he was sure even a two-decade younger Dumbledore was still capable of it.

"So," Dumbledore asked between two forkfuls of shepherd's pie, "how did you two meet? I'm assuming you are new in town, Mr. Ashworth?"

Grasping on to the straw that had just been handed to them, Bellatrix nodded. "I was just showing him around Diagon Alley. He needed to purchase a few things in order to get settled in."

"We bumped into each other at the bank," Harry shrugged. It was close enough to the truth to not be a lie. "She ended up offering to show me around to some of the shops I needed to visit." He then decided to rib Bellatrix a little bit. "It was very sweet of her to do so."

Harry was promptly rewarded with a violet-colored glare.

"Ah. It's good to see Ms. Black make some friends outside of her circle at school," the headmaster commented."I am afraid she prefers the isolation of her studies, and even her cousin can't do much about it."

"Her cousin?" Harry forced himself to ask.

"Young Mr. Black. He was with Mr. Potter earlier," Dumbledore explained. "Speaking of Mr. Potter… are you by any chance related to him? I couldn't help but notice that you looked rather similar…"

Harry flushed for a brief moment before he retained his control. He noticed the suddenly watchful gaze of the young woman next to him, and quietly swore to himself. She hadn't picked up on it yet, but she had noticed now, after Dumbledore had pointed it out. Damn, he thought, that's going to be a tough one to explain. I don't suppose they'd fall for the "it's a coincidence" excuse?

"I'm not acquainted with any Potters," Harry replied vaguely after what seemed like a small eternity frozen in indecision to him. It was the truth. "Though, what with the way things are, I wouldn't be surprised if there was a vague connection somewhere along the line."

Dumbledore seemed to buy it, but Harry caught Bellatrix's still-skeptical look before she quickly wiped it off her face.

There was a brief lull in the conversation, but Dumbledore's curiosity soon drove him to further questions. "I'm curious about what would motivate a young man such as you to come to England," Dumbledore commented. "Do you have any job prospects?"

"I'm looking for a position," Harry replied neutrally. "However, I don't have a specific line of work in mind, and I just arrived in town. I'll take some time to get settled before I begin my search."

"Really?"

Harry supposed that Dumbledore wanted him to elaborate, but he had nothing to elaborate about-at least nothing that he had established for his assumed identity. Having no other feasible choice, Harry feigned misunderstanding. "Yeah."

Dumbledore was puzzled. He truly didn't understand why a young man would move from Australia to England without even an idea of what he wanted to do. He had an overwhelming desire to ask more questions, but the young man opposite him seemed to pick up on it.

"Well, this has been really pleasant, but I need to get going. I still have a few things to do before I decide to call it a day." Harry announced. Bellatrix let out a relived sigh.

"It's been very enjoyable evening. Perhaps we'll see each other again," Dumbledore acknowledged.

"They say it's a small world," Harry said in a non-committal tone.

The two younger wizards took their leave and cleared out of the pub, leaving Dumbledore by himself. The headmaster sat in silence for several moments, pondering the conundrum that was Harry Ashworth. There were a few things that did not add up with the young man; he realized now that the two had cleverly avoided telling him how exactly they had met when he had asked them. There was also the fact that despite his young age, Mr. Ashworth seemed to be a wizard of remarkable ability, if his wordless disarmament of Bellatrix and James Potter was any indication. Thinking back through the conversation, to what he had been told, Dumbledore waved over Tom. "A Guinness, if you please, Tom."

"Comin' right up, Professor," the barkeep drawled. "Though why you insist on drinking that Irish stuff when we've got perfectly good homebrewed beer here is beyond me."

Chuckling at the barkeep's ramblings, Dumbledore suddenly shot upright, as he realized what had been bothering him. "He's from Australia" was what Ms. Black had said. If he's from Australia… why is he speaking with a British accent? The headmaster wondered. There was obviously a lot more to Harry Ashworth than he had been told.

The way he moved and held himself with confidence and the way he deflected questions about himself - giving answers without really answering - told Dumbledore that he was no mere young wanderer lacking guidance as Ashworth seemed to want people to think he was. No, there was skill and experience hidden beneath that outer layer of a cheerfully ignorant young man.

With a sigh, the headmaster drained a good part of the Guinness that Tom had placed in front of him. Without any further information, there wasn't much he could do. He hadn't sensed any malice about the young man, and at the moment, Dumbledore had more important things to worry about.

He filed the oddity that was Harry Ashworth away, for now. It could require further investigation later, but until Mr. Ashworth did something that would put him "on the radar," as the Muggles were apt to put it, Dumbledore decided to let it be. Bellatrix deserved to have some friends.

"Is there a reason why you yanked me out here instead of letting me go on up to my room?" Harry asked Bellatrix when she stopped outside of the Leaky Cauldron on the Muggle side of London.

"We need to talk before I leave you on your own for the day. What I've got to tell you isn't something Dumbledore needs to hear, and did you really want him to know where you live? Not to mention what he'd say if he saw me follow you up to your room?" Bellatrix said.

"Good point," Harry conceded.

"I figured," Bellatrix said with a smug grin. "Now look, I don't have time to hold your hand as you go about getting your documentation. I've got a few contacts down in Knockturn Alley. I'll only tell you this once, so listen, and listen well. Go down Knockturn Alley. Keep going until you pass McNarth's Magical Mistresses. Turn right at the next cross-roads and then turn right again. There's a small back-alley, with a dingy old store. The sign is almost impossible to read, but if you squint, the dirt stain on it will look a bit like a boar's head. That's where you go."

Harry blinked rapidly as he tried to keep up with her directions. "Okay. So… go down till McNarth's, right, right, to the place with the dirty sign that looks like a boar's head. Got it."

"No, no, no!" Bellatrix shook her head emphatically. "Go down to McNarth's, right, right, then you go to the place with the store."

"How's that different from what I just said?" Harry scratched his head in confusion.

"There's a right at the crossroads after McNarth's, and then there's a tiny little alley that goes off to a different right!" Bellatrix explained in annoyance.

"So I take that right?"

"No! You take the other right!" Bellatrix shuddered as she suppressed the urge to slap him. "You go on the main right, you moron! Then you pull into the alley!"

"Would you stop calling me that?" Harry growled back. "Why are you always calling me an idiot or a moron, anyway?"

"What do you mean, 'always'? I've barely just met you!"

Harry clammed up when he realized he'd slipped up. Trading insults with Bellatrix in his time had become something of a familiar ritual, and she seemed inordinately fond of calling him an idiot and a moron… much like Snape, now that he thought about it. This Bella hadn't insulted him yet, aside from their brief spat when he'd suddenly appeared in the vault. "Nothing," he muttered.

Bellatrix eyed him carefully. "Oh, I don't think so, Ashworth. But I've got to head home soon, or Auntie is going to start wondering, so listen up." And I will find out what you are hiding yet, she thought to herself. You are definitely related to Pot-for-brains, or know him, or something in that future of yours… and you know me. And I want to know what exactly is going on.

"Fine."

"All right," Bellatrix started again, "passing off forged magical documents is hard, but passing off forged foreign magical documents is going to be even harder, and costly. More importantly, they take time. A few weeks, at least. So, for now, I suggest that you get some Muggle documentation first - that's easy enough to arrange. You'll need a passport and a birth certificate."

"Aren't those easier to forge?"

Bellatrix groaned in frustration and lightly slapped him upside the head. "That's the point, moron!"

Harry stared at her blankly for a moment, before shaking his head. She filed that oddity for later use, as well. When he pouted, she raised her hand as if to slap him again, causing him to cringe.

"Stop doing that!"

"Then stop acting like an idiot!"

"I hate you…"

"You can hate me all you like," Bellatrix shot back, "but you'll answer my questions yet. You've got no idea how annoying I can be!"

"I think I've got a pretty good idea," Harry murmured to himself.

Bellatrix looked at him strangely, then jolted when a nearby clock chimed the full hour. "All right, now the most difficult thing to forge that you'll want ASAP-"

"Why would you want a sap?"

"ASAP," Bellatrix hissed. "As-soon-as-possible! It's a Muggle expression, dummy! Now shut up, stop asking questions, and let me finish, by Merlin's beard! You'll want an apparition license as soon as you can get one, if only just to get around. That's going to be expensive, and hard to get. You've got three choices there: a forged Australian one, a forged British one, or you can go take the test here at the Ministry. A forged license will take quite a while, but in order to take the test you'll need documentation. Whichever you want to do, it's up to you."

"All right."

"Oh, and when you get there, ask for old man Falschmann. Tell him Bella sent you. And for goodness sake, make sure those boneheads date the documents on a work day! I remember Siri wanted to get a Muggle ID once to get into a pub when he was underage, and the morons there dated it as issued on a Sunday…" she trailed off, then shrugged with a slight smile. "Oh well, serves Siri right."

"All right…" Harry tried to keep everything she had told him straight, allowing himself a small smile at her mention of Sirius. That sounded like something he would do, all right.

"And one last thing - be careful around these people. I think you can take care of yourself, but these aren't exactly the most upstanding of citizens. Keep your money close, and your wand closer. I'll try to get you hooked up to some of the pureblood families later - I think Auntie is planning a party later this month. I'll see what I can arrange." She glanced around, pulled out her wand, and winked at him. "See you around, Ashworth," and disappeared with a soft pop.

Harry stood there for a moment, blinking in surprise at the spot she had just vacated. To his surprise, he had been about to say, "Take care, Black." Now that was strange, he thought to himself. The entire day had been a whirlwind of confusion, mixed emotions, and tension, and it slowly caught up with him as he propped the door to the Leaky Cauldron open, peering inside to check if Dumbledore was still there. When he was sure that he wasn't, Harry went inside and headed straight up to his room.

It was strange - the day had started with him in captivity, facing certain death when Voldemort returned. He had traded insults with Bella then watched her kill herself practically in his arms, only to suddenly find himself two and a half decades in the past, faced with a very different Bellatrix. He frowned as his thoughts drifted to the younger version of the woman he had hated so much for the last few years of his life. In his time, Bellatrix had been a crazed murderer, torturing and killing and inflicting unspeakable cruelties on innocent people. Aside from Voldemort, she had been Harry's nemesis, the one person he had promised himself that he would stop. He hated her, despised her, and what she did, with every fiber of his being.

So why don't I hate her, then? he asked himself quietly as he sat in the silence of his room, the bustle of the pub downstairs slowly fading away. And that was it, he realized. He didn't really hate this younger Bellatrix, for reasons he couldn't understand. He disliked her, which was true. He didn't trust her as far as he could throw Hagrid, not unless he'd probed her with Legilimency first. He despised what she had become in his time. But he didn't hate her, because when he looked at her, the few times she had slipped up - and he had a sneaking suspicion that those were isolated incidents, triggered by the surprises of the day - she had reminded him of the friends he had back home.

Her curiosity, her desire to learn about magic, that was so much like Hermione. Her savvy attitude and witty retorts, that reminded him so much of Ginny and the twins… her quick temper and wand, which had become almost a trademark of Ron. It was strange to suddenly realize that so many of the people familiar to him had traits that were wrapped up in one person. And then there was the fact that Bellatrix was nothing like he had imagined she would be in her youth. The few conversations he had had with the Hogwarts staff after he graduated had been limited to her abilities and skills, and there had been very little time to discuss her personality.

Flitwick's comments about her were about all he knew about what she had been like, and he found himself surprised to find out that she was nothing like he had expected. She was nothing like Draco Malfoy or his father, or even some of the other Death Eaters and future Death Eaters he had met. With a groan, he forcibly shut all those thoughts from his mind. He was tired, and the days of captivity were catching up with him. He resolved to think about these matters later, when he had rested.

"Turn right here…" Harry muttered to himself as he glanced back down the street he had come from and saw a sign advertising "McNarth's Magical Mistresses - A Sprite, Pixie, Fairy, or Zealotus for your Every Pleasure!" Ahead of him was a three-way intersection, and he couldn't quite decide which right he was supposed to head down to. Glancing around him at the shady figures lurking about, their hoods pulled tightly around them, and others - grotesquely malformed and dressed in rags, with a predatory gleam in their eyes - he didn't think he would be getting a reasonable response if he walked up to them and asked "Excuse me, where I can find the place with the sign that's got dirt on it that looks like a boar's head?"

Finally, he settled on one way and headed down the street, hoping he'd picked the correct one. When he reached the next intersection, he turned right again, as per Bellatrix's directions, and let out a relieved sigh when he spotted a little alley. Right there, on the corner, was a small building that had a crooked signpost next to the door. Dangling precariously from the post, one of the two chains holding the wooden sign broken, was a banner that was too dirty to read. Harry squinted and turned his head this way and that, until he was satisfied that, with a lot of imagination - and probably a few gallons of alcohol - it did, indeed, look like a boar's head.

Setting his shoulders and trying to ignore the stench that came from behind the building - he hated to think about what was causing this kind of smell on the other side of the house! - he shoved the door open and walked in. "Hello?" he called into the room as he glanced around his surroundings.

Torches flickered around the room, bathing it in a warm orange glow. A fireplace crackled in the corner, and there was a clean counter with a few chairs in front of it in the back of the room. The walls were lined with shelves filled with books, scrolls, and tablets, causing Harry to pause. Did I walk into the wrong building? He asked himself. This didn't exactly look like a forger's den. It didn't even look like the place belonged into Knockturn Alley to begin with!

"Can I help you?" a female voice came from what he assumed was the back room. A few seconds later, a young woman opened the door that led further into the house. She grinned wryly and politely coughed into her hands.

Harry started when he realized he'd been staring. She was well-dressed, to his surprise, in Muggle clothes. A cream-colored, long-sleeved blouse was fitted around her torso, tucked neatly into a high-waisted black skirt that hugged her hips and legs and ended an inch above her knees. A light pink sash tied around her waist, its ends left loose to dangle next to her left hip. Muggle-made high heeled shoes completed the image, raising her heels three inches off the ground. "Oh, sorry," he said, clearing his throat in embarrassment.

She eyed him curiously, with a smile that told him that she got this particular reaction quite a lot, and casually brushed a lock of her dark red hair behind her ear. "So, what can I help you with, Mr… .?" he noticed her strange accent, as she rolled her "R"s and flattened out her vowels.

"Ashworth." Harry reflexively stuck out his hand.

She shook it without hesitation, her entire demeanor warm and inviting. "Mr. Ashworth, it is."

"I'm here to talk to, uhm, Falschmann. Bella sent me."

"Oh, I'll get my father then. Just a moment!" she said brightly before turning around and vanishing through the door. Moments later, she returned, accompanied by an equally well-dressed middle-aged man who was dressed in a Muggle suit and tie, though the tie was loose around his neck, and the top button of his shirt was undone.

"Ah, another customer from my little Bella. What can I help you with?" His accent was much more pronounced than his daughter's, and Harry could finally place it. It was German.

"I need some… documentation," Harry replied hesitantly, glancing nervously at the young woman standing next to the forger.

"Ah yes, yes. Where from?" Falschmann noticed Harry's gaze and smiled. "Do not worry about her; she knows the business I am in. In fact, let me introduce us. I am Heinrich Lehnsherr, master forger, and this is my daughter, Sabine. She does the books and is learning to take over the business."

"Pleased to meet you," Sabine smiled pleasantly.

"Thank you," Harry stammered in reply, surprised at the place and the people. "Harry Ashworth. I thought your, uh, your name was-"

Both forger and daughter laughed. "You did not think that Falschmann was my real name, did you not? No, that is just the nickname everyone calls me by. It is rather appropriate, if you know what it means in my native language."

"I'll get some tea, father," Sabine said and turned around. "Would you like sugar and cream, Mr. Ashworth?"

"Just some sugar, please," Harry replied. "And please, just call me Harry."

"Just sugar, then. The usual, father?" She waited for his nod and left, presumably for the kitchen.

"Why the surprised look, Harry?" Heinrich prodded with amusement at Harry's still shocked expression.

"It just… didn't expect, well… this," the young wizard said as he gestured around himself.

"Ah," Heinrich nodded sagely. "You did not expect a place like this in Knockturn Alley, yes?" He grinned. "Well, I do have a cover to keep. Not many find their way down to this place, so it is quite safe from the Ministry. I rather find the dark ambience of the other stores here depressing, and since I and Sabine live here, there is no reason not to make the place look nice, no?"

Harry blinked in surprise. "Yeah. Good point."

Heinrich laughed. "Now, what brings you here? Documentation, you said, Bella sent you…" he noticed Harry's uneasy look, and was quick to calm him down. "Do not worry. I do not ask questions, merely what I need to know to create what you want. Now, what exactly is it that you need?"

"Australian documentation. Muggle passport, birth certificate… the magical equivalents, too. And an apparition license." Harry had decided that he would rather not take the risk of walking into the Ministry to take the apparition test. It would just raise questions about who he was, should someone get nosy. Besides, it would be much more believable if he had an Australian license, since he claimed to be from there, anyway.

"Ah, the entire personal identity set, then." He looked Harry over. "You look a bit young to be a fugitive, or to be starting a new life over."

"I thought you weren't going to ask questions?" Harry asked wryly.

"I'm not, I'm not," Heinrich grinned and shrugged. "But you cannot fault my curiosity. It is not every day that I get a customer as young as you." He eyed Harry suspiciously for a moment. "You can pay, of course?"

"What's your price?"

"For the complete package? Magical and Muggle documentation?" Heinrich stroked his moustache for a moment. "Plus an apparition license? Fifteen thousand."

Harry frowned. That was a ridiculous price to ask, even in the wizarding world. A quick glance at the older man told him that he knew that, as well. "I could buy someone else's identity for that. Seven thousand."

It was Heinrich's turn to frown. "I cannot even pay the bills with that. Do you have any idea how much it will cost to get you your apparition license alone? And Australia… that is so far away. I will need to call in a lot of favors. I cannot do it below twelve."

"That's a load of bull," Harry countered. "Bella told me you're the best she knows for the job," he bluffed, "but she also warned me about your tendency to charge outrageous sums. Eight thousand."

Heinrich shook his head. "I do not get many customers. And, as Bella has told you, I do the best work. You go to someone else and the Ministry will detect the forgery on first sight." He looked down at Harry sternly. "Twelve thousand is my last word."

Harry bristled, but thought the offer over. It was still a lot of money, but could he afford to go to someone else? Bellatrix had obviously recommended this man, but really, how many forgers did a young schoolgirl know, despite her family connections. He had a feeling he was being tested. If I'm wrong, though… he didn't want to think about it. Squaring his shoulders, he looked up and pasted on his best poker face. "And what guarantee do I have that you are the best? For all I know, your work could be shoddy, as well."

"Ah, but I come with Bella's recommendation, do I not?" Heinrich waggled his finger in delight.

"Which means absolutely nothing to me," Harry retorted. "I don't trust her, and frankly, I don't trust you . Ten thousand. Or I'll take my chances."

Heinrich was silent for a long moment, a serious look on his face. Harry stared him down, but internally, he was quivering, hoping that he hadn't just blown it. He needed those documents, and he needed them soon, or he was going to get into trouble. He wasn't naïve enough to believe that he could get away without having to show some sort of ID or documentation at some point.

"Father," Sabine called out from the door to the kitchen, a reproaching tone in her voice. "Are you harassing our customers again?" She came through with a tray laden with three cups and a kettle. Depositing it on the counter between her father and Harry, she frowned at him and shook her head. "You know how much it scares the customers when you do that. And one so young!"

"All right, all right, Sabine, Schatz." Her father looked up and chuckled at Harry's confused expression.

"I apologize for father's behavior, Harry," Sabine said as she leaned over, placing a cup in front of Harry. "He likes to play games like these sometimes, just to see how serious his customers are. He calls it testing your character, but I figure he just likes to tease people."

"That's… uhh…" Harry stared back and forth between the master forger and his daughter, unable to find the right words.

Heinrich finally laughed as he drank his tea, not sipping it slowly like the British usually did, but taking large gulps of the liquid as he smiled heartily. "Do not worry, Harry. Ten thousand galleons is fine. How quickly do you need the documents?"

"Well… as soon as you can get them done, I suppose." Harry shrugged. "I don't know when exactly I'll need them, but I'd rather have them sooner rather than later."

Heinrich nodded thoughtfully. "The Muggle documents will be easy enough, but the wizard ones… I need to send a message to a friend of mine in Australia. Especially the apparition license might take some time. The Ministry is very thorough in checking and registering those."

"Father, could we not use the one you have prepared for the client that never came?" Sabine glanced up from her own cup of tea. "You remember, last year, when this strange man ordered a fake apparition license from Belgium, but he never came to pick it up. The document is already drawn up, except for the name, and all it needs is the official seal."

"True. The details are a bit different, but it can work. Let me go find it." Heinrich got up and left, leaving Harry in the company of his daughter. Sabine smiled and pulled out a notepad and pen.

"So, we're going to need some details for the documentation you wanted. Let's start with the birth certificate… name and date of birth?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Harry Evans Ashworth. Born December 15th, nineteen-fifty-five."

Sabine dutifully noted everything down. "That would make you twenty." She glanced up. "You're my age," she added with a small smile.

Harry shrugged. It was his real age, but it didn't really bother him giving that away. "Born in… Port Augusta, Australia." It was the best he could come up with, and he mentally thanked Mrs. Graham, his third grade geography teacher-and Dudley's dislike for textbooks.

"All right… moving on to your passport. Married? Single? Divorced?"

"Single."

Sabine nodded as she wrote it down. "Place of residence?"

Harry had to think about that for a moment. He didn't want to imply that he had lived in Australia all his life, and he had to explain his British accent somehow. Finally, he settled on one explanation. "As of nineteen-seventy-two, 201 West Lakeside Road, Boston, Massachusetts, United States of America."

Sabine arched a curious eyebrow. "A well-traveled young man, I see," she commented lightly.

"As it were," Harry shrugged. "What else did you need?"

"A list of countries and the dates that you were there. So we can fill up the passport appropriately."

"All right… Napier, New Zealand, September 3rd, nineteen-fifty-six, left December 19th, same year," Harry began to invent, mentally making a note to study his passport later on and invent places of residence for each of the foreign excursions. "Then… Osaka, Japan, February 4th, nineteen-sixty-one, through June 22nd, nineteen-sixty-two. Hamburg, Germany, August 6th, nineteen-sixty-two through October 2nd, nineteen-sixty-three."

And the list continued as Harry's imagination filled it with the travels of his fake parents and himself. Croatia, Greece, Italy, even Russia followed the initial entries, eventually stopping in the United States, but he always took care to avoid being somewhere close to the British Isles. When he was done, Sabine looked up from the half-dozen entries she'd made, and grinned. "That's one hell of an elaborate history you have there, Harry."

"Yeah… I surprise myself, sometimes," he chuckled. It would be hell to memorize all that, but at least now he could claim as an excuse that he'd traveled a lot. "Was there anything else you needed?"

"Well… there are your official school records and the equivalent of the OWLs and such. Graduation records, too."

Harry groaned. "It's going to be a long day, isn't it?"

"Would you like more tea?" Sabine smiled.

"Please tell me that's it?"

She shook her head, her long red tresses flying around her. "Nope. Then we have to take care of your medical history. Establish your places of residence, and…"

He smiled wryly. "You're very thorough, aren't you?"

"We're the best," she replied with pride. "But if you'd like some help in making up your history, I'm told I have an excellent imagination," she told him with a sly grin.

Harry thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "What the heck, it can't hurt. So, what do you recommend for school records? You're the expert, after all."

"Well… you don't want to be a straight-A student, that usually sends up red flags," she started…

Four hours later, Harry drained the last of his tea from his cup. Between him and Sabine, they had managed to come up with a basic history for him that would satisfy most inquiries. Her father had come back briefly, to pick up her notes so he could start working on the documents for which they had complete information.

He now had a history of being a moderate student - mainly attributed to his constant moving as a child, along with his family - established which schools he'd gone to, a brief medical history in which he'd managed to cram all of his actual ailments and injuries, not to mention his allergies, and eyeglass prescription. Sabine had advised that he could consider eye surgery, or the magical equivalent, if he wanted to lose the glasses. He considered it and filed it away for future reference.

"That's it, I think," Sabine announced as she laid down her pen. Strewn about her in what looked like utter chaos to Harry, but was somehow completely discernible to her, were forty pages filled with notes on the history they'd established so far.

"Good," Harry muttered. "I think I'm starting to confuse myself."

"Well, that should be about all we need." Sabine rose and began clearing the empty teacups.

"Good, it's getting late." Harry glanced out the window, and then realized that it was always dark in Knockturn Alley. "I should get going. When do you think you'll have the papers done?"

Sabine hummed in thought. "The Muggle papers, probably in two days. The wizarding papers, with exception of the apparition license, a week, maybe nine days. The license we'll probably have in two weeks, earliest." She smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, but like father said, those are really hard to forge, and they need to be actually registered with the Ministry. That takes time and work."

"All right." He could live with that. "So, uh, how do I pay?"

"You pay when you pick up the documents." Sabine giggled at his slightly embarrassed expression. "Don't worry about it too much."

"All right." Harry stood, straightening down his robes. "By the way, I'm curious… why do you and your father dress like Muggles?"

Sabine giggled and twirled around. "We both work in the Muggle world, too. And frankly, it's rather comfortable. You like?"

Harry stared for a moment, then shrugged and blushed. "It looks nice."

"Thank you."

"Well, I guess I'd better get going. Is it all right if I come back in a week?"

Sabine shook her head. "If you're completely without papers, you better come back the day after tomorrow. Just in case you'll need some form of ID."

"All right." Harry was about to turn to leave when she leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "It was nice to meet you, Harry Ashworth, or whoever you are," she smiled at him shyly. "And a pleasure doing business with you."

"Thanks, you, too," he said and quickly walked out before she could embarrass him anymore. A few seconds later, he stood outside the building, with the strange smell still coming from the back of the house, and started up the dark streets of Knockturn Alley.

"Time to get back to my room, I guess," he muttered as he set off.