The raggedy creature leapt nimbly over a fallen crate as it tracked its prey. The shifting mass of tattered brown cloth made it impossible to determine if the creature was male or female; in any case it did not matter. The creature moved through the crowded street so swiftly and silently it might as well have been invisible—and this is what the creature counted on for survival.

Not wanting to lose sight of its target, the creature sped up, ducking and dodging the other pedestrians with a practiced ease. The intended victim was strolling along, stopping here and there to glance into shop windows, for he had no idea he was presently being stalked by one such as the filthy creature.

More fool him, the creature thought vindictively. Sighting the perfect opportunity at last, the creature deftly swept forward and brushed lightly against its prey as the man turned to greet an acquaintance. Had he glanced over at that moment, he would have seen the indefinable lump of rags speeding away from him, pocketing his watch and his wallet—but he was blissfully unaware, and he did not glance over.

Hermione turned a corner into an alley and checked that it was deserted before leaning against the dirty bricks and taking a moment to catch her breath. The adrenaline rush she received from successfully relieving someone of their belongings always carried her away from the scene as light as air, but the nervousness and fear of being caught usually returned quickly after she made her escape.

Glancing around again, she pulled the man's possessions from a mokeskin pouch secreted in her filthy robes. She'd nicked the pouch from Hagrid the last time she had been at the castle, and though she felt terrible about it, the giant had others and he would surely have given her this one if she had been in a position to ask.

Ruthlessly tamping down the feelings that threatened to overwhelm her at thoughts of the castle and her old friends, Hermione examined the watch. It was high-quality, of course; she never chose targets that would carry anything less than the best. She was pleased, however, to note that this watch was not a family heirloom of any sort—which meant she could freely sell or trade it without fear of being accused of thievery.

Even though you did steal it, her conscience reminded her waspishly. Over the past few months, she had grown quite tired of her conscience and its constant lectures—did it really want them to starve? She was doing what she had to, and that was that. All was fair when it came to survival. She had to believe that, or else she was no better than a...than a...well, than a Death Eater!

Replacing the watch, she opened the wallet, gleefully licking her lips when she saw the amount of Galleons stuffed into the folds. She wouldn't have to pickpocket for days—no, weeks! Congratulating herself, Hermione removed just one of the golden coins before flipping through the rest of the wallet. Pictures of her target's family—boring; bits of parchment with reminders and shopping lists—snooze; a key that most surely opened a vault in Gringott's—now this could be useful. Turning the key over and over in her palm, she wondered if she would be able to locate the man again to grab a bit of hair. If she could Polyjuice herself and get to the vault before he even realized his wallet was missing, then she might be able to get enough money for some proper robes and a place to live...

Sighing and reluctantly dismissing the lovely daydream, Hermione tried to remember that she did have some dignity left. She was not yet so desperate as to take a family's entire life savings, even if they were—she checked the name embossed on the wallet and sneered—a Pureblood family.

Securing the wallet in her pouch, Hermione straightened and headed off for the little market that she knew was a few blocks over. She rarely had the means to purchase anything at this market anymore, but with today's takings, she'd be able to splurge on some fresh bread and maybe even a bit of fruit that wasn't spoiled. Interesting how much your food preferences changed when your options were severely limited—the soggy mushrooms of her year on the run with Ron and Harry were positively appetizing in comparison to what she usually ate now.

ooo

Strolling through the carts and vendors a few minutes later, Hermione carefully chose a handful of slightly-bruised peaches and some crusty bread that had refused to rise in the oven. She wasn't terribly picky; after all, this was a far cry from her typical once-daily meal provided by the trash bins of the eateries on Knockturn Alley. On an impulse, she bought a bit of over-priced butter from one of the girls who owned a sickly-looking cow. The way the girl's eyes lit up at the paltry Sickles was enough to justify the purchase for Hermione.

Retreating to an abandoned building nearby, Hermione climbed to the roof and ate her lunch in silence as she watched the activity in the market below. Normally she would pickpocket all day before scrounging for food once it grew dark. Having the leisure of eating lunch and not rushing to search for her next target was better than Christmas.

An overwhelming sense of sadness closed in on her as she thought of last year's Christmas. Last year, things were still normal: she had still been with Ron, the Wizarding world had still been rejoicing over the defeat of Voldemort, and Hermione Granger had still been a war heroine. But oh, how her situation had changed!

Now, she was alone and lonely; now, she was a skilled but destitute pickpocket; now, she lived in squalor and knew constant hunger.

Now, she was a fugitive from the Ministry, the goblins, and the Wizarding population as a whole.

Fighting tears, Hermione gazed out at the rooftops that made up Knockturn Alley. If she squinted hard enough, she could just make out the bright orange of the Weasley boys' shop in Diagon Alley—but she hadn't dared step foot there in over two months. She feared her reception if she was discovered.

It had started innocently enough—the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had come to the Burrow to discuss with Harry, Ron, and Hermione the damages they'd caused at Gringott's, the Ministry, and Hogwarts. It seemed that Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister of Magic, was in favor of dropping the charges in recompense for their actions to rid the world of Voldemort. However, the goblins had not been as willing to relinquish what they felt they were owed. Kingsley had promised that he would find a way for the Wizarding world to pay their debt, since in truth they were all indebted to the Trio.

And all would have been well and good if she and Ron hadn't begun to drift apart. Immediately following the final battle, they were inseparable; as time wore on, however, it became clear that their brief passion was just that—a brief passion. They parted amicably and Hermione turned her attention to obtaining her NEWTs and getting a job in the new Ministry. She and Ron remained on good terms, and they resigned their love affair to fond memories.

The old-fashioned Wizarding society, however, was less willing to forgive and forget. After many months had passed and no engagement was imminent, talk began to circulate about what Hermione had been doing in a tent with two boys for the better part of a year. Nevermind that they had been tracking down an evil wizard—no, the society she found herself in now was determined that three healthy young people with "nothing better to do" must surely have alleviated their boredom in...other ways. And, typical of those old-fashioned societies, nothing negative was said outwardly about the boys—it all fell on Hermione, the girl, the Muggle-born.

Her reputation as the brightest witch of her age, Harry Potter's staunchest sidekick, War Heroine Extraordinaire, was tarnished beyond repair within a matter of days. Ron sheepishly offered to marry her for just long enough to get everyone off her back before a mutual dissolution, but she turned him down. It was sweet of him, but she would not allow the Pureblood-centric society to dictate her life in such a way. She plowed ahead with her studies, resolutely ignoring the naysayers and pretending to laugh it off when she was in public.

And it might have died down eventually, if the goblins hadn't stepped in. It seemed that, under pressure from the Ministry, they were willing to rescind most of their charges as long as someone paid them something. Unfortunately, they were only too eager to align themselves with the Hermione-bashers, claiming that she should be the one to pay since she, after all, was the one who had actually impersonated Bellatrix and broken in.

It was complete rubbish, Hermione knew that; still, Harry hadn't been able to save her, and the goblins refused to back down. People she had once considered allies were suddenly wary of showing public support for her. It was easy to claim that a fallen woman such as herself deserved to be held accountable for what she'd done, and so it was that she was faced with paying off four thousand Galleons worth of damage to the Wizarding bank.

Hermione had had no intentions of doing so, however. She took a few days to discreetly get her affairs in order, and then—she'd vanished. That was how she'd come to be here, stealing from well-off witches and wizards; eating less-than-desirable food; living in unwashed, tattered robes; and sleeping on a cot that she paid dearly for the privilege of sharing with three others.

Hiccupping once, Hermione brushed away the tears that had fallen while she reminisced. It was unfair, to be sure, but she saw no alternative. If she'd stayed, she would have been hunted down and forced to pay off the ludicrous charges from Gringott's, and she'd be just as poor and friendless as she was now. She couldn't run away to the Muggle world, either, because they knew that's where she was likely to turn. By relegating herself to the dregs of Wizarding society, she was hidden in plain sight. It had been six months now and no one had approached her, so she thought it was working.

Standing and stretching, Hermione hoped that one day everyone would realize the grievous wrong they'd done to her, and she would be able to return to her rightful place in society in a blaze of indignant glory. Until then, however, she would have to continue scavenging for a living. A sudden crush of people in the market below caught her eye, and she saw that her preferred potions dealer was making one of his rare appearances. Checking her canteen, she decided to make a stop with him before she headed home for the evening.

ooo

The crowd of people had dissipated slightly by the time she made her way over to the incongruously handsome man stationed in a corner of the market. He was blond, blue-eyed, with a chiseled jaw that reminded her of Gilderoy Lockhart in his prime. However, this particular wizard was quite haggard, and one could recognize that he had once been good-looking even as one smelled the horrid stench of days-old sweat and potions ingredients from a kilometer away. He was Hermione's favorite source of Polyjuice Potion because his wares were high-quality and reasonably priced.

Excessive amounts of Polyjuice for someone in Hermione's financial position may have seemed an extravagance to some, but she considered it more essential than a roof over her head. She dared not walk around looking like herself, so she made sure to always have Polyjuice and the hairs of strangers on hand. A few shifts as a janitor in a Muggle beauty salon had provided her with plenty of hair samples; this man provided her with the Polyjuice and, more importantly, he did not ask questions.

She waited until he concluded negotiating with an older man before approaching him. Since she was always disguised, they had long ago agreed upon a code phrase.

"The Ministry is multi-talented," she said quietly.

"They can talk and piss you off at the same time," he responded, sharing a conspiratorial twitch of his lips with her. She supposed she had been in somewhat of a foul mood they day they'd come up with this arrangement, but still...insulting the Ministry was one of the few joys left to her.

The man, known only to her as The Serpent, dug in his crate of wares before pulling out her usual bottle of Polyjuice.

"Actually, I'll take two," she said. He merely raised his eyebrows at her before pulling out another bottle.

"Good takings today, then?" he asked conversationally as she counted out his payment. Hermione shrugged one shoulder, not wanting to broadcast to anyone in the area that she was currently flush with Galleons, even if they would never be able to extract them from her pouch.

These bottles would last her a good two weeks, if not more. Deciding to store one in her pouch for emergencies, she thanked The Serpent and went on her way. Before she left the market, she bought the rest of the butter from the young witch with the cow, paying with the watch.

"Take that to Bloomsy & Firelit, they'll give you a fair price for it," Hermione murmured to the girl, who was busy staring at the watch as she turned it over in her frail hands. Wide green eyes raised slowly to meet Hermione's, and she was reminded of the awed look on Harry's face whenever someone got him a gift. Not wanting to make a scene, Hermione wrapped up her pats of butter and hurried off. Selling the watch would no doubt bring in more money than the girl typically made in a month, but Hermione had a wallet full of Galleons—she could afford to be generous today.

ooo

An hour later found Hermione napping in the shade of a tree in St. James Park. She'd passed out the butter to a group of rapscallion children scrounging in the dumpsters outside The Drunken Niffler, a Knockturn Alley pub near the entry to Diagon Alley. With nothing else to do, she'd wandered over to the park and washed her things in the lake there. Now her clothes were hanging from the lower branches of the tree or spread out beside her, and she was groggily waking at the sound of someone splashing about in the water.

Cracking an eye open, she saw that the person intruding on her pleasant solitude was none other than The Serpent. He was stripped to the waist and bathing in the cool lake water, his ragged dark blue clothing lying in a heap on the shore. Supposing there were worse people to share her little spot with, she sat up and stretched. The water did look inviting; maybe she ought to wash her hair, as well. Grabbing a lock and sniffing it, Hermione recoiled. Yes, definitely time for a rinse.

Since her clothes were already as clean as they were going to get, she waded into the lake in her underthings. The dingy camisole and knickers were a far cry from what she had been accustomed to before, but they were serviceable. She knew she could easily transfigure them to something nicer—actually, that went for all her clothing—but ever since she'd decided to disappear she had avoided using her wand whenever possible. The Ministry could track her that way if they so desired, and she didn't want to make it any easier for them to find her. So, most of the time, she was as Muggle as could be, the Polyjuice her only exception. Snorting indelicately at the Ministry's oversight in not tracking potions use as stringently as wand use, she came even with The Serpent, waist-deep in the water.

"You really must have done well today, you little miscreant, for you to be relaxing in such a manner this afternoon." He indicated her napping spot with a jerk of his chin.

Hermione grinned but did not answer. Let him guess all he wanted. She sank down and submerged her head in the water, rubbing her hands through it to make sure it was all wet. Standing up again, she glanced over to see if The Serpent by chance had any soap. Noting that he did not, she sighed and contented herself with scrubbing more water into her hair. It would have to do.

Looking at him again, she realized that he had stopped his bathing and was staring at her body with those piercing blue eyes. Rats, she hadn't even checked who was she was masquerading as today! Quickly looking down, she inwardly cursed. She was Polyjuiced as an apparently buxom Muggle blonde this afternoon...it was no wonder The Serpent was interested. Blushing, she moved deeper into the lake until the water lapped at her collarbone. At least now she was somewhat covered.

"Do you visit this lake often?" she asked, trying to distract his gaze from her display of breasts and legs. Her voice emerged as no more than a squeak, and he smirked knowingly at her before returning his attentions to his hair.

"Every week," he answered, and she breathed a sigh of relief that he was not going to mention anything about her shameful lack of clothing. "There are ingredients to be harvested along the shore if one knows where to look."

"Oh?" She felt her rampant curiosity beginning to unfurl and tried to tamp it down. It wouldn't do to give away any hints as to her knowledge of potions ingredients. When The Serpent slanted his eyes over to peer at her, it just confirmed her feeling that he could be dangerous—very dangerous.

She decided it was time to head home and ration out her money for the rest of the week. That, and take some Polyjuice to switch into one of her male disguises—the attention she'd drawn as this girl made her far too uncomfortable.

"I'd better be off," she murmured to her bathing companion. Beginning to wade out of the lake, she froze when The Serpent spoke after she was a handful of steps past him.

"Try not to run through your potions too quickly," he cautioned her. "I'd hate to see a good transformation go to waste." He waggled his eyebrows at her chest area and she blushed from head to toe.

"Good day," she said firmly, marching up the bank and hurriedly pulling on her clothes. The man was far too presumptuous! He was probably watching her even now—she peeked over her shoulder and found to her chagrin that he was standing with his arms loosely crossed, grinning at her and most definitely eyeing her bum. He saw her looking and waved. Hermione scowled at him, pulled on her robe, and stormed out of the park.

ooo

After a decent dinner bought from a leering cook at one of the Knockturn Alley restaurants, Hermione took her time going home. Obliviate Alley was so named because everyone—its tenants and those lucky enough to live elsewhere—wished they could forget its existence. It was, in a sense, Knockturn Alley's own version of Knockturn Alley. It was where the lowest of the low (Like me, she thought angrily) lived and worked. There was nothing so nice as a Borgin & Burkes here, no; Obliviate Alley was filled with brothels, gaming hells, and illegal potions-houses. Treading lightly so as not to draw attention to herself, Hermione slipped through the alleyway and headed for home.

Hermione squeezed through an opening in some fencing and climbed deftly up the old ladder into the cramped room she shared with seven other witches and wizards. There were two cots only barely large enough to hold two people, so the tenants took turns sleeping at night or during the day. Since Hermione shared a bunk with what she was certain were two prostitutes, having the bed at night was no issue, and she was up and gone before they ever arrived home in the morning.

It was absolutely wretched, and the rent for such a place was exorbitant considering its derelict condition. But it was all she could afford, and she vowed that if she ever returned to the high society of the mainstream Wizarding world she would do her best to remove the reasons for such a place's existence. She quickly fell into a fitful slumber, her dreams haunted by an arresting look from a mystery man with a set of piercing blue eyes.

A/N: This is for WeasleySeeker's "Italian musical terms" challenge. I received leggiero, which means "light; nimble". I pretty much took this Hermione-as-a-thief-by-circumstance plot idea from every Regency-era romance novel I've ever loved.

I'm not JK Rowling!