"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."