Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's Note: Give me enough time, and I'm sure I'll write about every character in the HP-verse going in search of sweets.

Little brothers should not be allowed, thought Albus Dumbledore as he slithered across the rough cobblestones of the close on his belly. He'd brought Aberforth along on this Diagon Alley trip to be his lookout, and to keep him company, but so far all Aberforth had been was an annoying little pest.

"Are there any spells on them?"

"I don't think so. No - no, definitely not." Albus wriggled closer to the looming stacks of crates, shapeless under their oilcloth covering, and frowned at them with what he hoped was the look of an expert on defensive magic.

"You don't know," said Aberforth smugly. "You've only had a year of school. You don't know nothing."

"Anything," Albus corrected, mentally vowing to pay his brother out as soon as they got home. He might not get away with a curse or jinx, but his wand would make a fine switch on a pair of bare legs, which Aberforth, still being in short robes, would be helpless to protect. With his thoughts fixed on the image of Aberforth shrieking and capering all around their playroom, he crawled the last few feet and stuck his head under the cloth.

No alarms went off; no large, angry wizard's hand fell on his shoulder. In a moment, Aberforth's scruffy ginger head popped in next to his.

"I told you it was safe," said Albus. "The man at the stall didn't see us come round the corner, did he?"

"No," said Aberforth. "He was selling Licorice Wands to a lot of dirty little kids."

"Good." Albus squirmed farther under the cloth, into a tunnel formed by two stacks of crates that didn't quite touch, and held his wand up for light. "Look, here's a crate of Marzipan Muggles - and this one's cold; it must be Ice Mice."

"Don't get the Muggles," said Aberforth, behind him. "I don't like the way they scream when you go to bite their heads off."

"All right, I won't. But we can't be too particular. The sweet-seller might come any moment to fetch something for a customer, and we don't want to be here when he does."

"Too right we don't," said Aberforth. "We shouldn't be here at all. I don't see why you can't just wait till Father starts your pocket money again and you can buy things like a normal person."

"Because I'm dying for something sweet," said Albus. "You don't understand. And it's thoroughly unfair that I haven't got any money. It wasn't my fault that Madam Mandragora opened the door just as I hit the Bludger."

Aberforth snickered. Ignoring him, Albus aimed his wand at the nearest crate, which happened to be the one containing the Ice Mice, and swished it as best he could in his tight quarters. A quick word, a flash, and the side of the crate burst open, releasing a torrent of sweets onto the cobbles and a rush of delight into Albus' heart. He felt he could have sung for joy. Perhaps he would do it on the way home, just to irritate Aberforth.

He was gathering the loot into a heap when a new light appeared at the other end of the tunnel between the crates. Another head had come under the cloth from the opposite side of the stack - a girl's head, with long, fair ringlets done up in a rather limp ribbon.

Albus promptly threw himself on top of the Ice Mice with a great crunching of paper wrappers. Aberforth, still behind him, let out a strangled yelp and came scrambling further under the cloth to see what had happened. When he saw the girl, he stopped dead.

"What are you doing?" the girl asked in a suspicious voice. She wasn't lying flat, as they were, but crouching, probably to save her robes from the dirt.

"Just looking around," said Albus. He propped himself up on his elbows and rested his chin on one hand as nonchalantly as one could while lying under a tarpaulin atop a large pile of stolen goods. "I heard there was a new lot of Marzipan Muggles. See, here they are. 'Three new shapes; now with even more life-like motion.'" With his free hand, he pointed the glowing tip of his wand at the crate in question.

"I don't think so," said the girl. "I think you're a pair of thieves. I think I ought to call for help." She started to withdraw.

"Wait!" said Albus hastily. "Don't do that. We don't look like thieves, do we?" He brought his wand close to his body again so she could get a look at the fine cut and fabric of his clothing.

"No, but -"

"Of course we don't. What's your name?"

"I'm not allowed to speak to strangers," said the girl.

"Well, you've already spoken to me, haven't you?" Albus pointed out. "So you may as well tell me your name. Then we won't be strangers anymore."

The girl looked a bit dubious about this logic, but she gave in to it all the same.

"It's Arabella," she said. "What's yours?"

"That's a pretty name," said Albus, ignoring the question and giving her his most winning smile. "Isn't it, brother dear?"

"Ouch!" said Aberforth as his sibling's boot made contact with his leg. "Very pretty."

"How did you know we were here?" Albus asked. He was beginning to shiver - the Ice Mice were freezing his chest and stomach through his clothes - but he held on grimly. He didn't think she'd actually seen the evidence, so if he could just convince her to leave -

"I saw you from my window," said Arabella. "I live over the robe shop. Mum and Dad don't let me go out very often, so I sit and watch what's happening outside. It's hard not to notice someone's legs sticking out of a pile of boxes, you know."

All at once, Albus became very conscious of just how exposed and vulnerable his legs were, out there in the open air. Thank goodness that's all that's sticking out, he thought, imagining how he would feel if the cloth weren't covering his hindquarters.

"Why don't they let you go out?" Aberforth asked, elbowing his brother as he squirmed deeper into the tunnel. The crates rocked perilously.

Arabella looked even more uncomfortable about Aberforth's question than she had about Albus'. "Because they like me to stay at home where it's safe," she said. "And it's none of your business anyway. And I'm going to call for help now."

"No you're not," said Albus.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're not," he repeated, "going to call for help." Since the moment he'd seen her, he'd been trying to think of a way to ensure her silence. Now he knew he'd found it.

"Why isn't she, Albus?" Aberforth hissed at his side. Albus didn't kick him this time. He couldn't - he was too cold.

"Because," he said, "if you go shouting down the street that you've found a pair of thieves, your parents are going to hear that you were out without permission, aren't they? I expect they'd be awfully angry about that."

Even in the unreliable wandlight, he could see Arabella's face go white. He went on. "And you don't want to get us in trouble, really you don't. We're not doing any harm - just looking at the new sweets. Do you see anything in my hands?"

She shook her head, pale curls bobbing and swinging.

"Or my brother's?"

Aberforth held up one hand, then the other. She shook her head again. "So I think you'd best hurry on home before someone notices you've gone," said Albus, trying hard not to let his teeth chatter. "And if you keep quiet and don't let on that we were snooping, I'll - I'll send you something nice tomorrow."

"I don't need a bribe," said Arabella indignantly. She bit her lip. "Do you swear you're not stealing?"

"On my honor," said Albus. He attempted another smile, but his mouth felt so stiff and frozen that he thought it must not have been a very good one. The combined chilling power of three dozen Ice Mice was impressive, to say the least.

"All right," said Arabella. "All right, but remember you swore!" With a rustle of cloth, she vanished, leaving Albus and Aberforth alone in semi-darkness.

"Thank Merlin!" said Aberforth. "Come on, let's go! If she could see us, someone else might too, and it's boiling hot under here."

"That's what you think," said Albus, and shivered.

He wasn't sure he'd be able to move for the cold, but after Aberforth crawled out, he found that he could. He slid backward, using the toes of his boots to drag himself along, and stood up in a world that seemed suddenly bright, even under the dingy, smoke-blackened sky.

"You didn't take any Ice Mice!" Aberforth complained as they slunk around the corner and back into Diagon Alley proper, where they were swallowed up by the crowd before the man behind the counter of the sweet-shop could so much as glance at them. "All that for nothing!"

"I swore I wasn't stealing," said Albus, dodging a witch whose fox-fur stole was still alive and snapping.

"You choose the strangest times to go all noble on me," said Aberforth. "I don't suppose you're going to send her a present, too?"

"Of course I am."

"That you're going to buy with the money you haven't got?"

"I'll send her something I don't have to buy," said Albus. "Now be quiet and save your breath. It's a long walk home."

The next afternoon, Arabella was sitting at her window, looking down on the close and wondering if she would see anything as interesting as she had the previous day. She still felt a bit odd about having let the two boys go, but after all, as the elder boy had pointed out, they hadn't looked like thieves. Her father always said you could see a man's character in his face, and while the younger boy had been nothing special, the elder one had looked very fine indeed. Even in the faint light of the wand, she'd been able to see his strong chin and the sparkle in his blue eyes. She was glad she'd kept the truth about herself from him. He would not have been half so polite or charming, even to escape trouble, if he had known she was only a Squib.

A large, awkwardly shaped shadow fell across the windowsill, and Arabella had to duck as an owl flapped through the opening, barely missing the half-open shutters. Instead of dropping its burden - a wicker basket - it glided low over the floor and set the basket down with hardly a bump, then flew straight back out again without waiting to be paid.

Tentatively, Arabella approached the basket, which was quivering slightly. A faint sound came from within.

Is it an animal? she wondered.

Looking around the room, she spotted one of the foot-rules her father used to measure fabric, and used its tip to flip up one side of the basket's lid. A small, fuzzy, grey-striped head popped up, and a moment later, Arabella was cooing over a tabby kitten nestled in her arms.

As the kitten's tiny purr grew in volume, she noticed something else in the basket. A note, written on very fine parchment, but in a schoolboy's hand.

Regards, Albus Dumbledore, it said.