Chapter Text
For ten years after the Second Wizarding War there stood an empty storefront in what used to be known as Knockturn Alley. Its face was mostly boarded up due to damage sustained during the war and, if you were brave enough to peer inside, you could still see the burn marks from what must have been an intense battle. There’d been rumours since it was discovered about what might have happened, but no one had any solid idea. Once a month, a small-framed brunette wearing the black cloak of a Potions Master would hurry past this particular storefront with her eyes down and almost appearing to be holding her breath.
If there were any way to avoid this specific building, she’d have found it a long time past but, unfortunately, it was a necessity. The shop that she visited was directly next to the empty one, and it was the only store she used to provide her with the necessary potion ingredients for both her work and her private endeavours. She could Apparate to the shop but, once her parcels were in her possession, Apparating was out of the question. So, she held the packages close to her chest, held her breath, and attempted to pretend the storefront didn’t exist. She had the clout to pull strings and have her items delivered to her as opposed to her having to go get them but she didn’t believe in making someone else do something she was perfectly capable of doing herself.
Said brunette was currently standing at the bar inside the Leaky Cauldron with a warm cuppa in her hands. It was time for her monthly trip to gather her supplies and it was particularly difficult today; today was the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwart’s, and she had wanted to spend the day hiding in her flat. But her supplies were precious, and she thought perhaps if she went early enough in the morning, she could slip in undetected and slip back out again without fuss. Unfortunately, this was not going to happen. No sooner had she stepped out of her flat than she was being inundated by newspapers, announcing the anniversary and the many celebrations planned around the country, by well-meaning passers-by who recognised her and wanted to thank her for defeating You-Know-Who. By the time she’d reached the corner, she’d been waylaid four times, and she could see that the streets were already filled with celebrants. It had taken her four times longer than it should have to reach the Leaky Cauldron and the dim interior was a welcome respite. She’d leaned back against the door for a moment to catch her breath when she heard a throat being gently cleared and she braced herself for another reveller. Instead, she found the room wholly silenced, despite there being a dozen or so patrons, and the barkeep was tapping the wooden top where a steaming cup stood waiting.
“Thought maybe I’d be seeing you today and that you could use this,” Dean Thomas said from behind the bar, and Hermione smiled in relief. Looking more closely, she realised all the patrons inside the Cauldron were survivors from the Final Battle; Neville, Luna, Susan, and even Katie Bell were seated around the room. Each understood the need for silence.
“Thanks, Dean. I appreciate it,” she responded as she made her way to the bar and lifted the mug. A strong odour accompanied the tea, and she raised an eyebrow at her friend.
“It’s medicinal, or so says Seamus,” he replied with a wink.
“Well, as long as it’s medicinal, I guess it’s alright then.” She managed a chuckle as she took a sip, wincing just slightly as she swallowed the hot liquid. “I wonder … did you put any actual water in my tea or did you just brew the leaves with Ogden’s?”
“We canna tell our secrets, Granger. Just you drink up an’ stay as long as ye need,” came the familiar brogue from behind Dean as a pair of hands slid around his waist and the dark-haired Irishman appeared moments later, resting his head against his much taller husband’s chest.
Hermione drank her cup and stood, mentally steeling herself for the walk she’d have to endure. When she offered Dean a galleon for the tea, he waved her off. “Today, it’s on me. Are you ready to go?”
She nodded and took a deep breath. A few chairs slid across the wooden floor, and she noticed the other occupants stood and walked to the entrance leading into Diagon Alley, led by Seamus and Neville.
“Give us a few an’ we’ll clear th’ way for ye,” Seamus said with that same lopsided smile she remembered from their first years as friends. She furrowed her brow and started to ask but was interrupted by Dean.
“Like I said, we were expecting you. I can’t imagine the walk here was any fun at all, but the least we can do is make Diagon Alley easier. They’re all going out there and will play up the war hero schtick and hopefully draw the majority of the crowds away from where you are heading.”
She almost sobbed with relief but managed to contain it, and instead threw her arms around her friend and hugged him tightly. “When they return, please let them know how much I appreciate it.”
Dean nodded and returned her hug before stepping back behind the bar. “We remember, Hermione. Them out there only know the glory of the win, not what we sacrificed to get there.” His face was a thousand years old as he spoke, and her own pain responded with a skip of her heart.
Another breath, this one not quite so deep, and Hermione turned towards the entrance to the alley; tapping her foot as she waited for the doorway to appear. She prepared herself for a mob of people, but thankfully, the ruse must have worked because she could hear a considerable crowd somewhere in the distance as they laughed along with Seamus’ over-the-top stories. Taking a moment to thank Merlin for her friends, she quickly gathered her courage and turned towards the alley; towards memories that were almost too painful to remember.
***
(Ten Years Earlier)
“Harry, let me see,” Hermione all but growled at her best friend. He looked up guiltily and tried to shrug his shoulder but stopped almost immediately, a grimace of pain going across his face.
“Hermione, it’s fine. It’ll heal eventually.”
“Eventually isn’t going to be soon enough. Now let me see what happened to your bloody arm so I can fix it.”
Harry looked behind her, presumably at Ron who stood well out of hexing range, before he sighed and shucked his t-shirt over his head. He didn’t need to be looking in her direction to hear the slow hiss of displeasure she made when she saw the disaster that was his shoulder.
“What happened? Merlin’s arse, I think you’ve dislocated it. Ron, hand me my bag, please?”
A moment later, her bag was in her lap, and she was rooting through the phials and bottles, looking for a healing draught.
“So let me get this straight. You went to find water, and instead, you fell through a tree and landed on a rock? Mate, shit like that happens to me, not you,” Ron’s deep voice was tinged with laughter ten minutes later after Harry had repeated the story of his injury again.
“I tripped. I fell. The tree must’ve rotted or something because when I hit it, the whole thing disintegrated and I landed on a rock and some branches,” Harry explained. For the fifth time. Hermione had to admit that each time he told it, the story did get funnier, and she was having some trouble holding in her laughter. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing she was having trouble with.
“We have a problem. I’m completely out of healing draught. I can brew another quickly enough, but I’ve no dittany left. I’m going to have to get more,” Hermione said, her heart growing heavier with each syllable. She knew where she could get some, but it would involve sneaking into the heart of danger. There was Slug & Jiggers’ shop on Knockturn Alley that wasn’t staffed after dark, and there was a passage into the shop from the long-abandoned Tallow and Hemp Toxic Tapers next door. She could apparate inside the candle shop, use the corridor behind the counter to enter the apothecary, take the dittany she’d need, and be out quick as you like. The problem was there was only enough polyjuice potion for one of them to go. Harry couldn’t, and Ron, bless him, had never had the light touch needed to handle fresh dittany. That left Hermione to go, and she knew one or the both of them were about to argue.
“No, you cannot accompany me. I only have enough polyjuice for one, and it makes the most sense for me to go,” Hermione clarified before either boy could say anything. Ron had snapped his mouth shut, but Harry looked at her with a mulish expression.
“You shouldn’t be alone. I can stay here, and the two of you can go,” Harry declared, as though that were the final word, but Hermione shook her head.
“I don’t have the polyjuice for it. I have one dose, and that’s it. And even if I had enough, someone’s got to stay behind with you. You can barely move your arm, Harry. You couldn’t lift your wand to protect yourself right now.”
“She’s right, Harry. It’s a shit situation, but she’s right. We can’t all three go, and someone has to stay with you. Hermione’s the better choice. Send me, and I’m liable to come back with Chinese chomping cabbage,” Ron tacked on, ever the strategist and jokester. Hermione spared him a tender smile before she turned back to Harry.
"I’ll be gone for two hours, at the most. Probably not even that. Then I can make the healing draught to get you back to rights. We can be on the road again at first light.” Harry’s expression remained sullen, but his shoulders slumped slightly.
“If you aren’t back by the time two hours has ticked by, we’re coming to get you,” Ron advised, his tone coloured with warning and worry.
“Deal. Try not to let him disintegrate any more trees while I’m gone?” she joked, and both boys had laughed loud and long. She’d taken the polyjuice, shuddering horribly at the taste and felt herself transform from Hermione Granger, Smartest Witch of Her Age, into Mafalda Hopkirk, long-suffering assistant in the Office of Improper Use of Magic.
A cheery little wave and Hermione concentrated on the interior of the poisoned candle shop, feeling the queasy roll of her guts as she Apparated directly inside the shop. She’d managed to get the exact spot she’d wanted, just inside what used to be the storeroom, which protected her from being seen by anyone who might happen past the bay windows. Hermione stayed perfectly still for a moment, listening for any sounds or movement that may have indicated she wasn’t alone. When nothing was heard, she allowed herself to relax enough to crawl through the shadows towards the passage into the apothecary next door. Once inside, it was easy enough for her to find the dittany, but she almost squealed aloud as her eyes came to rest on twenty-four phials of the glimmering blue healing potion sitting just to the side of the dittany. Quickly taking out her wand, she cast a quick charm to look for any security or traps surrounding the phials. When none appeared, she hid her wand and gathered up all the ampoules. She felt awful for stealing but, once this was over and done with, she swore if she survived, she’d never buy any ingredients from any other shop. Securing the phials in her bag, she turned back towards the passage into the candle shop and found it no longer empty.
Her heart slammed in her chest as she recognised Theodore Nott; he was in her year at Hogwart’s and, last she’d heard, was still at Hogwart’s. Remembering that she was still Mafalda, she lowered her head slightly and allowed her shoulders to droop as though she were regretting her presence.
“What are you doing here? There isn’t supposed to be anyone here!” Theodore sounded confused, as though he were the one that had been caught doing something. Hermione jumped on that, hoping to make a clean escape.
" No, there isn’t. Who are you, young man?” Hermione raised her head just in time to see Theodore reaching for his wand. In a heartbeat, she had her own wand in hand and cast a Shield charm, protecting herself in the last moments as a curse spit across the room towards her. The power behind the curse knocked her backwards into the wall, and instinct took over. The reality was that only one of them would get out of the shop alive and she only hoped that she had the strength to be that one. Hermione whipped her wand and cast an Immobulus curse, which Nott easily deflected. Another curse bounced off her shield, and she ducked behind the counter. Curses flew back and forth between them, and she knew it was only a matter of time before someone noticed the flashes of light and the explosions each rebounded curse caused to the walls and furniture. Three minutes into the fight and he managed to catch her with a cutting curse, and she felt the blood go running down her leg from the lash marks that had opened up on her thighs. She threw another curse, the same cutting curse as he’d thrown and it rebounded, slamming into the wall just behind her head and causing plaster to crumble down over her head and shoulders. She knew what she was going to have to do, but she didn’t want to go that far. Moments later, another cutting curse slashed at her forearms and blood dripped down her arms. Her anger welled up inside of her; anger at having to fight a fellow classmate, rage at having to rescue everyone, outrage at having to give up her parents. It all coiled inside her belly and she roared as she stood, aiming her wand directly at Theodore Nott and uttered the words. Sick green light filled the room, and suddenly, she was alone. The lifeless body of Theodore Nott lay where he’d stood, just beside a cabinet that used to house poisoned waxes.
She’d never thought she would have been pushed to this point. She never thought she’d ever use an Unforgiveable and certainly never believed that she’d be capable of that one in particular. But the evidence to the contrary lay with vacant eyes just across the room. She shook herself and reached into her bag, quickly uncorking and swallowing one of the healing draughts. Instantly she felt the cooling effect, and her skin stitched itself back together. She knew she’d probably scar, but it was a small price to pay. As soon as Hermione had everything she’d come for, she reached down to touch Theodore Nott’s leg, and Apparated away, leaving his corpse on the stoop at the back of his father’s home. She returned to the boys and didn’t say anything about what had happened. She gave Harry his healing draught after she told Ron how to pop his shoulder back into joint. She packed the rest of the draughts away and closed her ears and mind to any news regarding a break-in, a dead body, or any property damage in Knockturn Alley.
***
And now, here she was; ten years older, ten years wiser. She’d pushed herself to attain her Mastery in Potionmaking and had managed to successfully complete both the coursework and Apprenticeship faster than anyone had ever done so before. And true to her self-made promise, she’d never used a single ingredient from any other apothecary, despite knowing that she paid a much higher price at Slug and Jiggers than she would anywhere else. But she still had to walk past that building every time and felt her guts churning with guilt. It was her penance for taking a life and, even though she’d long since accepted what had happened and knew she’d acted in the best interest of all Wizards everywhere, she still dreamt of Theodore Nott every night after she’d pass the shop. Tonight wouldn’t be any different, she was sure. She took a breath and stepped onto the path, stopping short as she took in the sight before her.
Instead of the boarded up, derelict building, there stood a brightly lit storefront with very powerful disinfectant charms whirling around the interior. The retina-scarring yellow light that was associated with disinfectant charms was contained behind a shade charm, and she could easily watch as the store started to look cleaner and fresher. She stood for a solid minute before her brain reminded her that she needed to get in and out before the crowds dispersed from Seamus’ storytelling. She hurried past, quietly gathered her parcels from the shopkeep and rushed away in the opposite direction. From the look of things, there was a new business going into the building, and she wondered if perhaps it would make a difference.
She doubted it.
That night, she dreamt of Theodore Nott again and his lifeless eyes that would forever stare at nothing.