Chapter Text
Prologue
"This is the end ###," the ebony-haired boy proclaimed, facing the walking corpse. Though he initially stood alone, he soon sensed her presence. The boy knew with certainty the girl he loved was right behind him. Even without looking, he felt her there. She did not waver. She never had. And if necessary, she was prepared to follow him to the very edges of the world.
He would have done exactly the same for her. HE glared at the young pair, his expression one of pure contempt. How dared they challenge him—a mudblood and a half-blood standing as one. HE observed as they joined hands, their magic dissolving into the surrounding air. Moving in perfect unison, they unleashed a blast where their crimson light collided with HIS emerald. Then, everything faded into nothingness.
The Bookshop
Hermione Jean Granger was a dreamer, her mind constantly wandering to worlds far beyond the walls of the dusty shop where she worked. This latest dream, however, felt unsettlingly different. A lover of books, she had spent countless hours imagining herself as the heroine of grand tales, finding the ink on the page far more vivid than the grain of the counter beneath her palms. With every story she devoured, she hungered for a life beyond her own—a life of purpose. Her reality was quiet and unremarkable, a stark contrast to the greatness she read about, leaving her own story as little more than an unwritten chapter. Yet, as quickly as it had arrived, the strange vision of a walking corpse and a young couple faded, slipping into the back of her mind.
As she was resting against her arm, Hermione was completely unaware of the arrival of her friend entering the shop. The friend cleared her throat, snapping Hermione out of her thoughts. She turned to face her friend asking, “Ara what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
Ara looked nervous and guilty at the same time, plastering a smile across her face, “Well I thought I would bring my special Mimi, her favorite food from the tavern.” Ara held up the items, but Hermione’s scowl never let up. Ara had a tight smile, placing the food on the counter.
“I appreciate it, Ara,” Hermione replied with sincerity.
“It is my pleasure, your highness,” Ara chirped. Hermione let out a snort and rolled her eyes at the title.
“Ara,” she warned, “I have asked you before not to use that name or Mimi.” Much to Hermione’s frustration, Ara only giggled. She pulled out a loaf of bread, tore a piece off, and pressed it into Hermione’s mouth, prompting Hermione to swat her hand away.
Ara smiled more towards Hermione, ripping out a piece of bread for herself. She flashed a wider grin, tearing off a chunk of bread for herself. “Oh, you love it, your Highness—and you love me. Besides, you saved me all those years ago, so consider this a small repayment for your kindness.” Ara said with glee in her tone.
Hermione’s glare softened, and her shoulders sagged, recalling the day she came across Ara on the side of the road in the rain. The poor girl had no memory before their meeting and ever since that faithful day Ara had been following Hermione like a puppy dog. Hermione looked towards her friend, narrowing her eyes, quickly piecing together the real reason for the visit. Ara always brought up their history when she was trying to cushion the blow of bad news.
Noticing the shift in Hermione’s expression, Ara swallowed her bread nervously. “You quit your job again, didn't you?” Hermione asked. Ara stilled, her eyes refusing to meet her friend’s searching gaze. Hermione let out a weary sigh at the silent confirmation. “Ara, really?”
“I just thought it was time for a change,” Ara began tentatively. “And besides, Mr. Flitwick mentioned just the other day that he could use some extra help around the shop...”
“He isn’t even here,” Hermione interrupted, causing Ara’s shoulders to slump in disappointment. “He’s gone to North Ford Bog for a few days to scout for new inventory for the shop.”
Ara pouted. “Oh what a shame. I have to look elsewhere then.” Hermione snorted. She looked around the now empty bookshop, realizing that it had been some time since a customer had entered the shop in the early hours. Ara took note of this, “You have been lost in your dreams again Mimi. What was it this time? Were you a pirate or a spy this time?” Ara teased. Hermione tried to recall the dream she had moments before her friend’s arrival, but it seemed to have pained her. She saw a glowing light, but as soon as it was going to reveal a dark dead like figure, she was pulled back into her present time.
Ara looked worried and she was about to ask Hermione if she was okay when Ara was cut off by Hermione wanting to change the topic. "Is there something going on today?"
"Oh your highness, you didn’t realize today is Hogwarts Foundation Day," Ara stated with amusement. Hermione let out a groan. Of course, how could I forget? It's why he left, it's the boss’ ritual. She cursed the old man under her breath, momentarily ignoring her friend.
"You know,” Hermione glared at Ara again over this nickname as well. “I fear that if I don't check in on you, Mimi, you would probably have withered away by now," Ara said with a dramatic wail, Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Don't be so dramatic, Ara dear," Hermione replied not realizing the chain of events she caused with those words. Ara grinned at the word dear, squealing.
"I have been upgraded to dear! Oh what a marvelous day indeed.” Hermione snorted at her friend's excitement. Ara then cleared her throat, her voice leaning into a more serious tone, “You need a day off, Mimi," Ara held her hands at her hips. Hermione only scowled in response, but Ara pressed on. "I worry about you. You really need this."
"I am not leaving the shop," Hermione countered firmly.
"Yes, you are. I'll look after things here for you." When Hermione coughed skeptically at the idea, Ara added blandly, "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Hermione." Ara stepped around the counter taking Hermione’s hands in hers. She pouted, “I will put my life on the line for the shop. So please go and have fun Mimi.” Hermione chewed on her lip watching her friend beg. She finally caved in after a few moments of silence.
Hermione conceded, “Oh, alright, alright. You win.” Ara flashed her a cheshire smile, jumping with glee.
“You won’t be disappointed my lovely Mimi.” Hermione was quickly ushered out of the shop.
The Kingdom of Hogwarts Foundation Day Festival
Hermione had been wandering through the festival for some time, taking in the various stalls and lively celebrations happening around her. 'Ara was right to insist I come, everything here is truly magnificent. I wish I had come to these festivities sooner. There were so many books they were selling. I can’t wait to read them,' she mused, soaking in the vibrant atmosphere as she held the books to her chest. However, her pleasant mood vanished instantly when she spotted a brute harassing a young child. It was Mundungus Fletcher, the village's irritable local drunk. Annoyed that no one else was stepping in—as per usual, Hermione marched toward them with a sharp exhale. "That's enough, Fletcher! Leave the child alone!"
She was well-acquainted with the man, as he frequently attempted to steal items, particularly books, from her employer's shop. Mundungus whipped his head around towards Hermione, his bloodshot eyes burning into her brown eyed gaze. He sneered at her, his alcohol induced haze self evident, as he loosened his grip on the poor child's collar.
"Well, well, if it ain't the little bookkeeper," Mundungus slurred, a greasy, yellow-toothed grin spreading across his face as he staggered back half a step. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his mismatched, filthy wool coat. Hermione scrunched her nose at the scene before her, "Come to lecture me again, have ya, Granger? Ain't no business of yours. The little rat was eyeballing my coin pouch." He pointed his filthy finger towards the young child—a terrified village girl with wide, tear-filled eyes—who immediately scrambled away from the drunk and right behind Hermione's skirts, latching herself to the fabric with trembling hands.
Hermione didn't flinch. She stepped forward, her posture rigid and her dark eyes flashing with absolute, unyielding fury. The lutes and cheerful chatter of the summer festival seemed to quiet down in the background as she squared her shoulders, shielding the child completely from the brute. Still gripping her new bought books she spat out, "She wasn't looking at your coin pouch, Fletcher, because there's nothing in it that belongs to you anyway," Hermione snapped, her voice carrying a sharp, commanding authority that finally made a few nearby townsfolk turn their heads in shame. "Get out of this square. Now. Before I call the palace guards and informed them of your ‘dealings’ behind the book shop last Tuesday."
Mundungus curdled into a vicious, drunken tirade. "You arrogant little b-" With a foul roar, he raised his heavy, calloused fist, and began swinging wildly toward her face. Hermione flinched, instinctively bracing for the impact still trying to shield the young child. In her panic, her grip slipped from the leather strap of her satchel. The heavy, leather-bound books had begun to tumble out of her hands and on to the cobblestones, the pages scattering with a loud, chaotic rustle.
The blow never landed. A shadow darted into the space between them with breathtaking speed. A strong hand shot out, catching Mundungus's wrist mid-air with a grip of pure iron. Mundungus let out a sharp wheeze of pain as his arm was violently twisted upward. Standing over him was a stranger dressed in regular, unassuming clothes-a simple black button up shirt, scuffed leather boots, and black trousers. Yet, there was nothing regular about the way he held himself. Hermione took in the man more, noticing how he possessed a mess of untamed, midnight-black hair, and circular spectacles. When he glared down at the drunkard, his striking green eyes flashed with a dangerous, terrifying fire.
"I suggest you put that hand away," the man said, his voice a low, gravelly warning that promised absolute ruin if Fletcher so much as breathed wrong. "Before I break it."
Mundungus, suddenly staring into the eyes of a man who seemed like a lion in disguise, he went completely pale. He whimpered, nodding frantically as the stranger released him with a disdainful shove, but unfortunately the foolish brute didn't run. Fueled by his drunkenness and public humiliation he had dug his heels into the dirt, spittle flying from his lips as he bared his teeth. "You think you can manhandle me, boy?" he barked at the black-haired stranger, his hand fumbling for the rusted skinning knife at his belt. "I'll carve those pretty green eyes right out of your-"
Then the sharp, rhythmic clatter of iron horseshoes striking the cobblestones floor cut through his drunken tirade. A breathless silence had washed over the main square, and the festival ongoers had parted the crowd like the sea. A man rode on a massive, snow white stallion. He adorned a deep emerald green heavy cloak draped over his shoulder and the stead.
Hermione's eyes looked from the men in front of her, then towards the rider himself who sat on his horse with an immaculate grace. He wore a heavy, deep emerald green cape that matched the eyes of the black haired man. The emerald cape was adorned with an intricate silver embroidery, catching the afternoon sun, and high leather boots that were without a single speck of mud. Her eyes narrowed in on his face, noticing the man had striking, pale blond hair, that was slicked back flawlessly, and features so sharp and aristocratic they looked carved from marble.
Hermione's heart hammered against her ribs, tightening her grip on her dress as her knuckles turned white. She felt the sheer, oppressive aura of absolute authority radiating from the man on the horse. She gathered the scene before locking in on the crest specifically. Her blood went cold. There was no doubt about it, he belonged to the royal family.
She turned to Mundungus and as much as she wished for him to be taken away, she feared more for his life. And that is when she noticed it. The look on the dumbarse's face and his stance. Mundungus attempted his tirade once again, not even acknowledging who the man was. It was when Hermione took it upon herself to stop him. But she didn't call out to the man. No. She did something she never thought she had it in her to do.
Hermione raised her hand and slapped him, causing Dung to fall on his bum.