Chapter Text
The overcast skies above cast a muted glow, as clouds drifted lazily, dissolving into the pale light above the narrow passageway branching off beyond Gringotts. A large dragon, its tail frozen in stone, cast a persistent shadow over the small bookstore that had only recently opened its doors.
Hermione Granger had always believed that Diagon Alley could support more than one bookstore—aside from the darker, more sinister one in Knockturn Alley. A lover of books herself, she’d long dreamed of opening a cozy shop to justify her endless purchases, especially those she’d snatched up from estate liquidations—rare, used, and antique volumes she knew students would soon be eager to read. Her little shop, Sage Books, had only been open a month, yet she’d already managed to carve out a niche, turning a profit with her carefully curated collection.
Hermione’s life after Hogwarts had settled into quiet routine. With a handful of friends, she’d remained connected with a few, but nothing that stood out as forever lasting. She’d remained closer to her muggle friends that lived around her parent’s home that she visited while home, while they believed she was just away abroad at a boarding school. Her shop, staffed by two rotating employees, was her sanctuary—and her obsession. She’d often find herself back there, dusting shelves or searching for hidden gems, even on her days off.
October was settling in, and her shop’s position at the end of that narrow alley was slowly becoming more familiar to passersby. They appreciated her presence, grateful for a quiet place amidst the bustling chaos of Diagon Alley.
Today, Hermione was perched on a ladder, reaching high for a small sprite hiding behind a stack of books. She gently stunned it with her wand, moving it carefully in midair with the intention to set it outside. The soft chime of the bell announced a new visitor, with Hermione greeting them with her back turned.
The man who stepped inside was calm, composed, and unhurried. As he passed her, she still had the sprite suspended in her wand tip—her eyes briefly following down his form—before she flicked her wand to send the sprite out into the street. He along the stack, as if he was still strolling storefronts with a quiet confidence, before stopping to look at a piece of artwork on the wall.
Milly, her part-time assistant, was returning from back storage when she caught sight of the man otherwise preoccupied. Her eyes widened, and she bit her lip, staring at Hermione with a mixture of awe and curiosity. When Milly got closer to the register, where Hermione stood, she mouthed a resounding “WOW” at her employer.
Hermione gave her a quick, amused smirk, barley glancing at the man who was turning into the alchemy aisle. With a subtle head shake, her voice was quiet but tinged with curiosity. “What was that for?”
Milly’s eyes sparkled. “He’s the kind of man I wouldn’t mind meeting up with in Knockturn Alley,” she whispered, still watching where he disappeared to with a mischievous grin.
Hermione shook her head, quietly scoffing at the notion of how brash her friend was. She’d never base her opinion on anyone by just looks, but more on character. The boys she’d dated and the men she’d been set up with had mostly been gentlemen, but the younger ones seemed to be immature wizards that were far from her level. The men a bit older than her were muggles and she’d never felt comfortable sharing her gift as a witch with them, so she quietly broke up with them and chuffed it up to just being in different places in their lives.
Another woman came into the shop and the two at the register greeted them with a pleasant smile as she inquired where the cooking books were. Milly stepped out from behind the counter and lead the woman to where they had their small collection, passing the man once more as he made his way back to the register with 2 books under his arm. It was then that Milly glanced back at Hermione, her eyes wide once again, but carried on towards the cookbooks.
Hermione had been so busy with curating the shop, she’d had no interest or time to consider dating and the last man she was with had mentioned he’d owned a joke shop and that didn’t appeal to her in the least – even if the shop had been one to survive the war and expand to Hogsmeade. Being with a jokester wasn’t really in her forte.
“Has this store been open long, or have I just missed it, Miss?” the dark haired man said.
Hermione was notating something in her ledger and glanced up as she set her quill back into the inkwell. She looked up at the man and for a moment, her breath was stolen for he had the kindest eyes that struck her off center—deep and grey—that held a kind of unspoken promise, yet beneath that, something more guarded lurked.
He wore a fitted shirt under his duster, not too formal, but casual enough he was dressed for anywhere. She could tell he was quite wealthy with the quality of his clothes, but he gave no arrogance energy about him that advertised as such. His dark hair, wavy and just a little tousled, framed a face that seemed too calm, too composed, with a beard that sharpened his jawline.
Hermione realized she’d been staring too long. Her cheeks warmed slightly, and she quickly looked away, clearing her throat. “We’ve only been open a month. You haven’t missed us.”
He turned, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he addressed her. “It’s a charming little shop. I’m glad I stopped in.” His gaze flicked over the shelves, thoughtful. “Quite a collection—might even give Flourish and Blotts a run for their money.”
Hermione felt her cheeks flush again. “I’d say we’re far from that,” she replied softly, forcing a smile. “But we do get new inventory nearly every week—on all kinds of subjects.”
His eyes lingered on her a moment longer, a faint amused smile curling at his lips. “That’s impressive. How do you do it?”
“I go to auctions and estate liquidations,” Hermione explained, handling his books carefully. “I rescue collections that might otherwise be forgotten.” She looked over the titles of the books he was purchasing, “Like this one, I remember, came from an abandoned wizard library in a small village up north. I’m sorry it’s not in better shape for you.”
“The more weathered it is, the more valuable the knowledge.” He nodded, intrigued, “So, you’re a bit of a hunter?”
“A hunter? No, not quite. I simply rescue the overlooked and give them new life. Some of these texts would never be discovered otherwise. I’d love for some of them to find their way into Hogwarts’ required reading someday.”
The man studied her, a quiet, knowing smile on his face. “Quite the book lover, aren’t you?”
“Since I was a child,” she admitted, her voice softening.
He paid for his books, and as he turned to leave, Hermione watched him through the window. He shrank the books with a flick of his wand, tucking them into his pocket before adjusting his collar, checking his watch, and slipping his hands into his pockets. He strolled away, calm and self-assured.
“I finally figured out who that was!” Milly said, stage whispering next to her with profound excitement. “I never knew how handsome he was!”
Clearing her throat and pretending to busy herself and not staring after him out the window as if he were some gorgeous adonis that had stepped into her shop to talk about books with her. “Oh, really? Who was it?”
“Sirius Black!” she whispered with excitement.
Hermione’s breath caught, her eyes narrowing as her stomach clenched. Her gaze darted to the front of the shop, as if expecting him to appear again. “No, it wasn’t… You’re mistaken.”
Milly’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “I’m sure of it. That’s why he’s wearing such a high collar—probably to hide his prison barcode. He’s been pardoned, you know, after all that scandal. Thanks to his ex- friend killing his best friend, he was pardoned and found not guilty.”
Hermione’s mind raced. She remembered the stories, the fear that had gripped the wizarding world when he’d escaped Azkaban. She’d read about him, the dangerous reputation that clung to Sirius Black—yet here he was, so composed, so… calm. Too calm. She felt a flicker of unease—an instinct telling her that appearances could be deceiving, that some darkness still lingered beneath that kind, brown gaze.
She kept her gaze fixed outside, her thoughts swirling. Could he really be innocent? Or was her initial impression masking something darker? The man who seemed so magnetic, now felt just a little more dangerous.
“Well, he cleaned up rather well, if I say so,” Milly said, fixing her hair in a nearby mirror. “He can come back into the bookstore anytime.”
“You don’t think he really did it, do you? Kill someone? He didn’t give off that kind of energy, but then again – no one believed him for over a decade,” Hermione thought aloud, a deep guilt casting assumption so quickly.
Milly was reapplying her lipstick and blended it with a loud “pop”, “I bet he’s an animal in bed.”
“Milly!” Hermione giggled, quieting her down just a bit as the woman returned with a fresh stack of books. As her employee ducked out to fetch them a couple of sweet things from the bakery, Hermione’s thoughts were of the man who visited her shop and not the fact that the woman she was helping was spending an obscene amount of money.