It began as a passing thought on a still summer day. After the war, loneliness wasn't something that she had thought about. For beginning her life at Hogwarts crying in a girl's bathroom, it seemed fitting that the last time she left it she was far from alone. For the first year after the war, she was hardly alone. It was an endless barrage of rebuilding, press releases and meetings. Harry and Ron were there too. For all the Daily Prophet's front cover photos of the Golden Trio, they never seemed to capture the cracks in the façade.

After everything settled, including the reparations and the over indulgent Ministry apologies, Hermione craved the silence. She couldn't stand crowds without looking for all the exits in the room. Her eyes couldn't focus on someone's face long enough to appear sincerely interested while she was trying watch who was reaching for their wand. Muffled whispers sounded too close to curses. Camera flashes made her flinch.

No, she most certainly didn't like large gatherings.

It wasn't a surprise to Harry and Ron when she opened a bookstore in Hogsmeade. The property had a flat above the shop. The previous owners lost in the war. It was close to Hogwarts, where she spent the first six months helping rebuild after. Hogsmeade's crowds were much smaller and more sporadic than Diagon Alley. School children were more innocent reporters.

After the war, many things never came home, including her parents. It was a passing thought on a summer day that she added Crookshanks to that list. She never saw orange ball of fur after the final battle, likely among the lost. She thought about just how silent her flat was without even the click of nails against the hardwood floors or the occasional yowl in the middle of the night.


Magical Menagerie made the corners of her eyes twitch. The smell of bird must was sharp on her nose. Several breeds of feathers, fur and many prickly things screeched in unpleasant ways on her ears. On the plus side, she wasn't battling a throng of first years in the meager amount of retail space being the middle of the summer. What made her lip twist in displeasure was the options to choose from.

Pgymy Puffs. Too fluffy, cute to the point it made her itch.

Rats. Wrong for all the obvious toe-missing reasons.

Fire crabs. Pretty, but too flammable.

Owls. More messengers than companions.

The thought of a cat just made her sigh.

It was while frowning at the mewing kittens that Hermione heard another customer, rather child complain loudly to their mother that all the pets in this store were lame. She stifled a snort to keep from agreeing with the young boy.

"Can't we just go to Adriadne Spinner?" He whined before being dragged out of the store by the sleeve behind a disgruntled mother.


A couple of years ago, she would've hesitated at the thought of wondering through Knockturn Alley alone. The decrepit narrow cobblestones that patronized the families of Death Eaters were mostly still these days. Many shops were shut down from a combination of raids and a dwindling customer base. There were many discussions about revitalizing the area to help erase some of its more unsavory past, but she didn't keep up on the Ministry reformation affairs as much once she began her studies and opened the shop.

"I thought you only sold spiders here," She wondered aloud to the shop owner as she eyed the cages along the wall. He was a gnarly creature of crooked long fingers and wiry grey hair. The wrinkles marring his face spoke of a lifetime of snarling than smiling.

"Blackshire's closed," He answered her gruffly, refusing to look up from yellow aged accounting books on the counter. "We acquired their inventory."

She nodded and didn't bother asking if the closing had to do with sales or other activities. This shop was certainly more interesting than the first. She kept her arms wrapped around herself, most certain if she got too close to the cages, these creatures would bite. She didn't doubt they were poisonous too.

There were many a variety of spiders, toads, and raptors. Many of which came with sharp eyes that followed her around, as if they could see through her sleeve to the angry scar on her forearm. Like if they knew she still woke in the middle of the night and the Cruciatus never left. It wasn't until she found the only one in the store did it occur to her that it was the only one in the store. Even in the darkness of the dreary establishment, she could see the glitter of the scales, wound round and round. Its eyes were closed, either sleeping or bored of the company, she didn't know.

"What species is this one?" She gasped, stepping closer to the protective glass between her and it. For a moment, she wasn't sure if the glass, however charmed it was, was enough when her eyes began to focus on it.

"St. Lucian Silverscale," The owner answered her, seeming to have decided his customer garnered enough interest to look up from his papers. "It's quite rare," He clarified with a leer, staring at the messy bush of curls.

She nodded, but didn't look away. Brown eyes followed the intricate pattern of varying diamonds and swirls. "How long is it?" She asked, unable to determine herself with the way the creature was curled in on itself.

"Fourteen feet, seven inches. Measured last spring," The keep answered. His lip curled at the memory of nearly losing a few fingers.

Her eyebrows went up. It was certainly a little more than what she expected to take on. A voice in the back of her mind wondered Harry would think of it. Would he laugh and shake his head at the irony? Certainly, Ron would tell her she had gone mental.

No, a part of her knew deep down that Harry would be just as unsettled by it as she was. Yet, she was the one standing there asking the owner how long it had been for sale.

"Since the Battle of Hogwarts," He drawled out. "Found him clearing out the rubble on High Street, near Dervish and Banges." He didn't bother explaining what happened to the owners like many residents in Hogsmeade. It wasn't needed.

"But that was four years ago!" She turned to him sharply at that.

The owner stared at her, clearly missing the point.

"That's a long time to keep him for sale," She said delicately, while not being a fan of the concept, but knowing what typically happened to animals or familiars that stayed in a shop too long. Muggle or magical, some things weren't that different.

"It's a very rare species," He reaffirmed in a tone that suggested he quickly decided she was too dull to consider as a serious customer.


Like every problem she encountered, she pulled every book she could find on St. Lucian Silverscales.

An owl order later, she found had three spread out on her coffee table.

A rainy afternoon later, she knew what they ate, how long they lived and their preferred climate. They were a magically resilient ancestor of the boidae family she concluded.


"How old is he?" She asked Rabastan. The shop owner had begrudgingly divulged his name after the second visit. Whether he was amused or irritated by the reoccurring visits from the intrigued fair featured woman, he confessed neither in the twitching of his features. He certainly made no comment to his rather famous guest.

"Why don't you try asking him?" He snapped out.

Apparently today he was irritated.

Hermione sighed and looked back to the giant creature. Had he not changed positions between visits, she wasn't sure if he was actually alive. Each time he was always still, eyes closed. Except this time, she caught a twitch in his tail. An impatient twitch, she imagined.

"He doesn't make for much company, does he?" She mused aloud in a soft voice, addressing the serpent directly for the first time.

Onyx eyes opened with such a depth she couldn't tell if they were looking at her or blankly at the protective glass in front of her. Briefly, it's lower jaw parted and its body shimmered in the most movement she had ever seen from the creature. The shudder caused the silver scales of its namesake to glitter in the limited candle light.

Hermione grinned, even as it closed its eyes once more. If a snake could sigh, she mused, this would be the one.


She wasn't sure what kind of company a snake would make either while she read the same text on care of Silverscales over again that night. A reptile terrarium for a snake that size would take up most of her living room, but apparently most owners didn't bother she found out. Unlike their non-magical cousins, they were a little more tolerant of cooler climates and docile as long as they were well fed.

The idea of feeding it live food made her hesitate a few more days.


"Miss, you are not here to purchase. I must insist you leave," Rabasten snarled at her when she stepped into the shop that day.

"Who's to say I'm not here to buy the St. Lucian?" Hermione quirked an eyebrow at the elderly wizard, quite use to the disgruntlement that he called charm.

"Who's to say it's for sale?" He snapped back, watching the brunette pass through the familiar aisles to the back of the store.

"Oh please," She huffed with a roll of her eyes. "In the weeks I've been here, no one has shown any interest." Apparently snakes didn't make for as popular pets these days, all things considered.

Rabasten growled, "It's a very rare species."

Rare as in expensive, she realized.

The condescending tone in his tone told her all she needed to know. Clearly he thought a witch that wore tattered jeans and a worn out sweater did not have the refined tastes to afford such a creature.

Her eyes narrowed at him and she bristled.

He didn't know that this witch didn't back down from a challenge or leave a problem without a solution. This particular witch of modest dress didn't like to indulge in the gold minted condolences of the Ministry often, but decided in that moment a withdrawal from Gringotts was in order.

"I'll take him," She answered confidently, lifting her chin.

The shocked widening of the old man's eyes was the most honest reaction she had from him yet. It caused her to smirk. While the man began to sputter at length about fund authorizations and gathering the necessary magical species ownership declaration forms, she looked back at the snake.

Unlike all the other times it spent sleeping and ignoring the presence of others, opaque black eyes stared back at her. Its head was pulled back, risen to almost eye level with her, watching her.

"How would you like to get out of here?" She asked of it gently, pressing her fingertips against the glass.

Its tong flickered out, almost in what she thought was an appreciative manner. Its body began to shift and coil. She knew, how she wasn't sure yet, but she knew this creature was more intelligent than the shop owner gave it credit for.


Author's Note: A plot bunny hopped into my head and I haven't been able to shake it. This is my first HP fic, despite being a fan since I was a child, so please be kind. I will try to keep chapters short, almost drabbles. No promises on update schedule, I'll update as often as the urge strikes me. Which will probably be often. I've also taken some artistic liberties the lore and all, such as the fictional snake species mentioned. I'll be tweaking other things in the storyline as I go. I'll explain things as needed, like what happened after the war, what's up with Harry, Ron, etc. Feel free to message if you're curious. Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.