A/N: Hello there!

So. this is my first Harry Potter fic, and I'm very excited! I thought about writing it down for a long time, as the idea won't give me a rest, and I finally got the time and opportunity to share it with you all!

This fic is going to be a multi-chapter one, around 17 chapters give or take, and hopefully, you'll stay and support me for the upcoming journey.

I'd like to thank Milo Sebastian for being my great helper, guide, and coach along this fanfic, and the final chapter of the story will include many other thanks, notes, and things worth mentioning.

So, further about this story-

The first thing you should know is, that this story is meant to through you off your comfort zone and deal with a few issues that not so many authors dare to touch- and that is "What if not all was well?" I decided to take this question a step further and combine it with a bit of a mystery on the side.

This fanfic will include a few triggers. Violence, domestic abuse, and murder are just some of them, so if you find any of those disturbing, please leave now.

Finally, reviews are my way of knowing you appreciate and want this story to continue, so feel free to share your written opinion.

Thank you!

"If in the first chapter you've hung a gun on the wall,

then in the following one it should be fired.

Otherwise don't put it there."

-Anton Chekhov.

Chekhov's Gun

Chapter 1

It was a warm summer morning at the wizarding town of Hogsmeade. The Arava Boulevard, on both sides of which were crowded wooden houses with a familiar old-fashioned scent, offered a calm and quiet atmosphere that morning of the end of June.

Charlotte awoke early to the cries of her infant son Louis.

His father had gone to work early in the morning, and she, Charlotte, remained as always at home, to take care of their son and make sure the household chores were fulfilled.

She didn't mind, however. Life at Hogsmeade was as simple and casual as only a woman like Charlotte could wish for. Bert worked from morning till night at a small, dimly lit office, a branch of the Central Ministry of Magic, mainly supervising the "magic accidents" of minors and dealing with a lot of paperwork and headaches.

Charlotte met Bert for the first time about seven years ago, having lost her father in the Second Wizarding War. Not that she missed the old man, but his death affected her more than she was willing to admit. She did not remember her unfaithful mother very well, so her father was her only blood connection remaining.

After graduating Beauxbatons, she returned to her father's house to look after him like some soddin' house-elf. But when Charles was murdered by Death Eaters in one of the winter nights of that bloody war, Charlotte packed her bags and left the French Pyrenees to hell.

She met Bert a few months later, and in a quick process the two married and set up a tranquil house in Hogsmeade. Louis had been born a few months ago, and this was the best time of their lives.

The only thing to cloud Charlotte's happiness was Bert's blasted family.

Charlotte could not stand Bert's mother, Viola, and his sister, in her opinion, was the foulest creature on earth. Only yesterday she flooed herself to their home, unannounced of course, and for an hour and a half Charlotte tried to get rid of her as she mouthed at Bert for Merlin knows what reason. Shouts that included nonsense about the way he ran his life, the poor education he gave Louis, and all kinds of stupid rubbish.

"The way you raise him…" Justine snapped viciously, "Even in Slytherin they'll reject the boy!"

After Bert had enough of her rambling, the two locked themselves in the home office and the shouting only increased from then on. Justine and Bert had unfinished business, of which Charlotte knew about but preferred to ignore.

Who does she even think she is, this Justine, to appear out of nowhere and try to run her life? Charlotte had never criticized how Justine was raising her own little demon, as Sarah was nothing special really, even in Hufflepuff she'd be stared at like the strange bird that she was…

"Hmm!" Charlotte huffed self-importantly. She quickly went down to the ground floor, rushing to make Louis his wheat porridge while he was playing with the toy wand that Maxine had bought him two weeks ago.

While Louis ate with a great appetite, Charlotte remained in her thoughts, which wandered in one direction. She would not let Justine disrupt her life. No one-no one-would get in her way anymore.

-About a month and a half later-

Hermione Granger Weasley was busy reading the new regulations for training and handling magical creatures when the fireplace behind her made an explosive sound, and from that moment on it was clear the day was about to go downhill.

She had been promoted to her current position nearly two months ago, and one could say that this was one of the few good things that to happen in her life as of late.

Ron had gone on a mission, in Dormstrang, of all places, and Hermione had no idea when he would return. They parted with a kiss after Hermione confessed that she was pregnant.

It was a bittersweet reveal, mixed with great apprehension. Hermione was still traumatized by her previous pregnancy… Pregnancy at high risk, and under the scrutiny of the best of St. Mungo healers; sadly, her little Rose was born sickly and shriveled, and any attempt to save her, by magical or Muggle means alike, proved futile. Her daughter passed on when she was exactly one week old.

That was years ago, yet the grief was never far from Hermione's heart. It almost broke her marriage with Ron… the fact that she could not get over the baby's death.

While she could not find comfort in her husband at the time, Harry and Ginny became her lifelines. They were there where Ron found it difficult to be, supported where it seemed impossible to support, and helped her move on from the everlasting pain. Not to forget, that would never happen, but to be able to see there's still something worth fighting for in her future. Hermione's memory suddenly evoked another bitter memory, in which Harry promised that if he ever bore a daughter with Ginny, he would name her Rose, either in a first or middle name, a namesake for a child never far from their minds.

Hermione sobbed in his arms for a long time after hearing this.

But this, too, proved itself to be a prophecy that would never come to pass.

On one lousy night nearly six years ago, Harry's Auror unit received a warning about a group of rogue Death Eaters who met every evening at one of the basements of Nocturne alley, plotting to bring back a faint reincarnation of the Dark Lord. There was no chance that their plan would materialize, but the very existence of those meetings caused a serious headache for the Ministry of Magic, specifically to the head of department. After all, they were sure that all Death Eaters had been caught and sent to Azkaban after the fall of Voldemort.

Late at night, the unit raided the undergrounds, not knowing it was a well-planned trap. The head Death Eater, a psychopath, sadist wizard by the name of Nikolayev, orchestrated the explosion that was heard fifty blocks away. To this day they were not sure what curse it was that caused such tremendous damage, destruction and death.

Eleven of the department's finest Aurors were murdered in the planned ambush, along with twenty-two Death Eaters. Those who remained alive were caught. But Harry Potter... He is said to have been buried under the rubble of the basements. They had never been able to retrieve his body or locate it. The saviour of the wizarding world, they had said then, died a terrible death.

Hermione could still remember Ginny Potter's howls of grief once being told that her husband would never return home. It was a heartbreaking sight.

Ginny could not find comfort, and after long days of hysteria and depression, the people stopped offering it. The very fact that the wizarding Press and gossipers at Diagon Alley continued to talk about the terrible tragedy of the Potter dynasty, and that her family could not handle Ginny, all this was too much for the younger Weasley to bear.

The last time Ginny's name passed Hermione's lips was when she asked Ron about her years ago, and he said with tearful eyes that his sister had been admitted to the closed psychiatric ward of St. Mungo.

The most infuriating thing was that Ginny's own family was kept from visiting her. They said she was in an enclosed ward for some reason, so only once every few years did Arthur Weasley get permission to visit. The status of Hermione and Ron's ranks at the office was not enough to try to ease Ginny's pain, not even in the slightest.

Hermione's new pregnancy, if anything, along with the new promotion, was the only improvement in Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's life.

McBride's appearance broke Hermione trail of thoughts down memory lane, his face breaking abruptly through the fireplace.

"Weasley!" he called, giving Hermione quite the fright, detaching her from the regulation pamphlet.

She turned to him, her hand on her chest. No matter how many times she came across this method of communication and practiced it, these panics did not contribute to the constant tension she felt at moments like this.

And now it will be even worse, with this embryo to consider.

"McBride," she told him, before checking the time, "it's late, how can I help you?"

A faint sigh came from the face of the wizard in the fireplace.

"We're needed at Hogsmeade," he answered, "I'm on my way there myself; we have a code 17 on Arava Boulevard. It's appeared to be of an urgent matter."

Hermione paled. Indeed, code 17 was usually urgent by default. She closed the pamphlet quite dramatically and stood up. Code 17, he said? For a long time, Hermione had not been summoned for a Code 17. Code 17 was worlds away from caring for magical creatures.

"Usage of an unforgivable curse?" Hermione was afraid to ask, but she knew she had to.

"Looks like it," McBride replied with another exhale. "But I don't know anything yet."

Hermione hurried to collect her belongings. It had been months since she had been summoned to death scenes, and these cases had never been pleasant. Who was it going to be this time? One of the junior ministers? A clerk in a Muggle affairs office? What strength would it take her this time?

With this thought, Hermione gathered her things and popped away.

When she appeared in the street of the house in question, less than a second later, she was not surprised to find other magical law enforcement teams already there. Some of them were standing at the entrance to the house, and two of them had just finished removing prying neighbors.

Hermione passed the gold-plated gate, past a garden that at night seemed to be well-tended and filled with flower beds, and a single swing was tied to a nearby tree. The house looked large and wide, and it was natural to assume that this was a family with a respectable status.

"Weasley! Over here!" Hermione heard a familiar voice calling.

McBride.

Hermione approached him, and he didn't bother with redundant greetings.

"It was Shacklebolt who you just passed," he muttered, and at her raised eyebrow he grunted, "Yes, it's just one big mess, it what it is."

"What happened here?" Hermione asked, mumbling "sorry" when she accidentally bumped into another Auror.

"Come, I'll show you," he said, leading her into the house, "but I must warn you, it's not a pleasant sight."

They passed the doorstep, entering the reception room. The house radiated heat, ironically, and it looked like the garden, too, was well maintained. The furniture was designed in what seemed to be an expensive manner, and the shelves were packed with books about the history of magic.

In the kitchen, a few kitchen utensils floated, apparently leaving traces of magic to fade away in an hour or so. At the faraway corner, one could see a high-chair and a small jar on the table, half full of what looked like applesauce.

But here all normality ended.

As they moved towards the inner rooms and crossed one of them, Hermione gasped, and McBride groaned and looked away.

On the floor were two people lying lifeless.

The man was stretched out on his stomach, dressed in his evening clothes and covered in cloak, his eyes wide with horror. Red-purple spots appeared on his neck, which came in sharp contrast to his white complexion and purple lips.

On the other side of the room lay the woman. She was placed on her back, her eyes closed. Unlike the man, she wore thin clothes, not really suited for this chilly weather. The lace shirt, the sleeves of which reached her elbows, revealed deep bruises underneath, which came in coordination with the bruises on her legs which her skirt could not conceal.

On her body, her hands folded together, holding a single, half-withered rose between them. And if that was not peculiar enough, around her body were scattered golden flowers, with thin, round, bead-like leaves. The whole thing was almost theatrical, not to mention completely nauseating.

Hermione kept her face expressionless. "Was Stevens here? Did he get to see this?"

McBride shrugged. "He left. To find Shacklebolt, I assume. It's going to be a very problematic business for the Ministry."

Hermione agreed.

Leaning over the woman's body, she turned to look at her, hearing McBride's update in the background. "Our victims are Hombert Hyde and his wife Charlotte, 40 and 25 y.o respectively. Were married for nearly six years. They were found like this by a relative just three hours ago…"

Hermione nodded to herself, taking in the sight of the woman. The whole body was covered with paling bruises, but the intriguing thing was what seems to be a strike to the head.

"Let me guess ..." she told McBride and no one in particular. "It was not the killing curse that killed her."

McBride looked around the empty room. "Give the girl a prize, folks," he said dramatically, clapping his hands once. "No, her death seems to be a purely physical one. If I didn't know better, I would have guessed this was done by muggles."

Muggles killed two fully grown wizards? Had it not been so outrageous, it would have been funny.

"I'd say someone hit her badly," McBride went on, "Her position, the blows, it was a very angry killer who did it," he stated the obvious.

Hermione tended to agree with him, but ... "An angry killer who left her covered with flowers?" She pointed to the coloured leaves.

Something strange about this scene.

"Those flowers ..." Hermione clenched her eyebrows. "They look familiar..."

"They should," McBride replied numbly, "given that we probably stepped on them a few minutes ago ..." After a few seconds, he added, "These are the flowers from the garden."

Ah. Oh well.

Rising from her position beside the woman's body, Hermione turned to the husband. Following her, McBride immediately bent to turn him on his back.

Hermione pulled out her wand. "Lumos," she murmured, and a bright light flickered at the end of the wand, which she aimed at their male victim's neck.

"The Incarcerous," Hermione concluded after a few seconds. It caused immediate suffocation. He probably didn't suffer before he died.

"What else do we know about them, McBride?" The young Auror asked.

"Not much," McBride replied quietly. "Charlotte was a young witch who emigrated to Hogsmeade after the war, from Bourge Madame, a small village located at the French Pyrenees. Here she married Hombert Hyde," he bowed his head in front of the man's body, "and as you can see, this is how their lives came to an unexpected ending."

"Their occupation?"

"According to this-" The floating scroll approached McBride and turned a page on its own. "Bert Hyde was a clerk at an office affiliated with the Ministry of Magic here in Hogsmeade, middle middle-management, responsible for enforcing magical accident regulations with Muggles, and overseeing errands and briefing Muggle children in general. That what makes it such a mystery, I guess. Such random people ... who would want to hurt them, anyway?"

"Are they somehow connected to 'The Order of the Dozen Wands?'" Hermione asked. The 'The Order of the Dozen Wands' was a secret group which formed during the war, a byproduct of the Order of the Phoenix, and it was active against dark forces even after the cessation of the original Order.

McBride gave her a look that said, "Oh, please."

"Do they look like the type of 'The Dozen Wands', Weasley?" he shook his head. "These two would have bored themselves to death. I know it's tactless to say it, but I'm just being honest, here."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but McBride went on, "They did not belong to any underground of the light, and were not marked by Death Eaters. Again, because they were completely nondescript."

"And yet," the muggleborn witch took the scene in front of her again, "Someone wanted them dead."

"Not necessarily. Maybe it was a homeless wizard, or a thief looking for galleons. Maybe he took them by surprise, and this is the result," he offered with a shrug, shoving his hands to his robe-pockets.

Hermione had to admit that this was a possible and logical scenario, but she preferred to cover all bases.

Turning back, trying to uncover more details, Hermione stared at the flowers beside Charlotte's body.

"They smell sourly-sweet," she said, taking a breath.

McBride nodded. "Lotus Ceticus," he said knowingly. "They have healing abilities, or so they say."

Seeing Hermione blink, he shrugged. "What? I could always handle basic Herbology."

An old memory of Neville Longbottom suddenly made an appearance. It was a long time since she had seen Neville. She wondered how he was doing.

She shook herself back to the present. "You have to take them to the lab," she said, "so we can understand what happened to them."

Then she remembered something, almost slapping herself. How could she be so stupid!?

"What about the child?"

"Child?" McBride parroted, "What child?"

"There was a high-chair in the kitchen and baby-food on the table. These two had a baby." She pointed at the victims again. "Where is it?"

"Uhmm," McBride muttered, returning to his pad for answers, "There was no child in the house when we first arrived," he offered instead.

Hermione released a long sigh. "Then it's probably at a relative or a friend's house. Find it, please."

"Aye, Aye, Ma'am" he saluted, then bowed in sarcasm.

Hermione wrinkled her nose, "Oh, hush you. Go, already!"

Miles away from there, in the pouring rain, a wizard dressed in a long, dark robe, knocked gently on a wooden door. It opened at once, revealing a wiry-haired witch who with blonde hair, that was hidden under a white hat; she blinked at the visitor and immediately recognized him.

"You!" She called, her face full of wonder. "I did not think ... what are you doing here? I was sure that ... Come in, come in quickly! The last thing we want is for you to be seen here!"

The wizard hurried into the house and hastened to take off his water-draped cloak, which was taken by the witch.

"Madame Pomfrey," he said in a quiet voice, his tone dripping with deep sadness mixed with irritation. "How is she?"

"Oh, Well, pretty much the same," answered the healer, her voice exhausted. "You know you're dear to me, but I think you did a very silly thing coming to visit her. You did not have to show up here now, what good would it do her to have you here? You should thank the fates that the Ministry didn't have you locked and chained by now. You should think a bit before doing the things you do."

She stepped back into the livingroom, followed by the guest.

"Look who's here to see you, Sweetheart," Madame Pomfrey cooed to a witch who sat on the couch, her face hard to interpret. "It's been a few days since he's called… you've been waiting for him to come and update you on the latest happenings."

The witch sitting on the sofa, with long hair and sad eyes, holding a steaming potion in her hand, turned to look at the guest. "I guess you're not here for a social call." She said without unnecessary greetings. "What news do you bring?"

The Wizard nodded once. "I kept my promise. The 'soldiers' are on their way to Arava Boulevard if they have not arrived there already."

"Hmm ..." murmured the young witch, taking another sip of the potion.

There was a strange silence in the room, broken only by Madame Pomfrey, who attended the fireplace before the visiting wizard spoke again to the witch sitting on the couch.

"Do you remember the dream I had?" He asked.

The witched turned from her potion to look at him expectantly.

"Well, big trouble is brewing," he replied mysteriously.

A small smile crossed the witch's lips, a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"And Charlotte?" she asked after a short pause.

"Charlotte is gone. Not to interfere anymore. Same to be said for her husband."

"Hmm ..." she murmured to herself. "Will you stay for a cup of tea? I know you're not the type to chit-chat, but I'm glad you're here with me. without taking off Poppy's honor, who takes good care of me, but ... she's a kind of housekeeper in this place, and I need a true friend. Would you say you're a friend of mine?" She tilted her head, and the guest just stared at her.

"I'm the only one in this world you can count on," he said meaningfully. "And you should remember that. You're not stupid, and I'd suggest that you consider your next steps carefully. The Ministry's lackeys are no fools, either, it will not take long before their wands will be pointed at you. I wouldn't gamble your destiny."

"And would you gamble yours?" she inquired with a small voice.

"My destiny is long set. I'm the last one you should be worried about." His voice turned melancholic all of a sudden. "Each one of us knows what lies ahead."

The witch nodded. "It shouldn't have ended this way," her faraway glance standing witness to her feelings. "Our lives were worth far more than this. If only Charlotte came to the conclusion that certain things are never to be messed with, she would have been alive today. But now she's dead. Both her and Bert. And they have only themselves to blame."

The guest nodded. He agreed wholeheartedly.

"I should be going," the wizard rose to stand, headed towards the hall.

"Where?"

"You know where," he replied, then turned back to her.

The witch's shoulders sagged, and she shook her head. "You're so indifferent in face of death…" she said slowly, clicking her tongue, "It does not scare you."

"After all these years? Death became somewhat of a distant friend."

The witch offered half a smile, "So now you're the younger brother?" she teased.

"You could say that."

"Hhmm," she took another sip of the potion, considering. "I'd rather you stay here with me for a while longer…" she tried.

"Unfortunately, it's not possible," the guest replied. "My next destination will not wait much longer…" he added and after a short pause asked- "shall I give them a message once I see them?"

The witch kept quiet for a few seconds, then said- "Tell them… tell them I miss them, tell them I love them very much, and we'll all be together soon enough."

He nodded, and with that, he finally left the house.

The witch was left to finish the potion, her head leaning back on the couch, her eyes closing.

"Oh, yes…" she mumbled to herself, agreeing with her guest. "Big trouble is brewing."

Coming up next on 'Chekhov's Gun':

'Sophie blinked in shock and picked up the child, wondering how he had come to their threshold, and who in God's name had left him there.

She took a first glance at him. His eyes were closed in his sleep, his lips puffy and his skin pale.

Hhmm.

A baby.

Sophie has always wanted a baby'.