Authors Notes: This is part one of a multi-part fic. It's set 7 years after the end of the books, when after the final battle, the muggles got wind of the wizarding world and now prosecute whatever witches and wizards they find, forcing the wizarding world to either become muggles, or go into hiding. What happens when Hermione runs into someone that she thought that she once knew? HG/SS
START
Deep black eyes peered out from behind a glass of something or another-she couldn't quite tell what it was. The eyes seemed familiar and mysterious all at once. They were aged eyes, wizened eyes, eyes that proved that one really could see and experience too much for one lifetime. They were a deep mahogany, almost black, and them seemed to be windows to a soul just as dark from its scars. They were the eyes of someone much older than the man was.
He didn't look young, but his frame suggested that he was not quite as old as the rest of him made him out to be. He was a slender man, with long black hair, pulled back in a lose plait that reached just past his shoulders. His face was lined and creased, and his body had the stoop and slump of one who had been through more than any human should. But all the same, he was slender, bordering on athletic, although she couldn't see much through the stiff black clothes that he wore.
It didn't take much regarding of the figure before her for her to place why those eyes, and the person before her, looked familiar. It shocked her to see him again, she never thought she would. She had assumed that he, like so many others, had retreated back into his own world, a world of safety, where he was the only one. So many had reclused themselves, hardly ever going out, for fear of being caught, for fear of being seen.
Some, like she had adapted, left the old ways behind. They had fused seamlessly into a new life, forgotten about everything that had happened seven years previously, and all that had happened before that one fateful day. They had gotten new jobs, new houses, new clothes, new identities, never letting there past life haunt them, or trying not to. Not all were successful in stopping any thoughts of their old life, some still found themselves tempted to take a shortcut here, make something perfect there.
And yet others had formed a small resistance group, a group of radical rebels who refused to go into hiding, and refused to give up their traditions. And every other one of them lived in fear that they would be outed, be strung up as an example of what happened. For years they had lived in peace, calmly coinciding with the rest of society, but seven years prior, everything had changed, no longer could they coincide, not after the carnage wrecked by the final battle.
And she could see every trace of it in the man's eyes across from her. He looked up from his drink and their eyes met for an instant, and in that second, everything that had happened before the Giro Finale, transferred between them. With the same swift movement he always seemed to have, he crossed the smoky room to sit across from her at the small table. She nodded her acknowledgement at his sitting there, as they regarded each other for a long moment.
"Professor." She finally said, breaking the tense silence that had seemed to fall upon them. His cold eyes met hers again, and she felt a jolt of- something. Raw power that had lain dormant for seven years itching to be released.
"Miss Granger." She was surprised that he remembered her, after so long. Her surprise must have shown on her face, for he let a small smirk cross his face. "There are very few students who I forget, try as I might in most cases." She allowed herself to smile at his comment.
"How have you been?" She asked. It was just a polite comment to initiate conversation, and they both knew it. They both knew what they wanted to talk about, although they would never talk of it public.
"I've been. I suppose that's enough." Although he didn't voice it, the inquiring look on his face begged her to answer the question as well.
"Haven't we all though? Life goes on though, I suppose." He nodded and lifted his glass.
"That's something to drink to." He said, and drained the rest of the dregs out of his glass, as she did the same.
"Agreed. How about taking this conversation to someplace a little more private?" They both knew the reason why, although he couldn't help making a snarky comment about the ways such a simple phrase could be interpreted.
"Now now Miss Granger, isn't that rushing things a bit? Why we've essentially only just met." Try as she might, she found it hard to fight back a smile. She left a few pounds on the table to pay for her drink, and he did the same, as they walked out of the small pub on the corner, and walked down the dirty alleys of London.
"How long has it been now Professor, seven years? Seven years, and people still don't forget."
"People never forget my dear, they have an uncanny ability to remember every last detail of everything." She nodded in agreement. The voice still had the same silky quality, but it seemed to have lost its biting edge.
"I assumed you had gone into hiding." She said, and he stopped for a moment, and looked first at her, and then up at the sky, and kept his gaze on the stars as he spoke.
"I had. But then I realized that you can't go on living in fear."
"So instead you adapted?"
"People change. All animals have the ability to adapt to their surroundings. That's not to say that I like it, or that I've ever fully changed." She looked at him as the words hit her.
"So you're one of them?" they found themselves at the end of the alley, looking out over the Thames. For a long moment, he watched the moonlight glisten off the murky waters below him before he turned to her. They both knew who "them" were.
"If you wish to call me that." He said, with a degree of nonchalance. "I've lived my entire life walking a fine line. Why stop now?" He said, and she shivered, both from the power of his words, and from the cold fall night. "It's late, I should go." He said, as he turned to glide off the same way he always was able to.
"Professor-"she started, and he turned back to look at her, "Maybe we can run into each other again sometime."
"I'm sure we will." He stated simply, and with what would have been a swish of his robes, had he be wearing them, he faded into the dark London night, leaving her standing looking out into the water searching for answers to the questions that had suddenly crept into her mind.
END OF CHAPTER ONE
A/N Giro Finale is Italian for Final Revolution (well, according to Babel fish at least.)
START
Deep black eyes peered out from behind a glass of something or another-she couldn't quite tell what it was. The eyes seemed familiar and mysterious all at once. They were aged eyes, wizened eyes, eyes that proved that one really could see and experience too much for one lifetime. They were a deep mahogany, almost black, and them seemed to be windows to a soul just as dark from its scars. They were the eyes of someone much older than the man was.
He didn't look young, but his frame suggested that he was not quite as old as the rest of him made him out to be. He was a slender man, with long black hair, pulled back in a lose plait that reached just past his shoulders. His face was lined and creased, and his body had the stoop and slump of one who had been through more than any human should. But all the same, he was slender, bordering on athletic, although she couldn't see much through the stiff black clothes that he wore.
It didn't take much regarding of the figure before her for her to place why those eyes, and the person before her, looked familiar. It shocked her to see him again, she never thought she would. She had assumed that he, like so many others, had retreated back into his own world, a world of safety, where he was the only one. So many had reclused themselves, hardly ever going out, for fear of being caught, for fear of being seen.
Some, like she had adapted, left the old ways behind. They had fused seamlessly into a new life, forgotten about everything that had happened seven years previously, and all that had happened before that one fateful day. They had gotten new jobs, new houses, new clothes, new identities, never letting there past life haunt them, or trying not to. Not all were successful in stopping any thoughts of their old life, some still found themselves tempted to take a shortcut here, make something perfect there.
And yet others had formed a small resistance group, a group of radical rebels who refused to go into hiding, and refused to give up their traditions. And every other one of them lived in fear that they would be outed, be strung up as an example of what happened. For years they had lived in peace, calmly coinciding with the rest of society, but seven years prior, everything had changed, no longer could they coincide, not after the carnage wrecked by the final battle.
And she could see every trace of it in the man's eyes across from her. He looked up from his drink and their eyes met for an instant, and in that second, everything that had happened before the Giro Finale, transferred between them. With the same swift movement he always seemed to have, he crossed the smoky room to sit across from her at the small table. She nodded her acknowledgement at his sitting there, as they regarded each other for a long moment.
"Professor." She finally said, breaking the tense silence that had seemed to fall upon them. His cold eyes met hers again, and she felt a jolt of- something. Raw power that had lain dormant for seven years itching to be released.
"Miss Granger." She was surprised that he remembered her, after so long. Her surprise must have shown on her face, for he let a small smirk cross his face. "There are very few students who I forget, try as I might in most cases." She allowed herself to smile at his comment.
"How have you been?" She asked. It was just a polite comment to initiate conversation, and they both knew it. They both knew what they wanted to talk about, although they would never talk of it public.
"I've been. I suppose that's enough." Although he didn't voice it, the inquiring look on his face begged her to answer the question as well.
"Haven't we all though? Life goes on though, I suppose." He nodded and lifted his glass.
"That's something to drink to." He said, and drained the rest of the dregs out of his glass, as she did the same.
"Agreed. How about taking this conversation to someplace a little more private?" They both knew the reason why, although he couldn't help making a snarky comment about the ways such a simple phrase could be interpreted.
"Now now Miss Granger, isn't that rushing things a bit? Why we've essentially only just met." Try as she might, she found it hard to fight back a smile. She left a few pounds on the table to pay for her drink, and he did the same, as they walked out of the small pub on the corner, and walked down the dirty alleys of London.
"How long has it been now Professor, seven years? Seven years, and people still don't forget."
"People never forget my dear, they have an uncanny ability to remember every last detail of everything." She nodded in agreement. The voice still had the same silky quality, but it seemed to have lost its biting edge.
"I assumed you had gone into hiding." She said, and he stopped for a moment, and looked first at her, and then up at the sky, and kept his gaze on the stars as he spoke.
"I had. But then I realized that you can't go on living in fear."
"So instead you adapted?"
"People change. All animals have the ability to adapt to their surroundings. That's not to say that I like it, or that I've ever fully changed." She looked at him as the words hit her.
"So you're one of them?" they found themselves at the end of the alley, looking out over the Thames. For a long moment, he watched the moonlight glisten off the murky waters below him before he turned to her. They both knew who "them" were.
"If you wish to call me that." He said, with a degree of nonchalance. "I've lived my entire life walking a fine line. Why stop now?" He said, and she shivered, both from the power of his words, and from the cold fall night. "It's late, I should go." He said, as he turned to glide off the same way he always was able to.
"Professor-"she started, and he turned back to look at her, "Maybe we can run into each other again sometime."
"I'm sure we will." He stated simply, and with what would have been a swish of his robes, had he be wearing them, he faded into the dark London night, leaving her standing looking out into the water searching for answers to the questions that had suddenly crept into her mind.
END OF CHAPTER ONE
A/N Giro Finale is Italian for Final Revolution (well, according to Babel fish at least.)