Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything you can recognise from any books or TV series or movies. I do however take liberties with the plots or mentions provided by JKR or other writers. The only profit I'm getting out of it is improving my English.
Title: Secrets & Keepers – Supernova
Rating/Warnings: R/M [AU; identity crisis; teenage rebellion; canon typical violence; profanity; discussion of and references to past events of gore nature; references to off-screen original character deaths; pure-blood propaganda]
Characters and pairings: Hermione Granger with the Granger family and wide assortment of original characters (some of which were referenced in Secrets & Keepers – Collision Curse) and surprise guest appearances from canon characters. References to Collision Course pairings and a couple of minor OC pairings. No Hermione's pairings aside of brief mentions about her crush on Lockhart.
Summary: Hermione learns the hard way that there's a lot of truth that shouldn't be passed around. It's a story of multiple crises starting from identity, trust in one's loved ones, the trust which one's friend put in one. It's a story of doubts which people voice about other people. It's a story of friendships that are forged in crisis. It's also a love story as much as a story about love. A pre-PoA AU.
Word count: About 6000.
Spoilers: Canon spoilers for PS/SS, CoS and pre-Hogwarts PoA. Linked to but doesn't require reading of Secrets & Keepers – Collision Course.
Chapter summary: Hermione meets an old friend of her Aunt.
AN: We're halfway through the story. Well, you're halfway through the story and I'm messing with the last two chapters of it. I have lots of time for that because I've got COVID and at the minimum another five days of house arrest and a vacation time after that. I fully intend to take the advantage of that. Hopefully, once I'm done with it I will finally finish chapter two of Semper Slytherin and then I will head to Entropy.
What I love about this chapter is how it came into being from a throwaway comment that Sirius made back in, I think, chapter 7 of Collision Course. I have insane luck with this kind of things and I'm quite proud of this particular keeper of a couple of secrets. Not that he would be the only one that she will encounter.
The story updates on Tuesday.
I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism.
Beta read by Regnbuen
Secrets & Keepers - Supernova
Chapter nine: 6th July 1993
6th July 1993, Diagon Alley, London.
It was downright ridiculous that it took her so long to get there, but she was finally standing before 12 Short Street, the last known address of her aunt. If she hadn't encountered and, after a night of sleep she could admit it to herself, also draw Snape's attention to herself, she could have been there yesterday.
It was slightly taller than the buildings surrounding it, which were also taller than the two storey buildings at the entrance to the alley. Most buildings at the north end of Diagon Alley and Short Street had between three or four storeys. Number 12 however had five regular storeys, and what looked like a liveable attic space. At the very least it had mansard windows, three of them. Seeing that the building easily towered over the ones in the area, from up there one would have a splendid view of the entire Diagon Alley and surrounding streets. In the Muggle world such a place would have been a prime spot, and she wondered for a moment if it wasn't the same for wizards.
The building itself wasn't terribly wide. Certainly not as wide as its next door neighbour that had four windows on each side of the door. Number 12 had only two on each side, narrower and smaller than those under number 14. Most of them, due to the heat, were if not completely open then at the very least ajar. Some of them were adorned with potted plants, some had clothing lines with clothes on them. In either case they all looked lively which gave her hope.
She reached for the doorknob but found it locked. Luckily it didn't take longer than for her to curse her luck before the door opened and a group of kids ran out of it. They all appeared to be below Hogwarts age, and without paying attention to her at all, and making a lot of noise, they all ran towards Diagon Alley.
She smiled at their retreating backs and headed inside.
What she found was a very long hallway with a narrow staircase running both up and down. A sign over the staircase that went down directed to flats 'A' and 'B', which made sense since the plaques on the doors she passed by respectively were adorned with 'C' and 'D' ones.
Gingerly she climbed up the stairs to the first floor where she only found one 'E' flat that encompassed the entire floor, which explained why the hallway on the first floor was shorter than on the ground floor. Second floor looked exactly the same, albeit the door to the 'F' flat was located on the opposite side of the corridor. Third and fourth floors held each two flats on both sides 'G', 'H', 'I', and 'J' respectively. Fifth floor also held two flats, 'K' and 'L'.
Her heart soared in her chest when she saw the sign over even narrower stairs that directed to flat 'M' only to plummet down into her stomach when she realised saw that it lead into a solid wall.
Panic overtook her for a moment until she remembered that at Hogwarts not every door was a door, just like not every wall was a wall. She waited until she got control of her breathing and with her heart lodged in her throat she started climbing the stairs towards the wall.
She barely managed to step close enough to find the wall within reach of her arms when someone bellowed at her from downstairs, "What the hell are you doing up there you infernal girl? Get down here right now or I will get my broom and give you the soundest beating you've received in your entire life!"
"I…" Hermione stammered as she whirled around, barely avoiding falling down the stairs by grabbing on the railing.
At the foot of the stairs stood a small, stout old woman. Unlike most of the old women she'd encountered in the last couple of days she looked neither kind nor welcoming. Her short, dark, greying hair were sticking out from underneath her hat and her lips were set in a line so thin that it appeared as if she didn't have them.
"Are you bloody deaf you muppet?" the witch screeched. "Get down here immediately or I will make you!"
Choosing to calm the witch down by following her orders, Hermione walked downstairs as quickly as she could.
"I'm sorry… I just wanted…" she stammered out.
"I don't bloody care what you want!" the witch bellowed in her face with such ferocity that she spit on Hermione. "Get the fuck out of here immediately, and if I find you here again I will dump a cauldron on your head," she snarled. "What're you waiting for? I'm counting to ten…"
Hermione bolted and was a floor down before the witch started saying 'nine'. But because the witch was still counting she continued going down until she found herself in the hallway on the ground floor just as from upstairs she heard the witch saying 'one'.
Luckily for her, 'one' instead of sounds of a cauldron zooming through the air was followed by a very sound slam of the door. So breathless from exertion she leaned against the wall by the front door and slowly slid down the wall.
She was a Gryffindor, she wasn't going to be deterred by one angry witch so close to achieving her goal. So what if that hag didn't want her there? She wasn't the only person that lived there. Someone more willing to talk would return home eventually and then…
Maybe it would even be her aunt, if not her mother.
She didn't have to wait long for the front door to open, only half of an hour or so but the person that stepped inside wasn't a woman.
It was a tiny, scrawny man, no taller than Professor Flitwick. His long, greying hair and beard looked unkempt. His clothes were mismatched and patched up. But he looked at her with a kind soft smile that reached his blue eyes.
"Can I help you, my dear?" he asked in a raspy voice.
"Yes," Hermione breathed out. "I'm looking for someone that used to live here years ago."
"Many people lived here over the years," the man answered softly. "It isn't exactly a prime spot, and ever since it gained notoriety only those who cannot afford a better place continue to live here. Who're you looking for?" he asked kindly.
"I…" Hermione stammered. "I don't know her name," she sighed. "At least I don't think I know her real one. She was very flexible with it."
"You just described half of the usual occupants," the man replied. "Narrowing that down will take a while. Would you like a cup of tea?" he asked.
"Thank you," she replied as she stood up.
She followed the man down the stairs to the basement. The stairs were wide but the corridor to which they led was tiny, so narrow that she could touch the surrounding walls without really stretching her arms.
The man led her to the A flat and after opening the door he let her in.
"I'm sorry for the mess," he said sheepishly. "I don't get many guests these days."
The flat was tiny, smaller than her own room and very cluttered. Underneath the windows stood a narrow and long table that was mostly covered in books, cork and pieces of various materials. Next to a solitary empty plate was sat a tin mug. There were only two chairs, one stood by the longer side of the table and the other by the narrower side. Next to the chair was a small kitchen nook. Like the table it was also cluttered. Most of the space was occupied by a small table-top cauldron of similar size to the ones that were used in Potions class, next to it was a rack of small vials filled with a shimmering blue liquid.
The other side of the room held a short toilet that could be partially seen through a divider that stood next to a rickety wardrobe. Beside the toilet were two bookcases reaching from floor to ceiling. However, only one of them was filled with books and vinyl records. The other bookcase held more of the same material that was strewn out over the table.
On the opposite side of the door was a small oval stove by which, in a safe distance, sat a rickety, dark green chaise lounge that was covered in a pile of blankets. On the opposite side of the chaise lounge stood a small, shaky table with a gramophone on it.
As small and cluttered as it was it also felt homey and welcoming.
"I don't see any," Hermione said with a small smile.
"It's very kind of you but we both know that's a lie," the man sighed. "I'm afraid that I've let myself go in the last couple of years. But enough of that. What would you like? I have regular Ceylon, earl grey and a raspberry tea of my own production," he offered. "I also have pumpkin juice and homemade strawberry lemonade."
Hermione hesitated. She was invited for tea and while the heat inside the flat couldn't be felt at all, the day was very warm and a glass of something cold sounded wonderful.
"I know that look," the man beamed at her. "Cold it is, personally I recommend strawberry."
"I would love to try it," Hermione answered.
"Do sit down," the man motioned her towards the chair by the narrow side.
She sat down where she was directed to and observed how the man started preparing the lemonade from what she suspected was homemade strawberry juice. Within a couple of minutes a tall glass of deliciously chilly lemonade was standing in front of her and the man was climbing into the other chair.
It was only after he opened the outer robe that she realised there was something odd about his legs. It seemed as if they couldn't bend at the knees, which explained the weird, ducky way in which he walked. She tried not to stare and immediately looked up at the man's face.
He smiled at her gently and Hermione felt the heat on her face.
"Don't worry," he told her. "You're young and like all youngsters you're blessed with curiosity. I really don't mind telling this story. It was so many years ago that it stopped bothering me decades before you were born. I was lucky to be walking behind a mate of mine that had the misfortune of stepping on a mine. He got himself blown up to kingdom come and I woke up a couple of days later to find my legs missing from the knees down. The Muggle doctors that took care of me also removed part of my left arm because I got a nasty infection in it, and with no way to contact my magical colleagues I had to comply if I wanted to survive."
"I'm sorry," Hermione offered.
"Why should you be?" the man shrugged. "You didn't put that mine in the field, and my colleague and I were arrogant and stupid enough to walk through it. The only thing I'm sorry for is that with such a handicap I had to leave the Hit-wizards. Luckily my Pa was a shoemaker and I spent my summers helping him so I had something to fall back on. But enough about me, and pardon my manners. I forgot to introduce myself, the name is Larry, Larry Lawrence and yes my ma and pa named me Lawrence Lawrence," he added with a small smile.
"Hermione Granger," Hermione said.
"Nice to meet you, Hermione Granger," Larry said. "I would have shaken your hand but I'm old and lazy and getting out of this chair just to climb back into it would be too tiring."
"I don't mind," Hermione replied.
"So who're you looking for?" asked Larry curiously.
"A witch who lived here in the late seventies to at least early eighties, years of 1978 to 1980 most probably. At the very least she lived there in 1978 because that was when she left the information with the post office that she lived under 12m Short Street," Hermione explained.
"Why are you asking about her?" asked Larry sceptically.
"She's my aunt," Hermione whispered. "And the only link to my biological mother."
Larry's frown deepened and he hummed before he said slowly. "I know who you're talking about."
Hermione's heart jumped to her throat.
"Is she… Does she…" she managed to stammer out.
"She doesn't live here anymore," sighed Larry heavily. "Her home for the last thirteen years has been Kensal Green Cemetery in London."
Her heart dropped to her stomach.
"She was…" Larry started. "It's something that my Ma taught me. Heard it in a sermon when she was young and it stayed with her for the rest of her life," he paused for a moment. "The loneliest people are the kindest. The saddest people smile the brightest. The most damaged people are the wisest. All because they do not wish to see anyone suffer the way they do," he recited softly. "She was one of the kindest, warmest people I ever met, wise beyond her years too," he sighed. "She always reminded me of that poor girl that kept vigil by my side when I was in the hospital. Not a very good comparison but…" he paused again and sighed heavily.
"What was her name?" Hermione asked softly.
"I know about two, but the one I knew her under, the one she used officially and therefore the one under which she had been buried was Mirzam Verascez," said Larry softly. "I heard her…" he paused and swallowed. "It's not her birth name, that much I know but she never revealed that one to me. The only other name I heard of was Miranda. Randa-My-Randa he called her sometimes."
"Rilla-My-Rilla," Hermione whispered.
"Never heard of that one," sighed Larry.
"I don't think she used it. It was the fake name my mother used," Hermione explained.
"How sure are you of it?" asked Larry pensively.
"It's the fictional name of a character from Muggle books for teenage girls," Hermione clarified. "It's a series of books that resolves around the life of an orphan named Anne Shirley. It starts when at the age of eleven she's adopted by a pair of ageing siblings and continues through her teenage years into adulthood. Rilla is the name of her youngest daughter."
"That actually explains a lot while explaining very little," commented Larry. "Mirzam was an orphan you see, never heard her talking about her parents or siblings although I knew that she had those. At the very least she had one brother, but he died when they were both children. I wasn't privy to details so I can't be sure. Never heard about a sister though," he said and hummed.
"But is it possible that she had one?" asked Hermione quickly.
"I heard her once describing herself as a cuckoo's egg," answered Larry. "In the wizarding world it's a politer version of saying bastard, which she could have been. She never clarified whose and neither was she officially claimed as someone else after her death. So, I presume that she could have been a result of a summer dalliance. Well, winter dalliance because her birthday had been in September."
"Is that's why her flat is sealed?" Hermione asked.
"It's not her flat," Larry sighed.
"But…" Hermione protested.
"She lived there but she didn't own it," Larry clarified.
"Who did?" Hermione asked quickly.
"The property belonged, and still belongs to Sirius Black," sighed Larry.
Hermione's breath hitched.
"I take that you heard of him?" asked Larry. "All the good things I presume?"
"Enough," Hermione snorted. "But why is it sealed?" she asked.
"Safety precaution," sighed Larry. "The building originally belonged to the Steward family. They built it and made their living out of renting out the flats, at the very least until old Mr Steward gambled away their fortune. After he died his son, in an attempt to save his mother and little sisters from poverty, decided to sell some of the flats. Sirius Black purchased two, the l flat on the fifth floor and the attic space. It was quite a good deal for both. The attic space in particular was very cheap because it required the renovation of the roof and including such basic amenities like indoor plumbing. Prior to the sale the attic served mostly as storage space. But Black had a vision of what it could become and it was a nice one. I've been up there, only a couple of times but the view from up there is simply amazing."
"You can see the entire alley from up there, can't you?" asked Hermione.
"Yes," Larry nodded. "The alley from the front and Muggle London from the back," he added pensively. "Black was a smart one, and while he fixed the attic he managed to separate it into two flats, m and n. Because most wizards are superstitious it was hard for him to find someone interested in renting the M flat which is why the numbering up there was done in reverse. Eventually he found someone, a young member of the International Confederation of Wizards that used it whenever he was in London. M initially he rented out to Mirzam and one of her friends from Hogwarts. She was a new mother…"
"When was that?" Hermione interrupted him hastily.
"1978," Larry answered. "Bathsheda was the dishonoured daughter of the Babblings. Got pregnant in their last year of Hogwarts, refused abortion and marriage, to the baby's daddy as much as any other man her family offered. She rebelled rather violently and upon finishing Hogwarts moved in with Mirzam and the baby on the way. Her daughter was born in September, on the 30th I think. She named her Bathsheba, most probably out of spite with the old man Babbling. I can't be sure if she had godparents, official ones, but even if she had Mirzam and Black served as such. I don't know how things looked up there at home but whenever I saw baby Sheba it was either with Mirzam or with Black. Don't get me wrong, Ms Babbling was a good mother but she abhorred living at the mercy of her friends and in order to grant her daughter a better life than sharing a room with her mother and her friend she pursued higher education."
"Did she have another child?" asked Hermione pensively. "About a year or so later?"
Larry shook his head and sighed, "No, my dear, Bathsheba was the only one she had. The shame of being cast out of the family Ms Babbling could withstand. She bore it with patience and dignity of someone who knows that they are doing the right thing. The needs of her daughter were her priority and she did her best…" he paused. "She once told me that if it wasn't for Mirzam and Black they would most likely end up on the streets. She hated that, hated being at someone's mercy, even of such dedicated and caring friends. Told me that her baby would most likely be the only one she had. As far as I know that was the case. Even if she had one later on she didn't when she lived here, and by January 1982 she had entirely moved out of this place, not that she really lived here in 1981."
"Why?" Hermione asked. "Because of Mirzam?" she added pensively.
"It sums up pretty nicely all that happened back then," Larry said and sighed heavily. "Mirzam lived with Bathsheda and baby Sheba in flat M, but she, as well as Black, finished Auror training and became an Aurors. It's a tough job, rewarding but time and energy consuming, also very dangerous. At the very least it was very dangerous back then. In June 1979, maybe a couple of months after they finished training, Mirzam and Black got themselves into a very nasty spot. She retained minor injuries that were easily healed but Black…" he paused. "The injury put him out of commission for a couple of weeks, most of which he spent in St Mungo's but some of this time was spent at home. It was during that time when the slow, never-ending dance of mutual attraction had bloomed into something stronger and more solid."
"You mean…" Hermione started.
"Black always had his eyes on her, I could see it, plain as the nose on your face, right from the moment the girls moved in. Perhaps even earlier than that. He tried his best to hide it but his eyes betrayed him whenever Mirzam was around. Not only that, he continued to go out of his way to ensure that whatever Mirzam wished for, she got. They were little things, stupid things that brought a smile to her face," he paused. "He loved to make her laugh, she had such a nice laugh. He sought her company and she…" he paused again. "She was receptive, she brightened up when he was around. Saw her many times watching Black with little Sheba with the eyes of a woman who knows that she looks at the future father of her children…"
"Did they have any?" Hermione asked.
"Yes and no," said Larry softly. "It took them some time but those two idiots finally came clean about their feelings for each other and they moved in together. They weren't one of those obnoxiously showing off people, but when one looked at them they could see that they were together and that they were happy. I have no idea why it had taken them so long to finally decide that they should get married. But…" he paused. "I remember that day as if it happened yesterday. It was afternoon and he was coming down, out for some errands and took a couple of minutes to talk with me. We were out in the hallway upstairs, on the ground floor and he was so excited that he was beaming. I asked for her hand, he told me, and she said yes. He also said that she was with his child, a boy it was supposed to be, they planned to name him Harrison. He…" Larry paused. "The Aurors that came to inform him about her death met us there. I saw it happen, that moment when the light had left his eyes and I never saw it again until many months later when he came to me in disguise with his godson. That little boy was the only one that could make the smile on his face reach his eyes. He said that he needed a place to spend the night but couldn't risk his using his own flat."
He paused and reached for his lemonade. He took a long sip of it and placed it back on the table before he continued.
"I never asked why, I never did," Larry sighed heavily. "He was a friend of mine, not the kind that one tells their darkest secrets but we helped each other. That's what I remember the best about him. Black never asked for help but he never refused it either. He was young, talented, stubborn to the point of obstinacy. Back then he reminded me of myself at his age. I envied him, in the same way an old man envies a young man his energy. I worried about him, told him that life had an uncanny way of bringing the most optimistic people to their knees. He laughed, told me that life usually was shitty but with a little bit of stubbornness and hard work it could sort itself out," he paused. "It never did. If his descent into madness started at any point, and he wasn't crazy to begin with, and I don't think he was, it started with the loss of his little family. They were both inconsolable, seemingly fine on the outside as long as no one brought up her name. They cared for each other but they couldn't stand being in the same room. Bathsheda eventually returned to her own family, in disgrace, with her head bowed and little Sheba in tow. It didn't work out as well for her as it did for Black. Had she stayed, had they soldiered on together through their grief then maybe what had happened wouldn't have taken place."
"Why do you think so?" Hermione said softly.
"Because even the most antisocial person in the world needs some form of contact with other people. Humans are pack animals, even the lone wolves that keep to the fringes of the pack. We need to interact with other people, if only to remember that we don't really like it," Larry said heavily. "Black had friends of some sort but I hardly ever saw them around, and I definitely didn't see them after Mirzam died, not once, not ever. Bathsheda tried, bless her, but it was evident that staying in each other's presence was causing both of them pain. She visited though, rarely, but it was still something. Grief of such profound magnitude destroys even the best of men, and the fact that the one that killed Mirzam had been no one else but his cousin…" he grimaced. "And hers wasn't the only loss he suffered. Within a year he lost his younger brother, his father, his future wife and his son. He hated his father with burning passion but his brother he cared for even if they didn't see eye to eye. But when that happened Mirzam was still alive and there to comfort him."
"You think that he did what he did out of grief?" asked Hermione sceptically.
"I saw grief destroying even the best of men, Hermione," sighed Larry. "You can take it from me, before everything that happened, Sirius Black was a good man. One of the chief lessons I learned in life is that no one wakes up one morning a bad person. It happens through thousands of tiny surrenders of self-respect to self-interest. Some say that he sold the Potters to the mad wanker, I used to not believe in it, but the image of him with their boy, his godson is something that stayed with me for years. He loved that little boy fiercely with all the love that life had denied him by tearing away from him his girl and his own little boy. Perhaps that was the case, perhaps not. We will never know for certain, and the only one that does will never be allowed any form of contact with the wizarding world. Believe me, I tried."
"Did they have other friends?" asked Hermione. "Someone who could have known something about Mirzam's other friends. Someone for whom she was willing to go through a lot to help."
Larry shook his head and smiled sadly, "You just described to me every person that turned to Mirzam for help. Can't say that it was a lot but she was always willing to go out of her way to help anyone that asked." He paused and took another sip of his lemonade before he continued, "Now that you mentioned it I remember something that happened when he was at the hospital. But when it happened I thought that maybe I imagined it. I spent a little too much time in the Leaky Cauldron with one of my French mates and got a little too drunk than usual. I was just standing by the stairs and calculating the safest method of getting down here without breaking my neck. I just settled on the good old-fashioned sliding down the stairs on my arse when the front door burst open and I saw Black hurry up it. At the time I was less concentrated on him and more on the basket that he had been carrying and," he shrugged. "I was really drunk so I forgot about it. Very early the next day, when I was climbing out to get back to the Leaky for the best remedy for a hangover, which by the way isn't getting yourself even more drunk, just a full on English breakfast. It was rather early and at the time I was convinced that I was still drunk so…" he shrugged again.
"You didn't see Black," Hermione assumed.
"No, my dear, I saw Black, just not the one I was expecting to see," Larry said with a small smile. "See that's what happens when one is too excessive with their alcohol intake, they tend to forget important things. But to be fair, hungover and from a distance I was allowed to be mistaken. Nevertheless I saw his face when upon nearing the door he turned around and looked up towards the ceiling. At the time I believed that it was Sirius, but now I know that I saw his soon to be late brother. What they talked about I have no idea, neither do I know what Mirzam did with that basket or what was in it. What I do know was the look on his face, it was the face of a man who just found the door to his jail cell open and had been told that he could leave it."
"Wasn't he supporter of the opposite side?" Hermione asked sceptically.
"Supposedly," Larry agreed. "The family neither confirmed it nor denied it but his name came up a couple of times during the trials. Sirius believed that he joined the Death Eaters…"
"Who?" Hermione interrupted him.
"Death Eaters, dark wanker's supporters, the more radical from the sympathisers. They carried his mark and carried out his nefarious plans. Most of them came from pureblood families but some were half-bloods. He adopted a fancy name for himself so his servants had to have one too. Personally I think that a bunch of morons fit them better, but then again I haven't been an active Auror or Hit-wizard for ages," Larry explained and snorted. "It puzzles me, I won't lie," he added after a moment.
"Why?" Hermione asked.
"Because as far as the wizarding world was concerned Mirzam Verascez had been a Muggleborn. If she knew who fathered her she never revealed that name to me, and with the way she looked the number of families from which she could have come was huge. She could have been a Black herself, she could have been a Macmillan, Crouches also possess similar colouring, and that's assuming that she took her looks from her pa and not her ma. She did have distinct features though, this high-cheekbone structure that can be found amongst many pureblood families. But which one exactly, I can only guess, I'm sorry that I cannot offer you more."
"It's enough," Hermione sighed. "You gave me her name which is more than I had when I started. She was very creative about her aliases. One of them I can't even spell out," she muttered.
"Zahradníček?" asked Larry curiously.
"How do you know that? And how can you spell it out?" she asked.
"With considerable effort," Larry chuckled. "Sirius and Mirzam discussed him and his career a couple of times when they were dining with me. It was an entertaining story. The surname itself is Czech, that much I know because Mirzam told me where it came from when I asked. It's their version of little gardener and considerably popular. But it could have been anyone. Her neighbour, her uncle or even her pa, at the very least the one that raised her. I tried to look him up after everything that had happened but upon leaving prison in 1960 he simply disappeared."
"Great," Hermione sighed.
"I'm sorry," sighed Larry.
"Well the letters I found were addressed to Miranda Zahradníček so your theory about him being some relative of hers has some merits," Hermione offered. "Not that it will help much in the long run."
"He could have gotten married and took his wife's surname," Larry said pensively. "Not a very manly practice in the late fifties or early sixties but a way to start his life fresh after leaving prison. If he did that…" he paused. "I found out that his ma used to live in Islington and she died in 1969 or 1970 after a long period of illness, so most likely he stayed close by but where exactly I have no idea. At least that's where I would have started my search," he paused again. "The last known address I found of her was 39a Myddelton Square, London. She's dead, as is the original landlord of that time, but his daughter was in the process of gaining the ownership of it. So she might know something."
"Thank you," Hermione whispered. "You helped a lot, Larry."
"Don't mention it," Larry said with a shrug and small smile. "I also have something that I think you might like. For me it's nothing but a memory of friends I lost," he added as he stood up on the chair and from the piles of books on the table he picked a giant leather bound photo-album.
He paged through it and finally settled on one of the pages towards the end of it. Very gently he removed the photograph from it and handed it to Hermione.
The photograph appeared to be taken in the very same room and showed a young woman with long, dark and curly hair that was talking animatedly with the young man with long, very dark, straight hair. She was seated on the chaise lounge and he was sitting on the floor, with his eyes fixed on her and a small smile on his face. Then someone, presumably Larry, appeared to attract their attention and they both stood up to great him. The loop of the photograph had ended on their hands finding each other and approaching Larry with smiles on their faces.
"I took it when they came down to tell me that they sorted out their feelings for each other and decided to be together," Larry said. "I borrowed the camera with the plan to accost them so I could show them how very much in love with each other they both were. Turned out that I didn't have to, but it was a nice memento."
"Larry…" Hermione started. "I can't…"
"Nonsense my dear, you can and you will," Larry interrupted her. "She was your aunt and I still have memories of her to keep me company. You deserve to have something of her."
"I have," Hermione protested. "She got me a teddy-bear," she added. "Sirius's teddy-bear as it turned out but she had it enchanted specially for me."
"From Mrs Beady Bunch?" asked Larry curiously.
Hermione nodded.
"That's a good solid work," said Larry. "Elsie was nothing but thorough, as was Mirzam."
"She still is," Hermione commented.
"So you hadn't heard?" asked Larry cautiously.
"What happened?" Hermione asked.
"Elsie passed away yesterday," sighed Larry. "She had a massive stroke just after she closed up the shop on Friday evening. Her son found her when he came in early on Saturday morning with new materials. She was rushed to St Mungo's but the outcome was grim from the start. She died at dawn, her favourite time of the day. I was returning from her funeral when I found you," he added sadly.
"She was your friend," Hermione whispered.
"Like many of them," Larry gestured at the photograph in Hermione's hand. "We could never agree on the subject of Sirius Black but as long as we avoided the subject we got along just fine. I spent many evenings with her and Terry in their workshop. Sometimes we used to do nothing but smoke and play cards, sometimes we each worked on our own stuff."
"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered.
"Don't be," Larry smiled at her gently. "Elsie had a long and colourful life that was full of joy and laughter. She raised her children well and got to see her grandchildren. That was all she ever wanted, that and to bring joy to people through the toys she made. She will be missed, but as sad as her loss is, it isn't as devastating as the loss of someone who had their entire life ahead of them."
"I'm still sorry," Hermione said softly.
She stood up, walked over to Larry and placed her hand on his shoulder. His breath hitched and she saw a tear slipping down his cheek.
"Do you have friends Hermione?" Larry whispered.
"Yes, a couple of them," Hermione replied gently.
"Could you do something for me?" he mumbled. "Cherish them, Hermione, be merciful of their faults as long as they don't cause you or anyone pain. If they're worthy of your friendship they will stay with you and by you," he paused and sniffled. "Cherish them because you have no idea how little time you may have left together," he added mournfully and completely burst in tears.
She drew him into a hug that was only uncomfortable to her due to the weird position, which her spine didn't like very much. But she continued holding onto his shoulders and rubbing his back until eventually his sobs subsided. He pulled away from her and brought his hand to her face and he gave it a gentle cares as he smiled softly.
"You have her eyes," he said softly. "Not the colour, hers were hazel-green mind you, but the shape and the kindness…" he drew a deep breath if a bit shaky. "Enough feeling sorry for myself. There are a couple of things which I can still do for you."
TBC
Next: Larry takes Hermione to visit her Aunt's grave and discover that they aren't the only visitors.