Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Thank you so much to Davros Fan, beta extraordinaire, for your feedback and valuable input for the characters and the plot. The idea to include Persian mythology is entirely his own.

Content warnings: graphic violence, graphic character death, occasional strong language

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
W. H. Auden

PART ONE
Fallen

NEAR ALLERFORD, SOMERSET, ENGLAND
Four years after The Fall

Hermione woke without making a sound. She opened her eyes, her body taut with anxiety. It was early, and quiet. Her eyes felt gritty, like sandpaper, and it took her a minute to focus.

She groaned, coming to her feet with a supporting hand on the ice-cold stone. She had slept under an overhang on the edge of a bluff and she was hunched over as there was no room to stand. Blood pounded through her ears and it was several seconds before she could hear over the roar. After her head cleared, Hermione shuffled towards the light. She peered left and right with each step. The wind had died, thank Merlin, and once out from underneath the rock shelf, Hermione stood and stretched, sighing with relief as multiple joints popped.

She had skirted a picturesque village the evening before and she planned to go back for a raid today. Hiking through the woods, she stopped after half a mile, where she had set a simple snare. It was empty. With a sigh, Hermione left the trap and hoped to find something caught in it on her way back. Her stomach protested, but she focused on the job ahead of her. She needed a new pair of shoes. The boots on her feet were three sizes too big. She was clumsy in them and would never be able to outrun Snatchers, or anyone, for that matter.

The village was a little over a mile to the north. She slowed as she approached, barely creeping forward. All of the houses looked to be at least a hundred years old. Hermione hunkered down in the forest line and waited, biting her lip. It was quiet. Time dragged as she eyed this corner of the small village. Except for a few birds, there was no movement.

Hermione held her breath as she bent around a tree. The closest house was dark and there were no sounds from it or the two smaller cottages nearby. She inched forward, all of her senses firing off, and her breath hitched as she made her way towards the short fence.

Her heart pounding, she crept towards the rust-spotted white gate and a shiver went down her spine as she pushed the metal entry open and crossed through into the small yard. With a loud click, the gate locked back into place and Hermione froze but forced her shoulders to relax a few seconds later when nothing happened and continued forward.

The door was locked, which was to be expected, but a few twists with fashioned bits of wire later, a click, and she was in. She missed her wand. But necessity is the mother of improvisation.

Her hands started shaking. She eased the front door shut behind her, locking it from the inside, and inhaled and exhaled a few times, in through her nose and out through her mouth, until her nerves began to settle. Raiding never got any easier. She took light steps down the front hall in search of the kitchen. If she had to leave in a hurry, she might escape with a bit of food. The kitchen was just at the end of the hall, through an open archway, and she walked in, her steps hesitant and the muscles in her legs poised to flee.

She glanced around at the open shelving, looking for anything small but substantial. A box of protein bars caught her eye and she took out two, putting one in the bottom of her purse and unwrapping the other. She ate it in two bites. She was careful to put the wrapper in the dustbin underneath a few empty tins of what appeared to be canned pilchards.

In one of the bottom cabinets near the sink, Hermione found a rather beaten-looking holdall. She set the large leather bag on the counter and forced it to unzip, pulling hard for several moments before it gave. She had an old Swiss Army knife in her purse; if she could fill this up with as many cans as she could carry, she wouldn't even mind a few of pilchards in tomato sauce, she wouldn't have to worry about being hungry for quite some time. It could make all of the difference for her this winter. She tried to be as unobtrusive as possible while raiding houses and only take a few things here and there, but with the threat of winter always on her mind, the risk's pros outweighed the cons.

She dragged a dining chair next to the worktop and climbed up so she could reach the back of the shelves. If she was going to be taking more food, she needed to do so as subtly as possible.

Once the holdall was heavy with non-perishables, Hermione slipped it over one shoulder as she navigated through other parts of the house, looking for a bedroom. The first door she tried was a linen closet, mostly empty except for a few sets of sheets and pillowcases. The second door, however, proved to be what she was looking for and Hermione stepped into the very dim room. Heavy curtains covered the windows. Light was scarce, but it was better this way. No one could see her from outside. She didn't dare turn on a light; she stood in the dark until her eyes adjusted.

Hermione had been in the house for ten minutes already and it felt much too long. She pulled apart the large cupboard doors in the corner of the bedroom and started looking for some things that would work.

There were a few pairs of sturdy denim trousers and several dark navy dungarees. She wondered if the owner was a farmer. Biting her lip, she selected a crisp pair of dungarees from the bottom of one pile.

There was an insulated jumpsuit. She hesitated over it for a few seconds, but decided to leave it. There was only the one and if it went missing, he would notice and sooner rather than later. It was bad enough she had already taken so much food.

There were several pairs of trainers lining the corner of the floor, a pair of knee-high wellies, and three pairs of ropers. They were all too big, but a size smaller than the pair she was wearing. Hermione chose a heavy pair of ropers and kicked her shoes off, pulling the new ones on. The laces wound round metal d-ring eyelets. The shoes were stiff waterproof leather; not the most comfortable, but extremely durable. They were, as far as she was concerned, worth their weight in gold.

She took a wool jumper and one of the two knee-length cagoules (raincoats) hanging up, the dark blue one, and one over-large t-shirt with bleach stains at the bottom of its pile. After she stuffed everything into the carryall, it was full and she was exhausted.

With her heart starting to thrum in her chest now that she was finished, she pivoted and slung the bag's leather shoulder strap across her chest, grunting at the weight, and headed back the way she had come, careful to leave everything as she had found it. Her nerves were telling her to hurry, hurry, hurry.

She was about to unlock the front door when she noticed a newspaper wrapped in plastic in the corner. It must have slid back when she opened the door after someone had delivered it through the mail slot.

With little grace, she bent down, her body pulled by the weight of the carryall, and almost toppled over. She stuffed the newspaper into the pocket of her trousers, then unlocked the front door. The back yard was fenced off, so she had no choice but to go back out the front. The door was a heavy, solid wood, and it opened without making a sound. She locked the door from the inside again and then pulled it closed behind her, peering out into the front garden and walkway.

It was still quiet; she didn't hear or see anything out of the ordinary. Keeping her gait as casual as possible, Hermione unhitched the gate and clicked it back into place behind her and then walked, almost stumbling, towards the woods, her heart pounding a mile a minute. Reaching the canopy of the trees, she picked up her pace.

The carryall, heavy with food, bumped against her side as she walked, reminding her over and over she wouldn't go hungry for several days.

Even though Hermione wanted to rest, she put one foot in front of the other until she made it back to the shelter she had slept in the night before. There was still plenty of daylight left. She set the bag down on the ground and settled on her knees before it to go back through and sort all of her supplies.

She set everything in neat piles in front of her and counted all of her cans, quickly estimating how long they might last. If she had one every other day, feeding off of anything she could find in the woods in the meantime, she could wait a month before she had to raid again.