Then
For as long as she could remember, Flourish and Blotts was considered a second home to Hermione. The safety and comfort that it brought, the nostalgia of walking through those doors and remembering a time when things were almost peaceful, it was all enough to make her sigh every time that the warm air enveloped her. The smell of fresh leather journals and new pages was enticing, and running her fingers down the spines of the novels available was like art to her. It had been almost two years since she had stepped foot inside this shop, two years since the war was officially declared as being "over". Only, it hadn't really been over. It was merely a tense whisper passed between individuals as she passed, silences between her and friends from almost a decade ago that felt too hungry, too full of questions that none of them could truly answer. It was the end and the beginning, and the collective anguish of the lives lost hung thickly in the air anytime that somebody mentioned it.
The Golden Trio. The three friends who had helped right the wrong, who fought in the war, who banished evil. Every time that she had been referred to as a member, she almost scoffed in the face of the person who would dare think that they could go back to such a stupid moniker. Everybody had split following the tiny graduation, some more gracefully than others. She still did occasionally see Harry, though an awkward smile or small talk was all that was offered. Instead of finding solstice in those who experienced such atrocities with her, it was as though they were ghosts, leaving without a trace but still lingering. As such, those comforts could be found amidst the looming aisles of Flourish and Blotts. Angora Stylone had taken over the shop after the original owner vanished following the initial discourse, and had been there ever since. She didn't ask prying questions, or try to make small talk, or even treat Hermione with warmth. But she was a solid companion whenever she visited the shop, solemn and of few words.
The older woman's gaze seemed to follow Hermione lazily as she wandered the aisles, graying hair pulled neatly at the base of her neck. It didn't bother her though, being observed. At least there was no trace of judgement in the woman's face. Finding a quiet place in the back of the cozy store, Hermione plucked a novel from high on the shelf at random, settling on the floor to observe it's content. "Diary of a Lycanthrope", the title read, and her heart pulled lightly as she remembered Remus so fondly. Separate yourself, her mind urged, and she followed its instructions as she began to pour through the pages.
She must have sat like that for at least an hour, transfixed in the content and recount of what it was like for the author to grow up a victim of Fenrir Greyback. Fascinating and macabre. Even the sound of approaching footsteps didn't seem to rouse her from her focus, only a deep male voice enough to startle her into consciousness. "Is this the biography section?" Her eyes were a bit wild as she scrambled to a kneeling position, hand creeping towards her wand that lay flush against her right hip. The individual in question though was the last thing from threatening, a tall man with large circular glasses and dark brown hair. His form was lithe, with high cheekbones and a delicate bridge of his nose, though she could tell that he was muscular beneath his rust colored sweater. Freckles dusted over his exposed hands and cheeks, a beauty mark below his left eye.
"Oh goodness, I'm sorry to startle you!" he murmured, hands going upwards in a defensive gesture with palms exposed. She couldn't quite put her finger on what type of accent the voice possessed, his vowels a lot more pronounced that she was used to. Maybe Irish? Welsh? It didn't make a difference though; he was about as mundane in demeanor as they could get, almost appearing mild-mannered if it weren't for his striking appearance. It took a few seconds before she could find her voice, clearing her throat before she was able to answer him. "Yes, it is, though you'll find autobiographies a little bit to the right. Do you need me to move?" Small talk had not been her wheelhouse since she had become alone, and she tended to keep it to a minimum, only sticking to the necessities. His smile was warm and welcoming, sporting a chipped front tooth that had a sort of charm to it. "Oh heavens, no. I'm mostly just browsing, hoping something catches my eye…"
The pause that hung between them was pregnant, Hermione's fingers stiff against the cover of her book and eyes darting between the individual before her and Angora, who looked bored as usual. His stance didn't change though, and instead, he knelt beside her, a safe distance. The messenger bag at his hip was placed neatly against the shelf. She stiffened at the close proximity, though allowed her body to relax as he leaned his back against one of the shelves across from her and placed his hands on his lap. "Whatcha reading? Anything interesting?" He gestured to the novel before her, which she briskly lifted to hold up the cover to. "An autobiography, by Tristan Fenlock." Instantly, her new companion's expression lit up, and for a moment she could see behind the glare of the glasses. His eyes were green, greener than Harry's even, full of life. "Oh, I love his seminars! I got to sit it on one of his classes a few years back when he was fighting with the ministry," his chin rested on hand, "It was absolutely insane what he was able to accomplish within legislation, considering the circumstances."
Somebody else who knew of Fenlock! This was one of the first she had met in years, and she couldn't help the giddiness in her chest from escaping in a short breath. "Yes! God, I had no idea people actually went to his seminars, I know a lot of them have been protested over the years. Did you read the journal he published last fall about mirror neurons following infection?" She was rocked back on her heels now, fingers running over the spine and looping to the cover. "Oh absolutely! I had no idea about the neural connections being mutated following the virus…" His voice began to trail off slightly, head cocked. "It's truly sad that he had to go through that much research, that much money, just to prove he wasn't a monster." The stranger's vision was a bit murky, though it may have been the glare from the soft bookstore lighting. "It's just fucked up, excuse my language, how those who have been infected get treated. They are still human, mostly, doesn't that matter?"
This was a breath of fresh air compared to the glum conversations she had with other book store patrons, with classmates who she passed on the streets. This was an actual person who was passionate about change and it thrilled her. "Yes! I mean hell, this 'disease' has been around how long and all that we've managed to do it demonize those who have it, those who were unable to protect themselves when attacked-" Her voice was climbing from the excitement of the topic, and she sheepishly stopped herself to dial it back, a flush climbing along the bridge of her nose and ears. Waiting for him to give her a look, tell her to shut up, to feel small. It didn't come though, and after another moment, he broke the silence. "I, uh, I don't think I caught your name." His hand extended towards hers, palms rough despite his soft appearance. "Rhys Lewis, pleasure to meet you." Her smaller hand reached to meet his, giving it a small shake before bringing it back to her lap. "Hermione Granger, the pleasure is mine."
And for a moment, they just smiled, eyes scanning over one another. Two individuals who were capable of holding similar intellect during conversations on a surface level, finding one another in a tiny little bookstore that had been here for decades. It was Rhys who made the first move though, pulling a piece of scrap paper and a quill from the front pocket of his bag. "Is there any chance that I could write to you, maybe meet up again sometime? I'd love to continue this discussion at a later date but unfortunately, I have an appointment in the next hour or two…" He leaned it a bit, putting his hand to block his mouth a bit, "Though between you and me, I'd much rather spend my time talking to you than going over paperwork." A small giggle left her mouth, and she jotted down the owl information, a faux address she had most of her letters sent to. "That sounds delightful, Rhys."
The time she spent in that bookstore was one of the happiest she had in months. He had treated her like a person, not a member of the Trio, not somebody with the baggage from a war she was too young to be fighting. It never even crossed her mind that a moment so full of innocent joy would snowball into a nightmare. First appearances were never that simple, though it was simple enough to make them believable.