PART ONE
Fallen

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


NEAR ALLERFORD, SOMERSET, ENGLAND
Four years after The Fall

A village rested a mile to the north. Hermione's steps slowed as she neared the outskirts. The houses were old. The closest to the edge of the forest, set apart from the others by what was once a large garden, was in the Tudor style, with a stucco exterior and vertical dark boards. The village appeared more well-kept than most, missing the air of neglect and abandonment she had become so accustomed to.

Everything was upside down. What would have felt safe and charming a few years ago now terrified her.

People still lived here.

Hermione's feet ached. They ached for rest. They ached to flee.

She gripped the rough bark of the tree hiding her from sight and closed her eyes as she struggled to find any of that blasted Gryffindor courage. She was faint from hunger. People meant food. Maybe, even, food that wasn't years out of date.

She hunkered down in the forest line and waited, biting her lip. It was quiet. Except for a few birds, there was no movement. Whoever lived here didn't appear to be home.

Taking a deep breath, she inched forward, all of her senses firing off, and her breath hitched as she made her way towards the short fence surrounding the house a bit distant from the rest.

A shiver went down her spine as she pushed the rust-spotted white gate open and crossed through into the small yard. With a loud click, the gate locked back into place behind her and Hermione froze but forced her feet forward a few seconds later when nothing happened.

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 was the mother of improvisation.

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, even when a house had obviously been empty for a long time.

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 tense and ready to make a fast escape.

She glanced around at the open shelving, looking for anything small but substantial. She took two protein bars from an open box, 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 an old, beaten-looking holdall. She set the large leather bag on the counter and forced it to unzip, pulling hard for several moments before the zipper gave. 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 awhile. It could make all of the difference for her this winter. She tried to be as discreet as possible while raiding houses and only take a few things here and there, but the heavy threat of winter weighed on her mind.

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 go as unnoticed as possible.

Once the holdall was heavy with non-perishables, Hermione slipped it over one shoulder and headed down the hallway, looking for a bedroom. The first door she cautiously poked her head around 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 dark 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 still until her eyes adjusted.

She had been in the house for ten minutes already and it felt much too long. She opened the large cupboard doors in the corner of the bedroom. There were a few pairs of sturdy denim trousers and several dark navy dungarees. 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 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 left her old pair.

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 brimming—and she was exhausted.

With her heart really 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 with each step, reminding her over and over she wouldn't go hungry for several days.

Even though she 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. It could be a few weeks before she would need to raid again.