Chapter Three: Muddy Honey.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the material written by J. K. Rowling or her publishing company.
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Hermione stumbled from her cozy bed and yawned, stretching her back. Looking around she decided to get dressed first, and then go downstairs, tossing on a grey sweater along with her favorite pair of jeans. Tripping into her socks as she stepped out her door the girl walked down the hallway of her family's' second floor skipping down the steps into the living room. "Hermione, dear," Her mother called loudly from the kitchen. Hermione stepped into the room taking in the sight of her father in a suit, sipping coffee, while her mother whipped up breakfast on the stove, also dressed to her best.
"We just got a call sweetheart," Her father apologized, "The dental convention needs us for two weeks instead of one, another instructor fell ill, and they promised to pay us triple the original offer."
Hermione nodded sadly, as she had been looking forwards to spending lots of time with her family, "It is fine, you should go. I don't want you both to miss this opportunity."
Her mother fiddled with her earring before saying, "It should be fine here darling, your grandmother Cordelia is coming to watch you while we are gone."
Hermione's eyes grew wide while she demanded in a harsh tone, "Why does that woman have to come?"
Her father's face grew furious as her mother nervously and quite visibly anticipated the row. "That is your grandmother and I suggest you treat her with a little respect."
Hermione scoffed, her eyes narrowing even more, "Respect? I will give her respect when she doesn't call me a, 'little beaver,' at family holidays."
Her father snarled, "Hermione, she is old and senile, you cannot continue to hold a grudge against her."
A loud thud echoed across the room as Hermione stamped her foot onto the kitchen floor angrily, "She mailed me a bloody dog dish for my last birthday, a DOG DISH."
Her father stood, "This is the end of our conversation, maybe you can learn to get along while we are away." Then he fled to start the car without another word on the matter, as her mother dished breakfast onto a plate before handing it off to her.
"Eat darling," The woman urged, "You have the day to yourself until she gets here." Then her mother left with a very tight hug. When the front door closed a few minutes later Hermione huffed in frustration. Tossing the plate on the table she snatched an orange from the counter before stepping into the foyer. Waiting for her parents to drive away from the house the girl pulled on her shoes while retrieving a grey sweater from her bedroom. Paying careful attention to the time she took several minutes to eat her orange. When the last slice was swallowed Hermione bustled from the house.
Quickly she opened the front door glancing at her watch, it was ten in the morning exactly. The witch locked her door, and stepped onto the street quickly. The morning was bright while a gentle summer breeze drifted across her childhood neighborhood. In the distance children could be heard laughing together joyfully. Then out of nowhere a large, purple, double-decker bus stopped in front of her. The door whipped open as a man with far too many pimples stepped out.
"Are you a Miss Hermione Granger?" He asked prompting Hermione to nod curtly. "Step right on," The man grinned as she flicked a galleon into his hand. The bus instantly jerked forwards causing her to collapse into onto one of the beds that it contained. A shrunken head at the front of the bus was spinning around wildly spouting terse directions at the driver. It was a rather dizzying experience that she could have done well without. A frightening man with talons and snake eyes stared at her hungrily from across the bus, and she decided she was quite excited for a new wand.
A shiver crept across her spine as she recalled precisely how she had lost her last one. Then the bus jerked to a final stop causing her to scream as she was launched off of her bed to the floor. "Diagon Alley," The head cackled hysterically, Hermione was not impressed, and she stood shakily, stepping off the bus quickly. Stanley Shunpike thanked her for her service, but the witch made a point not to thank him for his. No sooner had she stepped off than the bus darted around a corner at breakneck speed while smoke was left rising from the street.
"It is well past time I register for our fireplace to be connected to the floo network," She mused to herself aloud. Then on still wobbly legs she ambled into the Leaky Cauldron. No one noticed her as she walked through and with a pang in her heart she remembered that soon she would not have that luxury anymore. After what felt like eternity she managed to push through the stifling hot bar, finally making it onto the crisp street of Diagon Alley. For it being a weekday morning the ancient place of wizarding commerce was unusually busy.
Pureblood matriarchs bustled in groups in front of the robe stores twisting their lips at her muggle attire as she passed. Hermione Granger on the other hand didn't even spare them a single, unsavory grimace in response. Hogwart's students she recognized pointed her out to their parents confirming in excited whispers that she was indeed the muggle born who had saved Hogwarts. She just wanted it all to stop, especially the street peddlers who were incessantly pushing their goods on her.
Then finally she reached it, Ollivander's Wand Shop, and as she pushed open the door to its cool interior she felt relieved. No prying eyes, no hushed whispers, nor any of the admiring glances which never failed to make her stomach churn. Her steps echoed faintly across the store as she approached the counter slowly. Hesitantly she rang the shiny, silver bell, listening to it ring clearly and sighing in relief as it pierced through her thoughts momentarily. Then Hermione jumped back in startlement, Ollivander appeared into existence when she had closed her eyes for not even a full second.
"I was wondering when I would see you again," He smiled, as his twinkling eyes blinded her, "Miss Granger." Hermione was unnerved by the wand maker, but she had always been fascinated by him all the same. Just the thought of how much knowledge he withheld from the world made her shiver eagerly; as though he were a book she could read cover to cover. "I had a feeling that you would be here again soon." Ollivander smiled knowingly at her and Hermione felt that strange shiver yet again cover her spine.
"Are your, 'feelings,' always so quick to come true sir?" She asked as her shoulders tensed. He only smiled even wider and spun towards his shelves, rifling through boxes.
"One hears so many whispers in the wizarding world Miss Granger," He sighed in what she thought was exasperation. Then he spun from his shelf handing her an open box, the wand inside gleamed with a sparkling, mahogany tone. She pulled it from the box before giving it a little flick, the shop began to shake, so she shoved it back into the box before Ollivander could make a single move.
He mumbled under his breath pulling out more boxes, setting them on the counter. As Hermione tried them she spoke, "What whispers have you heard, Mr. Ollivander? Hopefully nothing too… Colorful." Ollivander stared at her with his pale eyes prompting her to realize that he did not seem surprised in the least at her ability to match him in his game of wits.
"Why Miss Granger," He intoned, as he handed her another wand, "They are not colorful in the least, but incredibly Dark." Hermione decided that she was getting nowhere with him by playing in his circles, perhaps a more direct approach was necessary? Glittering green spores fell from the wand she was gripping, and mushrooms erupted around her feet.
"What are you trying to tell me Mr. Ollivander?" She demanded, growing more frustrated at every wand that failed to choose her. Then when she passed back the wand she realized just how many they had gone through, almost the entire store truthfully.
"That is all of them," He explained tiredly, then something flashed in his eyes and he said, "Wait just a moment more Miss Granger." Then he murmured speculations under his breath as he fled to the back of the store. Hermione slumped into the counter and watched as the wand boxes floated back to their original positions. As the seconds turned into minutes and soon the minutes turned into half an hour she tapped her fingers rapidly against the counter. When ten, whole minutes were gone he returned cradling a fresh looking box in his arms.
Smiling at the muggleborn Ollivander set the oblong box on the counter with a short description. "Phoenix feather, Aspen, twelve and ½ inches long." His spidery fingers prised the lid off gently until the magical stick was revealed to her eyes. "Pick it up," The man urged, "See if it is a match, Miss Granger…" From the look of certainty in his pale eyes Hermione could tell he believed this would be the wand for her. Pinching the flesh of her left thumb with her index fingernail nervously she snatched the wood in her right hand.
Blood-red sparks spit out of the wand tip per usual, but Hermione felt like something wasn't quite right. "Mr. Ollivander," She protested, "When I got my last wand it felt like a gust of wind. Ripping right through my body. I didn't feel anything just now." The man's eyes grew hard as stone for a fraction of a second before turning enigmatically warm once more, causing the witch to wonder if she was imagining things.
His answer was surprisingly terse. "The first time one is chosen by a wand is a momentous event. Imaginations run wild impacting children's memory of the process. Especially for muggleborns." Looking back Hermione wished that she had criticized him for his snappish tone, or gone to Jimmy Kiddel's Wand Emporium instead of Ollivander's. But Hermione Granger was an obedient child, so she payed him twelve galleons for the not-quite-right-wand then exited the store.
She would learn the hard way to trust her instinct, however.
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Her peaceful, and quiet, thinking time as she ambled through the alley was just what she needed. Of course, every few seconds a witch or wizard holding a Daily Prophet would stop and stare at her, but she brushed it off as part of wizarding oddity. When she passed by a Daily Prophet stand she was stopped by the man who worked it. "Hermione Granger," He called, "Don't you want a copy of the paper today?" Hermione whirled around, how could this Daily Prophet man know her name, unless…
"Yes," She practically snarled, as she snatched a copy he was waving from his hand. Plastered across the front of the paper was, "Hermione Jean Granger: A Muggleborn Who Lived." Hermione scoffed at that, and scoffed even more violently when she saw it was written by that tosspot named Rita Skeeter. "The wizarding world has assumed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was vanquished since his disappearance twelve years ago. Yet the Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was blatantly and viciously invaded by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named right before the end of this term. An inside source told us that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was confronted by one twelve year old Hermione Granger and the school shook as though there was an earthquake from the intensity of their magical power.
Our hero spent almost an entire week asleep in the hospital wing of Hogwarts and woke up right before the end of term. Not only should this witch be honored with a wizarding holiday but Minister Cornelius Fudge has taken it upon himself to bestow upon this brave young witch a honor of Merlin first class for her extraordinary courage and magical prowess. Wizards closely associated with Albus Dumbledore have protested the award and argue that she has done very little to earn her new title (See page seven for, "Declining Dumbledore.").
Yet at a Wizengamot council meeting a faction of wizarding families demanded it be awarded nonetheless and overpowered his attempts. (Turn page for more)."
There was more, much more, but Hermione could not stand to read it. She felt nauseated now that she knew why everyone was staring at her. "Can I sign up for a subscription?" She asked the man in a wobbly voice, deciding that this would be the best way for her to keep up with the news of Dumbledore's attempts to quash her newfound fame.
He merely pushed a list to her, and she signed up shoving four galleons at him in payment. Then she spun backwards, promptly fleeing from the direction she had just turned because of a man begging for an autograph. Several similar encounters passed like this, with the muggleborn witch avoiding anyone who approached her until she found herself alone on an empty street. Breathing a sigh of relief the girl read the arrow signs carefully in order to find her next destination. Knockturn Alley.
Following the posted directions right through a sketchy, brick maze, Hermione quickly deduced that this was an unsavory area. Upon exiting the winding tunnel into a dark street she was greeted by the sight of a Hag bartering secretively with a Vampire over what must have been an illicit substance. Suddenly cold she pulled her grey sweater tighter around her body. During her year at Hogwarts Hermione learned many things from not only her treasured books, but her peers as well. One day she had been reading an article about increasingly frequent raids on Knockturn Alley, an older Gryffindor was all too eager to share with her the alley's seedy reputation.
Right when Hermione tugged at her sweater pocket the reference pages crinkled loudly. The noise managed to remind her why she was in the terrifying place in the first place. No respectable shop in Diagon Alley would sell any useful books on possession. Perhaps Knockturn Alley living up to its reputation would not be quite so bad, Hermione mused mirthfully to herself. Avoiding the homeless wizards practically pouring out of dark corners she came to a stop before Moribund's.
All of the stores were seemed terrifyingly inclined towards the dark, but this one was a bit more in her comfort zone. Hermione could see shelves of books through the dusty windows, and any store which sold books deserved at least a chance. So steeling herself the girl opened the door to find herself in a store which rivalled Flourish and Blotts in content. Except where Flourish and Blotts sold lighter material this store's shelves practically crawled with black magic. Feeling colder than she had outside Hermione slowly made her reluctant way up to where the clerk sat at the counter.
The clerk was a portly woman wearing gaudy, crimson robes that revealed far too much cleavage. Her heavily made-up eyes widened in hungered recognition as soon as Hermione approached. "Yer that Mudblood 'oo lived, isn't ya?" The woman chortled, "Tha' fancy, schmancy prophet plastered yer picture all o'er the 'eadlines, they did!" Hermione flinched at being called a mudblood, but more so at the rude reminder that the prophet had somehow gotten a picture of her.
Unable to even find the words to respond to the vulgar witch Hermione retrieved the reference pages. "I need these books, or any related subject matter you can find in this establishment," Her voice was sharp like a whip. The woman picked the pages up from the glass counter whistling in mock-amazement, as her dirty fingers stained the formerly pristine papers.
"Possession," The beastly woman asked Hermione snidely, "What is 'n ugly mudblood needing t' know 'bout that?"
"Are you usually in the habit of asking clients so many questions?" Hermione snapped fiercely, shocking herself immensely. Though, the normally collected girl supposed she was too sick of being treated like filth by inbred purebloods to bother with a polite tone. "There are more book sellers in Britain, would you like me to visit them instead?" The portly witch shot the girl a dirty sneer before waddling into the bookshelves with a prideful tipping of her nose into the air. Hermione tapped her fingers on the counter until the woman returned with at least twenty books floating behind her.
"That'll be a bit 'ore 'n seven-'undred Galleons," She told Hermione, who instantly felt her stomach drop to her toes.
"I definitely don't have enough money to pay for those books," The girl admitted reluctantly. Instead of getting kicked out of Moribund's for pennilessness, however, the disgusting clerk began to snicker.
"You ain't the smartest mudblood 'round," She cackled quite wickedly, "Are ya? The prophet said ya was gonna be given 'at fancy, Merlin Award." Hermione wondered what the award, which she didn't really plan on accepting in the first place, had to do with her inability to pay. "Which means, my muddy honey," The clerk cooed in a truly revolting manner, "You will be given that award 'o fifty-thousand Galleons." Hermione could only watch as the witch flicked her wand prompting the books to bag themselves. "So, when you get your money, remember t' pay me," She smiled sharply, "Or I'll tell everyone just what ye was tryin' ter buy."
The muggleborn girl could hardly believe her own ears, and was certainly unwilling to look such a gift dead in the eye. Her fingers grabbed at the bags swiftly, but her escape was not quite as smooth. When her hand was twisting the door handle the woman spoke once more, "Keep actin' like yer better 'an us all, mudblood, but remember that dirt is hard to wash off…" Hermione slammed the door behind her before the cackles of laughter hit her already wounded ears.
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Dark magic was dangerous. That one, little phrase synopsized everything the muggleborn witch had ever read in the Hogwarts library. Entire collections of books detailed within her mind reminding the girl of what happened to those who immersed themselves in the Dark Arts. But the unfortunate truth, as she learned firsthand, was that sometimes one had no choice when it came to black magic. Sometimes a voice appeared in one's head, and the victim often wished they had been more willing to at least try to learn what the light stood against.
So, Hermione Granger decided to hit up several more stores before night fell, and over the course of shopping used up all of her leftover Galleons from shopping that previous summer. Borgin Burkes had a runic blade that was used to summon spirits. At the Starry Prophesizer she found a holographic star chart that mapped the movement of billions of stars that she was excited to use for Astronomy research. Then she moved on to the Speckled Snare which was an Herbology store that sold seeds of risque plants in tightly sealed packages to prevent any, 'accidents', from happening.
Mulpepper's Apothecary was her final stop. Within were thousands of bottles of advanced ingredients, as well as an impressive number of potion's books. She purchased a reference book of ingredients which offered a much greyer perspective on potions than she had ever been given before. Hermione purchased the book realizing that there were now only a few, spare Knuts in her pocket. Stepping into the night air she set her bags down for a second in order to zip up her coat. Night had descended upon Knockturn Alley along with a bone chilling cold. Making sure the handle of her wand was within easy reach Hermione marched right back through the brick tunnel once again.
Something very unwelcome stood in her way, however. The snake-man who was on the Knight Bus earlier that day waited in the mouth of the tunnel. Hermione realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that the alley was much less crowded, perhaps one could even say it was deserted. She stared at the frightening thing and watched as it snarled at her, his teeth black and sharp as daggers. "Step aside," She demanded, dropping her bags to her side, wrenching her not-quite-wand free, "Move, or I will blast you to hell where you belong." The beast grinned at her stepping forwards, and for the first time she noticed the sharp talons on his fingers.
"The Dark Lord gives you his best wishes, mudblood," It snarled fiercely with ominous, glowing yellow eyes. She knew that this would turn into a full blown battle and was unhappy that the Tracking Charm didn't work in such magical places. Nobody would catch wind of her battle and she could very well die a painful death.
Hermione pushed herself against the wall and as his hand slashed downwards to tear her into muggleborn ribbons she said clearly, "Protego." A weak, shield erupted from the tip of the shaking wand. The Snakeman's clawed hand faced enough resistance that Hermione was able to try to run from him. Her jacket's hood was suddenly wrenched back causing her feet to skid on the dirty ground. The beast did not let go, pulling back with so much force that Hermione was choking for air desperately. Using the last of the oxygen in her frazzled brain she unzipped the piece of clothing before slipping to the hard ground.
Gasping as her barely healed body ached with a fresh round of agony Hermione scrambled around to face her adversary. The practically useless wand clattered in her palm. Those disgusting, yellow eyes stared emotionlessly down at her. Breaths started to wrack throughout Hermione's body until all that filled her head were the shallowest of thoughts. Tears began to leak out of her eyes when she realized that a Snakeman would slaughter her, in Knockturn Alley no less. Would the ministry be able to identify her mangled corpse? Would her parents ever even know what happened to her?
'Stupid mudblood,' A dangerously familiar voice whispered in her head, 'Grab the knife.' Hermione blinked while the monster's boots scraped forwards. 'THE KNIFE,' Came a brain-splitting scream, 'YOU BLITHERING, IMBECILIC MUDBLOOD.' The loud reminder jump started the girl into action. Hissing at the throbbing in her head she launched herself towards the bag from Borgin and Burke's. Tearing through the tissue paper she just wrapped her fingers around the hilt of the knife when a powerful blow sent her rolling into the brick wall.
She blinked dazedly while bile threatened to pour from her mouth. In the corner of her eye a sharp set of claws flew downwards to put her out of her misery, but Hermione was prepared. The knife went through the thing's scaled forearm causing it to stumble backwards. Pointing the wand straight at him, despite what must have been six cracked ribs, Hermione choked out, "Flipendo." A weak series of sparks was just enough to send the wounded beast somersaulting into the shadows. Shaking with adrenaline the twelve year old grabbed all of her bags before tripping from the brick maze into Diagon Alley.
Two, yellow eyes glared at her back with venom the whole way.
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*This chapter has been revised.
Thanks for reading! Please review, etc. You know the whole deal! The response to this story has literally been explosive and I could not be happier with all of your reception to it. A tiny review would mean the world to me and would help me improve this story! I hope you enjoyed this new chapter.
Next Chapter: Grandmum Knows Best!