Disclaimer: I'm only playing with the characters and settings, which belong entirely to JK Rowling.
A/N: I'm new to this writing stuff, and I now realize that I should have written several chapters ahead before I posted anything, to give myself plenty of time to play with the characters/scenarios and make sure everything fit together nicely. I apologize in advance for the time I anticipate it is going to take me to update this story.
Chapter 2: To Market
"Mum, I'm going to Harry's wedding whether you think it's a good idea or not. Yes, I know that I didn't want to go back, ever, but I really can't miss. He's a brother to me, even after the last seven years."
Besides, when I see Harry I'll know if it was worth it: the battles and blood and pain. Ron is dead and Seamus and Lavender—who knew she could fight that way—and Sybill and….
Hermione sighed as she hung up the telephone. Her parents had been thrilled to have her back for good seven years ago, and hadn't asked too many questions, but they must have realized something was wrong. For the first year Hermione had slept little and eaten little, but she had adamantly insisted that she was fine, just throwing herself into her studies. Looking back, she knew it must have been blindingly obvious that she was suffering about something, and now her mum was not pleased that Hermione was going back, even for a wedding.
But since I talked to Molly and Arthur about, about Ron, I haven't woken up retching once.
The nightmares weren't gone, but they were dimmer. Some of the awful panic was gone from them; talking with Molly and Arthur had washed away just a bit of the poison from the wound. Still, the clammy certainty that she had failed somehow persisted.
"Ugh. I need to think about something else," Hermione told herself aloud. "I'm going to a wizarding wedding. I need dress robes. And that means I have to go to London. Again. Diagon Alley."
OOOOOOO
Once she made a decision, Hermione was quick to act. And so, for the second time in as many weeks, Hermione was in the Leaky Cauldron. She walked up to the bar, looking for Tom the barman, and was not disappointed when he came swinging through the doors from the storage room.
Tom looked the young woman over, eyes narrowed. "Miss Granger. I remember you. You were here last week, but it's been years since I've seen you before that." He paused, considering what to ask, and settled on, "What would you like?"
The woman hesitated, then, "I want to get into Diagon Alley."
"You know the way," Tom jerked his head towards the hall.
"I haven't a wand," she replied quietly, not even blinking when he looked up with a startled expression.
"No wand? How…? Never mind. Not my business. I can let you through. Follow me, then."
Hermione followed obediently, and waited while he tapped some bricks and the door into Diagon Alley arranged itself, clinking gently. With a smile of thanks, she walked through the door without hesitation and with a sudden carefree feeling.
Odd. I've spent so much energy forgetting this, and I thought I had. But I guess I didn't, really.
With every footstep lighter, she walked with purpose towards Madam Malkin's robe shop. The people on the street looked curiously at her, dressed in muggle clothing and hair billowing behind her, snapping and tangling around her elbows in the breeze. She returned their looks unabashedly. She smiled at an old, hunched witch who was minutely examining the powdered dragon claw at an outside stand, and at the two young children who ran giggling from Flourish and Blotts, as the proprietor shouted after them, and then at the mediwitch who was hurrying along next to a gaunt man with one arm swathed in bandages, and which was beginning to ooze a malodorous green liquid. Idly a thought crossed her mind.
I wonder if a mediwizard would take a muggle-trained doctor as an apprentice?
Hermione caught her breath at this thought.
Don't be ridiculous, girl. The physiology of a wizard and muggle are the same, but all the medical procedures are completely different. It would be a waste of their time and of your education.
She refused to think any more such thoughts, and walked more quickly to the shop. She was so intent on not thinking that she was two doors past the entrance before she realized she'd overshot it, and turned back with a grimace to retrace her steps.
OOOOOOO
Severus Snape considered the robes Madam Malkin was showing him. They were adequate for his needs. Plain, close-fitting (brewing did not allow for extra material draping about his person), and relatively potion-resistant, except against Level IV and higher potions with caustic ingredients. He did brew some of those levels, occasionally, but he had a set of All Safety Level (ALS) robes which he rarely used, and which were still amply serviceable.
"I will take two sets, black, and with the long sleeves. Have them charged to the Hogwarts Potions account. Perhaps this time you will remember not to charge them to the general account." Snape spoke in a wearied tone which suggested that perhaps remembering was too great a task for her feeble mind.
Madam Malkin reflected that while Snape's manner had softened considerably in the last five years, he still needed to learn some of the finer points of social etiquette.
"I will be sure this time," she replied. "Is there anything else? I see I have another customer."
"I wish to see your dress robes, but I am capable of choosing for myself. Do not neglect your business."
Snape was turning to the finer robes when he glanced at the door and saw the other customer. He drew in his breath, and stepped behind the tall rack of robes, turning away from her. As he did so he recognized one of his old habits—one that he thought he had broken by now—to keep out of the way of people much as possible. He mentally berated himself for cowardice, but did not move out from behind the robes.
Granger. But she was supposed to have disappeared, not that I blamed her for that. What's she doing here? I don't want to meet her; I am not in the mood for insincere niceties. She only knows me as the greasy, biased professor who was always sneering at her. Stupid girl, she ought to have realized I had no choice. Better just to slip out when she's being helped.
Hermione, however, was chatting amiably with Madam Malkin right in front of the door, so Snape turned back to the dress robes and tried to be inconspicuous. Still, he couldn't help catching their conversation.
"Hello, my dear, what do you need today?" This from Madam Malkin.
"Dress robes. I've a wedding to attend, and nothing to wear." And then girlish laughter, as though the statement were highly amusing.
I suppose it is, coming out of the Granger girl's mouth. So Potter's wedding is what brought her back. Well, I suppose that is natural; it is nothing to be curious about.
Still, he kept an ear on the exchange.
OOOOOOO
Madam Malkin looked the girl over. "Hmm. Dark honey hair. Ivory complexion. Hazel eyes. Beautiful shoulders, dear, you should show them off. Compact figure. I have just the thing."
Hermione rolled her eyes slightly at "compact figure," but that was kind enough. Clothed in day to day wear, she gave the impression of being slender, but most dresses revealed a figure that was surprisingly…sturdy. Once a fellow sufferer at school had griped that she oughtn't to have calf muscles like that, seeing as all she did was study. Hermione had pointed out that her study was on the fourth floor of the building, the library on the first, and the lift was on the other end of the building. The fellow sufferer had merely shrugged in a resigned sort of way and moved on to speak of muscle groupings in general.
She was pleased, however, with the dress robes Madam Malkin brought out. She knew immediately that she wanted the green ones, but was easily persuaded to try them on "just to be sure."
She went to the dressing room and put them on. She didn't need to show Madam Malkin, but went out anyway so Madam could see how well she had chosen.
The robes did not have the standard close-fitting neck, but instead had a square neckline, running just beneath her collarbones. The top was tailored and skimmed her body closely, emphasizing what little figure she did have, then fell in a gentle A-line to the floor from her waist. The sleeves were of a filmy material of the same dill green, and hugged her arms to the wrist, where they belled and reached to her knuckles.
"You look lovely, dear," said Madam Malkin in a satisfied voice. It was always good business for her when someone looked like that in her robes. "Be sure to wear your hair up. And no necklace; your neck and shoulders are their own ornament. But you may wear earrings."
Hermione gave her an amused look at this authoritative advice, but she was pleased with the robes and meekly said she'd like to buy them.
At the counter, Hermione realized she hadn't bothered to change money. As she looked at the pound notes in her purse, she growled in irritation.
"I'm so sorry. I'm going to have to go to Gringott's and get some money. Can you hold this for me? I'll be back in an hour."
"Of course, dear. It will be here waiting for you."
OOOOOOO
Snape emerged from amongst the dress robes as soon as Hermione left.
"Picked something out, professor?" Madam Malkin was in quick attendance.
He distractedly handed her a robe of black silk broadcloth; the cut was exactly like his teaching robes. Madam Malkin sighed to herself, but only after she'd turned away. A sale was a sale, after all.
But he'd look so well in blue. Drat the man, he needs to wear some color. It's no wonder the children call him a bat. Perhaps if I just suggested…
OOOOOOO
Getting money took Hermione rather less time that she had anticipated. She'd also changed three times as much money as the robes cost—what was I thinking!?—and didn't have any idea what to do with it.
Armed with relative wealth and three-quarters of an hour of free time, she wandered slowly through Diagon Alley, peering into windows and not quite looking for familiar faces.
She bought an ice-cream, and stopped at a bench to sit and eat it. She absent-mindedly gazed at the store across from her as she licked at her treat. When she was done, she got up, without thinking too much, and walked into the shop.
She regretted it immediately. The pleasure of the afternoon fled, as she gazed at the stacks upon stacks of slender boxes on the shelves.
What am I doing here? This is how I failed last time…. This is what I spent seven years forgetting. I can have a new life now. I don't want to come back to this!
As she stood, frozen with distress, her route of escape vanished. From behind a stack of boxes on a wooden stool stepped an old, grey, man, who, upon seeing her, approached with astonishing rapidity for someone with his appearance of frailty.
"Miss Granger. Fourteen years ago I sold you your wand. Vine and dragon heartstring, splendidly workable. How well I remember it. But now it is broken; you are bereft."
He considered her as she stood, mouth gaping, unable to move.
"You are a different person than you were. Less confidence, deeper, more wisdom—no, a greater opportunity for wisdom. Even had your old wand survived, you wouldn't find it suitable any more. Let me see…."
"But…but…I never told anyone about my wand. I left the night after it was all over. I didn't tell anyone about it until just a week ago."
Ollivander fixed his silvery eyes on her. "I knew when I saw you that you wand was broken and the manner of its demise."
Hermione was not reassured, and looked him squarely in the eye. "I don't want a wand, thank you."
He turned to her sharply. "Not want a wand? Nonsense. Everyone who comes in wants a wand. You just don't know it yourself, yet. Here, try this one."
Hermione hadn't even realized that he'd opened a box and pulled out an ebony-colored wand. She grasped it involuntarily as it was put in her hand. Weakly, she waved it about. Nothing happened.
Nothing happened. I tried to cast and nothing happened. All that blood.
Hermione swallowed and thrust the wand back at him. "I don't want a wand. I…I…they won't work for me anymore."
Before Ollivander could protest, she brushed past him and ran out of the shop.
The silvery eyes grew thoughtful, and after a while, the man carefully scanned his shelves and went to get his ladder. He found a particular box, opened it up, examined the contents and smiled. He carried the box down the ladder and set it on the counter.
OOOOOOO
Hermione burst out the door and ran down the street, until the strange looks from the witches and wizards around her made her realize what she was doing. She halted abruptly, quieted her breathing, and lifted her chin. She didn't need a wand, and she didn't need to act like a frightened child. She stalked towards Madam Malkin's shop, threw open the door, and stepped inside, directly into a person moving with equal decision out the door.
"Oof, sorry…"
"Miss Granger," said a low voice cool with irritation, "I see you still have the bad habit of acting without thinking. One would hope that seven years without magic would be sufficient to teach you to watch where you are going, but even that is too great a hope, evidently."
Caught off guard by this unexpected attack, and still somewhat off-balance from her meeting with Ollivander, Hermione spluttered angrily and failed to form a response.
"It appears that your tiresome verbosity has lessened, at least. Good day." Snape walked out the door as he saw Hermione opening her mouth to reply.
Stunned, Hermione glared out the door at Snape's retreating back, and turned to find Madam Malkin fluttering apologetically at her side.
"I'm so sorry, dear. Oh my. And he's really improved so in the past few years. I'm afraid you caught him just after I tried to talk him into buying some blue robes. All that black! So off-putting to the students. He really ought to wear some colors. He was quite rude to me, too, not that that's any comfort to you, no doubt."
"That was an improvement?" Hermione asked incredulously.
"Well, no, that was more like he used to be," admitted Madam Malkin wryly. "Generally he's almost nice."
This was difficult for Hermione to swallow. He'd insulted, twitted, terrified, snapped at, and punished her friends and herself for six years, and she'd defended him and his abominable behavior, and then he turned traitor. No, not traitor. He was a spy caught between lies and half-truths and fear for seventeen years. But he was still a wretched, awful, unfair man, and I'll have to see his "improvement" for myself to believe it.
"Anyway, dear," continued Madam Malkin, "you'll meet him at the wedding and see for yourself. He isn't charming, you know, but sometimes he can be quite pleasant."
This shocked Hermione further. "You mean Professor Snape is going to be at Harry's wedding?!"
"Oh, yes, dear, they're quite friendly now, although it was bad enough when he was a student. I would expect you to know more about that than me, though?" For the first time, there was a bit of hesitation and doubt in Madam Malkin's face, as though she had just realized there was more to the situation than she imagined. Hermione put on a bland face.
"Well, I have been thoroughly taken up with my studies, and I'm afraid I haven't kept up with everyone as well as I ought. I'm glad to hear they—like—each other better," Hermione said in a voice she hoped didn't sound as strangled to Madam as it did to her own ears. "Now, let me just get those robes…."
OOOOOOO
Hermione collapsed, exhausted, on her couch in her flat and stared blankly at the wall. Seven years was not long enough time for her to imagine Harry considering Professor Snape a good enough friend to invite to his wedding. But, then, she had spent the past seven years not dealing with the events of her last year at Hogwarts.
Not everyone has the opportunity, aptitude, or inclination to bury the past under seven years worth of non-stop schooling. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that people have…moved on.
Finally she climbed off the couch, picked up her robes—I shouldn't have thrown them across the chair like that—now I'll have to iron—and headed to her room.
Her incident at Ollivander's wand shop was already entirely forgotten.