Pavel Oliwa was a fair wizard. Growing up in rural Poland, his parents had instilled in him a strong sense of right and wrong. His father came from a longstanding pureblood family while his mother was a first generation witch. They knew each side and knew that, while things weren't always black and white, a strong moral compass would help their son in the tumultuous times they sensed around themselves. And so he grew, following that compass and ascending through the halls of the Durmstrang Institute for Magical Learning.
It was during this schooling that Pavel began to notice things. The rising tide of vitriolic rhetoric, disappearances of muggles and magicals alike. There was something in the air and Pavel feared it. Then when approached by other students to join this rising movement, one being given a name and brought to the forefront by a wizard named Gellert Grindelwald, he knew which path he should take. Not the path of least resistance, no, quite the opposite in fact.
Pavel joined their ranks. Learning what he could in the movement, devoting himself to their teachings, and rising in their ranks. Soon enough, he would be counted one of a select few ascending towards Grindelwald's inner circle. He found himself on the brink of all out war, the rise of the movement swelling, and actions against Muggles and muggleborns alike occurring daily. Little did his fellow supporters know, however, that Pavel was doing everything in his power to derail all of their machinations.
Pavel had that sense of right and wrong. He saw the wrong that was happening around him early on and made a deal with himself to stop it at any cost, his own life be damned. And so he went along with the planning of his schoolmates, playing his part, and rising to prominence. All the while divulging secrets to resistance fighters and assisting those working towards true equality and justice.
It was during this rise that Pavel found himself in love. When able, he secreted away from his cohorts to aid in the movement of muggles and muggle-born witches and wizards. And so it was that one foggy, damp Warsaw evening, he found himself transporting a young woman named Aviva Friedman across Polish borders. Smitten at first sight, he helped to apparate the young, first-generation witch away from Poland to the relative safety of English shores. Apparation point to apparation point, the pair struck up an easy conversation and upon her safe delivery, they promised to write each other as frequently as possible.
Those letters sustained Pavel throughout the war and his subterfuge efforts. When word came of Grindlewald's defeat at the hands of Albus Dumbledore, Pavel went to England at once for Aviva. They married a year later and raised a large family in a home along the Baltic Sea. He worked as a potion master for years continuing to help his community at large.
Upon his death in 2003, his family wanted to honor him for all of the good he did for the world. They wanted to commission a magical portrait of their beloved husband, father, grandfather, community patron. And so, Hermione found herself working with the Oliwa family, diving through their memories, dissecting Pavel's journals and letters with Aviva, utilizing magical photographs for reference, and learning all she could about her subject.
"Have I told you about the night I met my wife?"
Hermione laughed. "Of course, Pavel. We have been together for the last six or so months. But I'd love to hear the story again."
Off Pavel went, reminiscing on his dearest love, Aviva. Hermione grinned to herself and went on with the background of the portrait. She dappled her brush into her paint and began bringing the background to life. Pavel always loved the changing of the colors of leaves and so Hermione was placing him in the forest glen near the home that he and Aviva had made along the coast. Setting it in fall allowed her the chance to add dazzling colors of leaves, allowing a perpetual cascade of leaves slowly falling in the background.
Pavel, loving all things Polish, wanted his painting in the style of Jacek Malczewski. Unfamiliar with the artist, Hermione found herself diving into research about the 1900s artist. His portrait style was colorful and playful and a fun technique to try her hand at. Most portrait subjects didn't require such art mimicry, but Hermione enjoyed when she was allowed to stray from her usual classical path. She had eschewed paths long ago.
After fleeing Hogwarts that night, Hermione found herself at a crossroads. Parentless, she focused her energy towards finding her mother and father and establishing that part of her life again. She cashed in all of her savings and bought a plane ticket to Australia. Utilizing the Sydney public library system and their immensely helpful librarians, she was able to locate her parents without too much trouble. The trouble came when she finally plucked up the courage to visit and reverse her memory charms.
Her parents had created a new life as Wendell and Monica Wilkins, establishing a dentistry practice and building a new, Hermione-less existence in the suburbs of Sydney. So when a young woman came to their practice as a new patient, late one evening, they thought nothing of the normal occurrence. Able to get them alone, Hermione worked her wand and reversed the spell.
Her parents were less than pleased with Hermione's decision to tamper with their minds, especially in the fact that they weren't given a choice in the matter. They were, however, happy to see their child and willing to move on, realizing their daughter was looking for a fresh start. As a family, they decided to stay in Australia. Hermione was happy to have space from the world she left behind in England and her parents had developed a thriving practice and a healthy love of the beach. Hermione sat for her Australian Tertiary Admission Rank, not unlike the A-levels she would have sat in England. Breezing through them, she enrolled at the most prestigious art school in Australia, the Royal Australian Art Academy. Following her love of color and art, she studied painting and excelled.
In her life, Hermione had studied under two masters: one, a muggle at the academy and the other, a master magical painter. The former had taught her style, technique, art history, perspective, and allowed her to develop a vision. The latter was an airbag, annoyance, and complete genius. Her university experience was freeing. Without the threat of death over her shoulder, Hermione was able to find herself. She made friends, found a love for music, even found herself romantically involved with a few partners. Her professors encouraged her towards her best and, one in particular, nurtured her talent. Professor Nancy Harold was exactly what Hermione had needed. A stern hand at times, but a caring, sweet person that had an eye for talent. Professor Harold was the final factor in Hermione deciding to return to the shores of England. She had shown Hermione that her talent could be furthered by the artists and masters in a city like London.
So Hermione founderself back in England, in a tiny flat in a dodgy end of London. Knowing that she wanted to come back to the magical world and develop her hand at the magical art she so admired, she turned to the only place she knew that could help. On a warm, sunny summer day, Hermione found herself striding up the steps to Hogwarts, surprised by the smiling face of Minerva McGonagall at the top of the stairs. She was ushered into the headmaster's office where she proceeded to gush out everything that had been bottled up.
"No need to dwell," Minerva said, taking a seat next to Hermione. "Choices are made. Nothing to undo them now. All anyone can do is learn and grow and you are in the right castle for that."
Hermione sniffled, wiping a tear away. "It's easy to say that, professor, but what will everyone think when they find out that I'm back?"
"Worry about that later," her astute professor advised. "If all you've said is accurate, it's obvious that you seek to continue your fresh start. Keep your head up and keep moving forward."
"I am, but I'm not sure where to turn next. I've been fascinated by magical portraits. It's my dream to work on them, but I've no idea where to start," Hermione heaved.
"Come with me Ms. Granger," McGonagall said, standing and striding from the room.
Hermione followed dutifully and found herself behind McGonagall in a part of the castle she had never seen before.
"Eustice. Eustice! Wake up, please!"
McGonagall was in front of a portrait of a man, quietly asleep, with a cat curled in his lap and a fire roaring in the background. The scene looked delightfully comfortable and Hermione didn't blame the man for sleeping one bit.
"This is the most recent painting in our collection here at Hogwarts", McGonagall explained. "It was gifted to us by the man's family some 20 years ago. Most portraits stay with their families, but they felt that with all the good Eustice had done for this school, his place was in these halls."
The man's soft snores sputtered. Blinking his eyes, he acclimated to the light and looked around.
"Headmaster," Eustice yawned. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"Eustice, this is Miss Hermione Granger. She is an aspiring magical artist and I was hoping that you would be kind enough to divulge the name of the artist that created you."
"Oh, that old windbag? Are you sure you want to work with him?" Eustice looked confounded.
"I'm open to anything. This is my heart's desire, what I've worked so hard for," Hermione pleaded.
"Fine, fine, fine. Applewhite is his name. Thaddeus Applewhite. If I recall correctly, you can find him in Wimbourne every Saturday night at the Grey Mare." Eustice grimaced. "And now, if you don't mind, I would like to get back to my nap."
"That man naps more than any portrait in this entire castle," McGonagall muttered under her breath. "Go. Find Applewhite. Thrive and find yourself. Our paths will cross again, soon enough, I should think." With that last bit of advice, McGonagall sent Hermione on her way into the world.
Thaddeus Applewhite had been England's premier magical painter for Gods know how long. Hermione was never able to ascertain his true age. But throughout all of his years, he had painted masterpieces for the magical world, a number of which hung in the halls of Hogwarts. Thaddeus painted everyone from the Prime Ministers of Magic to the captains of Quidditch teams to icons of magical history. He never leant his brush to the common witch or wizard and the magical population of England turned to lesser artists and foreign shores for portraits and art. And so when she found him that cold, rainy night in Wimbourne, Hermione had no idea what she was in for.
Asking the bartender for information, Hermione was led to a man sitting at the end of the bar, buried under a fine, thick coat, drinking alone and grimacing. She approached him tentatively.
"Erm, excuse me. Mr. Applewhite?" Hermione asked.
"What?" A gruff response didn't necessarily surprise her based on outward appearances.
"Well, my name is Hermione and I've been given your name as someone to possibly apprentice under."
Applewhite stared down at his drink and with one swift motion, downed the ebony liquid and turned to Hermione. Steel grey eyes appraised her and Hermione had never felt scrutinized like that before.
"I've no time for dreamers. I need a worker, someone quick with brush and apprising with eye. I can tell you have a hunger, but are you diligent? Can you muster the strength and courage to delve into someone's soul?" Applewhite was nearly shouting.
"I think you'll find that all of those things are qualities that I have," Hermione cooly responded.
"Hmph. We'll see. Come with me, girl."
And with that, Hermione found herself studying under a master. He taught her everything, where to find the combination brush and wand that all magical artists used, how to find the true history of a subject to bring it to life, the spells and ingredients needed for the paints and canvases. She learned much under the old man and painstaking as it was, owed much of her current success to him.
The scratching of an owl at her window pulled Hermione from her reverie.
Placing down her brush and paints, she wiped her hands on her shirt and opened the window. The owl hopped in, rustling it's feathers, and extended a leg with a note attached to it. She dutifully removed it and placed a dish of owl treats in front of the bird. She was quite familiar with the mixture of black and white feathers this particular owl had and knew that it's owner would expect a quick response.
She unraveled the note and read it, delighted to find that her patron had the prospect of another commission at hand. She quickly jotted a note to the man and attached it to the owl's leg, sending the bird on his way.
"Pavel," she called, "You're almost finished but I need to head into London for a meeting. To be continued, love."
"Fine, fine," the portrait replied. "And when you come back, I'll tell. you about my role in the battle of Rivington."
Hermione chuckled. That was one she had definitely heard before. She changed her clothes and bettered her appearance to her best ability, casting cleaning spells to remove the paint that dotted her skin. She contemplated a concealment charm to hide her identity but decided against it. This would be a quick trip into Diagon Alley, no need for that. She checked Crookshanks' food and water bowls and, satisfied, apparated from her apartment.
She arrived outside the Leaky Cauldron and headed inside. She kept her head down and following the usual path and tapping the particular bricks, found her way into Diagon Alley. It was a short walk to her destination. She walked briskly and found herself in front of the shop, looking up at the peeling gold letters on the shop's sign:
Olivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
Hermione opened the door, excited for her next magical art adventure.
Author's Note
Thanks to all the readers so far. This is a longer chapter and I hope to continue with chapters of this length, hopefully posting every two weeks or so. Always open to suggestions and ideas, so feel free to drop a DM or review. Cheers!