I own nothing except for my imagination.

The first time that she saw him was when she had been heading home from work. The breeze had been bitter, holding promises of an icy winter, and the sun had set long ago. Stars had littered the inky sky and Hermione remembered staring up at it in appreciation.

Clear nights were so rare.

It had been the stare that had attracted her gaze to him. She had felt it pierce her clothes and bore into her skin and Hermione had turned, painstakingly slowly, to face whatever it was that had the audacity to do so. A mere second later, she wished that she hadn't.

He had been standing only meters behind her, bright, cold eyes glaring at her from underneath the brim of his scruffy cap, oily hair hanging in limp, split strands around his face. His jeans were old, worn and ripped and the t-shirt that he was wearing was threadbare. The jacket wasn't much better. But it was the eyes that really caught her off guard. They were so full of pain and wretchedness and longing. It was a look, Hermione had recognised dimly, that she too had once worn many years ago. It was a look that she had never wanted to see again.

Hermione had felt her heart beat a little bit faster and she had abruptly turned back around, stalking rapidly away from him. Her wand had been heavy in her pocket, almost as though it could feel the tension around itself build, as the clicking of Hermione's heels against the pavement cut through the haunted silence. If it came to a confrontation, she remembered deciding, slipping her hand into her pocket and gripping the handle of her wand tightly, she would at least be prepared. It wouldn't be the first time that she had dealt with stragglers on this street and it wouldn't be the last either.

She had almost expected the man to follow her, to yell at her, to slur drunkenly at her, to attempt to talk to her, but almost surprisingly, he hadn't. Hermione had berated herself for stereotyping him. She didn't know his situation, she didn't know him, so how could she be one to judge? Besides, it wasn't though he had done anything. Nonetheless, Hermione had felt his disconcerting stare all the way until she turned the corner that led into her street. She had breathed a sigh of relief as she finally left his line of sight and spent a small minute collecting herself before walking onwards.

She didn't think that she'd see him again.

After all, she had no reason to think that she ever would.

The concrete path was disgustingly familiar as Hermione walked down the same street from her apparition point and she found herself glaring at the ugly, derelict buildings in scorn. Why had she chosen such an ugly place to live? She could have chosen any place in all of England, yet here she was in a sleepy, old town where the general idea of excitement was one neighbour not speaking to another. The only upside, she decided in irritation as she glared at one of nosy neighbours who was peaking rather conspicuously out of their window, was that it was cheap. And at least her place was cosy, in its own special way. An amused smile twisted its way onto her lips as she remembered the reactions of Harry and Ron when they had first entered her humble little dwelling. They had been – there was no better word to describe it – horrified and Hermione would have been offended had it not been so utterly amusing.

"What the hell is this?" Ron had exclaimed loudly, who had just bought himself a nice large house.

"Are you sure that this is what you want?" Harry had added carefully, who had just moved back into the Potter Mansion.

Hermione had simply nodded and beamed at them, grinning stupidly at the sofas with the ancient print and the old cupboards that spoke of hidden stories, rattling off information about the town that she had selected as her new home. The church, she had told them, had been standing for many years and the stone library was still, despite many restorations, intact.

Over time, she had learnt the various ins and outs of the town and had welcomed them, eventually finding humour even in the annoying pettiness of the families that lived around her. There was a beautiful kind of normalcy in a Muggle town that a Wizarding estate would never have been able to provide her with and every day, Hermione grew more and more relieved that she had chosen the place that she had. It was quiet, secluded, and gave her the privacy and the separation that she needed. Even Harry and Ron had ultimately accepted her decision and left her in peace about her living choices, but she still saw them shoot each other sidelong glances whenever they came over for dinner when they thought that she wasn't looking.

She supposed that she could understand their earlier concern, as she huddled further into the warm fabric of her scarf, a cold gust of wind shivering its way through her body, but it had been years since she had moved here. In other words, plenty of time had passed for them to get over their little protective streak. Surely they could cut her-

She stopped in her tracks, a gust of wind buffeting her and ignored the obnoxious hairs that flapped in her face, too concentrated to notice. There was that feeling again, the feeling that she had had for the last three days.

Someone was watching her.

Swallowing hard, Hermione whipped around on her heel and glared determinedly behind her, her eyes passing over each careful detail. The black road was silent in the cold moonlight, a breeze blowing the last of the autumn leaves across the tarmac. Rubbish bins had been placed one the curbs, ready for pick up the following morning. Trees stood proudly in the gardens of the homes around her, standing firm against the oncoming storm as their leaves manipulated the entwining shadows, playing havoc on Hermione's senses. Childish laughter and squealing echoed from the Robbins' house, an occurrence that Hermione would have normally welcomed. A bird sang its haunting song in the distance, its sound almost lost in the roar of the wind. Her hair stood on end, her breath now visible in the air, and her heart was beginning to pump blood faster around her body. Despite the threatening weather, everything was quiet, too quiet, and Hermione felt her eyes narrow in trepidation.

But there was nothing there, bar for a few scraps of dilapidated paper and the occasional beetle that scurried across the pavement in a wasted effort to get somewhere warm. It didn't make sense, Hermione thought to herself as she slowly started walking again, her senses hyper alert in the darkness. She flicked a nervous glance around herself, the shadows flickering in the unreliable moonlight, still unconvinced.

There was someone watching her, she was sure of it. A whole year, although it may have been more than eight years ago, of walking around in the middle of nowhere with no one but two friends had given her pretty good instincts for this kind of thing.

The wind buffeted her again and Hermione stumbled slightly, her rapid gait interrupted. She didn't have far to go now, she told herself as she felt the first few drops of icy rain land on her unprotected face, the drops trickling down her flushed skin. And when she got home, she would strengthen her wards and make herself a nice warm cup of tea. She still had that slice cake to eat as well, the red velvet one that had been given to her in celebration of Miranda's birthday and she smiled to herself. A piece of cake always made everything better and it was very well known that Miranda was one of the best cook's on the floor for the Department of Mysteries. She found herself walking even faster, the thought of the home now egging her on and enticing her as the rain began to fall quicker and quicker, large drops splattering against the concrete.

But the sound of a pebble clattering against the pavement made her stop her furious pace once again and her feeling of foreboding reached new heights. A horribly unfamiliar sound clicked in her ear, yet Hermione somehow knew what it was.

She had seen enough movies with her parents in the summers long past to know exactly what that sound was.

Adrenaline flooded her veins and she spun around on her heel, one of her hands clenched into fists as she swung at the man who was standing behind her, but his words made her freeze midway.

"I wouldn't," was all he said, the barrel of the gun placed threateningly near her head.

It was the man from the other week, Hermione recognised haphazardly, her breath catching in her chest. It was the man with the worn clothes and the icy blue eyes that spoke of confused terror and grim determination, eyes that revealed so much yet so little.

"What do you want?" Hermione said, her voice flat in the now thunderous rain. She could feel the water slip down the collar of her coat and run tantalisingly down the bare skin of her back and she fought back a shiver as she slowly lowered her clenched hand. The stare of the man followed it right down to her hip before glaring at her once again. He had, Hermione noted with some relief, completely disregarded the fact that she could be armed. That she could possibly an even greater threat than he currently believed he was. "Do you want money? Because I don't have any."

"I don't want your money."

Interesting. He was American. What was an American doing in a frumpy little town like this? Hermione wasn't sure if she wanted to know and she found her hand inching closer and closer to her jacket pocket, praying, hoping that he wouldn't notice her minute movements. "Then what do you want?" she challenged. "I can't give you anything. I don't have anything."

"You can give me whatever's in your pocket," he snarled, his face twisting into a vicious grimace. "Or you'll regret it."

"I don't have anything in there," Hermione lied lightly, her eyes trained on him. "Just a packet of tissues. My nose is running something awful because of this rain."

But he held his left hand out expectantly, his expression unyielding and Hermione knew that he hadn't bought her otherwise flimsy lie. "Give it to me."

The next few seconds went very quickly. There was a leap, a flash of silver, the sound of the gun going off – its explosion muffled in the thundering storm – and a scuffle that ended in a shout and a burst of red light. Hermione couldn't remember the exact details, her heart thumping too loudly and her breaths coming too quickly for her to recall exactly how she had ended up with an unconscious man laying on the ground in front of her feet. But all that really mattered, she thought grimly, as rain freely permeated her now completely sodden clothes, was that he was no longer a threat.

But he could be a threat to others and Hermione refused to have him wandering any more around the town that he had obviously been stalking for at least the last week. What if it had been old Mr Dirrows he targeted next or even worst, little Emily Geril and her twin brother, Jeremy? She set her lips in a firm scowl, glancing cautiously around herself before levitating him off of the ground and disillusioning him just to make sure.

She would call the Muggle authorities in the morning and by this time tomorrow evening, she wouldn't have to worry about him any more.

He would only be a memory.

Welcome to my new story! I'm excited to write this one and see what happens to it! And yes, it will be tying into Civil War, but seeing as I'll be updating this after my exams have ended, you guys have nothing to worry about in terms of spoilers.

Also, this also has no connection to my other story, Gelassenheit, whatsoever.

For my writing timetable, please see my profile. But if you don't want to do that, then please take note that I normally update on a weekly basis. However, because my exams begin on the 2nd of May, I will not be updating this again until the 21st of May at the very earliest. But when I do, then it shall be weekly!

Anyway, I hope that you enjoyed this and if you spotted any mistakes or anything like that, then please don't hesitate to message me.

I hope that you all have a great few weeks and if you have exams, then I feel your pain and I wish you all the best!

HauntedCinders