Chapter 1

"Closer" by Lemaitre

The summer was fast approaching with warm winds tinted with salt and rain that blew through the lazy streets of London where people went about their lives in splendid ignorance. Hermione Granger was not one of these blind folk enjoying the lovely May afternoon.

Wild hazelnut curls were pulled back into a severe bun atop a bent head. Her pace was brisk, heels snapping against the stone in sharp clicks, bringing her closer to her destination.

Work.

Merlin's beard, it was always work. A never ending stream of sick patients, wizards and witches whose maladies were harder to discern and harder still to cure. Not that she had minded at first.

As she had always had a good head for potions, Hermione had thought this was a prime career, both to keep her busy and distracted, as well as helping people in a way few could.

But ten long years had passed since the battle of Hogwarts, nearly to the day, and the brightest witch of her age was struggling to find purpose in her otherwise drab life. Several young apprentices kept up with the patients now, having learned from her all she could teach, leaving Hermione to oversee and fill ceaseless amounts of paper work. The wonderful job had lost its challenge.

It had, too, lost its purpose of keeping her distracted from the nightmare and memories. Three times this month a witch or wizard had come into her special ward with a self-inflicted curse. Each one had done this to get to her; to meet one of the golden trio.

Three people had nearly ended their lives, just to be cured by her.

It made her sick. Worse was she knew it would happen again…

The only one of the original Golden trio to become reclusive, Hermione stayed out of the limelight and public eye for nearly a decade. The last time she had been in the news, some eight years ago, was on a scandal rag. The 'big break up', they called it. She and Ron thought of it as a relief after the drawn out relationship with no future had ended.

It simply wasn't meant to be.

And since then, she had done her best to stay far from the fame and glory that came with her part in the defeat of Voldemort. But the people of the wizarding world liked to celebrate and with the ten year anniversary not a week away, Hermione knew her simple and private life was to be disrupted by a past she didn't like to dwell on. The war was won, but she could never forget the pain of loss that came with victory.

Quietly and without pause, she shuffled past a gathering of wizards who were on the lookout for Harry, Ron, or perhaps even her. Hermione hummed softly in annoyance, though confident in her disguise; a simple charm to subtly change her appearance allowing her to walk freely on the streets without hassle. Still the crowd made her skin itch, even as she entered the solitary box at the end of the lane.

The phone booth was like most other entrances to the Wizarding world; unassuming and ignorable by design. Most wizarding folk knew where to look, or had charms that could show them to an entrance. This booth was the 'public' entrance to the Ministry and affiliated outposts. The numbers she dialed, however, were known only to her, a select few friends, and her apprentices.

The warm air vanished with her disguise charm in a whoosh as her body dropped through the floor. No matter how many times, nearly every day for ten years, she could not stop the panic that ate its way up her throat as the feeling of weightlessness overcame her.

Three seconds.

It was over quickly, and as usual her heart thundered wildly for many minutes after.

The walk through narrow halls, quiet and eerie in its calm, helped ease the panic some. Hermione chided herself, but knowing that when she took the shoot tomorrow, her anxiety will replay. As it will every time the floor opened.

The entrance to her rooms were in view, six patient doors across from her large potions lab. The grey stone was not marbled, but clean and crisp regardless. A simple wooden plaque, inlaid with silver by her door read,

Dr. H. J. Granger – Medical Potions tech and UHP (unidentified hazardous potion) specialist.

There used to be pride in seeing it. Now it caused her stomach to pinch.

Hermione had a single moment to compose her thoughts before the crash sounded from inside the lab.

Wand raised, she flung the door open, prepared to face the unknown threat. Papers were flittering to the floor as the familiar scent of sulfur burned her nose. The only floo entrance was connected straight from St. Mungos, which made her pause her attack.

Joaquin and Lucas, her two male apprentices were frozen in shock, eyeing her, then the intruder, then back to her.

The man who stumbled from the fireplace had wild eyes and wiry brown hair caked with a thick tar-like substance. The black goo dripped down his body like lava running in toxic rivulets; its contrast to the white hospital gown unnerving. Red rimmed eyes met hers and she saw there the very thing that she loathed.

Awe.

He looked at her as if she were an angel come to earth and the pinch in her stomach wrenched into a painful knot.

"Hermione Granger!" The wild man sighed, a tar filled grin split his face. "I knew you were the physician! They said you weren't but I figured it out!"

Hermione ignored his words as the panic and anger rose like bile up her throat.

"Sir, I believe you came from St. Mungo's?" She asked calmly, her mind already trying to figure out the source of the sludge. "What were you being seen for?"

"I used my grandfather's old potions book! Couldn't read it so well, not in old Gaelic but that's how I was able to see you! The nurses at Mungo's couldn't figure out how to get this stuff off. So you will!" The fever in his voice unnerved her, as well as the way the tar-like goo seemed only to bubble and expand ever so slightly. The smell of burnt hair made her eyes water.

Still, the awe remained bright in his eyes, hopeful and ignorant.

It's that look, mirrored by the horror and agony on his face as she failed to cure him, as the black tar enveloped his entire body, slowly suffocating him, that cast Hermione into her own hell.

The apprentices tried desperately to keep the sludge away from his face as Hermione searched all of her tomes for a cure. The man's happy elations of having met one of the Golden Trio turned to wails of pain and vile words, as the bubbling tar grew.

Tears and sweat mixed as Hermione threw together several potions, all having a base in a dissolvent. She hoped it would decompress the mass, at least giving them more time. She just needed more time…

But it hadn't worked. Four hours after the man had shown up in a flurry of green dust and strewn papers, he died. Having sent the apprentices away after the last failed concoction, his last breath was seen only by her.

The once neat and organized lab lay in ruins; bottles and vials sat haphazardly. The chests of herbs, shelves and shelves of dried plant life, were open and scattered, looking all too much alike the state of Snape's lab after the final battle.

When Harry and Ron finally arrived, only a few minutes after the patients last breath of life, they found her sitting next to the black mass of sludge, her skin pale and wet.

She didn't speak to them. Didn't need to because they knew her better than she knew herself.

Hermione couldn't save the man. The wild eyed wizard had created the liquid spell, successfully engulfing himself in its unknown dangers, just to be cured by Hermione Granger. Brightest Witch of her Age.

But she didn't save him. She couldn't.

She failed.

The boys took her back to her flat, arm in arm, and through the numbness she was reminded of their youth. Their adventures and life changing triumphs. Of their magical time spent at Hogwarts all those years ago.

But Harry had Ginny and the kids, and Ron was an assistant coach to Chudley Cannons. The boys she loved like brothers, hugged her, and told her it wasn't her fault, even made her dinner.

Then they went home to their lives.

While she sat, feeling the walls close in.

The next morning came like it did every day, with grey clouds and heavy fog.

Owls swarmed her windows, carrying letters of disbelief and horror. She could already see the crowd of reporters in front of her flat. Hear them yelling out questions. Accusations.

"Miss Granger, tell us what happened!"

"Hermione, why didn't you save him?"

"What could you have done differently?"

"What will this do to your career?"

"Have you encouraged patients to hurt themselves to retain the glory of your youth?"

Hearing these horrible words shouted just outside her home made her frantic. Worse still was that these were the very same questions she was asking herself. What could she have done to save him? Had she unknowingly encouraged his actions by being so reclusive? Maybe if she hadn't been so afraid of the public eye, people wouldn't have taken such drastic measures to see her.

Anxiety clawed its way into her heart, a panic that tasted like acid. Her heart pounded inside her chest, desperately trying to break out. Sweat made her palms slick, and her eyes filled with hot tears. Taking shallow heaving breaths, she kept envisioning the man she had failed.

How the admiration left his eyes only to be replaced by fear, blame, and resignation as the tar coated his body. She could hear his cries of pain, and gasping breaths as he slowly suffocated.

Sliding to the floor, Hermione closed her eyes and covered her ears, trying to shut everything out, but couldn't rid herself of the memories. As the panic ate away at her soul, memories of the Battle of Hogwarts came unbidden, consuming her with grief and regret.

Her choking sobs did not cease for some time, but when they did she couldn't move, numb from everything. Dust motes drifted lazily in the slice of sunlight that peaked through the window. Hermione watched as the sliver of day moved across the floor until finally disappearing into the night. The ringing in her ears wasn't enough to keep her form drifting into a dreamless sleep.

Nothing much changed when she awoke, body curled into itself on the drafty wooden floor.

The only difference, however, was a letter that had been slid under her door, laying a mere foot from her prone form.

The muscles screamed in pain as she stretched out. Hair was stuck to her face, plastered by dried tears, and Hermione was sure that her hip and shoulder would be bruised for some time. After a moment of groaning, she managed a sitting position, leaning back against the floral print wall with the piece of mail at her feet.

The writer was unmistakable, using a soft pink paper and an enchanted violet ink that swirled and danced in beautiful designs.

Hermione almost ignored the cheery piece of mail, wishing that the world would just forget about her. But Luna was more than just a dear old friend.

Luna somehow managed to know exactly what Hermione needed to hear, whether she wanted to hear it or not. Her friend had that way, of being simple and honest but never brutal.

Hermione, with her heart in shambles and her mind numb, opened the letter with slight reluctance.

It wasn't one of Luna's usual long letters, written in several pens over the course of a month, tangents and topics switching easily and with whimsy. This letter from Luna was different.

Inside the cheery envelope was an application for a teaching position. Miles and miles away from any wizard she knew, so far away that some might not even know her name. No other explanation or words of empathy. Luna sent her something much more important.

It was straight to the point; exactly what Hermione needed.

It was her escape.

Hermione silently thanked her dear silly friend, and made the decision in a heartbeat. She immediately got to work doing what she did best; planning.

For she was off to America.