eleventh hour [t. riddle]

prologue

summer 1944

"Thank you so much for meeting with me."

Ismene was not grateful at all. in fact, she was here rather reluctantly.

She took the seat at the table in the back of the filthy tea shoppe across from Professor Octavia Pytovina. The divination professor had agreed to see her, but under the conditions that it be this location specifically. The shoppe was in the farthest back corner of Knockturn Alley, named The Wiccar Basket.

The dark and dreary atmosphere of London, both muggle and magical, was nothing compared to the unsettling darkness in Knockturn Alley. Not only was it devoid of most light, but also carried a sensation of dark magic that suffocated the people who walked through it. It was raining, as it often was in London, so the air was damp and heavy, settling in her lungs as she walked purposefully down the alley. She remembered not to make eye contact with anyone, and to always look like she knew exactly where she was going. the last thing she needed was to be caught up in a duel in the middle of Knockturn Alley; then her mother would never let her out of the house again. Cold puddles of rain splashed with her quick steps, drenching the bottom hem of her cloak and seeping into the soles of her shoes.

The moment Ismene opened the shoppe door, the shopkeeper barked gruffly at her in Russian, making shooing motions toward the door. She looked around frantically for a moment, not knowing what to do nor say, before Professor Pytovina, stood from her table, and yelled back at the shopkeeper. The shopkeeper grunted before returning to the bar, and Professor Pytovina waved Ismene over to the seat. the owner of the store was clearly very pagan, more so than most of the wizarding world. A lot of magical knowledge was drawn from ancient pagan practices (though plenty were also atheist and monotheistic), but it was clear that this teashop had attempted to cover every inch of the store with paraphernalia. There was a large pentacle carved into the wall as well as several protective runes. at least three black cats sat in the tinted windows, looking out into the street. Black candles provided all of the light in the room, which made it only bright enough to see that you wouldn't accidentally bump into a table. There were no male patrons in the store.

When Ismene wrote to the divination professor a week ago, she didn't know why she'd assumed that they'd just meet somewhere in Hogsmeade. That was until she remembered that Professor Pytovina did not live at Hogwarts like the rest of the professors; she lived in Saint Petersburg, Russia. It was obviously a closer trip for the professor to get to London rather than all the way up to Scotland, and likely more convenient than having to portkey to the middle of nowhere. The plausible explanation did not soothe Ismene's irritation, though she was the one asking for the favor.

"Of course, of course." The professor smiled and gestured toward two cups that she had already ordered for the two of them. Dark blue tea leaves sat in the bottom of the porcelain cups. Of course she wants to make me do a tasseography reading. Ismene took the teapot of boiling water and poured it into the two cups until each was half full. Light blue steam rose from the china. "Your trip was safe, I hope?"

"As safe as one can be in Knockturn Alley." Ismene drew her fingers over the star signets that were carved into the wooden table, naming the ones she could recognize. Pleiades, Vega, Aldebaran...

The professor gave a harsh cackle, and the jewels, beads, and crystals that littered her neck, hair, and wrists chimed as they clinked against each other. "I apologize, but locations like this are the only ones where people wouldn't pay much attention to us. now, before we begin talking, let us perform this with no objections, yes?"

Ismene grimaced. "Professor-"

She held up a silencing hand. "You asked for my assistance. We shall do at least this my way."