Flight of the Stars

Chapter Three

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I am not J.K. Rowling. Therefore I do not own Harry Potter.

o-0-o

That afternoon, Hermione once again entered the brick entrance into Diagon Alley, although for a completely different reason. This time, she was not entering as an Auror-in-training, but as a regular student, and she was planning to make the most of it.

She, courtesy of Dumbledore, who found the whole thing rather amusing, was now dressed in waist-high jeans, a soft, snug-fitting sweater, bobby socks, and saddle shoes, with her brown hair loose and held back by a headband. She enjoyed it thoroughly – it felt as if she were playing the part of someone else, rather than Hermione Granger. She also felt incredibly stylish, and that was a change she enjoyed as well, although she hadn't been expecting to.

Upon stepping into the now-lively street, she was surprised to find that there wasn't a large difference in the 1940s Diagon Alley and the Diagon she knew and loved. A few shops were missing, of course, replaced by others that wouldn't make it, but for the most part, they were all there: Gringotts, Ollivander's, Flourish and Blott's...

Diagon was absolutely swarming with magical people, mainly young witches and wizards, excited about returning to Hogwarts or else visiting for the first time. Many were still filled with wide-eyed wonder. It was so, so different from the war that she stood there for a moment, her heart aching as she watched young boys tug their parents' hands excitedly as they looked at the brooms, and children reading off of school supply lists, and playing with their new pets. It was so... so innocent. So joyful, so happy. These children weren't afraid of a Death Eater jumping them from behind a building, weren't on the lookout for flying curses, didn't fear Voldemort. They were happy, and excited, and Hermione listened to their chatter, spellbound, before shaking her head, blinking back moisture that was surely just dust in her eyes, and walked down the crowded narrow cobblestone street with new purpose and a spring in her steps.

She passed right by Ollivander's; she had no need of a wand since she already had her vine one, with a dragon heartstring core. It was extraordinarily lucky that it hadn't snapped when she'd been hit with the Reducite spell. That was one thing she needed to work on, her shields. Especially if she was eventually going to stand against Riddle. Horcruxes or no, he would still be a formidable opponent.

Hermione quickly realized that there was no Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. She walked up and down the street before realizing that robes were usually fitted at Barbara Smith's Wizarding Robes Shoppe. She blinked, shook her head, and walked inside.

The robes had changed very little in fifty years, and so when Barbara Smith welcomed her into the shop and began to measure her, she knew where to hold her arms and where to stand, as though she had done this a hundred times.

"I don't recall seeing you here before, dear," Barbara Smith was saying as she measured her waist.

"Oh, that's because I was homeschooled," Hermione said easily. "I'm coming to Hogwarts to take my N.E.W.T.s."

Lying, although she was ashamed to admit it, was most definitely easier now than it had been while she was at Hogwarts. She supposed it was because she had changed so drastically during the Second Wizarding War, or maybe because lying under Bellatrix Lestrange's infamous Cruciatus Curse had broken through the barrier. Lying was far easier when you had lied under conditions most thought impossible.

That would probably make this year far easier than it would have been otherwise.

There was a sharp intake of breath, and Barbara held up Hermione's forearm to reveal the scar that Bellatrix had so kindly left her.