Blazing Sands

Blazing Sands

~Should I close my eyes, wait for you to appear,

Should I open them to see your face,

Nay, heart of mine, our pasts and are futures are near~

Part III:

She had to be insane to do this.

Knockturn Alley didn't have the best of reputations. Granted that with Voldemort's death the threat may have been less but it took time for fear to ride out of people's hearts. Until it did, there would always be evil in Knockturn Alley. She pulled the hood of her cloak closer over her face to avoid being seen and hurriedly made through the turn led to the Leaky Cauldron; she hoped no one would bump into her, and cause her to loosen her hold on the cloak. She was already jittery as it was, any unexpected surprises would cause her to lose all of her nerve.

Looking at the man who claimed to be Ron, much less having to call him by Ron's name was painful as it is. To have to look into those blue eyes every time he went into a crisis was far more exhausting than trying to bring him back to normal. She fought the urge to run to Harry and tell him everything as soon as she left the house. The man constantly wanted to leave, which Hermione would have thought a wonderful idea had he not been wounded so badly. Even in his suffering he could find the nerve to irk her. That was something she only attributed to Ron.

Which was why he was so unnerving. The way he called her name, the way he cursed and stubbornly argued with her, despite the constant pain, his adamant desire and attempt to leave, it was all too familiar. All too Ron. She knew for a fact that it could be some dark trick. It wasn't unheard of. She herself had come across such characters who, all for the love of a power-crazy sick, dark Lord, would subject themselves to pain and torture to fool the most experienced of wizards, and trap them. Yet the kind of curse that this man had suffered was not survivable. It would be too great a risk to try such a curse. The time for the man to stay alive would be too short. Hermione was convinced on this matter, if not on her gut instinct, that though this man's will to survive had kept him alive when most would have died, the curse was definitely aimed for him and him only. She was sure that if he weren't an assassin or someone belonging to the dark side, he would be a soldier or warrior or someone involved with dangerous work to be subject to such a curse. But Raeties...?

She looked at her watch and walked faster. She silently cursed the Ministry's new policy on Apparating and other methods of communication. She could have been close to her destination in seconds if it hadn't been for the damn policy. Close to save him, faster. Ever since the Great War was over, the new Ministry had put regulations on commuting. By putting tabs on all wands, much to Ollivander's disgust, every Apparation or use of a portkey would be detected to control the rise of the Dark arts again. She could not risk detection, particularly her. Harry and Her had constant watchers at the Ministry and the minute she went into Diagon Alley on a day when she should have been working for any unwarranted reason would alert for a pack of spies into the alley to find out what she was up to.

She clutched the small satchel around her containing specimen vials of Ro-...the man's vomit and his blood which she took immediately after he passed out. It was almost as though, the street where most of her school shopping was passed her, while she stood still and watched all the shops go by. She was tempted to go into Flourish and Blotts and inhale the scent of the books to comfort her, but she walked faster looking for that barricaded turning.

For a minute she considered turning back. Her heart wrenched every time the memory of his convulsions or pain came to mind. He was suffering and she had to help him, every way possible. She was a doctor. A MediWitch She became a doctor so she could save lives and not have to take them as an Auror. So she could see life and not death.

Although the study of medicine did not pose the thrill of solving an Arithmancy problem, she chose it after Ron's death. She had joined Auror training with Harry and Ron, particularly for the challenge that the Arithmancy section promised and was 'almost bloody perfect' as Ron had once put it when they were arguing. She smiled at the memory. She would have made a good Auror, no doubt. Yet the thrill in saving the world was gone when their best friend died.

Apparently died.

Hermione suppressed the nagging voice in her head, begging her to reconsider the fact that Ron was dead. This man could not be Ron. Yes, he looked like Ron and acted like him, but then again like brothers could resemble brothers and friends could resemble friends, trained and talented actors could resemble real people. She knew it would be useless to ask him questions, which only Ron would know. Ron had been trapped for almost a week with Voldemort before he died, anything could have happened. Voldemort was a dark but smart wizard. Though his followers were daft, and used their cunning elsewhere.

The barricade came into view and Hermione stopped before it. She looked to see if anyone were around who would notice. Satisfied that there was no one. She pointed her wand from under her cloak towards it muttered the requisite words. Then she stepped right through the barrier. It was charmed, like the one on platform 9 ¾ except that this one's permeability had to be activated by a verbal charm, for the sake of any wandering child. Of course, not all knew the charm, only the Aurors and Ministry people were aware of it. She had learnt it through Harry when he had gotten hopelessly drunk when he was depressed. Fortunately only she was around as she tried to control her indisposed friend when he was blurting out all the regrets and secrets he had. Hermione ensured after that, that Harry would never have alcohol again.

Knockturn Alley.

It was worse than how they said it was. The minute she entered, the daylight was gone replaced by an eerie darkness that encroached on her sense of peace. She sighed and made through the narrow passage that led to a lane that was parallel to Diagon Alley. The darkness was increased with the shady buildings, which looked infested with all the creepy creatures in the world. There were wasted people who were under the obvious effect of narcotic potions, she avoided colliding with them as they walked randomly and disoriented. She breathed in and suddenly coughed as the smell of rotting flesh invaded her nose. Covering her nose and mouth with her cloak she hurriedly peered at all the buildings and pavements searching for the one she wanted. She moved towards something, which could have been a saloon as it was in one of those Clint Eastwood westerns, she had seen as a child. It was empty and not inviting. Her glance went back towards the buildings she had already passed. She moved backwards, with the intuition that she had missed something.

She stopped at a small shed like building over shadowed by the two buildings so well that one would not see it. She went towards and saw the faded number.

84.

84, Knockturn Alley...Tell the man that I sent you.

She didn't like the sight of the building but gathering all her energy in one breath she knocked on the door.

She waited impatiently and knocked again. There was still no response. She pushed the door and saw it was locked from the inside and knocked louder, and continuously, checking around to see that she hadn't attracted attention.

"Go away. No delight!" A raucous croak, barely audible reached her ears. To the layman what he said didn't make sense, but she knew what he meant. Delight was a particular potion extracted from the Shalimar falcon's blood, which so happened to be an endangered species in the ministry's list of magical creatures. It was a narcotic used by many unfortunate young wizards and witches and Hermione had once come close to taking it, by mistake, had it not been for intervention of Harry.

"I don't want Delight," she responded and knocked more.

"FUCK OFF!" The croak rose to curious frequencies.

Hermione had reached the end of her patience and she took out her wand and said, "Alohomora!"

The door burst open and she went in and almost retreated out with the strong smell that hit her nostrils. Coughing violently she closed the door behind her and squinted in the bleak light. She was behind the counter that was stacked with bottles and crucibles. She looked around her to see shelves full of boxes, vials and urns and flasks. Because of the murky atmosphere she could not make out what was in the containers.

"I told you to get OUT!" The croaking seemed strained and coming from the other side of the counter. She assumed she was in the storage space and hesitantly stepped forward, keeping her wand out.

"You're still in there aren't you?" She heard the drawing of wood on wood, whoever the disembodied voice belonged to had moved his stool or chair or something. She deliberately moved forward and almost spat as a taste entered her mouth. It was indescribably acrid and despicable. As a pungent smell stung her it made her eyes water, she gasped as she looked around. Making her way around the counter, she was greeted with the sight of cauldrons brewing with disgusting liquids. Distillation apparatus' with Merlin-knows-what in them. The shelves covered in dust and cobwebs had books, jars with body parts and odd fluids in them. There was garlic hung about on strings, and some other plants in the pots around her. She suspected she was in an alchemists shop or something similar. Except that she knew all the alchemists around the world. This one was unregistered and illegal.

"How did you get in?" The croak came from her side. She noticed a dark forming limping about behind the shelves. "Damn dopers! How many times do I have to tell you? Nothing here for you, now get out or I will turn you into a ferret!"

Hermione stepped towards the man who hopped around. He made his way towards a cauldron next to her pointing his wand at her. She could not make out his face.

"I don't want the dope," she said.

"Then why are you here? No forget that, get out."

"I..."

"GET OUT!!!" The wand was pointed at her stiffly.

"Put that thing down," she said calmly.

"Out!"

"Look..."

"I don't want to look, get out."

"I need your help."

"You won't get it." The man hopped in a manner she recognized characteristically belonging to one without at least one leg. He moved to cauldron to check it, yelling, "No help. Get out!"

The wand was being waved at her face. Hermione prepared to take it away as she stepped towards him.

"What the FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

Hermione thought by the way the wand was charging, now would be a good time.

"Expelliarmus!" she said and the wand flew from his hand and she caught it.

"GIVE ME MY WAND BACK!"

"Not until you help me...I've come..."

"MY WAND!" The man's hoarse screaming filled the entire room causing all the live bottled creatures to get excited and screech.

He hopped towards her and she saw that he had long grey hair and that it was hiding his bent face. He seemed to fear the light.

"GIVE IT TO ME!"

"LISTEN TO ME." She silenced his croaking. "I...Ron Weasley sent me." Wincing at taking his name.

The man retreated and muttered, "Little fuck isn't dead yet."

Hermione was startled, "You know him?"

"Wish I didn't..." The man hopped towards her. "Stupid bastard always sends women to do his job. At least it is a proper witch this time, not some squib wench. Its no wonder the Weasley's always have more children than they can handle. Can't control their bloody drive to nail every woman that comes in their sight; leave a long line of bastard children! What has he gone and done now?"

Hermione tried to comprehend all that he said and sputtered, "How do you know him?"

"I thought you said he sent you." The grey head moved towards her.

"He did...I mean..."

"You're a spy," he snarled.

The way he snarled suddenly spiked some recognition in her.

"NO!" she stepped forward and said, "Who are you?"

"Who are you?" the man raised his head.

"I...am a friend."

"Bastard got into trouble because of his friends. What does he want now?"

Hermione deliberated what to say.

"Well? Say it quick or give me my wand and be off. I've got things to do."

"Who are you?" she said. "How do you know Ron?"

"None of your fucking business," he snarled back in that manner.

"It is my business," she said. "He's supposed to have died."

"Oh...you're a ministry woman, eh? Child...I assure you no information out of me. Wasting your time, you are."

"No..." She stepped towards him. "I'm not from the ministry. Weasley sent me."

"Did he, now? For what?"

"I...I don't know." She came closer, looking at his wand.

"What do you mean you don't know?" he raised his head to look at her.

As the veil of grey hair parted from his distorted face and she observed in the dim light a chalky white face with a nasty black scar that ran from his right temple to left jaw and clearly blinded him on the right eye as she could make out from the scarred tissue in his right eye socket. She could see the tremors of his head and hands as he moved to point one gangly dirty finger at her, croaking, "What are you on about?"

As recognition struck her, Hermione was sure that she was either dreaming or had gone mad. There was no possibility that two dead people could have met her alive in a span of twenty-four hours. So using the only way she could and trying her best to ignore the chill in her spine as she opened her mouth and gasped, hoping that she wouldn't faint in the process. The face was aged and mutilated but it was undeniably his.

"Professor Snape?"