Chapter 1
Hermione truly never thought she’d find dressmaking of all apprentice opportunities worth her while. As a younger girl, she had originally applied to the doctor, then the apothecary, then the printer, then the architect, but all had turned her down, one after another, on account that she was a woman. She could hardly find work at all, with factories being too far away in the city and farm work being too far into the country. Only Madam Malkin, of Madam Malkin’s Dresses for All Occasions, had accepted her. Madam Malkin herself was one of the only female business owners outside of the larger sections of the city, and appreciated the work Hermione was willing to put in to actually find a career, and not just sit around waiting to get married. (Not that there was anything wrong with that of course, Hermione just never had men on the brain.)
Hermione, unbeknownst to Madam Malkin, actually had ulterior motives for needing the money she earned making dresses. She used them to pay for classes of all kinds, through a teacher who accepted all students shunned by other teaching institutions. The fact she was good at dressmaking just made it easier to earn a wage, and she quickly grew to like the math and design and problem solving involved in the making of the dresses.
The sunlight warmed her back and lit up her project as Hermione sat diligently at her workbench. She hummed slightly as she sewed the finishing ribbon onto the hem of the green dress she had been tasked with. Satin and lace and ruffles all perfected to her standards. She finally cut the thread and placed it over a prepared mannequin, nodding in self-appreciation as she admired her work. Hearing footsteps behind her, Hermione stepped away from the finished dress and began to clean her workstation.
The squat figure of Madam Malkin swept into the room, eyes widening at the dress on the mannequin. She rushed forwards, squealing in admiration, “Oh! My dear! I can’t believe you finished this on such short notice! And look at your stitching! This is your best yet!”
Hermione felt her face glow with pride as she gave her employer a grateful thank you. “Well, the dress was supposed to be finished two days from now but I kept finding reasons to come back to it, nothing to worry about…”
Madam Malkin rested her hand on her pupil’s shoulder. Tenderly, she glowed with pride. “My dear, it’s amazing. You’ve done wonderful, as always.” With a flourish, she procured an envelope from within her own dress. “And this is proof of that fact! Lady Potter seemed thrilled with that dress we worked on for her a few weeks ago, and sent along kind words with her payment! Imagine our dress dancing around a grand ballroom, catching the eye of everyone there! Why, in my youth I…”
She deposited some banknotes into Hermione’s waiting hands as she began raving about the kindness of Lady Potter and the excitement of her parties. Hermione discreetly counted them out and placed them into one of the inner pockets of her dress, already planning her route for her lunch break. Some of Lady Potter’s praises filtered through her planning, and she got distracted by thinking about what event the dress could have been worn to.
Hermione had never really let herself dwell too deeply on the events and social gatherings of the upper class and nobility, and had learned, through this job especially, how deeply the divide of class separation truly was. She only ever saw the tip of the iceberg as noble ladies came in for fittings or to pick up their dresses, discussing with their friends or Madam Malkin the latest high society gossip. Hermione could never participate, and though she recognized names she couldn’t even fathom the world they belonged to. All she could catch from their talk was fashionable feasts, or the latest manor renovation, or who was caught in the coat closet with who.
She was shaken from her daze as Madam Malkin touched her lightly on the shoulder again. “My dear I believe you’ve earned lunch. Go ahead, but be back in a half hour! I need your assistance trying on a new corset style, my old frame would probably break the darn thing!”
Hermione inwardly groaned at the future pain her organs would be subject to, and grabbed her bag as she headed out the door. The day was bright and sunny, one of the finest of the year. Slowly a smile crept onto her face as she basked in the sunlight, walking through towards the outdoor market a few streets away. Her stomach growling, she searched over the sea of people for the recognizable traits of her favorite food stand.
A mop of bright red hair fell into step beside her, linking arms and giggling.
“Ginny!” Hermione scolded, jumping slightly at the appearance of the other girl, “You scared me, I thought some stranger was about to haul me off!”
Ginny grinned, guiding Hermione down the lane towards the other redheads crowded near a booth close by. “Don’t worry, it’s just me. I’m no danger, promise!” She then stood ramrod straight and made a snotty looking face before saying in the poshest voice she could muster, “I apologize, m’lady, I should have taken into account your delicate disposition.”
Hermione stifled a laugh as they came upon the Weasley’s vegetable stand. Each morning, at least half the family came into the city to sell goods while the other half stayed out in the country, working on the farm. Ginny usually came to town, and she and Hermione had made fast friends during Hermione’s lunchtime walks. Hermione had even offered to practice new techniques on some of Ginny’s more worn dresses, so not only did Hermione have a willing, living mannequin, but Ginny’s beaten up clothes got some opportunities to be repaired by someone other than her already overworked mother.
Mrs. Weasley herself bustled behind the crates of produce, bargaining with customers and running what was essentially a one-woman show. Her son Ron stood behind her, organizing crates and endlessly loading and unloading the wagon driven by their nearly dead donkey, Errol.
“Hermione!” She exclaimed, and behind her Ron stood so suddenly he dropped a crate of potatoes on his foot. “So lovely to see you! You look thin, have some cherries! My tree just started blooming again, and you can have the first taste!”
Hermione was suddenly handed a handkerchief full of cherries, and when she pulled out her bank notes, Mrs. Weasley waved her away. “No, no my dear. You don’t pay here. Just one day promise to use your fantastic skills to make Ginny a dress as fine as the rest for when she gets married!”
Ginny’s face turned as red as her hair as she cowered under her mother’s suggestion, muttering something about rather being caught dead in a wedding dress. Hermione laughed politely and placed the handkerchief of cherries gently in her pocket. She made her excuses and waved goodbye as she continued down the street, leaving the family quarreling amongst themselves. Ginny seemed to be holding her own on the fact that she doubted she could find a man who could outwit her into marrying, while her mother answered back that it would be good for the family.
Hermione caught a final glimpse of Ron, who was still hiding in the back of the tent. She kept walking until the road turned a little rougher, and, ducking and weaving in and out of alleyways, she found herself on the steps of the Hog’s Head Tavern. She made her way inside, walked all the way to the back of the room, and sat down at the table closest to the kitchen door. The booth, however, was already occupied.
“Good morning, Professor Lupin,” Hermione greeted, withdrawing a few bills she had sectioned off earlier from her total pay as well as the little pocket of cherries, “I hope you’ve been well.”
She extended a handful of the cherries towards him. The scruffy looking man smiled back, eyes twinkling and scars crackling at his student as he reached for a couple. “Good morning to you, Hermione. I’ve been alright. I hope you can make it this time, tonight is going to be a good one. I put together a lesson on astronomy, and found a few old star charts we can take a look at.”
Hermione’s smile widened as she handed a few bills over, watching as her teacher put them safely in one pocket of his jacket and pulled a notebook from another. “Pretty full class tonight, I’d be early if I were you.”
“I’ll see you right on the dot, you know I’m never late,” Hermione replied.
“I know,” replied Lupin, and smiled again as she rose from her seat, tucking the cherries back in her pocket. Suddenly, his smile fell, his face taking on a more concerned look. “Listen, be careful, Hermione. There have been some… concerning rumors as of late, regarding things that have been happening to young women who roam at night. You’re my brightest pupil, and I don’t want you sacrificing your safety just for these classes.”
Hermione signed and nodded, giving her teacher a goodbye smile that came out as more of a grimace. She slid out of the booth and removed herself from the dim room. Without a second glance back inside the tavern, she set back off the way she came.