lost way found

If you\'ve read about them in the books, they\'re not mine. All the new names are, though, as is the plot.
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Diagon Alley in the middle of July was uncomfortably hot, but Harry, Hermione, and Ron seemed impervious to
the oppressive temperature. It was vacation, and for a few blissful months the three friends were free to spend their
time together. After graduating from the Auror Academy, Hermione had accepted the DADA position at Hogwarts,
while Ron had joined Bill abroad working for Gringotts. Harry played Quidditch for the Wasps, a cover for his work as
an Unspeakable, and was an outstanding dueler.
Hermione loved her job, but she was sometimes sorry to be missing out on the action. With Voldemort around,
however, it was important to train young wizards in defense, and Hermione, remembering the DA, had gladly taken the
job. This year had been her first, and she felt it had gone well. She liked her students and was on good terms with her
colleagues (she and Snape had come to an unspoken agreement to ignore each other whenever possible), and was
looking forward to going back. So maybe she did some Auror work on the side, but she was good enough to keep it
quiet, and the less people knew, the better.
As the trio approached Knockturn Alley, Harry remembered something. Digging into his pockets, he produced a
crumpled sheet of paper that looked like a list. “I promised Tonks I’d pick up some things from this apothecary. Better
do that now, before I forget.” He looked around. “I didn’t see a sign for it here though…”
“Dragon’s Teeth?” Asked Ron, peering over his shoulder at the name of the shop. “No wonder you didn’t, mate. It’s
down there,” he said, nodding towards the Knockturn Alley.
“That place is horrid. They probably have more Dark Arts instruments than the Ministry and You-Know-Who combined!
Doesn’t the apothecary on Diagon Alley carry what you need?” Hermione asked, feeling uneasy about the darker street.
Its drabness was in stark contrast with the shining stone around them, and Hermione could see people lurking in the
shadows of the shops. Well, maybe she was a little curious…
“I know they don’t. Most of it’s illegal.” Said Harry.
“Oh, fine. Let’s get it over with.”

Dragon’s Teeth Apothecary and Supplies was a ratty little shop that stank of rotten meat, and it was taking the
man ages to find the first item on Harry’s list. Hermione was sure that at least two thirds of the entire stock was illegal
material, but it was what they’d come there to find, after all. Fascinating as it was, she needed to breathe. Catching
Ron’s eye, they walked out the door. The shop was on a little square together with a dilapidated pub, a bookshop, and
a store that seemed to deal exclusively in human hair.
Ron looked at her and laughed. “Remember the Polyjuice potion?”
“Of course!” Hermione was horrified. “Gods, what if they have samples of our hair for sale?”
Ron turned a little green. “I don’t want to think about it when I’m off duty. Look, I have to get that nasty smell
out of my nose. Want to have a drink?”
“Where, that pub?”
“Oh, c’mon! It’ll be an adventure!”
“Let’s just hope it doesn’t end with a trip to St Mungo’s” muttered Hermione, following him inside.
The pub was the Stone and Toad, as the dirty blackboard behind the counter proclaimed, and it was empty except
for a small boy washing tables. He was dark haired and looked to be around ten, with dusky skin and a snub nose. He
looked up at them with sloe black eyes that struck some chord of familiarity in Hermione, but when she looked again,
the boy was back to work. She and Ron found a table that had already been thoroughly cleaned and sat down, waiting
for someone to show up.
At the appearance of the barkeeper, Hermione went up to order. “One butterbeer and a Firewhiskey, please.”
“’Aven’t got any ‘o that.” He said, turning to pour a shot of amber Firewhiskey into a less than clean glass. “You
sure you don’ wanna try the whiskey? It’s the ‘ouse specialty.” The man leered, showing rotted teeth.
Hermione tried not to wince. “No, thank you. Er… can I just have a glass of water then?”
“If you’re payin’ for it. Boy!” He barked, making her jump. “Get the woman ‘er water!” The boy scuttled into
the recess of the pub, and Hermione brought Ron his Firewhisky while she waited.
He took the drink and sniffed it. “Thanks. Cheers, Professor!”
“Are you a teacher?” asked a quiet voice from behind her. It was the boy, holding a pitcher of water and a glass.
“Thank you. Yes, I teach at Hogwarts. What’s your name?”
“Nick”
“How old are you? Maybe I’ll be seeing you in school in a few years.” Hermione said kindly. He looked very nervous
to be speaking to her.
“I’m eleven, but I won’t be goin’ to no school. Gerrit says they don’ teach nothin’ important, anyhow.” Nick was
gazing at her with those familiar black eyes… where had she seen those eyes before?
“I think you know that’s not true. Have you gotten your letter?” Nick looked at her blankly, but before he could
answer, a shout from the kitchens made him bolt away. Through the door they could hear the barkeeper, probably this
Gerrit, scolding the boy roughly.
“What ‘ave I told you about talkin’ to the customers, you little rat? I oughta beat you for being so bloody ungrateful!
I don’t need no trouble, you unnerstand me?
“I wonder why he hasn’t gotten his letter yet,” Hermione asked quietly.
“Maybe he’s a squib.” Ron had his chair tipped back and was trying to look into the kitchens.
“No he’s not. Honestly! You’re supposed to be an Auror, but you didn’t notice the completely illegal wand in his
pocket?” She looked at him reproachfully. “And he was using magic to clean the tables when we came in.”
Ron didn’t hear the last sentence, because he had leapt out of his chair and was running into the kitchen. Hermione
rushed to follow him.
“Bloody bastard just backhanded the kid!”
In the kitchen, Nick was crouched in a corner with his arms over his head, nose gushing blood. Gerrick was reaching
down to grab him when Ron threw him against the wall. The man made to attack, but froze when Ron raised his
wand. “Tell me he is not your son.” His voice was deceptively calm, but Hermione could see his arm trembling with
rage.
She went over to Nick and tilted his head back, looking at the forming bruise on his face.
“Come on. Let’s get you out of here.” He was struggling not to cry, but got up and followed her to a table.
Hermione handed him a handful of napkins and he held them to his nose, wincing at the contact. Through the door,
they could hear Ron.
“If you ever touch that boy again I will personally break your wand. We’re taking him to a hospital, and I’m
reporting you for child abuse.”
“I’ve got a right to discipline my boy like I please, the whelp! I was right charitable, takin’ ‘im in like I did, providin’
‘im with food and shelter when the likes ‘o you killed ‘is parents!” The barkeeper looked defiant.
“What are you talking about?” snarled Ron.
“\'Ees Deatheater spawn, that one! Found ‘im ten years ago in the rubble of an Auror attack, together with a bloody
mask.” Gerrick smiled. “Still want to take care of the boy now, you nosy sod? Now that you know ‘ees nothin’
but a Deatheater?”
In the dark bar, Nick started to sob in earnest. He was going to get the beating of his life as soon as these people left.
He knew better than to talk to strangers, especially ones that so obviously worked for the Light, like these two. But he
had been so curious about school, this Hogwarts, where he knew the sons of rich men went. Gerrick had told him he
wouldn’t be going when he’d been brave enough to ask, besides, he new all the magic he needed to know. And it was
true, Nick could clean and cook and make sure the doors were locked and customers didn’t try to swindle Gerrick. No
one knew Gerrick himself was a squib, because Nick was there to take care of everything.
The woman looked at him upon hearing Gerrick utter that last sentence, and Nick bowed his head in shame. Those
terrible, accusing, ruinous words boomed in his head- son of a Deatheater, worthless scum, son of a Deatheater, masked
trash, son of a Deatheater. It was over now, the pretty witch would take her arm away from around his shoulders, the
wizard would apologize to Gerrick for interfering, and the two would hastily walk away. Just like those before them. Nick
closed his eyes, but the tears still leaked out.
But instead of pushing him away, the woman squeezed his shoulder gently. Stunned, Nick saw that she was smiling at
him. “Let’s wait outside.”
After a while, Ron stormed out of the pub, face and ears still bright red with anger. “No indenture papers on him or
anything! Apparently the boy survived one of the raids on a Deatheater coven ten years ago. Master Gerrick here was
‘kind’ enough to take him home with him, and he’s been living here working for him since!” Bending down, he took
Nick’s chin in hand and made him meet his eyes. “Did you want to go back? I don’t know if I’ve done the right thing,
taking a stand like that. I was afraid he’d really hurt you, and I just ran in without thinking…” But Nick was shaking his
head violently.
“No! Oh please, no! He’ll beat me for talking to you and making you so mad! Just… can I just wait until he gets
drunk before going back?”
Hermione cleared her throat. “Well, you might not have to go back at all. He really has no legal claim on you if
what he says is true. Oh, and would you care to explain this?” she said, pointing to the wand in his pocket. “Underage
wizard aren’t allowed to do magic, surely you know that.”
“He’s a squib. Has to have me around to do any magic stuff at all.”
“And you’re sure you haven’t gotten a letter from Hogwarts yet?” Nick nodded, making his nose start bleeding
again.
Ron handed him his tattered hanky and smirked “I know you said you didn’t want this to end with a trip to St.Mungo’s,
Hermione, but…”
At that moment, Harry walked out of the Apothecary holding a bulging leather satchel. “Oh good, there you are!
Sorry I took so long, I think the man was being deliberately slow. Who’s this?” he asked, smiling at Nick. His smile
quickly turned to a frown when he saw the blood spattered over the boy’s dirty white t-shirt. “What’s going on? What
happened to him?” Nick started to explain, but Ron interrupted.
“Well tell you on the way to the hospital. Let’s just say our vacation might end a bit early”

A friendly orderly brought Nick to the mediwitch on duty while Hermione, Ron, and Harry waited outside. Half an hour
later, the mediwitch strode into the waiting room.
“Are you the boy’s guardians? There would be some things that need to be explained. If you would follow me,
please.” She led them to a cramped conference room. “Let’s see… Nicholas, unknown last name, unknown date of birth,
age placed at approximately eleven, had several badly healed ribs that were broken more than once, a concussion, scars
and fresh welts on his back and backside, and a broken nose- not to mention a blossoming black eye. He has a pierced
ear, which was infected. This was what he had in as an earring.” She placed a fishhook on the table. “Can you please
tell me how it’s possible to not have any record at all of him? According to the files in this hospital, he seems to have
appeared out of thin air! And… and how did he get that way? Those injuries have been made over a long period of time.
They were all easily healed, of course, but the fact that they were there indicates that he may never have seen a mediwitch.”
“Well,” began Hermione, “We think his parents were D—ow!”
“Oh, sorry Hermione! What she means to say is that his parents are dead,” cut in Ron. “They died in a—a car accident
ten years ago.” He glanced at Harry, who continued smoothly.
“Yeah, we found him in Knockturn Alley, but we don’t know much else about him.”
“Well, I suggest you get him some other clothes. The ones he has on are filthy, especially the shirt. As for where he
can go, we can make him a bed for the night, but after that I can’t promise anything. To be honest, we’re a bit crowded.
Maybe you could take him with you?”

Nick sat on his bed in the sunny ward, pain in his ribs and face gone. He kept touching his ear, rubbing the pierced lobe
nervously. Old Claire had made the hole and given him a silver hoop to wear, a charm against werewolves, she’d said.
Gerrick had seen it and taken it, so Nick had worn a fishhook instead. But he’d kept the memory of the gift, pure and
isolated in his memory, and as bright as the stolen silver.
The man next to him coughed, rolled over, and opened one eye. Catching sight of Nick, both bright blue eyes
snapped open and he sat up.
“Say, you wouldn’t be Nicholas, would you?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve got a letter for you! Man who brought it said you’d be along soon, although this place being what it is, I’m
not sure it’s a good thing! Here it is—congratulations!”
“Er, what?” Nick was handed an envelope made of thick yellow parchment with green writing on it.
“It’s your acceptance letter from Hogwarts! Go on, open it! Why, I remember when I got my letter…” Nick wasn’t
listening. He bent over the envelope, struggling to remember what he’d been taught during old Clair’s reading lessons.
Mr. Nicholas
Back Room Under the Table
Stone and Toad, Black Tree Court
Knockturn Alley, London.
How on earth would they know he slept under a table? Nicholas slowly opened the letter, deciphering it word by word.
When he finished, he read it over again, dark eyes wide and heart in his throat. This was too good to be true. He was
going to Hogwarts! Him, the outcast from Black Tree Court, the penniless orphan… with a sinking feeling, Nick put the
letter down. No, he wasn’t going anywhere. How could he possibly afford all those books and ingredients and uniforms?
Where could he find the money for a cauldron if he couldn’t even buy himself a sandwich? The only thing he had was a
wand, but even that was gone now—Hermione had taken it outside the Stone and Toad.
Hermione, who had hugged him despite Gerrick’s blunt words-
Ron, who had rushed in like an avenger-
Harry Potter, of all people, who had given him a piggyback ride to the hospital, joking about getting blood on his head.
They would probably forget about him now that he wasn’t in any immediate danger, but he was grateful they’d gotten him
this far. As soon as he could, he’d try to get his wand back. Maybe leave the two alley districts for a while… Nick really
had no idea where to go, but he knew back to the Stone and Toad was not an option.
He got up and walked to the door, but before he could check if the hallway was clear it swung open, and he almost
collided with the friendly orderly.
“Come along, laddie! Don’t forget your letter now. Got everything on you? Off you go, then!”
“Wait, wait! You’re kicking me out now? You said I could stay the night!” Maybe if he bashed his head against a wall
they would keep him overnight for insanity. He wasn’t prepared to run away yet! He didn’t even have time to figure
out how to get his wand back! Nick was so panicked he almost didn’t see Harry, Hermione, and Ron in the waiting room.
“Nick, I’d like to ask you something,” Hermione said softly. “Would it be alright for you to come back to Hogwarts with
me until school starts? I see you’ve finally gotten your letter, and at the beginning of September you’ll be sorted into
your house. But ‘till then you could sleep in my spare room. What do you think?”
Nick was so stunned he couldn’t even speak. What was happening? He’d lived most of his life dreading the next beating,
but this was a different kind of fear. What if it wasn’t true? Maybe they were just trying to get him back to Gerrick’s
without a fuss. His eyes narrowed. “Why? You don’t even know me! I—aren’t you afraid I’ll steal from you?”
“Should I be?”
“No! But everyone thinks that!”
“I don’t. And I want to help you because it would be horrible to have you disappear before September first. Such a
waste of talent—I mean, look, you can do plenty of spells already and you haven’t had a single year of school yet!” And
because if I don’t help you, who will? Hermione didn’t say it out loud, the boy had his pride, and it would be better not to
damage it further.
Nick hung his head, black hair flopping into his face. “I’m not smart,” he whispered. “ I can barely read! A-and how
am I going to pay for my books and things? I don’t have any money.”
Hermione smiled, sensing he was about to caving in. “We have more than a month before school starts, so I could
tutor you. As for the supplies and school fees, don’t worry about it. I work there, remember? We’ll figure something out.
So, are you coming?”
“Do you mean it?”
“Of course.”
“Ok, I’ll come with you.”
Ron shook his hand, and Harry, who had been sitting quietly, got up to leave.
“Hey Nick, I could come and teach you how to fly sometime.” Hermione could see a shadow in his eyes, and she
knew he was remembering his own youth with the Dursleys. They were quite similar in a way, one a victim of the Dark,
the other a victim of the Light.
“Wow, yeah! I mean, that would be great! I’ve never flown before! Thanks!” Nick could hear the eagerness in
his voice, but he didn’t care. Flying lessons! Amazing!
Harry grinned at him, turned to hug Hermione, and told them he’d meet them at Hogwarts for dinner.
Spotting his fishhook, Nick slipped it back in his earlobe.
“You really shouldn’t wear that. The mediwitch told us it was giving you an infection. Do you want your ear to
fall off?”
“It’s a charm against werewolves. I can’t take it off!”
“A fishhook is a charm against werewolves?” Sighing, Nick explained about old Claire and the stolen silver hoop.
“So if I get you another silver hoop, will you stop wearing that? Please?” Nick just shrugged.

After saying goodbye to the orderly and the mediwitch, the two walked out into the bright sunshine of Diagon Alley.
“Wait here for a minute. I’ll be right back.” Hermione walked into a small jewelry store called Phoenix Tears. She
found what she was looking for, and quickly paid for it. Nick was standing outside where she’d left him, not having
moved an inch, and looked intensely relieved to see her walk back out. “Did you think I wouldn’t come back? Here,
I got you a real earring.” She handed him a little cloth bag. “Now put it on before your ear rots.”
It was a small silver hoop, just like the one old Claire had given him. Nick pulled off the fishhook and gazed
at it for a minute before hurling it as far away as he could. Time for new memories now, he thought as put on the
second gift of his life.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------- TBC
used a phrase from a Tamora Pierce book, can\'t remember which one, but the phrase is \"Tell me he is not your son\"
man, uploading is a bitch. read and review.