Hermione frowned.
scrunched
up
her
face,
and
Harry continued. "So… we have a bird that is almost impossible to catch, because it can teleport past any wards known to wizard kind, almost impossible to domesticate, with only two currently known cases, almost impossible to hunt as killing one will result in a ball of flame, a pile of ashes, and no feathers, with a lifespan measured in hundreds if not thousands of years, and yet rare enough in numbers that the muggles can't confirm their existence." Harry brought his hands together in front of him and steepled his fingers. His eyes gleamed. "So the question is this. Where the fuck does Ollivander get his phoenix feathers?"
The dust of the shop tickled Hermione's nose and jolted her from her musings.
"Good morning," said a soft voice from right beside her ear.
She jumped, but quickly rallied.
"Good morning. Are you Mister Ollivander?" She didn't curtsey, or handshake, or bow, or introduce herself by title, or anything. Not here. Mister Ollivander might be a senior member of the oldest most ancient British house still alive, but in this context, he was a trader, and there were few formalities with traders. Besides, it would throw off her spiel.
"Yes. And you are here to buy a wand, of course."
"Of course. I'm Hermione Granger, Sir. This is all terribly exciting. Isn't it? I mean, a wand, and magic. How do I decide what wand I'm going to get?"
The man in front of her chuckled while a number of tape measures started wrapping themselves around her. She idly wondered if wand compatibility changed as a wizard grew.
"The wand chooses the wizard, my dear, or witch in your case. I don't recognise the name Granger. I assume your parents are non-magical?" "Yes, Sir." Her tone conveyed her eagerness to own the ultimate symbol of magic.
"Mmm… I suggest we start you here then." He withdrew a box from the nearest shelf, and handed her a plain looking wand."
She shook it, but nothing happened.
"Ah, guess not. How about this one?"
The wand choosing went on for ages. After an hour, there were open boxes festooning the entire shop, and Mister Ollivander was getting more and more excited.
"Another tricky customer," he muttered under his breath, "This year's batch have been really quite interesting… Mmmm… maybe I was wrong about you… maybe you need a little more… yes, let's try this one, cherry and dragon heartstring, ten inches." The wand maker handed her the wand and a few pure white sparks came out the end. Mister Ollivander's eyes lit up a split second before he snatched it back. "I knew I was getting close. Okay, then…"
And so it went. After another half-hour she started to worry about her parents.
"Annn…" Mister Ollivander seemed uncertain, but eventually opened an ornate and dusty box, within which was a much longer wand. "Here, try this one. Ash and dragon heartstring, fifteen inches."
Hermione reached for the wand and felt the warmth before she'd even touched it. She grinned, and gripped it. A fountain of pure white sparks shot from the end and landed all around her. Mister Ollivander clapped. "Well done, Miss Granger. Very well done. And such an unusual combination."
"Really?" Despite the long time in the shop she'd managed to maintain her enthusiasm the whole time.
"Oh, yes. Very unusual. Ash, and dragon heartstring. Why I don't think I've ever seen that combination sold before. I made this wand nearly sixty years ago, and didn't think I'd sell it in my lifetime. Complete opposites. Diametrically opposed. A healer's wand, Miss Granger, but a healer's wand with bite, so to speak."
Her eyes widened a tad.
"Really, Sir? I would have thought phoenix feather for a healer's wand." Mister Ollivander chuckled. "Oh, you'd think so wouldn't you? What with phoenix tears and all. You are a scholar, Miss Granger. But no. The normal core for a healer's wand is unicorn hair. To have dragon heartstring is most unusual. It is the ash that gives it the healing qualities. Diametric opposites, as I said."
"Does this mean I don't have an affinity for phoenixes or unicorns then?"
Mister eyebrow
Ollivander
raised
a
questioning
"I mean, to be a healer, having access to phoenix tears or freely given unicorn blood would be helpful wouldn't it?"
"Helpful?" The old man looked thoughtful. "Yes. It would be. Very rare though." "Sir?" She bounced on her feet and looked around. "It can't be that rare, Sir. I mean, how many phoenix feathers are in this room?"
The old man stilled, and allowed the sounds of the street outside to filter into the silence of the dusty shop. "Sometimes, Miss Granger," he started, the words careful and measured. "Rarity depends on where one stands."
"I don't understand."
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Miss Granger, every single one. I also know the styles of every other wand maker out there. Anyone who is anyone worth knowing."
She tilted her head.
"A dozen moons ago, I was approached with a memory, the memory of a wand, which someone sought to identify. It was a very fine wand — long, yew, ostentatious, but done to a quality and accuracy that I've never seen before. It was certainly not any wand maker that I know. Nor was it a legacy wand — old wands leave traces that are identifiable to the trained eye."
Her mind whirled. He wasn't talking about Harry's wand was he?
"That wand was a very rare wand. Unique, I would say. And I find myself wondering where the young man that wielded that wand got it from."
She stared blankly at him.
"Something of a mystery that is," he tried.
She shifted to a look of innocent puzzlement. "Well, in any case. You have yourself a very special wand there, Miss Granger. Healing and combat in one very powerful package. I expect to see great things from you."
"Thank you, Sir." She turned to leave, deciding to get out now before she gave something away.
"Oh, and Miss Granger?"
She stilled at the door
"The next time you go for the innocent, wide-eyed muggleborn routine, I suggest you do so without your Slytherin vassalage crest on your robes."
Hermione felt herself go red, and bolted from the shop. An hour later, and a considerable number of galleons lighter, Hermione, Dan, and Emma emerged from Flourish and Blotts. Hermione was still cringing from the wand shop, and had decided to alleviate her embarrassment by drowning herself in books. She'd taken her newfound wand speciality to heart, and bought most of the shop's available books on healing.
Her dad had gone ahead and grabbed every available book on runes, and her mum had done the same for arithmancy. All in all, it was a very productive day for the newly minted Granger Library, and a visit to the trunk shop yielded a brand new library for most of her parent's books to go in.
There was just one more item on Harry's mission list, and she was going to make damn sure she got this one right. She marched into Eeylops Owl Emporium, and immediately spotted, and then sidled up to, her quarry. The snowy owl eyed her owlishly.
"Hello, girl," she whispered.
"Hoot."
"My lord says I am in need of the most beautiful and cleverest owl I can find — an owl who can find anyone, anywhere, and who is willing to be paid in mountain high stacks of bacon."
"Hoooot!"
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.
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