They left the tea shop once the feeling returned to Hermione's legs and Snape offered her his arm when they reached the sidewalk. As if by way of explanation, he said, "I beg your pardon, Miss Granger, but you look positively white and I have half a mind to call off this endeavor all together lest you lose consciousness before we even get to the wand shop."
Hermione rolled her eyes but took his arm gratefully enough. The street was, blessedly, nearly bare. Hermione couldn't help but notice how bizarrely barren the village felt and surmised it had to do with the war. She realized that, beyond seeing the members of the Order at the castle, this was her first glimpse of what happened to the Wizarding World in the course of the last four years.
Snape seemed to follow her eyes. "It's bleak," he concurred. "It happened gradually, I think, but there were so many Muggleborn roundups that eventually, people stopped venturing outside. It isn't safe."
They quickened their pace without talking about it and Hermione's shoulders felt tense until they rounded the corner and at last found themselves facing Ollivander's shop. Stepping inside felt like stepping directly into a memory and all at once, she was 11 and tugging the hands of her parents who were both dazed and confused and not in the least helpful.
Hermione felt a pang when she thought of her parents, both still wandering around the continent of Australia without a clue they'd ever had a daughter. Without a wand, she'd had no way to restore their memories after she'd Obliviated them at the start of the war.
Shaking off the memories, she straightened her back and squared her shoulders, determined to maneuver the remainder of the day with her dignity intact. She halted momentarily as her eyes adjusted to the dimness in the store but finally, they landed on a whitehaired man, who seemed smaller than she remembered, gazing ponderously at them from behind a haphazard pile of oblong boxes.
"Ah," he breathed at long last as the door shut firmly behind Snape. He slid out from behind the counter, his fingers bridged before his face, and hummed lowly. "I remember you. Vine wood and dragon heart string. Ten inches if I'm…no—ten inches and three quarters?"
Hermione felt her mouth split into a grin despite herself. "I can't say I know it down to the inches," she laughed lightly, "but the rest of it sounds right. It's good to see you, Mr. Ollivander."
Ollivander pulled himself to full height—which, meant he still barely reached her chin—and beamed proudly. "Miss Granger," he murmured. "It's good to have you back."
It struck her just how widespread the news of her "death" appeared to be that even the local wandmaker, who fit nearly every student at Hogwarts when their time came, both knew of it and remembered her. She didn't know what word to assign to the warmth spreading throughout her chest. Fondness, maybe.
He ushered her into the store without another moment to spare and before she knew what was happening, a very long obsidian wand was thrust into the hand that was still firmly at her side. She drew it up, preparing to perform something perfunctory like, "Wingardium Leviosa," but as she raised it, sparks flew from the end and, to her horror, she watched as the stack of books in the corner of the shop erupted into flames. Seeming wholly unperturbed, Ollivander put the flames out with a wave of his hand, simultaneously plucking the wand from her grasp and muttering, "No longer suited for dragon heartstring, then."
He forced several more into her hand with similarly disastrous results before whispering, "Not unicorn, either." He gazed at her for a moment, muttering to himself, and then plucked a box off a shelf considerably higher than his head. He approached her slowly before allowing her to pluck it out of the box this time.
The wand was light brown in color, similar to her old wand, with intricate carvings throughout. When she lifted it, she felt a serenity fall around her. She knew immediately this wand was for her but completed the obligatory spells, just to be sure. Each spell landed immaculately and Hermione was more than a little surprised at the security she now felt enveloping her. It was as if she'd been reunited with an amputated limb.
Hermione stored the wand in the pocket of her robes as the Potions Master settled the bill. She didn't exactly have wizarding money yet—or money at all, for that matter—but that didn't stop Hermione from arguing with him right up until the moment they stepped into the shop.
"Consider it a sliver of the child support I've seemingly owed you for the last 4 years," he drawled at long last.
She'd tossed that idea around for a beat before deciding that at least that felt less like a charity donation and she finally acquiesced.
It wasn't until they'd left the shop and she heard a gasp beside her that Hermione realized she'd forgotten to pull up her hood. Her stomach clenched as if she'd been punched and she cowered as a black figure swarmed her vision. Momentarily, she was certain she was about to die. "No, please," she whispered.
"You are safe, Hermione, but please be quiet," the form whispered and she realized it was Snape, huddled so closely to her she could feel his breath on her lips. "There's someone here."
A wave of relief flooded her so quickly, she felt a little lightheaded but the second half of his pronouncement brought her back to Earth. There's someone here, he'd murmured. What the devil did that mean? She became acutely aware of the professor's hands pushed firmly against the wall behind her, her head squarely between them. She was aware of the way his body curved into hers, his head bent over hers, and Hermione became certain that if she were to tip her head upwards 10 degrees, her lips would meet his. To the onlooker, it could look—would look—like they were snogging.
This realization sent a flash of heat across her face and down her neck.
The seconds ticked away and the moments seemed endless, each bleeding into the next so fast it was disorienting. Hermione didn't know where to look. Staring straight ahead, her eyes met his lips. They were parted, his breath coming in quick huffs. Staring up, her eyes met his, and the intimacy in that sent a shiver through her and she couldn't decide whether she liked or hated it. She let her eyes fall to the side, where the sky peaked over the crest of his shoulder.
She just caught a glimpse of a long, silvery-white mane before it whipped around the corner of the block.
The sight of it was like a shot of adrenaline straight to her heart.
"Oh, Merlin," she gasped.
"Miss Granger, breathe," Snape whispered, "please."
Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times, having to quite literally bite her tongue to stop herself from saying more. She felt her hands grasping at his shirt and he leaned into it, closing what little distance remained between them until his face blocked hers from sight, shielding her from what she'd seen.
After what felt like an eternity, her heartbeat was slowing as she forced herself to investigate the way the fabric of his shirt felt between her fingertips, the sinewy muscle in his chest tensing beneath. At long last, he straightened. Quickly and quietly, he ushered them both back into Ollivander's shop and only in the shelter of the store did Hermione breathe more easily.
"Did he see us?" she asked at the same moment Snape queried, "Are you all right?" After a beat, Snape was the one to speak again. "I can't be sure, but—no. I don't think so."
She nodded once and then felt the maddening prick of tears sting her eyes. She swiped at them, hoping he wouldn't notice and, blessedly, he said nothing.
Together, they stepped into the Floo, Hermione's hand firm on the wand newly weighing down her robes.