Diagon Alley
Hermione glanced through a book she had summoned from her room, trying to ignore the sounds that came from the bed. It sounded as though Snape might have swallowed one of Weasley Wizard Wheezes, and she half-expected him to burst open like a firecracker, scattering colorful sparks around the room. Wishful thinking, but amusing, nonetheless.
"Miss Granger," he hissed, the normal tone of his voice returning. She was very glad that he only had a few bones to re-grow, as opposed to twenty-six. With that, the whining would be unbearable. "You are free to leave now."
"But Professor-"
"'But's, 'and's, and 'or's are not acceptable answers to a command." His leg was now taking on a more solid shape, the purple color beginning to fade. "I expect to see you at breakfast tomorrow morning at promptly nine o'clock. From thence, we will go to Diagon Alley and get our affairs in order."
Hermione stared at him in disbelief, sure that her mouth was gaping open like that of a stunned fish. "You're taking me shopping?"
"Hardly. I do not plan on you keeping my wand for the remainder of the summer. I'm sure that Ollivander wouldn't mind sucking a few Galleons out of you in exchange for a new one. Now, if you would be so kind, please give a crippled man back his wand."
She blushed as she set it on the nightstand. "Right, sorry."
"And Miss Granger," he added as she turned to leave. "This is not a flat that you share with seven single female witches. This is my manor, with impressionable house elves, and…" His eyes flickered downward to her bare legs. "I will be expecting you to wear something a bit more conservative."
With a burning face and an unspoken defensive glare in her eyes, Hermione frowned at him, slamming the door as she left his room, leaving Snape in pain and wondering what on earth he had done wrong this time.
She arrived at promptly 9:03, but Snape made no comment about her tardiness. Nor did he remind her of the need to wear conservative clothing, though he did seem satisfied that she was wearing her ordinary school robes. Without a word spoken to each other, she sat and her plate filled full of food that she knew she would never be able to finish. Or begin.
All of it was burnt to the point of blackness.
Hermione stared down at her plate with furrowed eyebrows, pushing a piece of over-fried toast off to the side and wondering if any eggs, or perhaps a single sausage, had survived. They hadn't.
"Professor," she said, breaking the silence where only the clang of silverware or clinking of glass dared to intrude.
"What on earth do you want now, Granger?"
Hermione flinched, taken aback by his sudden irritability. He must have had a very painful night after she left.
"You are three minutes late and you expect me to carry on a conversation with you? I am not in the mood for petty gossip, nor do I particularly care how good you think the sausage is. I have a splitting headache, so do me a favor and be silent."
Hermione turned from her plate and stared at him, confused. One simple word was not something that would warrant such a reaction. Besides the fact, he was a man of few words. If he had something to say, he usually didn't care to detail it.
"A simple 'shut up' would have sufficed," she sniffed, impaling a well-done sausage on the prongs of her fork. It cracked and he looked at her with a dark, uplifted eyebrow. "And I beg to differ on the deliciousness of my breakfast."
His elbows hit the table sharply and he sighed, rolling his eyes. Sudden ripples through his goblet of wine (what normal man, Hermione thought, drank wine with breakfast?) sent tiny red jewels of light dancing across his face and playing on the tip of his hooked nose.
"Beatrice, you wench!" he bellowed. "I demand that you serve Miss Granger something that is edible!"
Hermione looked down at her plate just in time to see the black food vanish, quickly replaced by a half of a pink grapefruit with a spoon shoved roughly into the top.
"I do not even like grapefruit," Hermione muttered, prying the spoon out of the sour fruit and shrugging. Ah, well, she'd take what she could get. Besides, it couldn't be that bad.
She scooped a small portion into her mouth and immediately made a face. As discretely as she could, she spit into the linen napkin and wiped the corners of her mouth, trying to act as if she didn't know why Snape suddenly looked pleasantly amused.
"Don't worry, Miss Granger," he said under his breath. "I will see that you receive a proper breakfast in London."
She jumped as a frustrated squeal rang through the hall. Snape looked down at his plate and sighed. His meal, also, had been changed into the other half of Hermione's grapefruit.
"Well," he said, surprisingly nonplussed. "Might not be such a horrible idea for me, either."
He pushed the chair back from the table, loudly scraping it across the floor. Hermione gritted her teeth and he said, "Come, Granger, we have much to do before your first lesson this afternoon, and I do not tolerate lollygagging."
Hermione could have sworn that it was raining, but by the time they arrived outside of the floo in Diagon Alley, her robes were dry and her hair was not dotted by round droplets of water. The sky above the tiny shops shone a crystal, cloudless blue and bright sunlight twinkled merrily off of the windows and glistened off scales and tiny silver trinkets that lined the street. A hag with a surprisingly bright smile was standing, statue-like, outside of a shop with a silver tray that read Tooth Fairy Whitener - The Only Magic that Whitens and Straightens! SPECIAL! 2 for 20 Sickles!
"Dentures?" Hermione whispered breathily as they passed.
"My guess is that they're chunks of broken dinner plates."
Hermione chuckled and he led her along the alley until they reached the narrow, rickety shop with gold letters, peeling off but still unmoved from the last time she had seen it; Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. The same purple cushion laid in the dusty window, with the same wand that had been in there seven years ago, when she stepped inside for the first time and her parents stood, quietly and shyly, behind. She felt a pang of longing for her lost wand, but perhaps now she could get a better one, one more suited to her growing needs.
The tiny bell, its tone higher than Hermione remembered, tinkled as she walked in, and she was surprised to notice that Snape had followed her inside. She would have thought that he would have wandered off to the Apothecary, choosing to inhale the smells of rotting flesh and mold rather than see her selection of a new magical instrument.
But no, he just stood there with the dark, limp hair framing his face and the bottomless eyes staring out from under bushy brows. His arms were crossed across his chest, hiding his pale hands from view. Despite his stance, he didn't seem impatient.
Dusty wand boxes were stacked up to the ceiling, a muted rainbow of faded violets and yellows, shadowed blues and reds, a few creams and grays and blacks. It seemed that the spindly chair that had once been the only piece of furniture in the shop had finally given way, and a patched, blue easy chair had taken its place. With what appeared to be hesitation followed by a grimace, Snape sat down in the chair and leaned back, his hands folded in his lap.
"Good afternoon," said Mr. Ollivander, framed by stacks of wands as he suddenly appeared before them. Hermione inhaled a sharp breath through her nostrils and started coughing, and she even saw Snape start out of the corner of her eye. The man had an odd and disconcerting talent for startling the wits out of his customers, and his eerie, moon-glow eyes were not exactly reassuring.
"Hello, Mr. Ollivander," Hermione said softly, feeling suddenly as if she had stepped into a library and was forced to speak in a whisper.
"Miss Granger," he said, and swept a smooth but curious look at the Professor. "I assume that you are in need of a new wand?"
"Unfortunately. My last suffered an untimely death in a troll attack."
If she hadn't known better, she would have thought that the old wizard was about to cry. Actually, his expression resembled one of a man who has just heard of the death of his only child.
Wiping the expression away, he turned and slipped a thin box from the nearest stack. "Your previous wand was nine inches, mahogany with dragon heartstring, correct?"
"Of course," she answered with a tiny smile, heart swelling with admiration for the creepy old man's memory.
"Let's try this one. It's a bit different, but it may suit you well. Ten inches, willow, heartstring of your dragon's cousin."
He placed it in Hermione's hand and several feeble, yellow sparks leaked out sloppily from the end.
"No, that won't do." He snatched it out of her fingers and immediately replaced it with a different one. "This one's quite a change. Twelve inches, holly, female unicorn hair."
It was gone as soon as it touched her fingertips.
"My, my," Ollivander murmured, turning back to his boxes and addressing the wands. "Just because it is the off-season is no need for you to be difficult."
Hermione went through seven more until she found one that suited her as well as her last. Eleven inches, rosewood, with the hair of a male unicorn. Ollivander beamed at her - in a way that only he could beam - as she shot a sparkling figure in the shape of a lion from the tip of her wand. Snape grumbled audibly from his chair.
"Splendid," Ollivander said, snatching the wand from her hand and placing it carefully back in the box. "That will be nine Galleons."
"No," Snape said suddenly, startling them both. "I do not believe that she has found her wand yet."
"I assure you, Professor," Ollivander said, his soft voice holding an obvious tint of annoyance. He was not one that was going to tolerate being undermined by someone several years his junior. "That Miss Granger has chosen one suited to her abilities."
"But not her potential," Snape said throatily, with the tiniest hint of a growl. Hermione's eyes volleyed back and forth between them, nervous, and hoping that they wouldn't begin to duel. "Let us find something more fitting."
Ollivander frowned and sighed. "Fine," he said begrudgingly. With a flick of the old man's wand, the boxes disappeared, replaced by an old trunk sitting innocently in the center of the room. Hermione cocked her head to the side, confused.
"Is she is well suited, I will be more than happy to supply her with one. But if she isn't-"
"She will be," Snape said shortly, interrupting him.
Ollivander handed Hermione a flat, rusty key and she walked toward the trunk, a bit puzzled, encouraged by the nods of the two men beside her. She gently pushed the key into the lock.
With a turn and a soft click, the lid of the trunk popped open. Inside sat a single wand, resting on a sheet of purple velvet.
"Very good choice," Ollivander said, stepping forward and sweeping up the wand before Hermione had the chance to touch it. "Redwood, nine and one half inches." His voice fell into a whisper. "Core is the heartstring of a particularly nasty Peruvian Vipertooth tied with the hair of a centaur. I suggest that you tell no one of that, as it is sure to get you in quite a bit of trouble with the Ministry."
The wand found its way into another box and was soon being cradled in the crook of Hermione's arm, while Snape looked upon her with a strange expression that almost resembled pride.
"Thirty Galleons, please, Miss Granger."
Hermione began to reach into her pocket until she realized something very bad. She did not have thirty Galleons. Even her bank account was suffering, only surviving with the money that her parents were able to send her, not to mention that the Muggle-Wizard money exchange rate was quite horrible.
"Erm…" Hermione muttered, her face turning red as she fished seventeen Galleons out of the small sack that hung across her robes. "Well, I…"
"Charge it to my account, Mr. Ollivander," Snape said suddenly, surprising Hermione so greatly that she almost rocketed backward and fell onto the floor. She caught herself, however.
"Very well," Ollivander said in relief, conjuring a slip of paper and a quill. Snape sprawled his signature across the bottom and handed them back to the older man, and the two items vanished into the air. "Have a pleasant day, Professor, Miss Granger."
They left the shop, Snape having reassembled himself and working his mouth into the trademark sneer of indifference. Hermione was confused and somewhat light-headed. Snape had actually done something nice, and there was no apparent reason for him acting that way. It did not save her life, only rescued her from embarrassment, which she thought he might have been more than happy to witness.
"Thank you, Professor," she said, quickly taking her wand out of the box and tossing the dusty square of cardboard into the nearest rubbish bin. She ran her fingers over the smooth wood, feeling them tingle with a power that told her that this wand was much, much different from her last.
"There are no thanks in order, Miss Granger," Snape replied, searching the shop windows with disinterest. "I expect you to pay me back in, at the most, one month, with ten percent interest, of course."
He noticed Hermione's discomfort, though she was doing what she could to hide it.
"I was only joking," he said dryly. "I decided to save you the Galleons, since you will be needing them to make some purchases for Potions supplies. Pay me back when you can."
Hermione's shoulders slumped in relief, and she admitted that she was also quite curious. Something had come over him…he never joked or kidded, at least in a kind way, and if he did, he would not be one to admit it.
The sudden spurt of acting the gentleman was gone, however, when they reached the Apothecary and Snape went in before her without a glance. He probably does not want to be seen with me, she thought. Probably better that way, I'm not too keen on being seen with him, either.
She walked past the numerous displays and bins of various Potions ingredients, watching as Snape ducked under the low-flying bits of things hanging from the ceiling and through a curtain in the back. She turned off to the side and bent down to examine a few of the barrels of brightly colored powders, from things that she recognized from the Muggle word itself and things she had worked with in Potions Class, to those she had only read about in books or never heard of at all. All of it, no matter what it was, smelled ghastly, and Hermione held her sleeve up to her nose, wishing, for once, that she was a girl that cared for perfume. She suddenly pitied those who worked in this store; it must be a ghastly chore to get the stink out of their clothes.
She shoveled a few Nostrils of Newt into a bag, followed quickly by powdered Bicorn Horn, dead cockroaches, and knotgrass. She had just sealed the bags when she heard a familiar voice shout her name.
"Hermione!"
Hermione whipped around, embarrassed that anyone would call her name that loudly in a place that was supposed to be kept quiet. Her embarrassment quickly lifted, however, when she saw a red shock of hair leaping toward her and felt two arms quickly lock tightly around her throat.
"Hi Ginny," Hermione choked out, trying to pry the younger girl's arms from her neck. "Ginny…please let go, you're hurting me."
Ginny Weasley obliged and stepped back, a broad smile brightening her freckled face. "What are you doing here? You're the last person I expected to see today, we were considering the fact that you had dropped off the face of the earth."
"Why is that?" Hermione asked, trying to work her hair back into place - wherever that was.
"Well, Ron sent you a few letters, and all times Pig just came back with them, looking incredibly confused. He might not be the brightest owl in the world, but when he has a letter to bring, he usually finds the person they're meant for."
"That's…odd," Hermione said, biting her lip.
"So what have you been up to?" Ginny asked, not missing a beat.
"It's only been a few weeks, Ginny," Hermione said with an amused smile. "Not a few years."
"Yes, but you're Hermione, you must be doing something interesting. Anything I should know about? Illegal activities? Secret societies? Shady ex-lovers?"
"Ah, yes, Ginny," she answered. "You know me too well." She decided not to answer, preferring Ron to not know where she was. "What are you doing here?"
Ginny's smile faltered, and she was obviously annoyed that Hermione didn't care to disclose any information. "Mum asked me to get some nettles," she said, holding up a brown paper bag. "I have a few extra Knuts and Sickles, would you care to have some ice cream with me?"
"I don't know." Hermione twisted her neck around, trying to see whether Snape had come back from the curtained section of the store. "I might have to leave soon."
"Ah, you're no fun. Let me guess, studying to do?"
"Of course."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "'Of course.' Well, if you're sure you can't have any ice cream, I better go. Harry's at the Burrow and…" She paused and her face flushed a bright pink.
"Oh no," Hermione groaned. "It's bitten you again."
"Shush," Ginny said, the blush refusing to go away. "But it's bitten more than just me. Anyway…what can I tell Ron on how to reach you? He'll murder me if I tell him I met up with you and didn't find out how he could send you his love letters."
Now it was Hermione's turn to blush, though not exactly in the way that Ginny had before. "You can reach me at the Reynold house, though it might take me a while to reply."
Ginny lifted a red eyebrow and a grumbling, squat wizard pushed past them, muttering about them taking up too much room with their idle chitchat.
"I suppose that's my cue to leave," Ginny said. "Expect a letter from Ron by…oh…probably six o'clock tonight. He won't waste any time,"
"Right," said Hermione as Ginny began to make her way to the back of the shop. "'Bye, Ginny."
She waved quickly and was gone, much to the relief of other customers who were annoyed with a conversation that they were not interested in. Hermione turned back to the back wall to see if Snape had emerged yet and was surprised to see that he was standing directly behind her, a bag that threatened to burst at any minute held tightly in his hand.
"What?" he said coldly. "Embarrassed to admit that you are staying with me?"
"No," Hermione answered, taken aback. "I just didn't know if you would like me to disclose that information."
"I see," he said, pushing past her, with a tone that plainly said 'No, I do not see'.
"It's not like we're secret lovers or anything!" she yelled as he quickly left the store with his hand uplifted in a gesture that beckoned for her to hurry, leaving her to pay quickly and run after him, thinking that Ginny had too much influence over her tongue.
Thanks to: Anarane Anwamane, xmaverickf14x, Akasha Ravensong, Joshua Glass (yes :)), Cinammon (well, the house elves aren't really ones to take orders from a Muggle fanfic writer, either...), Zephyre (teehee), Snapegirl51606, Satern Mya, Electryone (ooh...happy tunes?), Chibidaima, krisleigh, meneyavewen, Zvezdana, yeoldecrazy1 (no, not weird at all. I mean, it's not exactly the same as the movie. Well...nah, we'll just have to see), yeoldecrazy1, Aindel S. Druida, Luna Writer (who says they're going to fall in love? heehee ;)), d (I'm working on it!). And, as always, thanks to my beta Laiagarien. Reviews are always appreciated.