Chapter 21
Hermione
I don't know how long we've been in the bookstore before a silver shimmery dog appears before us.
"I thought I'd let you know that Ollivander's shop is currently empty," it says in Sirius' drawing tone. Then adds, "And Ron says he's hungry."
I roll my eyes at Ron's never-ending stomach and add the book I was currently looking at into my, admittedly, massive pile. I don't know what we'd need it for off the top of my head, but as far as I'm concerned, there's no such thing as too many books. Especially now that paying for them won't be a problem.
Though, just to be safe, I make a mental note to never let Harry look over the ledgers for the estate accounts. I can't imagine him ever wanting to, but if he ever asks about it, I'll have to see how that whole nakedness ending fights scenario applies to shared nakedness to avoid fights.
We made our way out of what I've taken to affectionately calling the naughty section and started systematically browsing the rest of the stacks. I have two floating piles behind me. One that I'll put in my purse, unsafe for prying eyes. The other I'll call for Dobby to take back to the house for us. Poor guy probably needs a pick me up after Winky has been hounding him all day.
Harry has his own pile floating behind him. Books on how to curse your weapons but are disguised as stories about famous blighted weapons in history. A book titled Jinxing the Jinxer , and Fifty Shades of Grey, Wand Working for the Unbiased Wizard .
He found a book that, if not outright illegal, would certainly be frowned upon. It talks about imbuing inanimate objects with permanent spells. My first thought was actually about Mr. Weasley, and how this book and others like it are probably solely responsible for his current position in the Ministry.
Misuse of Muggle artifacts indeed.
Harry thought about giving it to the Twins and asking them to help him put a permanent shield charm into a necklace or hair clip for me. Or maybe even in one of my house rings. Or a stinging jinx. He thought that would be particularly funny; watching boys get too close to me at school and walking away with welts. Or missing their eyebrows.
I shot him a dirty look, even though he never said it out loud.
I don't need him to protect me, thank you very much. His reputation alone will do a stellar job as soon as we're back in the castle and everyone hears what he did to McLaggen on the train. If they haven't heard already.
I also grabbed several books that I thought Ron might be interested in. One on dragons, and another called Dark spells for the Light Practitioner.
My pile includes a for sure illegal tome disguised as a book on make-up charms. Only besides eyeliner tips, it contains instructions on crafting permanent glamours. While I'm not positive, I think that I'll be able to use it to, say, tie the spell to Harry's glasses. In theory, every different pair of glasses he owns could hold a unique identity.
Never mind the fact that at the moment he only owns the one pair.
Although almost useless inside the walls of Hogwarts, those would be very handy on the run and living in a tent.
I follow Harry up to the counter.
"You know you actually have to pay for all that," the sour Wizard announces, disdain dripping from his voice.
"That won't be a problem," I say, and pull my bank notes from the purse I swiped from the Potter vaults yesterday. It's a soft butter yellow with flowers pressed into the leather. I have a feeling it was Lilly's, but I have no confirmation for that. Sirius didn't know.
The Wizard grumbles again, starting to ring up the dozens of books Harry and I have between us.
"If you don't want our money," Harry says, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me away, "We can take our business elsewhere."
"Bah," the grouch responds, but he stops with the bitching and uses a little more respect when the total on the register continues to rise.
I turn to Harry and slip my arms around his waist. I don't know when I became such a toucher.
But I am. I so, so am.
At least when it comes to Harry. Because Harry is, yeah... Worth touching, for sure.
"I kinda like it when you're all bossy like that," I tell him, resting my chin on his chest. "I mean, I liked it before. You know, before ," I say, and twitch my head. Harry smirks at me, and brings his fingers up to my ears, pushing the escaping hair behind them. "But before you were only bossy when we were fighting. Now it sort of oozes out of you."
Harry scoffs at me, letting his hands rest against my hips.
"My patience isn't all that great at the moment, in case you haven't noticed," he says, and I can't help but roll my eyes.
"I wouldn't say it's your patience that you're short on," I tell him. "You handled Mrs. Weasley like a pro this morning. I'd say it's your bullshit tolerance running low. And who can blame you for that."
"Are you going to pay this, or what?" the attendant says, and I roll my eyes before pulling away from Harry again. I write him a promissory check, pulling from the Galactic Alliance account.
"Sort these," I tell Harry, and he immediately steps up to the counter to help me start sorting out the piles. The Wizard opens his mouth to complain, but at a glance from Harry, looking years older and rugged as hell with that beard, he snaps his jaw shut again and starts helping bag up the stacks we've made.
"Dobby," I say with a little power, and the elf pops in at my knees.
"You called Mistress?" he asks, smiling up at me and bouncing on his toes. His socks are back, and the Potter jersey is cleaner than brand new.
"Are you doing okay, Dobby?" Harry asks, looking down at his friend. "Winky seemed a little harsh with you this morning. Do you need me to talk with her?"
The elf's eyes go wide, and he shakes his head in jerky denial.
"Dobby is great, Mr—," Harry waves his hands and shakes his head, and Dobby stumbles over his words. "Dobby is great, Master. Winky likes bossing Dobby around, and Dobby likes Winky. Dobby doesn't mind if Winky yells at him. Dobby's going to marry Winky one day."
Harry chokes on his tongue, laughter pinking his face. He drops into a squat so he's level with the little elf.
That was unexpected.
"Does Winky know that?" Harry asks, amusement making his tone rich and deep.
Because I'm going to have to say she doesn't, unless elves like a little BDsM with their courting rituals.
"Not yet, Master. That's why Dobby will let her yell at him. Dobby will take his wages and buy Winky something pretty. She likes the dresses Mistress gave her, though she won't admit it. Shes still thinks clothes is bad for elves. Dobby will buy her a pair of socks!"
Harry closes his mouth, and his laughter hums through his nose instead. He looks up at me with shining eyes, and I shake my head at the ridiculousness of it all.
"Maybe before you buy her socks, Dobby, you ask her what sort of things she likes, okay?" I suggest, and Dobby smiles and nods at me, his floppy ears waving in excitement.
"Did you need Dobby, Mistress?" he asks, and I start at remembering I called him for a reason.
"Will you take these back to the house for me? Just put them in the library. I'll organize it all later."
"As you wish, Mistress," Dobby says. He takes the bags of books in his hands and with a little bow, pops away again.
"Wow," I say, putting the bags with our special books into my purse. The Wizard behind the desk chuckles at seeing them disappear inside the leather. The sound catches me wholly off guard.
"Nice extension charm," he smirks, lifting his chin in my direction.
"Thanks," I say with a small blush.
Guess all it took for the grump to warm up was to prove to him we belong in Knockturn Alley. I'll remember that for next time.
Harry drapes his arm around my shoulders and leads me out of the store.
"Point me," he whispers, and I look over to see his wand flat in his palm. He shrugs and gives me a sheepish look. "Just making sure they didn't go anywhere else."
"Lazy," I say in response.
"Pot kettle much? Mistress of the house for a day and already calling on Dobby to collect your shopping."
I elbow him in the stomach, and he grunts at the impact.
"I've been his mistress for weeks now. Remember what they told us when you bonded them? The elves could tell we had the bonds then. That's probably why when you told Winky to be my elf, she still oathed to you."
Harry stops dead in the middle of the street, other travelers flowing around us with mumbled complaints.
"Those little shits," he hisses, and I can't say I don't agree.
"Exactly," I say, then start to walk again. Harry falls into step beside me, still with his arm around my shoulders.
Ron jumps in surprise when we sidle up next to them. They're lounging about outside of Ollivander's shop. Not so close as to gain attention, but close enough to monitor the door.
"I forgot what you looked like," Ron grumbled with pink tipped earlobes, and I chuckle at the admittance. He too is under a glamour. While it's obvious to everyone who looks that he's still a Weasley, he doesn't look like our Weasley. He too is sporting a beard with long hair, and he looks like a stockier Bill this way.
"Ready?" Sirius asks.
"As I'll ever—," Harry starts to say, then stops in the middle of a word.
A woman with bubblegum pink hair is walking this way. Beside her is a lanky looking teenager, already a pale imitation of the chubby little boy we met on the train.
"Neville!"
Harry raises his arms and waves to catch the other boy's attention. He looks at us and frowns.
Tonks throws back her head and laughs, then leans sideways to whisper in his ear. Realization blossoms over his face, and his expression morphes into a smile, laughter soft on his tongue.
When we close the distance between our two groups, I reach out and hug him, catching Neville by surprise. He looks like he's never touched a girl before, which, okay, may actually be true. But he better get used to it fast. Because apparently this new incarnation of myself likes to hug.
Or maybe I just know how fragile life is. Neville was one of our best friends. He still is, even if he doesn't know it yet.
"Hey, Nev," Harry says, reaching out and shaking his hand.
"Nice look," he jokes at us, looking at Harry up and down. I guess he does look pretty different. Excluding the glamour on his face, Harry's wearing clothes that fit, boots laced up to his knees and has a wife dangling from his arm.
Not that Neville knows that yet.
"Thanks," Harry laughs. "Makes it easier to run errands, that's for sure."
"I can only imagine," Neville says, and judging from the fact that he's currently being escorted by an Auror, I'm guessing he understands a lot better today than he would have three weeks ago.
"We're heading to Ollivander's, you want to come?"
Why would he invite Neville? Especially with Tonks as his escort.
He was by our side for everything, whispers through my mind. I want him with us from the beginning this time.
Harry heard my thoughts.
Merlin, that's so frustrating! I have no idea how this stupid bond thing works! As soon as we're done in Diagon Alley, I'm buying a journal to keep notes. The lack of information is ridiculous.
Harry's laughter lights up the inside of my brain.
"Sure!" Neville says, sticking his hands in his pocket. "That okay with you, Tonks?" he asks, looking at the pink haired witch beside him.
"My job is to keep you out of trouble today. I don't see how much trouble you can get into in the wand shop," she says with a smile.
Shows what she knows.
Harry speaks up with a grin on his face.
"Don't speak too soon," he says with a laugh. Then his face falls serio us. "Whatever happens in there, keep quiet, okay?"
Neville just nods, used to weird things happening around Harry.
"Sure, Cuz," Tonks agrees, but suspicion pulls her face tight.
"I need you to keep anything you hear in there to yourself," Harry says seriously. "That includes speaking to the Ministry and The Order. All of you," Harry says, turning to the men behind him.
"Our loyalty lies with you, Pup," Sirius says with a straight face, Remus nodding along beside him.
"Are you ordering me as my head of house to keep your secrets?" Tonks asks, anger and confusion making her words sharp and her cheeks blush.
"No," Harry says sincerely. "I'm asking you as my friend, to keep my secrets until I'm ready for them to be shared."
Tonks stares at Harry, the tips of her hair turning grey. Her eyes flick to the men over Harry's shoulder, then she quickly nods her head.
"Done," she says, reaching out her hand. Harry shakes it, then turns to pull open the door.
We quietly fall into line behind him. Ollivander is already coming out from behind his counter, showing us a welcoming smile. At Harry's nod, Sirius locks the front door once we're all inside, using magic to flip the sign to closed. Ollivander's eyes widen, then dart around his shop, looking for alternate escape routes.
Remove the glamour slides through my head.
With a flick of my wrist, the glamours on Harry, Ron and I drop. Ollivander's eyes widen even further, excitement replacing his fear, until he smiles and holds out his hands.
If he could feel what was going on inside of Harry right now, he'd have stuck with his instincts and continued being afraid.
"Why Mr. Potter!" he cries out, arms wide to welcome us deeper into the shop. "What an honor. What an honor." I cringe internally at the sycophantic way he addresses Harry. It's just one more sign of how few people really know the man at my side. Harry hates it when you treat him more than what he is. Simply a person, trying to do his best. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this day?"
Harry smiles at the man, but it's tight. Fake. I glance around us and notice that quite subconsciously, or actually, maybe incredibly consciously, everyone in our party has fallen into a flank at Harry's back.
I'm the only person still at his side.
The others are lined up behind him. Ron and Neville are on the ends. Sirius is in the middle, and Remus and Tonks on either side of him.
"It's Mr. Potter-Black now," Harry says with pride. "I've been adopted."
The wandmaker's eyes flick over Harry's shoulders, and he grimaces at the sight of Harry's Godfather standing behind him and to his right.
"Congratulations," he says, but with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
My eyes glide around the wandmaker's shop, taking in the tilting piles of boxes and shelves dipping under their weight. I'm hit with a wave of nostalgia for the last time I was in this store.
Harry speaks up, and I turn my attention back to him.
"I came to speak with you about wands, Mr. Ollivander. I find myself in need of one."
Neville is the only person who reacts. The others don't so much as twitch, though even I don't know exactly why Harry was so determined to talk to Mr. Ollivander, outside of that blasted elder wand.
"Oh?"
He blinks his eyes like a fish, his gaze wandering to the wand strapped to the holster across Harry's chest.
"Is there a problem with your wand, Mr. Potter?"
His hands flex at his sides, and his eyes dart towards the exits again.
Harry pulls his wand, shaking it between his finger and thumb.
"Yes," he says plainly. "But you know that already, don't you?" Ollivander's throat bobs as he swallows back his nervousness and sweat appears on his brow. "Tell me about Priori Incantatem ."
Sirius's sharp intake of breath is the only sign that Harry's question is anything out of the ordinary. Ollivander's lips part in a silent gasp, and he leans forward on his feet.
"You've fought him?" he asks in a harsh whisper, taking a step closer, before whatever he sees on Harry's feet brings him to a stop.
"Multiple times," Harry advises, and while that's technically true, he hasn't yet fought Voldemort with the wand in this timeline. "I'm sure you can imagine how that worked out."
"The twin cores," Mr. Ollivander breathes, and excitement lights up his face. Harry told me once that Mr. Ollivander always gave him the creeps. I'm starting to understand why. "Your wand and You Know Who's share a core. A phoenix feather, plucked from the same bird at the same time.
"Because the wands are brothers," Mr. Ollivander continues, his voice firm and sure. "They will not work properly against each other. If the owners of the wands force the wands to do battle, we see Priori Incantatem . One of the wands will force the other to regurgitate the spells it has performed. In reverse. The most recent first, then the one before, and etcetera."
He licks his lips, his hands twitching in front of his body. He all but looks desperate to get his hands on Harry's wands. To pull its secrets from its depths.
"Whose wand won?" Mr. Ollivander asks, and the tension from the men at our back's spikes to an uncomfortable degree. Harry's heart bursts in his chest. I clench my fists, letting my nails dig into my palm to keep from reaching for him. He wouldn't thank me for the comfort. Not right now.
"I'm alive, aren't I?" is all Harry replies, and the wandmaker blanches at the statement.
Harry takes a step forward, leaving us all behind. Mr. Ollivander seems to shrink in on himself.
"You didn't think to tell me the implications since I had chosen the twin to Voldemort's wand? You remember every wand you've ever sold. You told me yourself. As the sole survivor of the killing curse, delivered to me by the darkest wizard in history, knowledge that I now owned the wand twin to his would have been good information to have, don't you think?"
Mr. Ollivander pales even further, stuttering over his words.
"Th-the wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter. It would have made no difference either way."
"It made all the difference in the world," Harry says, "when I watched the image of my dead parents spew forth from Voldemort's wand. And it's Mr. Potter-Black."
"You saw your parents?" Sirius asks sharply, but Harry pays him no never mind. I see from the corner of my eye as Tonks and Remus both put a hand on each of Sirius' wrists to hold him back from his Godson.
Mr. Ollivander, seemingly at a loss for words, simply bows at the waist, showing Harry a level of respect that catches us all off guard. Surprise licks up Harry's spine, but he keeps his face as smooth as ice.
"As I said, Mr. Ollivander. I require a second wand. Call it a hunch, but I doubt that'll be the last time that Voldemort and I trade spells."
"The wand chooses the wizard," he says again, rising from his bow. "But I will do what I can."
He makes as if to move, but when Harry remains standing where he's at, Mr. Ollivander resumes his spot in front of him.
"Tell me about a wand's allegiance. Is it possible to use another's?"
The wandmaker's eyes alight in interest, probably feeling that the danger of Harry's wrath had passed. How little true that is. Harry's rage is bubbling under the surface. It tastes like sulfur in my mouth, making my fingers tingle.
His hands twitch at his side, and black sparks drip from his wand where he pats it against his thigh.
Harry is seething in controlled fury that he can't simply walk into Malfoy Manor and cut off Voldemort's head with the sword. By talking to Ollivander he's giving away knowledge that others don't yet realize we have. But we can't form a plan without getting our questions answered. Will Voldemort come for Mr. Ollivander again, without having previously seen the twin cores in action? After all, Wormtail currently has no need for a wand, sitting in a cell in Azkaban.
But he could, and that's reason enough to fear talking to the pompous man.
We're stuck in a catch twenty-two, and it's driving Harry to the edge of violence.
"Certainly, you can use another's wand. But how well it will work for you remains to be seen. If you have won the wand's allegiance by taking it from its previous owner, the wand is more likely to bend to your will and work well. Rather than if you say, swiped it off of your friends bedside table."
Harry nods, as if already having known or suspected that answer.
"Even so," Mr. Ollivander continues. "Some wands are safer than others. Take your wand, for instance, Mr. Potter-Black. Even if I were to somehow win it from you in battle, I would not endeavor to use it as my own. Some wands are stiff, brittle, and fiercely loyal to their owners. I would not attempt to use your wand, for all the galleons in the world."
His voice shakes by the time he finishes, and I know he speaks the truth. After all, by his own admission, Harry's wand beat Voldemort's in a battle for dominance. If the wand chooses the wizard, and Harry's wand beat that of the most powerful wizard alive, what does that say about Harry himself?
It's obvious from the tremble in the wandmaker's voice that what it says to him is that Harry is not a person to trifle with.
"Is it necessary to kill the previous owner to take possession of a wand?" Harry asks.
Mr. Ollivander jerks back in surprise.
"What? No. No, I shouldn't think that it is necessary to kill to earn a wand's allegiance."
Here it comes. What Harry's been building towards. What he's been obsessing over, in this timeline, and the last.
"But there are legends, though, aren't there?" he prompts, and I can feel his heartbeat echo in my chest. "Legends about a wand, or wands, that have passed from hand to hand by murder."
Mr. Ollivander's head tilts on his neck, and his tongue darts out to dampen his lips.
"Yes," he agrees. "Just one wand, I think. You can trace its course through history if you try. There are gaps, of course, where it vanishes from view. Lost or hidden. But it always resurfaces. It has certain characteristics that those who are learned in wandlore recognize. There are written accounts as well, some of them obscure, that I and other wandmakers have made it our business to study. They have the rings of authenticity."
I speak up for the first time.
"I'd like to look at those accounts, Mr. Ollivander, if that's alright with you."
His eyes flash to me, then back at Harry. At the lift of Harry's eyebrow, Mr. Ollivander turns to me and gives a tiny nod. "Certainly, Ms. Granger. Anything I can do to help."
I start at hearing my name. It's only been a day, and yet the title of Ms. Granger feels bizarre. All it took was an orb for me to realize I was always meant to be Harry's wife. Age fifteen or fifty, it doesn't really matter.
"Do you think it needs to pass by murder?" Harry asks him.
Mr. Ollivander's gaze returns to Harry with a contemplative look in his eyes.
"No, Mr. Potter-Black. I personally do not feel that the wand needs to pass hands via murder. But it has a bloody history for sure. That may simply be due to the fact that it is such a desirable object and arouses such passions in wizards. Immensely powerful, dangerous in the wrong hands, and an object of incredible fascination to all of us who study the power of wands."
Harry nods again, then turns his head to look at me. I can't read the expression in his eyes, but I can feel his pain and excitement thrumming in his blood.
I've always been fascinated with the way Harry's brain works. Day to day topics hold little interest to him. He finds magical theory boring. Studying and doing spell work is mundane. But put a problem in front of him, and his mind can jump leaps and bounds. Using instinct and, and magic alone, he can put two and two together and come up with five, not needing the missing one.
It's what he's doing now. Taking the pieces of the puzzle only he sees and twisting them around until he comes up with the truth.
Since that kiss, I can almost hear it happening.
"Was Mr. Gregorovitch the last wizard to own the Elder Wand?" Harry asks in a cold tone, and Ollivander pales, swaying on his feet.
I gasp at Harry's side, and he looks at me, his face blank and placid.
Harry said nothing about Mr. Gregorovitch. Ever. Not in this timeline, or the last. If he thought Gregorovitch had the elder wand, what are we doing talking to Mr. Ollivander?
"Yes," Mr. Ollivander says on a hiss. "How would you know that?"
Images burst into my mind. I stumble on my feet, but before I fall, a steady pair of arms wraps around my waist. I look up and see Ron staring down at me with concern on his face, his eyes flickering between me and Harry.
I close my eyes and am assaulted with the visions
The boy from the book on Dumbledore's life is fleeing through a window, a mischievous smirk on his face. A grown man, who I can only assume to be Mr. Gregorovitch screams in anger after the thieving boy. An older version of the other wandmaker, laughing in Voldemort's face, that he is unafraid to die, and that the Elder Wand will never be his.
Is this what Harry felt like when Voldemort pillaged his mind?
"It doesn't matter," Harry says, looking at me with a cold concern. He shrugs his shoulders to rid it of the stress pulling them tight.
I can barely feel his emotions now, though the images still gleam clearly behind my eyes.
Is—is Harry using occlumency?
"It was a rumor," the pale man says. "Years and years ago. I believe Gregorovitch started it himself. You can see how good it would be for business, that he was studying and duplicating the qualities of the Elder Wand. It was hogwash, all of it. There's no need to look elsewhere for a wand that would defeat You-Know-Who, Mr. Potter-Black."
Mr. Ollivander continues on this train, but Harry has stopped listening.
He beats his wand on his thigh, the only sound outside of the wandmaker's assurances that he can provide Harry with a suitable replacement for his Phoenix Core wand.
If Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand, and it was stolen by Grindelwald, and then Grindelwald was defeated by Dumbledore…
My knees give out again.
That means Dumbledore, the only man to ever strike fear into the heart of Voldemort, is the current owner of the Elder Wand.
"You, okay?" Ron whispers into my ear.
If Harry is right, and the snitch held the resurrection stone, Dumbledore owned two of the Deathly Hallows. But that's still years away. Where is the stone today?
I look to Harry on my left.
Harry's mind has already hopscotched to these answers. He's simply using Mr. Ollivander to confirm them.
"Yeah," I assure him, standing on my own two feet again. He stares at me long and hard for a moment, then nods his chin sharply, accepting my words at face value. He doesn't resume his spot behind us though. He moves to my other side, taking his spot beside us.
Harry interrupts Mr. Ollivander's babbling, and the older man snaps his mouth shut.
"I have only two more questions for you, sir," Harry says. "Then we'll let you get on with your day. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me. I know how busy you are."
Mr. Ollivander tilts his head in a sign of acknowledgement and respect, never mind the fact that we locked him in his own store.
"In your vast knowledge of wandlore," Harry says, and there's that Slytherin instinct kicking in. Harry can sweet talk with the best of them when it's necessary. Honestly, Voldemort would be proud. Mr. Ollivander swells with pleasure under the assumed praise. "Have you ever heard of Soul Mates, or Bond Mates sharing magic? Or sharing a wand?"
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from showing an outward reaction.
The wandmaker's eyes go wide, his head jerking back on his neck. His eyes flick all over, most likely trying to decide who the mated pair is in the seven people in front of him.
"There are written accounts, yes, of Bond Mates sharing their magic. The wand chooses the wizard Mr. Potter-Black. But with Bonded Mates," and the old Wizard shrugs. "How does the wand tell one from the other? It would be possible, I believe, to use your Bonded's wand with ease. At least in theory," he adds as an afterthought. "It has been over four-hundred years since the last pair of Bonded Mates were recorded. Little is known anymore what powers Bonded Mates could wield."
"We'll need to see your accounts on that as well," I say, and recognition flares behind his eyes.
"Of course, Ms. Granger," he entombs, giving me a deeper bow.
"What do you know of the Deathly Hallows?" Harry asks, and Ollivander gives him a blank stare.
"Is this something to do with wandlore?" he asks with confusion in his voice.
"No matter," Harry says, shaking his head. "I'll take a look at those wands, now, if you don't mind."
Mr. Ollivander stares at Harry long and hard, before giving himself a shake.
"Right this way," he says, gesturing with his hand. "I think I have just the wand for you."
We're at the front door an hour later. Tonks' hand is on the door handle when Harry pulls her to a stop.
In Harry's pouch is a twelve-inch hawthorn wand with a dragon heartstring core. In a twist, surprising no-one but Mr. Ollivander himself, in my purse rests its twin. We were told that should we learn to work as a team, it would increase our power ten-fold.
What will it do to the bonds if our wands are bonded too?
Neville is also leaving with a new wand. The exact same one he purchases in one year's time in the other timeline. Thirteen inches of Cherry wood with a unicorn hair core.
I have several books in my purse, most of them handwritten journals, hundreds of years old.
"Hermione," Harry says, and I turn to face my husband, already knowing what he's going to say. "Wipe him."
With a quick nod of my head, I turn to Mr. Ollivander giving him a grim smile.
His face falls with realization, the elation of his newfound knowledge bleeding into fear and despair.
"Obliviate," I whisper, then clear our visit from his mind. I set him to sleep for the next five minutes, then follow my husband out the door. When I look behind me, Sirius is relocking it from the outside, keeping the sign turned to closed.
"Harry," Neville breathes, eyes wide and chest panting. It's obvious he's afraid we're going to do the same to him.
Harry smiles at him, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
"Twelve Grimmauld Place," Harry says. "Tonks knows the location. Nine a.m. Monday morning. We start training then."
"Training for what?" Neville asks.
"For what's to come," Harry replies with a sad smile. He reaches forward and shakes Neville's hand, who responds in a slow sort of daze.
Then he walks towards the exit of Diagon Alley, the rest of us falling into place behind him.
"Where to next?" Remus asks from behind us.
Harry looks at me, entwining our fingers together.
"I don't plan on sleeping alone any time soon. We need to go talk to Hermione's parents."
Bugger.