"Ahh" Hermione sighed lazily, stretching out cat-like on her bed.
Sunlight filtered in through her bedroom window. The light danced on the floor and warmed her pale walls creating a homey effect. She loved her childhood home; the smells, the aura, the sense of safety. Maybe if she lounged around and read frivolous novels and ate a ton of goldfish, she would heal. She wished her home would wash away the flashbacks and cold sweats. Her assault had followed her home. It lived in her mind and while she had stopped spontaneously crying weeks ago, her home had not wiped all her pain away.
Knock knock.
"Come in!" Hermione called.
Emma Granger peaked around the door and smiled at her daughter, "Hi pumpkin, how are you feeling?"
Hermione sat up and watched as her Mum crossed the room to sit with her. She rolled her brown eyes as her mother's identical ones started back, questioning and compassionate.
"I'm fine," Hermione said, exasperated. "Same as the past five times you've asked."
Emma shifted on the bed to face her daughter, "You can't blame a mother for being a nag, that's what we do."
Hermione grinned, "I'm better than I was yesterday and I'll be better tomorrow...truthfully, Dr. Williams has helped."
"Good." Emma squeezed her hand. "I just want you to be able to put it behind you."
The younger shrugged, "Turns out therapy isn't that bad."
Emma arched her eyebrow and said, "Really? You sure fought against it."
"It's not like I didn't think it would help, I just didn't think I would need it-" Hermione paused at a tapping on her window. "Turns out I did."
The girl rose from her bed and padded across her bedroom, unlatching the window. She pulled the tired Errol into her room and sat him down before a pre-prepared water bowl. Hermione unstrapped the letter from his leg and pet his tired wings.
"However," Hermione stated, carrying the letter back to her mother, "therapy can only help so much. It would make me feel even better if I had a second wand."
Emma eyed her daughter, "And, like your Father and I have said before, we don't feel comfortable with you breaking their laws."
The teen broke eye contact and started to open her letter.
"Those laws are prejudiced and unfair."
Emma started, "We know but-"
"No, Mum you don't understand!" Hermione burst out, her eyes flashing. "The purebloods get to use magic whenever they want and I'm stuck here, defenseless."
Hermione wrapped her arms around herself. She sighed and went back to opening Ron's letter.
"I just-I just want to feel safe again."
Emma grabbed her child's hand. "I know, sweetie. But I don't want you to get into any more trouble. You told us minors can only have one wand."
Hermione gave a soft, slightly devious, smile. "Actually I've done more research into the situation."
"And?" Emma prompted.
The younger laid the unread letter in her lap and reached for a book on her nightstand. The title read, "Laws and Customs for the Unassuming Mudblood".
Hermione winced, "The title isn't exactly flattering but the book is pretty accurate and self-updating. So it's worth the occasional slur."
"Hermione." Emma gasped, "Where did you find such a book?!"
"Oh, just in a shop" Hermione quickly replied.
Truthfully she found it in a dingy little bookstore just inside Knockturn alley but she'd prefer not to tell her Mum that.
"Hmmph." Emma looked a tad cross and was glaring at the offending title.
Hermione quickly flipped to the page she needed and began to read a highlighted passage.
"All wands must have the Underage Magical Trace active from purchase to the owners' Majority. This, of course, is not required of Ancestral wands, however, a guardian can choose to have it applied."
Hermione closed the book and snatched another from her nightstand pile. This one was so worn that the title was illegible.
Hermione turned its pages, "An Ancestral wand is defined as (a) a wand dating back a minimum of eight generations or (b) a wand having been originally owned by the most prominent member in said wizarding genealogy."
Emma stared questioningly at her daughter, "So... it's a loophole?"
Hermione beamed, "Yes, exactly!"
She put her two books back on her precariously tall book stack and started nattering away, "Since I'm the only current magic member of our family (and even if there were more, like a squib or two, I'm still the most prominent as the active witch) I'm the most important member. Therefore, my new wand can be made into a Granger Ancestral wand and it'll have no trace!"
The older looked at her daughter, taking in her smiling face and her bright eyes and the way she actually seemed happy. The mother didn't feel entirely comfortable exploiting a minor loophole but, she found herself unable to take this happiness, no, this security, away from her child.
"Alright." Emma simply said.
Hermione's eyes widened, "Really?"
"It sounds like you've done a lot of work so, yes, your Father and I will support you."
Hermione launched herself across her bed to wrap her Mum in a hug, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
The Granger women were at peace, something lacking in their home for the past month, in each other's arms. Emma soon excused herself and left Hermione to read her letter. The girl quickly scanned the letter written in (one of) her best friend's scrawling script. She grinned as she finished it. It was an invitation to the Quidditch World Cup in three days and then to stay at the Burrow until school started. Hermione was sure her parents would let her go. The witch wasn't a huge Quidditch fan but, the sport was still quite exciting and she would love to see her friends again. This invite, though, meant one thing for sure...
Hermione would be getting that wand sooner rather than later.
The alley was the same as it had always been, bright and strange. All kinds of magical folk walked by amidst the loud ambiance of bangs, whooshes, and voices of the various vendors. Hermione's parents were amazed as usual by the blatant displays of magic. A man was loading his cart with potion ingredients. He had charmed the porcupine quills and ashwinder eggs to do a twirling dance through the air before settling neatly on a shelf. Children raced after each other with toy wands, shooting a rainbow of sparks as they passed. Thankfully, Emma and Daniel were so distracted that they didn't even notice the darkened Knockturn alley: the way it's enveloping darkness crept just beyond the brightness of the main Alley.
They entered Gringotts, past the tall columns, the warning script, and the unfriendly goblins stare. Hermione made quick work exchanging her pounds for galleons and knuts (quite a bit of gallons- she suspected her second wand would not be cheap). Hermione heard her Dad grumble at the goblins who tried to inspect Hermione's trunk, packed with the last of her summer needs and Hogwarts things. Soon, though, the small family had left the goblins' hold and were entering Ollivanders.
Hermione loved the smell of magic in this place, leathery and crisp. It was a calming smell that settled on the skin and even Emma and Daniel seemed to notice the change in aura. The man of the hour appeared and smiled absently at the Grangers before zooming in on Hermione.
"10¾ vine wood and dragon heartstring, Miss Granger." He rattled off, shuffling closer, "I presume it's still in fine working order?"
Hermione presented her wand to its maker and Ollivander examined it. Gently turning is round and muttering under his breath. Then, with a flourish, he twirled the wand through the air and produced a squadron of golden butterflies that fluttered around the shop. They shed golden tendrils as they flew around the Grangers before fading. Hermione heard her Mum gasp, no doubt awed by the sudden display of magic.
The old man delivered the wand back to Hermione whilst his pale, cloudy eyes stared unblinking at the Granger family.
Well, best get to the point, Hermione thought.
"I need a new wand." She gazed steadily at the master before her.
"Ahh." He disappeared back into the back of his store with a speed quite rare for a man his age.
The Grangers looked at each other questioningly as a volley of strange bangs and whistles rang through the store.
Soon though the noises stopped and Ollivander joined them back in the front room. He had a faint sheen of moisture on his forehead but had a pleased mien about him.
"I apologize for the wait," he explained reaching into his robes, "but I had to find this."
He withdrew a wooden box from his robes before opening it to reveal a white wand swathed in purple satin.
Ollivander eyed her expectantly, "Aspen wood, 12 inches, phoenix heartstring, and slightly springy." Hermione slowly reached forward and picked it up, swishing it lightly. A single pink spark jumped from the wand. The witch frowned at the wand, though, she wasn't sure why.
"What's troubling you?" Ollivander prompted.
"It doesn't feel quite right."
Hermione paused, thinking. The wand hummed in her hand but, she realized, it felt a little off. Her vine wand felt at home in her hand, every time she picked it up it was like a joyous reunion. This wand just felt...alright. She placed the wand back in its box.
"Hmm, "Ollivander snapped the box shut as it disappeared from his hands, floating to the backroom. He reached into his robes again and pulled out a small card which he presented to Hermione.
"Follow the directions on this card and ask for Samuel. He'll be able to help you."
With that, the man turned around, went round his counter, and started fiddling with a phoenix feather. He snapped a round magnifying monocle over his eye and completely ignored the Grangers.
Hermione was, needless to say, confused.
"Um, what?" Daniel exclaimed, uncharacteristically bothered.
Ollivander was startled and jumped in his seat, "Oh, you're still here."
He stared at the family, one eye comically large as the monocle stayed in place.
Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the spacy wandmaker.
He started to speak in the wispy, all-knowing tone of his, "Yes, well, I suppose you wouldn't understand, would you?"
Hermione just glared expectantly.
"That Aspen is the only other wand that would work for you." He explained. "When you first came in it was the only other wand that could possibly match your aura but, even then, it wasn't quite right. With time, you should have grown into it, however, somewhere along the line your aura was shaken...darkened slightly."
Hermione paled. She knew of an event that could have darkened her. She suspected that her attack the weeks previous had touched her soul. The witch felt a sudden flash of rage at her attacker and all that he had taken from her.
Her parents, however, didn't make the connection and were still confused.
Emma spoke up, "What does that mean?"
Ollivander fixed Hermione with his lopsided gaze, "Perhaps nothing, perhaps something, auras (like people and wands) are fickle things, subject to time and circumstance."
He straightened and fidgeting with his tools said, "However, if you are looking for a more physical explanation, it means Miss Granger must travel to a wandmaker with more... unusual techniques."
"Which is where these directions lead." Daniel prompted.
Ollivander simply nodded.
"Well then," Daniel picked up Hermionies' trunk, "we best be on our way."
"No." The wandmaker said, steel taking the place of the wispy timbre of his voice, "Non-magicals should not visit that section of the Alley."
Hermione looked down at the card. A cursory glance showed Bakers Trinkets and Treasures, which resided in Breaken Alley, an offshoot of Knockturn Alley. No, her parents certainly wouldn't be safe there.
Nor would I want them to see the shadowy side of the magical world, Hermione thought.
She thought about how to spin this while her parents were busy protesting Ollivanders warning. Hermione mentally sighed as she realized her parents would not appreciate her plan.
"Mr. Ollivander," Hermione called, cutting off her parents, "do you have a floo that we could use?"
"Yes, it's just there," She gestured to the old stone fireplace with a pale floo powder pot resting on its mantle.
"Thank you," Hermione replied, nodding her thanks before turning to her parents and dragging them to the fire.
Her parents looked at her, waiting for an explanation.
"Let's just floo to the Weasleys, drop my stuff off, and then we can ask Mr. Weasley or Mrs. Weasley to take me. I'm sure they'll be willing to escort me."
Her parents looked at each other and, after a few moments, turned back to their daughter.
Emma spoke, "Remind us how to floo again?"
"You take a pinch of powder, throw it into the fire, and clearly say, "The Burrow"." Hermione gestured to the pot on the mantle and the fire.
"Alright." her Dad said. He stepped forward, offering to go first, and followed her instructions to a 'T'. The man disappeared in a burst of green fire.
Emma gestured expectantly for her daughter to go first.
"Mum," Hermione explained, "as the magical, I should go last so that I can find you if you make a mistake."
The flimsy excuse was the best Hermione could do. She hoped her Mum's limited knowledge of magic would lead her to believe her daughter.
Emma fixed Hermione in her gaze, searching for the truth.
"Alright," she relented. "I'll see you soon."
With that, her Mum quickly flooed away.
Hermione let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She knew that Mr. Weasley would know where she was going (that man, she thought fondly, knew quite a bit more than people gave him credit for) but he was at work and, therefore, unavailable. Mrs. Weasley was at home waiting to welcome the Grangers but Hermione was betting on her not knowing where the obscure wandmaker was located. Guilt ate at Hermione for deceiving her parents but they would forgive her. She didn't know if she would have been able to forgive them if they had further delayed her from receiving her new wand. Her sense of security needed it that much. So, she shoved her guilt into a box and locked it. The crafty witch turned to Ollivander. He was tinkering with this feather, seeming not to care for the family drama taking place in his shop.
"Thank you for your help," was her only explanation as she walked out the door. Her robes fluttered behind her as she strode into the darkness of Knockturn Alley.