With a gasp the old man startled awake, his eyes wide open and alert as if he had been doused with ice-cold water. His heart hammered erratically against his breastbone, yet during those few moments, there was not but silence in the house, when suddenly those same knocks sounded.
Ollivander blinked, whilst he reached for his wand on the nightstand. Fear ran through him, memories of his house being on fire resurfaced. But back then no one had knocked on his door, they had simply set it all to flames, smoking him out of his own house. Only when it had taken him too long to find a way out of the blinding smog had someone grabbed him roughly and dragged him out. The rest was history.
Now, no fire licked the wooden panels of his floor, there was merely the insistent knocking.
Mentally calming himself the wandmaker took to stand and made his way, wand at the ready. He made a detour to the closet, took a thick woollen coat and put it on before he walked from his bedroom into the living room, bumping only once into a chair as he shuffled through the darkness.
Once he was at his shop's door Ollivander used the tip of his wand to draw back the curtain. He sighed when he saw a familiar woman on his doorstep, one who smiled faintly and gave a friendly wave. The streetlight made her hair, that was held back in a ponytail, appear a softer brown than usual.
But what if this was Polyjuice Potion tricking him? He had not thought twice about it when she had entered his wandstore during the day, but now... How late was it anyway?
The young woman, who watched the wandmaker attentively, saw the hesitance in Ollivander's face, the fear in his eyes. He had not moved away his wand, it still pointed directly at her. She had previously realized that making this early unannounced visit could trigger memories, despite this, she had hoped that this would not be necessary. With a deep breath, she started the process of slowly taking her wand from its holster, all the while making sure that the wandmaker could see her every move through his window. Slowly she opened the mailbox of the door and held her wand through it, handle first, for Ollivander to take.
Anyone else in the world would suspect her of proffering a fake wand, if they had any self-preservation and some good sense, but she knew that Ollivander would recognize his own creations anywhere.
She watched as the wandmaker took the wand and she closed the mailbox once the crooked wood had completely gone. Patience was what she needed now, but the reason why she was here had her insides buzzing in an uncomfortable excitement. To stop herself fidgeting she buried her hands in the pockets of Fleur's bloodied sweater. And still the door did not open, she wondered what Ollivander was doing. For a second fear jumped onto her, would he snap the magical wood in two? But then she told herself that this was Ollivander, he would never do that to a wand.
It was then that she heard how the first lock was taken off its guard, accompanied by a ward that was sequentially deactivated. The sounds of a second and third combination of lock and ward being taken off followed.
And then the door creaked open, Ollivander smiled apologetically and proffered the handle of her wand to her, "I presume that now is the right time to get you a new wand?"
Hermione smiled humourlessly, "It would seem so, yes."
"Come inside, Miss Granger."
She did as she was told and heard him reapply the locks and wards behind her whilst she studied his shop, it looked very different in the half-dark. The streetlights created a lot of shadows with all the wand boxes sticking out of the closets.
"Skeeter has visited me," Ollivander said as he walked to the back of his shop and into a cramped corridor, he motioned for Hermione to follow him. They walked past hundreds of small boxes, which seemed to be randomly stashed. Not for the first time, Hermione wondered how the man could remember where he had placed every wand.
The wandmaker led her into a small room where a workbench stood in the centre, wood chips were scattered on the surface, but no actual wand-in-the-make laid there. With a snip of his fingers, Ollivander made not only two chairs appear, but the fire in the hearth also flamed to life, basking the room in warm light. Now Hermione could read the titles on the many spines which stood in bookcases and on top of shelves. But she could still not detect a single thing which was related to the making of wands except for where they were supposed to be made, the workbench itself.
As she took a seat Hermione was about to open her mouth to make an enquiry on how Skeeter's visit had gone when Ollivander spoke again, "Want a cup?"
"Of coffee? Yes, please."
Ollivander's naked feet pattered over the wooden floor as he disappeared into another small room, the sound of a kettle being filled with water sounded through the shadows.
Hermione stood up to follow him and made sure her voice was loud enough so that the old wandmaker could hear her, "What happened when Rita Skeeter came to see you, sir?"
A cluck of the tongue, "In this house there are no heavy subjects before my morning coffee."
The Muggle-born bit her tongue to keep herself from voicing her impatience, the man had started talking about it himself, after all. Instead, she watched from her place at the edge of the fire's light as Ollivander rummaged around in the dark kitchen. The only light source in the kitchen was the fire of his stove, it created sinister shadows on Ollivander's face. Within ten minutes of silence, two large mugs of coffee were served on the table.
They both sat down, their mugs clasped in their hands, nursing the warmth into their cold fingers and hands. After more silence and several sips of his coffee Ollivander decided to give her an answer.
"She showed up around noon. Waited in the corner until all the costumers had left. And then -" BAM! Ollivander slammed one of his hands on the surface of his workbench, whilst holding his mug in the other, "- she put those horrid photos on the counter. Asked – nay demanded - I say who the original owner of the wand is. Ridiculous."
Hermione nodded, taking this as another confirmation that Ollivander had not told the journalist anything, which she believed to be true since Skeeter had not published Bellatrix' name in a single article related to her. Then she asked, "Did she leave you alone after that?"
The old wandmaker snorted, "Of course not. The woman has tried to bribe me numerous times since, but those letters are good fuel for a fire, so I am not complaining." He smiled his warm smile, one she had last seen when they had stayed at Shell Cottage. At this reminder a memory of Fleur smiling sadly at her resurfaced in Hermione's mind, she tried to forget about it by saying, "Thank you for-"
He waved her words away, "If you ever thought I would contribute to such antics then you are a fool.
"Now, your new wand..."
"Yes," was all Hermione was able to say, her throat suddenly had a lump in it. All her focus was on the wandmaker.
"Most of the wand boxes you have seen are empty, as my lifework..." was destroyed. He could not say it out loud and after a few heartbeats continued, "What I have in my shop are the wands of other wandmakers from around the world. I have selected every wand myself, so don't worry, I still know every single one by heart. And I think there is one that suits you, very much like your previous wand."
Hope bloomed inside Hermione, her eagerness obvious in her growing smile. She had been reluctant to get a new wand, but at these words... A wand much like the one with which she had started her new life as a witch, with which she had learned all the magic spells she knew to this day. She was reminded of the ease with which she had conjured magic, instead of having to force the wand to listen...
"Can we try it now?" she asked, a quiver evident in her voice.
Ollivander nodded, as eagerly as she felt, the coffee clearing away the sleep that had clouded his eyes. "Wait here."
She did not listen, she decided she had waited enough that morning and followed him back into the cramped passage with the many small (and mostly empty) boxes lining in the closet.
He clucked his tongue as he looked at her over his shoulder before he took the ladder, put it on the right spot and climbed it to reach out for a certain box. Hermione wondered why he did not keep the few boxes actually filled with wands in a reachable distance from the floor, but she did not ask. Suspecting it had something to do with ordering wands on their wood, or core, or the energy, or whatever else there was to a wand.
When he stood on the floor once more he shooed Hermione backwards, "Well, go on. You are not going to try this out here, too many things can go wrong."
Hermione tried to argue, "Harry made a mess of this passage standing all the way-"
"Shush," the wandmaker said and again began to gesture for her to move. "Get going."
The young woman walked back into the living room, but not without trying to salvage her pride, "I am a full-grown witch-"
"And ignorant of wandlore," Ollivander added almost happily and continued talking about the instrument he proffered to Hermione, "This wand is much like your original one. The only difference being the place it was made and by whom. For it was in the Alpes that young Mr Humbert merged the wood with the core. Still a young lad, but a steady hand for wandmaking."
Hermione listened to Ollivander whilst she opened the lid of the wandbox and took the wand carefully out. There was no biting magic hurting her fingers; no angry, purple sparks. A surge of relief went through her, she had almost forgotten how a wand could lie neutrally in her hand.
All the while, the old wandmaker observed it all, having fallen silent when he watched her take the wooden handle, eager to see how the two would match.
She raised the wand, channelled her magical energy and waved it.
BANG! A flash. The wand shot out of her grip, white sparks accompanying it. With worry in her eyes, she watched Ollivander hurriedly scutter after it, "I - I am so sorry - I - I don't know - what happened just now?"
There was muttering, "Should have known this would happen. Foolish, an embarrassing mistake."
Hermione's blush only intensified at hearing these words.
A dark frown was on Ollivander's face when he returned with the wand. It was not broken, to Hermione's relief, though she did not dare to move or breathe.
When he looked up at her, after placing the wand back into its box, his eyes were gentler, but the frown was still there. "Not this one, too willing.
"Your interaction with Black's wand has changed your flow of magic, I hadn't thought your signature would adapt this fast and therefore hadn't taken that into my equation. This was not your fault, Miss Granger."
At these words, Hermione felt the blush of shame reside slightly, though the guilt still twisted inside her. It made her hesitant to grab the next proffered wand but she did so all the same. This time she made cracks appear in the surface of the workbench.
"Not that one either," Ollivander muttered as he gently caressed the cracked surface, his hand circling over it while his magic slowly repaired it. "There is no chemistry."
Then he snipped his fingers and where the previous wandbox had been was now a different one, "Try this one."
In one of the coffee cups appeared a small flower, though right after its appearance, the plant started to grow and – ultimately - wilt, leaving behind only shrivelled leaves.
"No, not this one either."
"Isn't the flower a good sign?" Hermione asked with a defeated sigh, handing back the wand.
"It was too pale, too lifeless" Ollivander shook his head, "you are forcing your magic to please."
He took the wand and its box and wandered away to a dark corner where Hermione had paid little attention to before. Instinctively she knew that it was a place heavily laden with charms, undoubtedly with a disillusionment somewhere between it all as well. She watched his back as he rummaged through the stuff she could not see, he reached for something on a shelf yet her eyes could not follow his hand. There was more to this than simple disillusions. Her curiosity was spurred, but she kept herself in place.
When the wandmaker came back Hermione saw he held a different wand - unrefined - in his hand, no box in sight.
He started explaining before she could make an inquiry, "This one isn't finished yet, the wood is unpolished and I haven't even started on the handle. But... it has a stronger personality, something you seem to need from your wand, nowadays." He gave a sad smile, which looked all the more melancholic in the flickering light of the fire.
Hermione did not respond, unwilling to acknowledge his observations. Instead, she took yet again the proffered wand, channelled her magic and made a gesture.
Sparks. Dark purple. Hermione recoiled from them, Bellatrix' wand made those same sparks whenever she thought of her own morals. At once she laid the wand on the workbench, despite being familiar with them, she had no interest in having multiple wands in her possession that had the same temperament.
Hermione was still looking distressed at the wand when she heard Ollivander speak up, she turned to look at him and his eyes were not fixated on the wand, like she expected, but on her. "Well, by Merlin's…" Ollivander said as he tugged at a handful of hair on his balding head. A puzzled and intrigued look was visible in his expression.
She desperately wanted to say that it was not her but the wand, she was not the cause of this, but all she could do was swallow the words away.
"Can I see your current wand again, Miss Granger." His tone of voice made clear it was no question.
With even less enthusiasm Hermione offered him the handle of Bellatrix' wand. As he took it, the corners of his lips turned upwards but it was no smile. A grimace? She tried not to worry about it.
Unlike earlier that morning Ollivander took his time to take a closer look at the wand. He casted magic, tested and changed the way he held the wand. With him the wand did not act up; no stupid purple sparks, no dishonest spells, not once. It listened to his every movement, utterance and will. Hermione could not ignore the twinge of envy she felt for the easiness with which he handled the otherwise by default temperamentful wand.
"Is it because you are it's maker that the wand lies this readily in your hands?" She asked, making sure to sound neutral.
"Indeed," was all Ollivander said, no explanation followed, no quip nor any teasing. He was completely focused on what he was doing. It made Hermione suspect there was more going on than she could see and feel. And for the first time she wondered if wandmakers truly were so different from ordinary wizarding folk like Ollivander had mentioned in Shell Cottage.
After a few more spells Ollivander gave a sigh and handed the crooked wood back to her, then took the wand that laid on the workbench and walked back to the dark corner from earlier.
"There is no other wand I can think of that would suit you," he sighed again when he returned to her side, "every wand I have is too willing or too... simple.
"I have no other vine wood wands at this moment, something that obviously needs to be remedied... but after this..." Ollivander hesitated in his words, starting to talk more to himself than to Hermione, "I wonder if vine wood is still your type of wood or... what if... ?"
"What if Lestrange's wand has affected my spellcasting?" She finished for him, finally desperate enough to point out the obvious.
"That too, yes."
"And what else, sir?"
"Don't concern yourself with that, you wouldn't understand." He shook his head and began to walk, motioning for Hermione to follow him.
"But I want to know about the lore of your work, try me."
"Oh, really?" He looked at her pointedly before continuing to lead the way back to his shop, "You and hundreds of others." His words would have been harsh, but his tone was somewhat gentle, tiredness lurking inside him. He had heard this many times before.
They were both silent until they reached the door, Ollivander looked up with a warm smile, "Perhaps I will tell you tidbits, but another time. Now get out of here, there are wands I need to create and I don't appreciate company when I work."
"Of course, yes – I..." Hermione hesitated, uncertain if he meant he would be making wands with her in mind, or just wands in general.
"I will send for you when the time comes," he reassured her at seeing her expression, whilst tapping the locks on his door, though not yet opening it. "And, Miss Granger, one last thing before you go, it's only a matter of time before Aurors will come by and ask after the wand you are carrying, if no one else has blabbed by then. I won't make it easy for them, but with the right documents, I will have to comply. Be prepared for their questions."
The Muggle-born was a few minutes too early. While she waited for Hogwarts' clock to peal she watched the lake. No tentacles were nearby the surface, waterbirds were peacefully swimming about, searching for food or cleaning themselves.
It worried her that Skeeter felt free enough to harass Ollivander for information. Hermione wondered what had changed that Rita felt secure to do these kinds of things again. She remembered the encounter clearly, Rita had said something about a visit to the ministry. There were only a few things that could have happened there and none of them would be easy to find out on her own, not even with the Invisibility Cloak at her disposal.
A peal sounded from the clock tower, indicating that it was half-past four. Somehow reminding her how tired she already felt, even though she was awake for barely two hours.
"He didn't have a wand for you."
Hermione turned around and asked lightly, "Why are you so sure of that?"
He smiled wryly, "You would be holding it out proudly, casting magic everywhere. So, how did it go?"
"It was... weird."
He gave her a light peck on her lips, "explain why."
She told him everything which had happened in Diagon Alley, including the embarrassing destruction she had caused. All the while Viktor took her through the same exercises as before. Easing her into the jogging slowly, knowing very well that her muscles were sore from the previous day.
When she had finished her story he said, "I wonder when he will contact you. How long does it take for him to make wands?"
"I have no idea," the Muggle-born huffed between breaths, not bothering to talk Bulgarian. "Is that known of Gregorovitch? His way of working?"
"No, he was known to be secretive about his line of work, despite his arrogant nature. He took his knowledge with him to the grave."
"He didn't teach his ways to students? Some kind of successor?"
"Not that I am aware of, but there are new wandmakers who-"
At that moment Harry ran up beside them, "Why are you or sound asleep or not there at all whenever I come looking for you in the Hospital Wing? Are you avoiding me?"
"Good morning to you too", Hermione smiling despite herself.
"Had a good night?" Viktor asked, though his tone was light Hermione suspected he knew the answer already. She glanced at the dark circles underneath Harry's eyes.
"No... nightmares," Harry did not elaborate and changed the subject, "What were you talking about?"
"Wands and the process of making them," answered Hermione.
"And the vandmakers," added Viktor.
"Ah, have you been to Ollivander?"
"Yeah, it did not pack out well."
"Bummer, Hermione," Harry reached out to pat her on the shoulder, "Perhaps in France or Germany there is one?"
"Maybe, but for now I will wait for Ollivander, he said he would contact me if he had any new wands."
At this Harry simply nodded. They were quiet for a while, as they jogged around the lake.
"I know why Gawain was at Hogwarts and why he and McGonagall were called into the tunnels," said Harry when they had almost jogged a full round and he glanced from Hermione to Viktor and back to her.
She answered his unspoken question,"He knows, I told him during dinner."
Viktor indicated that they needed to do their stretches and Harry and Hermione followed his example, all the while, Harry told them everything, "They found something, destruction of some kind. During the time Bellatrix was holed up down there, she was busy at the doors to the Chamber; apparently the doors were completely blackened and partly melted due to her magic. But that was not why McGonagall and Gawain had been summoned, there is a theory as to how Lestrange had been able to escape into the tunnels."
"Why did Gawain have to be summoned for that?" Groaned Hermione because they were doing a particularly painful stretch. Viktor quickly reached out and repositioned her, softly repeating that limits should not be breached endlessly. In her renewed pose she continued, "Minerva's presence is understandable, as the Head of Hogwarts, but why summon someone all the way from London, for something that can be relayed through a fireplace call?"
"I didn't ask, but isn't it just logical for the Head of Aurors to be summoned for such an important investigation?" Argued Harry.
"In Bulgaria, such people mostly stay in their offices, though the younger Head's still do a lot of field vork, 'most vanted people' being their favourites to go after," Viktor added his opinion. "Though, for notorious people like Lestrange, office vorkers often make exceptions."
"Hm," was all that came from the Muggle-born.
"Minerva wouldn't tell me anything about this theory of escape, though. Saying that there are still some rules she cannot breach, even regarding us."
For a second Hermione wondered if she should still put work in the forming of her own theory since the Aurors seemed so close to figuring it out. But she dismissed the thought before it could manifest. Naturally, she would continue her research.
"I wonder if the Chamber can still be opened after what she has done to it," Harry muttered.
"Let's at least wait till the Aurors are gone, before we make the visit," Hermione tried to reason, knowing fully well that Harry would go without her if she did not come with a sound argument.
"But what if they undo the damages? I want to see it with my own eyes. Maybe they missed something."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Viktor was quicker, "They can't, traces of most dark magic are permanent. If they vant them gone they have to replace the vhole thing. Vhich is not possible, right? Every stone of Hogvarts is bestoved vith enchantments." He straightened and began to walk, the other two falling in step beside him.
"But what if she used different means to destroy the doors?" Harry said, not wholly convinced of Viktor's certainty.
"The mere fact that she was able to create damage at all..." Hermione muttered.
"That isn't so strange, right," Harry said, "Hogwarts' corridors and whatnot have been demolished before. Remember those dung bombs Fred and George..." He trailed off after mentioning Fred.
"I suppose that's true," said Hermione quickly, in an attempt to stop what was already happening.
Viktor cleared his throat, "Could I come vith you, vhen you tvo go?"
Hermione smiled up at him, his sudden shyness amused her, but she said nothing. Harry nodded absentmindedly as he stared in the direction of Hagrid's cabin, "Of course, of course." By now they could see Hagrid in his garden as he was fussing over Grawp, who let his brother tend to him with only the faintest of struggles.
"I do wonder what they have found which was groundbreaking enough to get Gawain and McGonagall to come down there," wondered Hermione aloud as they walked. "Lestrange had nothing on her when she got captured, not even a wand. I am certain the escape route had been prepared beforehand, but something went wrong..."
"Let's continue this later," Harry said, smiling and waving as Hagrid looked around at them following Grawp's line of sight.
Viktor nodded and said, "See you at lunch." His fingers brushed lightly against Hermione's before he started to jog away.
"Don't overdo it," she could not help but yell after her lover. He waved his hand to show he had heard her.
"Says you?" Harry said as he bumped their shoulders. "The one who buries herself days on end in research, forgetting to eat and sleep."
"You are no better," she countered, pushing him away playfully, "with your tendency to look for trouble when it doesn't come to you."
Harry grinned and somehow Hermione was reminded of Fred and George whenever they took credit for a prank well done. It had become a bittersweet memory.
"Good mornin'. He still doesna want to tag alon'?" Hagrid asked as he looked at Viktor's retreating back towards the Quidditch stadium.
"It has nothing to do with you, he is really focussed on his training," Hermione explained.
"How is your morning, Hagrid?" Harry asked, he obviously tried to look happy, but he could not fool Hermione. She knew he noticed that Hagrid had lost weight.
"Not too bad," Hagrid said, patting his brother's knee, "Grawp's eye is doin' better every day."
Grawp grunted, slightly miffed. Which made Hagrid actually smile as he patted the knee again, "He never likes them potions."
"That is great," Harry said, looked up to Grawp and asked how he felt.
"Hagger here," he grunted, "better."
"Good to hear," Hermione smiled briefly, making Grawp smile in the process. Then she turned to look earnestly at Hagrid, "You will join us for breakfast, right? After our patrol?"
The half-Giant nodded, "Yeah, course, could do with some company."
This time Grawp followed them around over the grounds, lumbering a few metres behind them, grunting now and then. While they talked during their patrol, Hermione noticed that Hagrid was less on the lookout for Fang compared to the day before, Harry having his full attention as they talk. The latter did not surprise her, she knew that Harry held a special place in Hagrid's heart.
"Oh, by the way," Harry said, his tone catching Hermione's attention, as looked directly at her, "McGonagall wishes to speak to you about something. She asked me yesterday to tell you, but when I came into the Hospital Wing to check on you, you were already asleep."
Curiosity and dread stirred awake and mingled inside her. She nodded to indicate she had heard but she said nothing, her voice feeling suddenly constricted. She knew what this was about, she had seen - but not touched - the headline of the newspaper. It had arrived at the infirmary the previous evening just before Pomfrey had given her her dose of the Dreamless Sleep draught.
With her eyes, she searched for the tower in which she knew the Headmistress' office to be situated. Though she was not certain which windows belonged to the office. Unfortunately, no light shone from behind any windows, leaving Hermione still wondering if Minerva was awake or not.
"McGonagall will be awake soon, if she isna already," commented Hagrid at seeing the change in Hermione's expression. Then he pointed towards the tower, "Look, smoke is coming from the left chimney, only two rooms are connected ter that one. Both are hers."
She nodded again, "I will go to her after our patrol."
"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione," he said, not unkindly, "One better goes when bein' summoned by the Headmistress."
Harry spoke to her in their way, I will stay here, see you later.
The Muggle-born took a quick detour to the showers and was knocking at Minerva's door a little less than twenty minutes later. Her hair was still slightly wet and leaving damp spots on Fleur's sweater, but she did not bother with a drying spell, nor to put her hair in a ponytail.
"The door is open," came Minerva's invitation.
Hermione took her usual seat opposite Minerva, "Good morning, Professor."
"Morning, Miss Granger, have some tea. How was your first night at the hospital?"
She took the cup of tea offered to her, "Like I never got out of there, Madam Pomfrey has not changed a bit."
"I am glad to hear it," Minerva said with the ghost of a smile on her lips, but when she continued she grew all the more serious, "Now about those howlers, I have had a word with the owlery and sent a note to the post office. This will get sorted out, don't worry. Not a single of those red envelopes will ever be delivered to you again, not while you reside between these walls."
"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said with surprise, a relieved sigh followed suit. She wanted to say more but there was a sudden lump in her throat, but it had nothing to do with the dread from earlier. An act like this made so much difference for her, she would no longer need to keep her pride intact whilst some stranger's voice yelled at her. She looked down at the cup of tea she was nursing in her hands, the heat spreading through her fingers. "I am very grateful," she said softly. Though when she looked up to meet her Professor's eyes again, she could not hide the expectancy written all over her face, she had been summoned here for a reason and here she was.
"I see that you know why I asked for you to visit," Minerva stated after a moment of observation. Her voice was gentle but otherwise neutral.
"Yes, the newspaper..." Hermione trailed off, there was not much more she knew about it, she had seen the paper, had seen the headline, but she had not touched it, afraid of what might be written in there.
"Indeed. I asked Kingsley and he told me that they are on it, there are tracks the Aurors are following. Europe is where they are now, but their sources are spread thin-"
Because of the headline, Hermione had a suspicion what this was about, of course, but she was uncertain enough to brave an interruption, "Are you talking about the perpetrator who destroyed my home?"
"Perpetrators, Hermione, it's plural," corrected Minerva and without missing a beat the Professor added, "You haven't read the article."
Though it was not a question the Muggle-born nodded, not comfortable sharing the truth, that she simply had not the mind to read the news lately.
The Professor said nothing at first, nor did she show any change in her expression, which was nothing new to Hermione though it was not for the first time that she wished she could read McGonagall better. Dumbledore had never been one to hide his emotions or thoughts when in a discussion with a student.
But then she nodded in response to Hermione and continued where she had been interrupted, relaying more information now that she knew her pupil not to be up to date, "All the affected houses have been searched and set up correctly, they will fool the Muggle investigators and their tests. Our own forensics have been very throughout - as I said earlier - they have found evidence, though very vague and probably left there on purpose. Still, some of our Aurors are set on it, others are on the search elsewhere.
Resources are spread thin, Aurors are needed everywhere in the country, which is why I deem it my responsibility to accompany you to your home if you wish to visit it. Gawain cannot spare the manpower to ensure your safety, but we all know how magic can fool the most skilled. So, please, humour me when the time comes that you want to visit the remains of your home."
Reviews are treasured.