Chapter Four: Grandmum Knows Best.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the material written by J. K. Rowling or her publishing company.
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Hermione Jean Granger did not know what to think, as she sped towards the public floo on Diagon Alley. Her bags were weighing her down, and she gasped for breath internally deciding she should go running more in the future. Looking over her shoulder she saw that no horrific beasts were in pursuit, so she leaned against the fireplace, tossing her head back onto the refreshingly cool surface. Then she allowed herself to actually think about what had previously transpired.
That Snake-Man had been an assassin, hired by Lord Voldemort to kill her, that much was obvious. She shuddered before looking around; Hermione Granger could not fathom how Voldemort could even hire any assassins after the state she had left him in. But then another thought popped into her head, why was he so desperate to annihilate her when he himself had recognized her as a worthless mudblood? His assassin hadn't even been forced to really try killing her, and he would have succeeded if it were not for that voice.
Not even ready to begin thinking of the voice, or her possible possession, Hermione pulled one of the Knuts from her pocket. Shaking her bushy head of hair the muggleborn inserted the currency into the slot of the public fireplace before a pile of floo powder filled the dispenser. Shifting all the bags to one hand while sticking the joke of a wand back in her pocket, deciding that warranted inspection later as well, Hermione scooped the substance in her hand carefully. Stepping in the fireplace she breathed deeply for a moment to prevent anything from causing her voice to wobble.
"Granger residence," Hermione said firmly while throwing the powder down to her feet. Green flames ripped into existence engulfing her entire body. Hermione seemed to fly through a dark pit, and barely managed to spin out from her parent's fireplace as she was tossed out. Before the green flames had even roared back to nothing the witch noticed a presence in the room. Her warm brown eyes met a pair that were the exact same shade, yet very cold.
Her grandmother Cordelia sat in an armchair, a glass of Hermione's parent's expensive wine clutched in her hand. "Well, my dear little beaver, I suppose we have quite a lot to discuss." Hermione shifted her hips stonily setting her bags down, while clutching at her bruised midsection to prevent from showing any pain. Her grandmother's eyes flicked to the labels on one of the bags, and she smirked mirthfully, "Knockturn Alley, little beaver?" Hermione's eyes widened in shock, as she stared at the woman who had treated her more like a family pet than grand-daughter her whole life.
"How do you-," Hermione began to ask slowly when Cordelia Granger interrupted her.
"One of your professors sent me a letter detailing your extensive academic achievements in Hogwarts earlier this year; we both know you are clever enough to figure this out on your own, beaver." The woman stood, setting her wine glass on the table as Hermione tried to figure out how her supposedly muggle grandmother knew about the wizarding world.
"Dad and Mum didn't know anything when I got my letter," Hermione speculated, "But you know professors at Hogwarts. So that means Dad must not have any magic which would make him a squib?"
Her grandmother goaded her on with that same, nasty grin, "You can do better than that, especially after what I read in the Daily Prophet. The-Muggleborn-Who-Lived, they all are calling you, I'm sure one needs some brains to battle the Dark Lord..." Hermione seethed internally, and continued analyzing for the answers her grandmother refused to give her.
"The only possible conclusion is that you are a witch," Hermione inferred, "Because if you were a squib it would have been considered a grave embarrassment during the era in which you were born, and your family would have discarded you, hence leaving you with no knowledge of your background."
Cordelia stared at Hermione coldly, "I suppose you are a clever, little beaver."
Said little beaver snapped back in a biting voice, "I have made far too many deductions myself, now it is well passed time for you to give me the answers I am owed."
Her grandmother glared at her like no grandmother should, hissing, "I owe you no answers little beaver, in fact I came here out of the goodness of my heart." Hermione scoffed in disbelief at the audacity this loathsome, old Hag displayed.
Her grandmother continued, "I read that article in the Daily Prophet about how the only little witch in my bloodline defeated the Dark Lord. I was impressed and concerned for my newest treasure, so I contacted Dumbledore and was shaken by the response I was given." Her grandmother stared at her coldly and she shivered, "Not only was he trying to keep you in the shadows like a good little pawn in his political games, but he sent you home with no protection whatsoever."
The bushy haired girl looked at her grandmother in surprise when she thought she recognized concern, but then it was gone in a flash. The muggleborn supposed her grandmother had a point there; a monster had just tried to assassinate her after all. "I decided that I needed to intervene before you fell to his manipulations," Her grandmother chided, "It is time I groom you into the proper little witch I never saw any point in crafting. Before you go to accept your honor of Merlin, and make our ancestors proud."
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Hermione was then practically pushed to the dining room, and shoved into a chair. "Would it kill you to throw some sleakeazy on your mess of a head for once," Her grandmother snarled in annoyance. Then Hermione watched as the woman poured more wine into her glass from a bottle on the counter. "You must be perfect when you greet the minister in front of the Wizarding World for your award," Cordelia began, "Not only will this be your unveiling to the wizarding world, but it will mark my return." Hermione knew better than to ask her grandmother why she had left in the first place.
"In fact, we should probably do something about that face," Her grandmother said softly, running a condescending finger down Hermione's features. Cordelia suddenly grabbed Hermione's jaw, and forcefully spread it open inspecting the buck teeth that sat there. The girl tried to protest, but her grandmother had what looked like a yew wand pointed in front of her face, "Reducio." The Shrinking Charm was shot into Hermione's front teeth, much to her utter displeasure, and stopped only when her teeth had shrunk to what her grandmother called the, 'perfect size.' Angrily Hermione shot back from her grasp while rocketing up from the chair.
That one spell had pushed her to lose the little respect she had never held for her grandmother in the first place. "Listen girl," Snarled the woman, yew wand still held aloft, "I am helping you the best that I can."
Hermione cut her off and pulled her own wand out, unsure whether she planned to curse the woman or hex her, "Helping me by barging into this house, announcing you're a witch, and telling me I am ugly?"
The woman shook her mane of graying blonde hair and said in a cold cutting voice, "Every bit of the beauty, strength, and magic that lies within your blood must be brought to the surface for all to see, Hermione. For when it comes time for you to receive your award you will be thrust into a world where nothing else will matter. Where families older than Merlin will tear you down, and disregard you as a mudblood."
Cordelia stood there, in the aftershock of her outburst of passion, then she slammed the glass down on the table so hard Hermione was surprised it didn't break. "I am retiring for the evening," Then she began walking for the door, "I suggest you do so as well since the first of many lessons will begin tomorrow for you." Then the she strode from the kitchen and presumably up towards the guest bedroom. Hermione collapsed back into the chair gasping as she poked and prodded her now short teeth. The most prominent thought in her clever little head, besides the fact that her grandmother was a witch, was that the woman had just used her real name, instead of calling her Beaver.
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Hermione had fallen fast asleep on the table, and woke with a scream as a very heavy book was slammed down near her head. Her grandmother stood in a deep, blue pair of robes with her graying blonde hair pulled into a long braid. Her wrinkles were as always not present and Hermione wondered how she was sixty. The woman pointed to the book on the table explaining, "That is the Blood Directory, or what some call The Sacred Twenty-Eight. Almost half the pureblood families worth knowing are in there."
Hermione looked at the dusty, old book, and felt disgust well up in her stomach, "Is your family in there."
"Nice try," Cordelia chuckled darkly, "I am glad you are showing your cunning today, it is a much better change from your angry mumbling last night."
Hermione brushed off that comment, and asked indignantly, "Wouldn't it make things easier if I were able to say what wizarding family I descend from?" Her grandmother chuckled once again, but this time she acted as though what Hermione said was actually funny.
"A muggleborn is defined as the product of two non-magical parents, Beaver, which is all they will ever see you as; you will never be considered a half blood." The girl opened her mouth, but was swiftly silenced, "Now back to the book," Her grandmother said, "You will read about three families every night, and I will quiz you every morning."
Hermione nodded reluctantly, "Fine." It made her stomach drop every time she gave in to her grandmother.
The muggleborn girl reached over to grab her new wand noticing out of the corner of her eye the manner in which Cordelia was staring at it. A very forceful hand clamped down on Hermione's wrist, as her grandmother hissed, "Put. It. Down." Shocked by the intensity of the situation the twelve year old did as she was commanded watching the stick roll gently on the tabletop. "You got this from Ollivander's yesterday, didn't you?" Cordelia hissed venomously. Hermione could only nod mutely in the face of so much tumultuous rage. "I could spot one of these a mile away, a tracker wand," Her face contorted with more fury at the word tracker.
"When those involved with the Dark Lord went to purchase new wands they were given fake ones," The woman continued to lecture. "Trackers had two purposes, the first to report all usage of magic back to the Ministry. The second was meant to ensure the individual would fall in battle, for the cores used in these wands are supremely weak."
"Are you saying that Ollivander, one of the most famous wandmakers of all time gave me-." She was cut off abruptly.
"Yes, he gave you a Tracker wand, on the order of none other than Albus Dumbledore." Cordelia interrupted haughtily. "Which means that a shopping trip is desperately in order." Hermione was then grabbed by the shoulder in a very tight grip, as her grandmother apparated them away to an unknown destination. Light, space, and noise merged into one as Hermione was squeezed through time itself. When she thought her heart would explode both of her feet were thrown onto a hard, cobbled street.
Heavy breaths racketed through the girl's chest while she tried to keep down the bile rising in her upset stomach. "Up," Cordelia snapped sharply, "You better get used to apparition soon. We will be using it quite a bit." Holding in a bitter retort Hermione stood up straight once more while glaring at her grandmother's head. Then she started to examine her surroundings with a look of mild surprise. When Cordelia said they would be going shopping Hermione had expected to arrive in Diagon Alley. Instead they were in a much more impressive setting. People in the most beautiful clothing flounced about babbling in what must have been french.
"Welcome to Ville D' Amant," Cordelia explained, "Diagon Alley's better in almost every respect." Hermione, of course, had already read about Ville D'Amant which just so happened to be the wizarding, shopping center of France. Top designers, publishers, potions companies, and many other impressive businesses were based in the historical village. The muggleborn stared around in wonder, as her grandmother towed her into a luxurious-looking clothing store. Inside french witches bustled around while opulent muggle and wizarding clothing danced behind them through the shop.
A pretty, older woman with silver hair and exquisite features stepped from behind the counter to pull Cordelia into an embrace. "Cor-de-lia, 'ow are you mon amie?" The woman, who was clearly the owner, asked in a truly delighted voice.
"I am perfectly well Etoile," Cordelia responded stiffly, composed as rigidly as ever, "My granddaughter is in desperate need of new clothes. Preferably of the highest quality, both muggle and wizarding, and nothing grey." The woman's nose crinkled disgustedly at the grey sweater Hermione had been wearing since yesterday. Etoile, as Cordelia had called her, smiled at Hermione with those bright, blue eyes of her's.
"Your granddaughter 'eez 'o beautiful Cordelia, you share zose gorgeous eyes," Etoile complimented them. Hermione decided that Etoile must have been one of the greatest liars on earth, for she was most certainly not beautiful. Nonetheless she thanked the woman for the compliment while Cordelia remained stoic. The girl wondered how the two women knew each other, but did not have time to think up an answer, for Etoile was sending her away with an unemotional, young sales woman.
Hermione was then forced to try on every, single, last piece of clothing available in the store. Muggle pants, shoes, shirts, dresses, undergarments, and even socks with designer labels danced in endless lines to the changing room at the snap of the sales woman's wand. The sales witch then began to produce wizarding clothes made of the oddest substances. Cloaks made from Augurey and Occamy feathers, robes woven from Banshee hair, and even dresses finely stitched from Unicorn tail hair. Dragon hide boots, and Acromantula silk gloves also became parts of the girl's wardrobe.
Several hours later Hermione finally stepped out of the changing room in a pair of periwinkle-blue robes which suited her brown eyes. Cordelia stood at the counter purchasing the pricey clothing. Upon her granddaughter's entrance she asked snarkily, "Can you add some Sleakeazy to our purchases?" Etoile was only too happy to teach Hermione how to apply the product while Cordelia forked over an unbelievable amount of money for the many bags of clothing. Then with a farewell Etoile promised to have the clothing delivered to the Granger residence later that evening via floo.
Hermione was promptly tugged from the store by her grandmother, and the french sun shined down on them both brightly. Cordelia began to march down the road while the muggleborn struggled to follow. "Where are we going next?" She asked, feeling the ache in her still-bruised body. A wizard tried to force his wares upon her, but Hermione waved him off as though he were a pesky buzzard.
"To get you a proper wand," Cordelia finally answered when they had walked clear across Ville D'Amant. The pair came to an abrupt stop allowing Hermione to inspect their next destination. Painted in light pastels of blue, pink, red, and white stood a shop that was much prettier than Ollivander's, but which felt much more ancient. Imprinted into the tinted windows were the words 'Lefebvre's Ghaulish Wands'. The woman stepped inside first while the girl followed after a bit uneasily. The door shut noiselessly behind them, as they stepped into a very neat room.
Shelves of wand boxes reached well into the back of the store, but they actually appeared as though they were regularly dusted. A pretty, blonde witch with striking grey eyes stepped forth from the depths of the shelves. "My granddaughter is in dire need of a wand," Cordelia explained stiffly. While it was quite clear that Hermione needed a wand, for they were in a wand shop, she understood that Cordelia was trying to clarify that they were not french. Though the recognition which flashed in the wandmaker's eyes made it apparent that she was familiar with Hermione's now-famous face.
The woman smiled, "Of course Madame Granger." Her impeccable english was then directed towards Hermione. "I am certain you are familiar with the methods of the Ollivander family?" The intelligent muggleborn nodded mutely prompting the wandmaker to continue. "Us Lefebvres do not follow the same dogma of wand making," She explained, "Where the Ollivanders only sell wands with three 'supreme cores', we offer a wider range of options to suit every individual." Intrigued by this development Hermione stepped forwards to the counter when beckoned by the woman. "Which is your wand arm?" She asked, while a tape measurer took the girl's every measurement.
"Right," Hermione cringed nasally when the object began to wrap around her nose.
The thing fell to the counter with a flick from the woman's wand. Promptly after the process of selection began. "Ten and ¼ inches, mistletoe, Fairy wing core," She would explain before handing wands to an increasingly frustrated Hermione. Some of the bloody things shot from her hands, others caused the shop to shake, and other still triggered sporadic rainstorms outside. The cores grew more bizarre with each option, Griffin feather, Jobberknoll feather, Dittany stalk, Erumpent hide were a few of many oddities. Then finally Madame Lefebvre set the last wand back in its box with a heavy sigh. "Wait one moment, Miss Granger," She said before leaving the room.
Hermione sent a nervous glance towards her grandmother, but looked away swiftly. The woman had an odd, stiff expression upon her face which did not radiate comforting confidence. Shortly after her head turned forwards again a gentle tap began to click on the wood floor from the shadowy shelves. Madame Lefebvre became visible first, leading a hunched figure. Then she came to a stop at the counter before stepping aside to reveal a woman who must have been older than Merlin. Glassy, blind eyes were set into a wrinkled face while gnarled locks of silver hair sat on the woman's neck.
The muggleborn did not have a chance to act before two, withering hands reached forwards to clamp upon her face. Hermione Granger, the girl who had faced down Lord Voldemort, wondered in that moment if she was going to die. Instead of crushing Hermione's skull, however, the woman's hands dropped to the counter as she barked something in french at Madame Lefebvre. The blonde wandmaker sashayed from the room while Cordelia looked at the old witch in something akin to shock. Much to Hermione's surprise her grandmother called out in french to the haggard woman while stepping closer to the counter.
The old woman responded in a gratingly croaky voice. Their conversation grew a crescendo in intensity until Madame Lefebvre returned carrying a very old wand box. She handed it to the visually impaired woman who promptly shoved it at Hermione. "Open," She hissed in english almost giving the twelve year old a heart attack. Glancing at Cordelia she tried to discern any clues as to what was going on, but found nothing. So quite resignedly she flipped the lid off of the box. Beneath mounds of wrapping paper sat a wand crafted from the silveriest wood that Hermione had ever seen. French wands, from what she had seen, were much prettier than english ones.
The stick sitting before her was a combination of both countries' styles. The color, texture, and design were battle worn, typically British, but the craftsmanship was undeniably french. Carved into the silver hilt was what appeared to be a dragon's head, its forked tongue twisting along the length to the wandpoint. Understanding the process at this point Hermione wrapped her fingers around the lion-like head. Her entire world changed. The shadows of a cloudy day outside turned to brilliant sunshine, the very air she breathed grew static with magical energy, and the stick promptly released a jettison of silver fireworks into the air.
Cordelia was the first to speak snapping something harsh at the old woman. The old woman in turn spat out an insult with a hissing tone to her voice. Madame Lefebvre proved herself a worthy mediator by cutting all tension from the room. "Madrona, thirteen inches precisely, Nundu whisker core," The woman explained to Hermione who wrinkled her nose in confusion. She had only been exposed to magic for a year, after all, and was hardly familiar with what a 'Nundu' was. Picking up on her lack of knowledge on the subject the blonde further elaborated.
"The Nundu is a powerful creature, a mammoth lion which rivals even Chimaeras," Her words caused Hermione's eyes to widen. "Their breath is deadly, and they have only been subdued by no less than one-hundred wizards working in tandem." Madame Lefebvre paused momentarily, "My great-grandfather collected the whiskers in this wand while travelling the world. I doubt there is anything quite like it."
"For good reason," Cordelia snapped, "She is a second year in Hogwarts! How can she be expected to control such power?"
Madame Lefebvre seemed to have lost her enduring patience, and her impeccable english. "Zis 'girl' managed to stop zee Dark Lord in 'er first year at 'Ogwarts," She sneered, "Zee wand 'as chosen zee witch worthy of its power." Cordelia stared the woman down with deadly intensity. Madame Lefebvre stood straight next to the haggard crone once more, regaining her composure. "That will be thirty galleons, Madame Granger." Hermione watched as her grandmother tossed the golden coins onto the counter before marching from the store. The muggleborn moved to pick her new wand up from the counter before either of the women could try to bag it.
The old woman's talon-like fingernails wrapped around her wrist like a manacle.
Hermione glanced into the woman's face with what could only be called timidity. "Watch zat one carefully," She hissed in ramshackle english while jerking a head towards the door, "Cordelia Granger eez not to be trusted." The girl waited for her hand to be released before racing right out the door. She wondered in that moment just how many people France were acquainted with her grandmother.
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*This chapter has been revised.
Well, this chapter took me way too long to rewrite. I have been super busy, and I think the revision process will only get worse from here….
Next Chapter: The Mudblood Apostle.