Chapter 2
I do not own harry potter.
"We cannot open the vault without her blood, Severus."
The creature was restlessly pacing and had black bags under its eyes. The other man eyed him with disdain, never betraying a semblance of emotion.
"We looked around every corner of London and she is nowhere to be found, my Lord." He scrutinized his face as he spoke to make sure he was buying it.
Hermione knew, because she was the perspective of the greasy-haired man.
She woke up in heavy tremors, extreme terror on her colourless face.
The very last thing she wished to do was to wake anyone, so she simply went to sit on the roof to contemplate the matter at hand.
Were those flashbacks related to the encounter (or encounters) made earlier that day?
Perhaps there were artefacts from the incident hidden in the house.
Hermione was waiting for it to empty so she could start her notorious research all the while putting things back into place to erase suspicion.
After serving a weak and absent grin to her mother, who seemed oddly appeased by it, she began.
A few hours and a massive headache later, the house was upside down. Hermione gave up tidying after every spot she looked around three solid hours ago. Her orange cat was intently staring, immobile on the antediluvian, dusty music machine as she stopped and stared back, disconcerted by the almost-human look it was giving her.
Hesitating for a moment, as the idea sounded absurd in her overly rational mind, yet walked determined to the cat and forced open the music machine.
When Hermione came into contact with what was inside, a crucifying pain broke in her veins, in her blood, like an uncontrollable fire, a curse drenching her of oxygen, provoking a horrendous scream.
Some kind of force strained her away from the object, as she struggled to breathe. She knew there was something extremely dangerous going on and that she eventually had to retrieve the object before her parents were back.
"Crookshanks" Her voice was barely audible, and her body felt drained after recovering the unbearable pain and still handling the bearable. She vaguely wondered how it was possible since she wasn't doing much effort on a daily basis.
The cat subtly moved its tail and stared at her frighteningly, utterly focused.
"Get me that will you?" She motioned at the item and looked back at the cat to watch its reaction. He immediately jumped down and back at the cracked machine, took the item between its teeth and jumped graciously to her.
It was a stick.
Crookshanks nonchalantly put it on the floor in front of her and vanished, but Hermione was too focused on the object to even notice.
She knew she was going to experience agony when touching the wand. It was bound to be this way; energy was repellent and everything comes at a price. It was all about bravery.
One minute later, she grasped it full hand and cried out for several minutes, forcing her burning hand on it and then using her other hand to force grasp.
An internal force like none she had felt before ejected her to the other side of the room, and green sparkles blew out of the wand.
Hermione's hair was a total mess, her clothes torn apart and the house a disaster. Focusing, she tried to force the wand to clean up instead, intuitively.
She had foreseen something extraordinary would happen if she focused herself on what she wanted it to do, pouring all her mental energy into it, somehow that sight felt familiar and yet undeniably mesmerising.
She closed her eyes and felt a warmth coming out of her to the wand, and repairing every spot like new.
It was nearly midnight when she spotted a white haired guy sitting on a bench in a nearby park, after looking in every corner of the neighbourhood and getting used to defend herself using the new weapon at hand, figuring she didn't have much time to accommodate before she met him again.
Wide-eyed, he stood up and faced her with a pale face.
"Granger, how did you..."
Someone, (or something) emerged from nowhere, taking them aback.