This one materialized out of nowhere...

[ladymirth]

My muse visited very suddenly this evening, bearing a delicious Ron/Hermione missing moment one-shot with her. Of course I jumped on it. But halfway through writing it, this little ancedote wrote itself. I swear! It's not much, a PWP drrabble-like thing, really, but it amused me, so I'm going to post it up here just for kicks. 

We all grieved when Harry's phoenix wand snapped in two, but what about the wand Hermione lost? 

August 1991

“Try this one, then.” Mr. Ollivander threw down another wand from one of the topmost shelves in the shop, where he was perched on a ladder.

 

The narrow strip of wood was hardly discernible to her from all the others she’d tried so far. But the moment she curled her small fingers around it, it seemed to grow warm as though it knew her. The tingling feeling spread from her fingertips to somewhere inside her chest, making her feel like there was a joyful balloon expanding inside of it. Without thinking, but with instinctive certainty, she swung her arm in a round, carefree arc around the room.

 

And stopped when half a dozen objects immediately toppled down in its wake. Mr. Ollivander and his ladder were among them.

 

She stood blinking in horror at the mess she had created, while her mother and father rushed to help the storekeeper with cries of dismay.

 

“I am all right, madam, no need to fuss,” said the old man, getting to his feet with surprising agility and brushing himself off, unconcerned. “We wizards are hardy folk, and accidents are an occupational hazard. Ah,” he exhaled, seeming quite jovial all of a sudden for a man who had just narrowly escaped being brained by one of his own wands. “One of my best ones you’ve got there. Vine wood, eleven inches. Nice and flexible. Well done, little miss. Of course, it is the wand that chooses the witch or wizard.”

 

Hermione, who had opened her mouth to speak an abject apology, was momentarily diverted by this news. “The wand chooses the owner?” she echoed in amazement. She looked doubtfully down at the stick in her hand. She was getting quite fond of it already, but it was still just a stick of wood. How could wood have opinions?

 

“Of course, little miss,” said Mr. Ollivander proudly. “A wand is no ordinary strip of wood. It is made of wood selected specifically for its magical propensities and power and inside its core we seal the essence of a powerful magical creature. Once created, the wand becomes an entity unto itself, an instrument of through which great amounts of concentrated magic may be channeled, that lends its allegiance to only those it deems worthy of it. No two wands are alike, anymore than two unicorns and phoenixes are alike.”

 

Hermione’s mind was whirling. “Unicorns? Phoenixes?” asked her father in bewilderment.

 

“Yes indeed, although that one right there contains a core of dragon heartstring,” said Ollivander, continuing to be supremely oblivious to the Grangers’ increasing astonishment. “A rare Chinese Fireball, as I remember. Very wily creatures they are, it is almost impossible to catch one without killing it. But this one had already been tamed by dragon riders.”  

 

Hermione’s mind, which she has always prided in its capacity to hold significantly large amounts of information for an eleven year-old, found itself overwhelmed for the first time. She wasn’t entirely sure she liked the sensation. Dragon Riders? Chinese Fireballs? Sticks of wood with artificial intelligence? It was all very confusing, and confusing wasn’t a state of being Hermione Granger could tolerate. She only took small comfort in the gobsmacked expressions of her parents. Her parents weren’t the ones who were magical, and they weren’t the ones going off to a school full of witches and wizards. Probably this stuff would be old hat to all of them, and she may never catch up. But then, Professor Burbage had said that there were many other magical students who came from Muggle families at Hogwarts, so maybe they were given some help. Still, Hermione didn’t like it. She may not have been the prettiest girl in her class, or the most popular, but she had always been the cleverest and knowing things that nobody else knew was second nature to her. A frown creased her small face, hidden by her fringe of bushy hair. It was a good thing she had thought to buy all those extra books, even if her father had declared that she’d never finish reading them before the end of the summer. They were sure to help her catch her up. Books had never failed her before, after all.

 

There were a thousand questions burning in her mind as she watched her parents painstakingly count out seven gold pieces (how medieval!), and ordinarily Hermione would have hardly hesitated to bombard Ollivander with all of them. However, the old man had been extremely condescending to her parents and called her “little miss” exactly eight times since she’d entered his shop, in the most gratingly patronizing tones. She knew because she had counted. She would have been quite irritated about it, but she reflected that when a man overlooked the fact that she’d nearly destroyed half his shop and sold her a very nice wand, one was obliged to overlook petty things like that.

 

She could feel it still tingling pleasantly against her palm as she reluctantly handed it over to be encased in an elegant white box. She fancied that her hand felt empty and bereft without it; which was strange, as she had only met it a few minutes ago. Met it? She meant held it, of course. Of course.

 

“There you go, little miss,” wheezed Ollivander looking down at her with what he probably thought a kind expression and what Hermione perceived as an insultingly patronizing one. “Welcome to the magical world. You are truly one of us now. A witch is nothing without a wand which gives her its allegiance, remember, and a wand is nothing without its rightful possessor. Look after it well, and it will do the same for you. Do not lose it. Good day to you.”

 

Hermione’s face darkened in anger as she flounced out of the shop. Don’t lose it indeed! Did she look like she was five years old?

 

Hermione’s parents walked out of Diagon Alley carrying a bewildering array of assorted spellbooks and paraphernalia, but Hermione elected to hold her wand box the rest of the way. She didn’t even let them put it in the trunk of the car with the other packages. Her parents’ didn’t understand her attachment to this item, and neither yet, did she. But she thought about it on the way home, as she slid the gleaming strip of wood out of its soft velvet wrappings and turned it warily in her fingers (she didn’t want to risk creating a three-car pile-up on the motorway by accident).

 

Mr. Ollivander had kept going on about “allegiance” but Hermione wasn’t sure she liked the word. It made it seem like she was going to rule over her wand. Her wand (eleven inches, vine wood, DRAGON heartstring, she chanted inside her head, trying to get used to the idea) felt friendly in her hand; it had taken to her the moment she had met – touched – touched it. Very few people in her short life had ever reacted in a similar way to her – she had few friends, and the few she did have were there only once they realized she would be the ideal person to help them with their homework. She decided she and her wand should be friends and equals.

 

“Hello, wand,” she told it softly, holding it up to her face. “I’m your new witch. We’re going to Hogwarts, and we’re going to learn how to do magic together. Mr. Ollivander said that you need me just like I need you. I think you’re a fine old wand, and I have no intention of losing you, so don’t you worry about that. I’ll take good care of you, right enough. Friends, okay?”

 

Then, feeling a little silly, she hastily put it back inside the box and stuffed it under the seat. She was far too old to have imaginary friends, after all.  

-End.

Comments

[annabtg.livejournal.com]

Aww, such a cute ficlet! I really like it! Good job! :)

See ya,
Anna.

[ladymirth.livejournal.com]

Thank you, Anna. =)