Warning: hints of - but not actually described - heterosexual intercourse.

They had decided to take a last stroll over the beach before turning in for the night, their arms linked. And for a while, they walked in silence.

"So, things worked out after all?" He asked all of a sudden.

Fleur looked at her husband with a questioning gaze but said nothing.

William elaborated, "You two seemed to be on friendly terms again. Hermione is no longer angry that you want to publish it, your journal on Curses and their effect?"

"Ah, non," Fleur picked up her lie effortlessly, "She 'as agreed eet ees for a good cause, as long as I don't mention 'er personally. She ees not yet ready to share the curse on 'er underarm with the rest of the world."

"Understandable," He nodded with a frown. Then he muttered more to himself than her, "Hadn't that been clear already then...?"

She watched him, his expression and words worried her though she made sure she did not show it, "What ees eet, mon loup?"

"Well, it's nothing, just..." He hesitated, but continued nonetheless, "When they were staying at ours and you took care of Hermione, while she was bedridden you had your fireflies conjured... And I was wondering why? I always thought you only shared them with people you... you really care for. Gabrielle, me..."

The absurdity of his question and her own relief made her laugh out loud, though she stopped herself quickly because William looked both ashamed and hurt. His frown deepened.

"Sorry, Bill, I didn't mean to laugh at you. The fireflies were to calm me down. Een the first few 'ours, she would awaken and rave, talk inaudibly, eet scared me a little. Later she wouldn't awaken, instead, she would make these suffocating noises and sweat profusely... Needles to say, I kept my fireflies conjured."

William scratched his neck in embarrassment, his blush reached his ears, "Right, wow, I had no idea, I thought that you had built a friendship with Hermione during the Triwizard Tournament, or something."

"Pfft," Fleur waved away the idea, "no, we couldn't be bothered back then. We were on opposing teams and there ees the age difference, I suppose."

"Taking care of someone can really change a lot, huh?" Said he with a half-shrug.

The quarter Veela gazed out over the ocean, the cloudlessness of the day had made way for the moon which shone brightly over the landscape. Waves crashed and splashed. It was like a dark, angry animal. It's waves foamed dangerously like froth on one's mouth. At that moment, it all felt so different from the beaches in France, though she knew rationally that the ocean there could look just as unforgiving as here. Fleur suddenly felt homesick, to a time when she had not been someone's wife. She dispelled the thought. "Qui," she answered at last, "that 'appens when you see someone at their most vulnerable. At least, een this case eet did." Though what she really thought was, And we just have a click.

Hermione followed Harry and Viktor to the Hufflepuff dormitory, for she would not be sleeping in the Nursery for a few nights. Pomfrey had gone to stay with her family, partially to attend some of the funerals in the upcoming days. Just before the start of the ceremony that morning, the matron had given her several bottles of the sleeping draught and a time table for when to take the drink, as to keep to their regulation scheme. The Muggle-born was thankful for all the help Pomfrey had given her so far and had memorized the times, now all she had to do was actually keep to the hours she had been given by the matron.

Thinking about the schedule and the potion made her realize that, even though she took the draught every night since she started sleeping in the nursery, she had yet to feel drowsy through the day. She would not be surprised if Pomfrey had done something to it. Perhaps diluted the draught enough to minimize its effects on a person? Or had her body gotten addicted to the stuff and would she experience side effects the moment she stopped taking the potion? Rationally she knew that addiction, in this case, was not yet a possibility, but she felt slightly uncomfortable at the idea nonetheless.

"So," began Harry, "you and Fleur made up?"

"Yes, we did," she said softly, "though mostly thanks to Andromeda's interference, honestly."

He looked in surprise over his shoulder at her, "She did? When?"

"We were arguing in the kitchen when she came inside with Teddy, to change his diaper. Needless to say, it was very awkward. And when she went she kind of admonished us for our behaviour... She meant well and it helped, but it struck a nerve."

"Er... Um... It's good your short-lived blood feud got resolved," said Harry sheepishly, "right?"

Viktor snorted at the joke but said nothing. Hermione smiled and playfully hit her lover's arm, which made him grin all the more. Then she turned her attention back to Harry, "What is it that you are not saying?"

"Well, I took the opportunity to talk with her about Teddy and told her that, you know, I want to take my godfather duties seriously," Harry said and continued whilst they walked through the entrance of the dormitory, "And... Well... She invited us for lunch tomorrow."

"Ah," was all Hermione said, not really feeling like she wanted to make small talk that soon with the woman who had - albeit rightfully so - admonished her just a few hours ago.

Harry sat down in one of the chairs, nearest to the fire, "It will be fine, Hermione. I am there, she would not dare to talk all reasonably to you while the boy who defeated Voldemort was in the same room."

"Such modesty," she said drily and took to sit in the chair between Harry and Viktor's. "How late are we expected?"

Harry rummaged in the pouch around his neck, "Around eleven."

She nodded, watching as he pulled something out of his pouch. In his hand, he held the cord of the medal he had received that morning. The front of the gold medal was engraved with the Ministry's sign, the capital M with the wand in the middle. He studied its details - the rims, the hand-engraved letters - in the light of the fire. Turning it this way and that, the different faces of the object gleamed in the flickering light.

All the medals were the same, the difference being the backs, where the initials and surnames had been engraved of the one receiving the honorous object. Hermione had put hers in her bag, she had no idea what to do with it.

"Do you reckon we could enchant this like our Dumbledore's Army coins?" Harry asked.

Viktor smiled, he knew from stories what Harry meant, and said, "Not likely, but ve should certainly try."

"What did you think about the ceremony?" She looked from Harry to Viktor, to indicate that she asked both of them.

"It vas nice that Kingsley mentioned my country's support," Viktor said, "I appreciated the gesture. Even though there vere little of my countrymen to hear his speech."

"There has to be a formal ceremony that is being prepared," Harry said, whilst he put the medal in his pocket. "Perhaps the newspapers tomorrow will have something to say about it."

To which Hermione added, "This gathering at Hogwarts was to announce the start of the funerals and, more importantly, to make a public gesture. To ensure that the whole of wizarding Brittain notices that changes in the protocol of the Ministry are happening. Kingsley is playing a strategic game."

"As is a custom in politics," said Viktor drily.

The three were quiet for some time, having had a long day of listening and talking there was tiredness which hung around them like clouds heavy with rain.

Harry sighed deeply and rubbed his face, "Hermione, do you have a sleeping draught I could take? I just want to sleep, without any bloody nightmares."

"Sure." She gave him one of Poppy's brews - not minding the idea of pulling an allnighter, she could take up Pomfrey's time table the following day again - and wished him a good night. Harry left the two with a wave before he closed the door behind him.

Hermione turned in her seat, to look more easily at Viktor and asked him in Bulgarian, "Harry is not sleeping well, is he?"

"No," concurred Viktor, "He wakes up often, yelling or crying."

"Why won't he ask for help? I don't get it. He hasn't even taken the first step to contact the therapist he has chosen. And there is Pomfrey who helps me too..."

Her lover shrugged, stood up from his chair to sit on one of her chair's armrests and said, "Give it time, give him time. There has happened much and people mourn and process differently."

She breathed in, then said, "I know." Then she reached upwards to caress Viktor's cheek, "I know... You are right."

He took her hand gently in his and guided it to his lips to press a kiss on her knuckles. Butterflies stirred inside her, his stubble scratched her skin lightly. Then he looked her in the eyes and asked earnestly, "Would you like to stay with me tonight?"

She smiled as she looked at him, warmth spread from her chest to the rest of her body. Slowly she leaned forward with her head tilted upwards whilst he leaned downwards, to kiss each other.

They waited a few minutes before they made their way to another part of the dormitory, one for the older male students. Despite the fact that no one else slept in this room, they still put up a silencing charm over their bed and drew the curtains shut.

The sound of their quick breaths filled the shadows. As Viktor lowered himself beside her, Hermione huddled close to him. Seeking out his warm and sweaty body, to press herself against. He laid one arm loosely around her waist, caressing the small of her back with his fingertips. All the while his eyes were closed, though he was obviously still awake. And she could not help but start a conversation, too awake to silently bask in the afterglow.

"How are your parents? You are going to them tomorrow, right?"

Without opening his eyes, he planted a soft kiss on her forehead and said, "Yes, I will take the train to London, there should be a Portkey ready for me at the owlery there."

"Why not travel to Bulgaria from here?"

"Because I wanted to buy some presents."

"Hm, right."

"And they are fine, I just need to get some documents before I can sign the contract with the Magpies."

"Right," she repeated. "Don't forget to give them my love, hug them tight. Any idea when you will be back?"

"I will stay for a few days, there are also a few things I have to do for McGonagall. She wants me to deliver a package to the Headmaster of Durmstrang."

"Hm," she hummed. In their silence, Hermione observed her lover. From experience she knew he was going to fall asleep soon, the ease with which he could fall asleep was still astounding to her. Viktor's breath was slowing down already.

Yet he shared one last thing before he slipped into unconsciousness, "I will write you the date once I know when I return."

She nodded and then said softly, "okay."

His hair had been in a tiny bun during their lovemaking and strands had gotten out, of which a few fell over his face. It made him look all the more gentle in her opinion. He continued to let his hair grow longer, something she really liked. It made him look less like a military man. Now, when he frowned, he would not look as grumpy as when he had buzzed hair.

When she decided he was soundly asleep she moved away from her lover, for she wanted to keep herself busy through the night. From her bag, she pulled books and a candle, of which she lighted the latter with a murmured spell. Now she could undo her partial transformation. At once her surroundings grew dark now that she no longer used her Animagus' eyes to see, only the dancing flame of her candle lighting the shadows.

Hermione held her half-eaten toast in one hand whilst she held the newly arrived Prophet in the other, it's front-page article was unsurprisingly about the ceremony from the day before. A photo of Harry was most prominent on the page; he looked calmly and almost apathetically at something the crowd behind the camera, blinking now and then, whilst the medal was constantly adjusted around his neck by Kingsley's hands. In a smaller photo on the downside of the frontpage, the three of them were visible, Ron was the only one who looked like he was proud to stand there.

After reading the front-page article she put the Prophet to the side with a frown on her face. She took a bite of her toast and chewed, whilst she mulled over what she had just read. From reading the article, she got the sense that she had missed a lot more from the ceremony than she had previously believed. She knew that parts of Kinglsey's speech had fallen on deaf ears, but there were whole parts in the article she had not recognized. Far more than she had previously thought she had actually missed out on. Still, she had gotten enough from the message Kingsley had wanted to relay to the whole of the wizarding nation.

Another bite and more chewing. Hermione looked over at the other few students at the table, the number was growing smaller with each day, it seemed. Only seven others were still staying at the castle. And it was the same with the Professors; only McGonagall, Flitwick and Pomona (and the occasional Auror, to ensure the safety of those left behind) remained since the ceremony the day before.

She wondered how Grawp was doing in his cave and if Hagrid was having a good time. Would Norberta still recognize him? She also realized that she had not heard anything about the Ukrain Ironbelly from Charlie, did that mean that the dragon was still roaming the world? Had it gotten lost in some uninhabited part of the world? Or had Gringotts somehow managed to track the dragon down?

Harry sat down beside her with a sleepy 'good morning', took his wand and tapped some of the bowls on the table, for he was too lazy to fill his plate with his own hands. He watched as the can with orange juice hoovered above his cup to fill it. Then he reached out to take his cup and take the first sip of his drink.

"You slept for a long time," she noted out loud.

He nodded, took another sip.

"Are you nervous?"

"Not really," he said, "just... You know... It's weird. I am barely an adult and already a godfather."

Hermione nodded, laid her hand on his leg and squeezed his knee, "Teddy will love you all the same."

Harry looked her in the eyes for the first time that morning, his exhaustion was clearly visible despite the many hours of rest she knew he had had. Yet, his tired smile was warm, "Thanks, love."

The Tonks residence was a beautiful country house, it was a bit small in width but it had three floors to make up for it. And it was clearly well taken care of, it looked like it was freshly painted and the garden was in bloom. It reminded Hermione of grandma's baking cookies and of happy families. She felt unease settle inside her at the mere idea; unease and a sickening feeling. Despite knowing that Andromeda's life was far from perfect, if not the opposite of it, the symbolic perfection of the house was enough to upset Hermione. Which she despised of herself. She did her best to hide it all behind a fake smile.

Harry used the door knocker to announce their presence. A voice called from upstairs, though they had to wait for some time before the front door opened. Andromeda smiled at them with Teddy in her arms, who watched them curiously. Only his face was visible, for he was wrapped in a light-blue blanket.

"Welcome, good to see you two again," she said and stepped aside to let them in, "Sorry to leave you waiting, Teddy has been a bit difficult lately."

Harry thanked her for inviting them and asked after the baby. Hermione quietly followed the two inside, doing her best to ignore her own nerves as she closed the door behind her. It did not help that Hermione noticed that when walking in the shadows Andromeda's hair looked darker and now that she had her hair down - instead of in a hairdo - she looked all the more like her older sister.

The Muggle-born steeled herself as she undid her coat and hung it in the hall before she followed the gurgling noises of Teddy into the living room, Harry ahead of her. The house's interior was simple and not at all what Harry and Hermione had come to expect from non-Muggle families. There was not a single flying object, nor any enchanted teapots. Even the photos were just photos, no moving portraits or anything of the like.

"Want to hold him while I get our tea?" The older woman asked Harry and when she saw his nervous expression she added, "He can't so much as wriggle out of your arms, I swaddled him tightly."

Carefully Harry took the baby from her. Hermione watched the exchange with a smile from the safety of a corner on the couch, she patted the place beside her. And when Harry sat down she bent over Teddy to get a closer look at him.

"Is he a beautiful baby?" Asked Hermione in a whisper.

He shrugged, the movement lifting Teddy up and down again, and whispered back, "I have no idea, babies all look the same to me."

"Harry, he has blue hair," she deadpanned.

"Except for his hair," he said and rolled his eyes.

"Do you want any milk in your tea?" Came from the kitchen.

"A splash, please, Mrs Tonks," Hermione said.

"Call me Andy."

"Sorry, Andy, a splash of milk, please," the Muggle-born quickly corrected herself.

"No milk for me, thanks," added Harry. Then he turned his face to his companion and whispered, "Let's just pretend to see that Teddy has a nice face."

When Andromeda returned with their tea and a plate with biscuits the duo was engrossed in making Teddy smile and giggle. She put everything on the coffee table between them and sat down in a chair opposite of them, watching in silence at them. A smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"You said he has been a bit difficult lately?" Hermione asked and turned to look at Andromeda after she had made a last weird face at Teddy, which made him gurgle still.

Mrs Tonks nodded, "Nothing I can't handle, he interrupts my sleep less and less. It's just that he needs a lot of attention and has a constant desire to reach out and grab at everything. And when I have had enough of it, I wrap him up like this, a little present. Though it's a good thing you two are here, he does not seem to be bothered by the blanket now that he can focus on you two."

Harry smiled at hearing that, "Glad to be of help." Though as he said this the bundle in his arms started to wriggle and at the realisation that he was swaddled as tightly as he was Teddy began to mew in disagreement. With a heavy sigh, Andromeda reached out her hands. Harry stood up to put Teddy in them, nervousness once more clear in his features. Then he said, "That did not last long, can I help? Get him anything?"

"Yes, can you get his bottle from the kitchen, please? I forgot about it."

Hermione felt slightly queazy to be left alone with Andromeda but mentally shushed her nerves. Though there were many subjects that she felt not comfortable to breach, there were still just as many she knew would not do any harm to ask. She reached for her cup of tea to hold it in her hands, "How has Teddy been? Has he grown much during the last few months?"

Andromeda smiled, "Oh, yes, this little one will be big in no time. I go to the second-hand store every few weeks to get him new clothes, he outgrows them so fast. I think I will just buy clothes that are too big for him so that he can grow into them."

Harry handed her Teddy's bottle and sat back down on the couch whilst he asked, "So, when can I start teaching him how to fly?"

The question, being asked so out of the blue, made Andromeda laugh out loud. And to her relief, Hermione heard it was as far from a mad cackle as could be.

When she was done laughing she offered the teat of the bottle to Teddy, his disagreeing noises ceased at once. Mrs Tonks finally answered with a twinkle in her eyes, "Not anytime soon, Harry. First, he has to be able to walk before I will allow him to learn anything related to brooms."

"Really?" Harry sounded unsure whether to believe her or not, "Actually, where are those toy brooms sold? I have never seen them in the broomstore in Diagon Alley."

"They are usually made on order," explained Andromeda and added teasingly, "there are far too few people who value their children's ability to fly above their safety for the store to have them on display."

Harry nodded with a sheepish smile, though there was determination visible in his expression when he said, "I will figure something out, I have got time to think of and take care of safety measures. Hermione will help me."

She did not miss a beat, "Hah, no."

Andromeda looked at the duo, she clearly enjoyed the conversation and was about to add something to it when a tapping against a window came from somewhere in the house, interrupting them. She frowned in confusion as she looked into the direction it had come from. With an apology, she made her way to the kitchen. Harry and Hermione could hear her open the window and a moment later the sound of noisy wingbeats filled the livingroom. A pigeon landed before Hermione on the coffee table next to her cup's saucer and, with its head tilted to the side, it stared up at her expectantly with one eye.

The Muggle-born put down her tea and reached out to untie the small, rolled-up parchment from one of the bird's outstretched paw. Meanwhile, Andromeda asked Harry if he would like more tea and he nodded, thanking her. Meanwhile, the pigeon had found the biscuits and was picking one apart.

"It's from Ollivander," Hermione said softly and looked up from the letter to Harry, surprise and wonder clear on her face.

"Well, what does the letter say?" He asked with an incredulous smile, "Is it ready?"

She nodded, "He says that I can come immediately if I wish to."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

Hermione looked at Harry for a moment longer and then at Andromeda, whilst she stood up hesitantly. The fact that Ollivander already had a wand ready was quite a surprise. She had thought it would take months for the wandmaker to be ready and here she stood with a letter in hand that said a new wand was awaiting her, it had only been five days since she had last visited Ollivander's shop.

"Thanks so much for having me," Hermione began, "but I have to go, this is very important to me."

"Of course, Hermione," the older woman said kindly, her smile warm. "You are always welcome here."

She smiled and nodded, then turned her attention back to Harry and asked, "See you at the castle?"

"Actually, I wanted to visit the Weasleys, stay there for a bit, help them and see how they are doing."

"That's alright," Hermione said and bent down to plant a kiss on his cheek, "then I will be at Luna's. See you soon."

The Muggle-born made it clear that Andromeda did not have to see her to the door and said goodbye to Teddy - who was still occupied with his meal - with a gentle caress over his forehead before she turned around and made her way. Andromeda and Harry listened to Hermione's hasty footsteps, the rustle of her clothes and the slam of the door. A muffled 'sorry, did not mean to pull so hard' came from outside and then they heard her footsteps disappear as she walked to the edge of the property to Disapparate.

Harry turned his attention back to the grandmother of his godson, "Sorry about that, she... her wand got lost and destroyed during the war and she has been struggling with finding a new one."

"I understand," Andromeda nodded slightly, looking down at the baby in her arm and caressed his blue hair with her fingertips. "And it doesn't help that I look so much like my older sister either."

Harry was slightly taken aback at the forwardness of that comment but said nothing, he did not know what to say.

She gazed at him again with a sad smile on her lips, the few wrinkles that adorned her face accentuated the regret she felt for the likeness. A moment passed, before she explained herself, "I have seen those fearful glances before, Harry. I know how I look with my hair down, I have heard it all my life. Had I known about Hermione's unfortunate past experiences with Bellatrix I would have done one hairdo or another."

He nodded, suddenly feeling like an open book to the woman's eyes, even though he had not been the one subjected to her observations. At least, not that he had been aware of.

Andromeda sighed and smiled kindly at him through the sadness, "So, how have you been, Harry?"

To keep from attracting unwanted attention to herself, Hermione did her best to walk at a normal pace through the streets in the direction of Ollivander's shop. Though she wanted nothing more than to run to the wandstore. However, now that she walked slowly to her destination, she had the opportunity to observe her surroundings in daylight. She was glad to see that there was more of a bustle since the last time she had been here during the daytime. It was far from the crowdedness it used to be before the Second Wizarding War, but at least there were some people strolling about. And the street and houses no longer had that dark, forlorn look about them. No more broken windows and no empty buildings.

A few people who noticed her smiled and waved, some even pointed her out to their friends, but for the most part Hermione was left alone. She was, after all, not ' the boy who lived twice and defeated Voldemort'. She nodded at a few people, but mostly kept to herself, pretending not to see other people and looked into the shop windows feigning interest. In an attempt to create the impression that there was no specific reason for her to be here.

It felt like hours had passed before she heard the bell of Ollivander's door ring to announce her arrival. There were already two people in the shop, thus Hermione decided to wait patiently beside the single plant in the shop. She watched as Ollivander helped the plump mother and her daughter, all three were smiling brightly as the girl was twirling the wand in her hand through the air; a pleasant, gentle gust of wind came out of its tip and transformed into long, dancing ribbons of all kinds of colour.

"That's it, darling," the mother said proudly, "It's a match, isn't it, Garrick?"

"A perfect one," he concurred with a smile and started to get the wand's box ready. Whilst the mother took her coin pouch in her hand, smiling at her daughter with affection visible in her eyes.

As she watched it all unfold before her, Hermione was struck by how simple it appeared to be for the young girl. Just a simple swish and it was a match, a perfect match at that. Though she told herself that she had not been here from the start and thus had no idea how many wands the girl had tried. The display of motherly affection Hermione ignored altogether, too pained by the fact that her own mother was far away and would not even recognize her. It was among the reasons why she had not accompanied Viktor to his parents, though she knew she had to go to them at some point. Yet another aspect of her life she should talk with her therapist about. The Muggle-born sighed softly, trying to let go of the building frustration she felt towards herself. She turned her head to glare through one of the windows at the cobblestone street of Diagon Alley.

The fact that she was here to replace the wand strapped on her right underarm made her all the more aware of the crooked thing. She had forgotten how it felt to have her own wand strapped there. Was there a difference? Bellatrix's wand only acted up when she held it in her hands. But was it not that her wand had effortlessly been with her, that she had carried it without feeling a thing? Bellatrix's wand revolted her and it did not take Hermione much to grow aware of the thing strapped against her flesh.

The jingle of the doorbell rang again, breaking her from her thoughts. Ollivander had seen his two customers to the door and was currently tapping the open sign on his door window so that it turned on its own and showed 'closed' instead. The sound of a lock falling into place followed and the magical presence of a ward, or several wards, activated.

"Don't be discouraged by what you just saw, sweet girl," said Ollivander when he walked past her towards and through the tight corridor, "it's always been easier for children to find their wands than it is for adults. Especially when said adult has had their fair share of awful experiences."

With her interest piqued at once, Hermione asked while she followed the old wandmaker, "And what if the child has had a difficult youth?"

"Oh, yes, those can be hard to find wands for as well. Unsurprisingly, Mr Potter was among those cases, though at the same time he wasn't. But you have to realize, most magical children are not Muggle-born, therefore we wandmakers know of their birth and can calculate through the years what would be most suitable to those children, since we know what kind of wands their parents have."

"How do you keep track of every child that has been born to magical parents? Are you allowed in the Ministry's registers? And how do you know which child will come to your shop and not go to another? Do you make calculations based on the children being born every year?"

"Hah," came Ollivander's laugh, "No, that sounds like it would take far too much time, I would not be able to sell anything if that were the case. It's very simple, Miss Granger, parents or guardians send the wandmaker they want to support a birth announcement, to make them aware of the child. But enough about those matters, I have summoned you for something so much more exciting!"

Hermione smiled at hearing Ollivander's words, all the while he ushered her to stand not at the workbench like last time, but closer to the bookcases, out of sight from the curious people on the street who could glance at and through the windows. Then he disappeared into the corner where her eyes could not follow him due to the disillusion enchantments she now knew to be placed there.

He returned to her side holding a simple wooden box and opened it to proffer her what was inside, "Since I made this wand for your hand to hold, I am certain that this too, is a match that can be considered as perfect."

Despite his reassuring words, there was a moment that a tremor settled in her fingers as she reached out to touch the wood, but soon she had enough control over her body to have a steady hand. Without being aware of it herself, she held her breath as she grasped the handle of the wand and held it before her. She did not yet dare cast any magic, what if they would not be a match? What if Ollivander was wrong and she was not compatible with any sort of wand anymore? What if Bellatrix's wand had - or the Death Eater herself - wrecked her mental stability too much?

A gentle slap on her upper arm from the wandmaker made her look away from the dark grains in the wood. She met silvery eyes, gentle yet sharp.

"Don't make me wait so long," he said in a miffed manner, though not unkindly, "I worked hard to see this union happen."

She gave the slightest nod in apology before she turned her eyes back on the wood. Ordinary wands felt light in one's hand and in a way this one was no exception. Yet there was a heaviness to it, not like the heavy dislike Bellatrix's wand carried in regards to her. It felt as if there was a certain expectancy the wand held.

Ollivander did not slap her this time when he whispered gently, "Show her your inner belief, free your raw magic. You don't need my guidance, Miss Granger, you are not the lunatic you believe yourself to have become."

For a few seconds, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, branding those words into her mind. I am not a lunatic. And as she exhaled, she not only opened her eyes, she flicked her wrist and made her energy flow through her body to the tips of her fingers and into the wood she held in her hand.

At first, it seemed like nothing had changed, the dread that had gnawed at her conscious enclosed itself around her throat. But then...

"Splendid," Ollivander breathed in awe as he watched how dustmotes had gathered from the shadows and danced into the sunlight that fell inside through the windows, becoming one and forming itself into a fox as it ran, twirled and tumbled through the air. And from a fox, the bundle of dust transformed into a raven; up it flew in the direction of the sunlight, joyously and carefree. Until it flew against the window. The dustmotes exploded in every direction, sparkling as the fell towards the ground.

Hermione felt the dread lessen its grip around her throat as the realization dawned on her that she had found her match; that the handle she gripped was of her very own wand. There was no more a certain heavyness, her wand had become featherlight in her grip. She was speechless as she turned her gaze back to the old wandmaker.

"Better than perfect," he whispered as his eyes met hers, slowly a beaming grin lighted up his wrinkled face, exposing all the teeth he had lost. "Let's celebrate with a cup of tea."

In the shadows of his private quarters, they sat near the windows as they nursed their teacups. Hermione's new wand was back in its box on the side table between them, of which the cover lay discarded on the workbench. Ollivander took a sip from his tea, while he regarded her. Without needing to be asked he said, "Its wood is Black Walnut, with a Dragon heartstring core, it's 12 1/4 inches long and inflexible."

As Hermione listened to his words her eyes went to her new wand again, she wanted to try out the casting of so many spells, but she had to wait. Without thinking twice she put down her cup and rolled up the right sleeve of Fleur's sweater, it revealed the holster with Bellatrix's wand strapped in it. She undid the ties and carefully laid down the holster and wand beside the open box.

She was glad to notice the stark difference between the two wands. One was curved, grey-ish black with no clear grains and with gnarls adorning the wood. While the other was fairly straight, ocher brown with dark grains and with no obvious handle, just like the wand she had bought when eleven years old.

At last, she opened her mouth to speak, "From a Vinewood wand of 10 3/4 inches to Black Walnut of 12 1/4. That is a difference."

"It is," Ollivander nodded once, looking at her with calculating eyes.

"How can there have changed so much inside me during the war, is this all because of the trauma's I have experienced?" She asked, sounding lost even to her own ears, "Is there anything about it that you may share with me, Mr Ollivander?"

He looked at her and, for a while, she looked back at him. Ollivander saw the sadness in her eyes and knew that he mirrored the emotion, then she cast down her eyes, hiding her feelings. Still, he observed her, while in his mind he arranged the things he could share with the young woman.

"You remind me so much of my own daughter, Miss Granger," he sighed after he had drunk the last of his tea and put down the mug on the table. Ollivander stared out of the window whilst he fiddled with the seems on his armrests as he continued, "She died during the First Wizarding War. She was a brave and kind woman, took after her mother. Her dead broke me. For years I rarely used magic, my own wand lay forgotten in the bedroom. And when I slowly started to use it once more, my signature magic had changed. Extreme experiences change a person. And besides, magical energy is ever-changing, it is not strange that an adult needs a different wand than they needed when they were just eleven years old.

"Of course, this does not mean that a witch or wizard can outgrow their wands; a bond between the wand and wielder once made will never break unless one of them gets broken one way or another, for a wand will adapt to their wielder and grow with them."

Hermione tucked one leg underneath her and leaned against the left armrest of her chair as she listened to Ollivander, whilst she continued to study both wands. It felt weird not to have her holster strapped on her underarm, she had it on her person for so long - never taking it off - and now it laid there like it no longer belonged to her. Though the wand that was held within it had never truly been hers.

The wandmaker turned his eyes back to his guest, entwined his fingers to keep from fiddling and continued, "Though there are wands who are easier to readjust to new wielders. Which has to do with its flexibility. Or, in this case, the lack thereof. Your wand is inflexible, I doubt it will work for anyone but you. Especially since I made it specifically for you. That is generally what happens, you see, when a person makes something magical for another, the object - or rather the magical energy - always has an affinity for the person it is made for. Wands are no difference and-"

Ollivander stopped himself and shook his head with a sneer at his own functioning, "Sorry, I am derailing, it's hasn't been as bad as during our conversation in Shell Cottage, but I cannot seem to shake the habit since... my abduction."

The Muggle-born tore her eyes away from the wands to look into the eyes of the old man opposite her. She understood the pain and frustration she saw in his expression, knew he meant the torture which followed his abduction, but there was suddenly a lump in her throat and she was unable to form any comforting words. She did not look away from him this time though, she wanted him to see that she did not mind his digressing.

A few moments of silence, then a sad little smile came on his lips before he continued, "Another difference between this and your first wand is their lengths, as this one is longer. Which has to do with the fact that you have grown from a quiet bookish girl into a woman who has an opinion she fights for."

Hermione frowned, cleared her throat and found her voice to ask, "So, a wand's length has to do with someone's believes, their morale? And if the wielder is willing to come forth and say it?"

"In a way, I suppose. But no," he shook his head again, "it's about someone's personality. The more pronounced someone is in their way of being, the longer their wand tends to be. Some wandmakers believe the length of a wand has solely something to do with the height of the wielder, but that is just a crude measurement."

"I don't understand," she said, "I know that I have grown as a person, everyone does through their teenage years with our without a war, but I am still that same bookish girl I was when eleven years old. Maybe, in a way, even more so."

Ollivander nodded, "Oh, I have no doubts about that. But the thing is, when you enter a room, people notice you. Not only because you were essential to Mr Potter's victory, but because you have fought your worst fear and survived. You may not have defeated her, but you survived, even made her wand listen to you. And that is a powerful knowledge no one can take from you.

"Which is also why Vinewood is no longer suitable for you, our previous tries made that obvious. You need a wood that can challenge you. And once challenged and matched, there is room for loyalty, from both wand and wielder." Ollivander's sadness had slowly ebbed away during their conversation and, as he repeated his earlier words, he could once more beam at the woman opposite him, "A perfect union, indeed."

"But if you made the wand for me, how did you go about it? Are there certain calculations you have to do? What made you think of Black Walnut, why not just Walnut, like this one?" She gestured a bit exasperated at Bellatrix's wand and continued to ask her questions, "Do you have the ingredients lying around or do you have to venture into magical forests?"

"You are so stubborn, you know I cannot answer your questions and yet you keep asking them. At this rate I have already told you far too much," Ollivander shook his head and shifted in his seat, his expression a mingling of earnest disbelieve and a smile. "Let's just say that a wandmaker is supposed to have great intuition and learns how to act on it."

Hermione sighed and looked a bit forlorn at Ollivander's answer, "But can you at least tell me the difference between a Walnut and a Black Walnut? Her maiden name is Black, it's almost like a nod towards my torture. Mr Ollivander, please tell me what the differences are so that my mind can be at ease."

"We already spoke about the abilities a Walnut wand seeks for in their wielders at Shell Cottage, skill and intelligence. And Black Walnut is just as demanding, but there are certainly differences. One is that the Black Walnut is known to be unpredictable." He reached out to pick up the holster with Bellatrix's wand in it and started to undo the straps around the wand, while he elaborated, "Once a Walnut has found its wielder, who has to have a certain brilliance for the union to happen, the wand will perform any and all magic the wielder will want to conjure. Walnut wands become lethal weapons in the wrong hands, given that the wielder has this desire for dangerous and dark magic. Which we both know Mrs Lestrange has."

The Muggle-born frowned at hearing Ollivander use present tense, she had not told him anything about Bellatrix's survival.

Ollivander's expression darkened slightly, "Oh, I know she is not dead. This wand of hers will die out the moment she breathes her last breath... Walnut wands and their original wandholders bond with each other in a particularly unhealthy manner. You may have found a way to work with Lestrange's wand, but it never accepted you." He took Hermione's new wand from the box and put Bellatrix's inside it, then he began to strap the new wand in the holster.

"But then how is it even working for me? I shouldn't be-" Hermione started, but the wandmaker held one hand up to silence her.

"I cannot share that with you. However, to get back on the topic, Walnut is prone to seek a wielder with exceptional power whereas Black Walnut always seeks out good instincts and insight, and, perhaps even more importantly, a sincere and self-aware owner. You, sweet girl, have all four personality traits in you."

Hermione was quiet, she did not feel assured with so many likenesses between the two wands. And the wandmaker knew what she was thinking, "Walnut and Black Walnut have more in common than you would like, Miss Granger, I know. But the things that really matter are truly different."

She was still not wholly convinced, but she nodded nonetheless and did her best to smile appreciatively, "Thank you, Mr Ollivander, for everything." And she meant it, it came from the deepest parts within her. No matter the peculiar likelinesses of the two wands, she would forever be grateful to the wandmaker.

He smiled back at her, "Come, let's go back to my store, I need to get back to work."

She paid for her wand as she strapped her holster on her arm, it felt good to have it's familiar leather on her once more. Bellatrix's wand was in the closed box and in the deepest recesses of her shoulder bag.

"What are you planning to do with Mrs Lestrange wand, Miss Granger?" Ollivander asked as he walked her to the front door.

"I..." She hesitated, "I don't know yet."

"Hm," Ollivander hummed, he gave her a searching look, "Don't hold onto it, sweet girl. Some things are best left to others to keep hold of."

She frowned and nodded, she knew she should bring the wand to the Auror Department, but the idea of leaving behind Bellatrix's wand was like an achievement she was forced to let go of.

"One last thing," he said, smiling as if nothing serious had been spoken of seconds ago, "Black Walnuts have a special flair for charmwork, I hope to see some beautiful spells by your hand in the future."

As the door closed behind her and she had started for the inn, she noticed for the first time how many hours had passed, a clock hanging in the window of a trinket shop showed her it was three past one. That explained her hunger. She would eat something at the Leaky Cauldron before Apparating to the bourders of Luna's house.

With mingled feelings, she walked with her hand in her pockets. The lightness of her new wand was freeing and the desire to try out spells was all the more present inside her. And at the same time, Ollivander's parting words kept repeating themselves inside her head, 'what are you planning to do with Mrs Lestrange wand?'

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