❝𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗼𝗻 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲?❞
❝𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦.❞
𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥 had a few, perhaps a little or more than a palm of qualms in his life. First up was the whole "The Boy-Who-Lived" shenanigans, then there was an ungodly am...
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XCIV.FREEDOM FOR THE RIGHTS, RETRIBUTION FOR THE WRONGS
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"Are you proud of what we've come to be?
We're sorry, but that won't save us"
"AND YOU'RE SURE YOU WANT to do this?"
Their plans had been meticulously laid out, every detail scrutinised and every preparations completed; in the smallest bedroom a single long, coarse black hair (plucked from the sweater Hermione had been wearing at Malfoy Manor) lay curled inside a small, delicate glass phial placed with deliberate care on the old wooden mantelpiece.
"Yes," Hermione nodded, swallowing hard.
"I don't mind, you know? I spent more time with her than I've ever did with my own husband — oh, you know what I'm talking about," Marjorie rolled her eyes as both Harry and Ron visibly cringed. She turned back to Hermione, "I know her habits,"
"Yes, but because you've spent far too much time with her that I don't want you to be her." Hermione said adamantly, though she look pale just at the sight of the hair.
"Then you'll be using her actual wand," said Harry, nodding toward the walnut wand, "Dunno how you're acting going to be, but with the wand you should be pretty convincing."
Hermione looked frightened that the wand might sting or bite her as she picked it up.
"I hate this thing," she said in a low voice. "I really hate it. It feels all wrong, it doesn't work properly for me... It's like a bit of her."
"It'll probably help you get in character, though," said Ron. "Think what that wand's done!"
"You dolt, that's what she means!" Marjorie scoffed, rolling her eyes once again. "That's why she hates it. It's the bloody same wand that tortured Neville's parents,"
"The same wand that tortured you too, Margie... and who knows how many other people? This is the wand that killed Sirius!" Hermione exclaimed.
Harry hadn't thought of that: He looked down at the wand and was visited by a brutal urge to snap it, to slice it in half with Gryffindor's sword, which was propped against the wall beside him.
"I miss my wand," Hermione said miserably. "I wish Mr. Ollivander could have made me another one too."
Mr. Ollivander had sent Luna a new wand that morning, a slender, elegant piece of craftsmanship that gleamed in the late afternoon sun. Luna stood out on the back lawn, testing its capabilities with a serene expression on her face, her movements graceful and fluid. Dean, who had lost his wand to the Snatchers, was watching rather gloomily.
