⚠️READ AT OWN RISK, THIS WAS ERITTEN WHEN I WAS 14 😭⚠️
NIGHTMARE || ❝ - I've gotta recognise the weapon in my mind - ❞
【 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦
𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳
𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴
𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦
𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 】
FINAL WORD C...
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— (chapter sixteen.) —
Their plans were made, their preparations complete; in the smallest bedroom a single long, coarse black hair (plucked from the sweater Hermione had been wearing at Malfoy Manor) lay curled in a small glass phial on the mantelpiece.
"And you'll be using her actual wand," said Harry, nodding toward the walnut wand, "so I reckon you'll be pretty convincing."
Hermione looked frightened that the wand might sting or bit her as she picked it up.
"I hate that 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."
Harry could not help but remember how Hermione has dismissed his loathing of the blackthorn wand, insisting that he was imagining things when it did not work as well as his own, telling him to simply practice. He chose not to repeat her own advice back to her, however, the eve of their attempted assault on Gringotts felt like the wrong moment to antagonize her.
"It'll probably help you get in character, though," said Ron. "think what that wand's done!"
"But that's my point!" said Hermione. "This is the wand that tortured Neville's mum and dad, and who knows how many other people? This is the wand that killed Aurora's mum and nearly killed Sirius!"
Harry had not 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 Aurora.
Harry had been glad to see that Aurora's sickness had dispersed at the beginning of that week; but Harry had noticed a new ailment had taken its place. She had been unusually tired for the last few days, and had been composing jokingly of being bloated. Harry had kissed her stomach with a laugh when she had told her.
"A kiss to make it better." He grinned.
Aurora had laughed and lay down on the grass beside him. It had been a wonderful evening.
"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. She was out on the back lawn at that moment, testing its capabilities in the late afternoon sun. Dean, who had lost his wand to the Snatchers, was watching rather gloomily.
Harry looked down at the hawthorn wand that had once belonged to Draco Malfoy. He had been surprised, but pleased to discover that it worked for him at least as well as Hermione's had done. Remembering what Ollivander had told them of the secret workings of wands, Harry thought he knew what Hermione's problem was: She had not won the walnut wand's allegiance by taking it personally from Bellatrix.
