Magic? || Years 5-7

Gringotts: On the Run

Nestled in the smallest bedroom of Shell Cottage, four teenagers prepped for their infiltration of the most secure bank in Wizarding Europe. Perched on the mantelpiece, a coiled strand of black hair lay in a glass vial.

"And you'll be using her actual wand," Harry said to Hermione, nodding at the crooked walnut wand sitting on the bed, "so I reckon you'll be pretty convincing."

Hermione eyed the wand as if it were going to bite her. To be perfectly fair, Amisty was in the same boat, curled as far away from it as she could manage in such cramped quarters.

"I hate this thing," Hermione said quietly. "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," Ron said. "Think what that wand's done!"

Involuntarily, Amisty flinched. Ron looked mortified.

"But that's my point!" Hermione said, pursing her lips. "This is the wand that tortured Neville's mum and dad, and—" she cut herself off, gaze flickering off to the side, "who knows how many other people? This is the wand that killed Sirius!"

Again, Amisty's eyes darted between the strand of Bellatrix's hair and the wand on the bed. She'd been bracing herself for hours, now, for when Hermione's familiar face would malform into another. None of them particularly enjoyed the plan at all, really, but it was the best they could do with what they had.

God, she hoped they could find a very talented Mind Healer by the end of this hill. If they live that long.

"I miss my wand," Hermione said. "I wish Mr. Ollivander could have made me another one too."

Mr. Ollivander had sent over a new wand for Luna in gratitude earlier that morning. She was in the garden now, testing basic spells in the afternoon sun as Dean watched mournfully from the kitchen window. Amisty was also feeling rather gloomy, considering she could barely cast a respectable shield without a proper wand. Not to mention how draining it was, wandless magic.

The door creaked open and Harry's fingers went right to the Sword of Gryffindor as Griphook walked in. Amisty winced. Not a good move.

"We've just been checking the last-minute stuff, Griphook," Harry said, a tad too quickly to be natural. "We've told Bill and Fleur we're leaving tomorrow, and we've told them not to get up to see us off."

It was more of a precaution than anything else, let Bill and Fleur figure out what they were planning on doing. Having them see a Hermione-turned-Bellatrix would not bode well for their continued hunt for Horcruxes. At least Bill hadn't pressed too much when he lent them a new tent.

As much as Amisty would miss the comforts of a proper home, she was itching to leave. Bill and Fleur were lovely, and she'd miss Luna very much, but the sitting and waiting were driving her crazy. It was too much, the dread looming overhead when there were battles to be fought.

She didn't sleep well that night. In actuality, she spent most of her time staring up at the shadowed ceiling, listening to Luna's steady breaths and Hermione shifting around. It was very likely Hermione wasn't asleep, either, when she had to turn into Bellatrix within hours. By the time the sun was peeking over the horizon, bleeding red across the swathes of navy blue, Amisty had barely slept a wink. She wrapped her coat around her shoulders, rocking back and forth on her heels as she waited beside Ron and Harry.

Hermione was still inside, choking down a vial of Polyjuice potion in the bathroom.

"Will you be alright?" Harry asked quietly.