Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

In Search of a Wand	By : devsgma Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 4859 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Harry Potter Universe, nor am I making any money from my efforts.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
In Search of a Wand

by devsgma

AN: I am sending many kisses and thanks to the wonder that is Lariope for her marvelous beta skills.

Hermione was sick to death of crying herself to sleep every night over Ron’s desertion, and she was fairly sure Harry was probably tired of hearing it, especially after the disaster they’d made of visiting Godric’s Hollow yesterday.

It’s quite simple, she told herself while huddling on her bunk. You’re not going to do it any longer. He’s not worth it.

Harry was brooding and had refused her company after they’d read the chapter of Skeeter’s book concerning Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Hermione knew, despite his protests, the loss of his wand had devastated him, and it was all her fault. She hadn’t meant to, but it was done. While lying in her bunk, trying to keep warm, she decided something else. She was determined to try and get Harry another wand. After checking the contents of her purse, she’d formed a plan. They had plenty of Moody’s Polyjuice potion left, and while Ollivander’s wasn’t an option any longer, there were plenty of witches and wizards out there that had one. Hermione felt a twinge of guilt for even thinking about stealing another’s wand, but she justified it quite easily.

Our need is greater. If I can get their name – highly unlikely, but I can try – I’ll get them a new one – later.

If I can’t when Harry takes care of… him… they can easily get another one.

Later, of course, depended on their survival, which had been drastically reduced when she’d destroyed Harry’s wand, and there were no other options open to them that she could see. Taking over the “watch” at midnight, Hermione worried about leaving Harry there alone and unguarded, but she was sure when she put another wand in his hand, it would be worth it. A double dose of Polyjuice potion rested in her pocket and Harry’s invisibility cloak was tucked out of sight under hers while she made a show of sitting in the door of the tent with A History of Magic in her lap.

“Sleep well, Harry,” she said when he made his way inside. She waited until she could hear his soft snores before slipping her book back inside the tent. Standing, Hermione threw Harry’s cloak over her head before stepping outside their wards.

One quick twist found her in Muggle London, alone and quite scared.

Oh, gods. I can’t do this.

I have to do this.

I should have brought Harry along.

He never would have agreed – and even if he did – with only one wand between us – disaster before we’d even begun. I should go back.

About to spin and return to the tent, she stopped and closed her eyes instead.

Are you a Gryffindor or a coward like Ronald who only thinks about her own comfort? she finally asked herself. You’re going to open your eyes and take the hair of the first person you see.

There weren’t many establishments open, and very few people were out and about. It wasn’t until the third street over that Hermione found that first person she sought.

Right, maybe the second person I see, Hermione hedged when the first Muggle she saw was an elderly male who seemed to have trouble with arthritis.

I could try a male, I suppose, she thought as one particularly handsome young man walked by, but I wouldn‘t know how to act properly, with the belching and the apparent hourly need to shift their private parts – or the clothes! – so female it is. His companion had caught her eye, and while the woman was a bit brash looking in her opinion, she would do since she was about Hermione’s height. Creeping up behind the pair as quietly as she could, Hermione reached a hand outside of the cloak and snagged a few blonde hairs.

“Ow! What was that for, love?” the woman asked the bewildered young man after stopping and putting her hands on her hips. “I’ll have you know I spent several hours getting my hair just so. Don’t you like it?”

“No. I mean, it’s fine,” he sputtered.

Hermione stepped back against a building while they continued on down the walk, their argument in full swing. Her heart was pounding, and it took a few moments before her hand quit trembling.

“Sorry,” she whispered while pulling out the small flask that contained the Polyjuice potion. Slipping the hairs inside and closing the lid, Hermione shook it while looking around for a safe spot to take off the invisibility cloak. The small garden area of a restaurant, currently closed, seemed to meet her requirements, and it wasn’t long before she watched the jumper she wore expand greatly.

“Oh, bloody hell,” she muttered while reaching under that jumper to unhook and remove her suddenly uncomfortable bra. She shrank the bra and stuck it in a pocket before looking at the rest of her clothing. Other than the unfortunate disparity in breast size, she and her donor seemed to be about the same build. She hadn’t been able to be too particular about her clothing as it would have made Harry suspicious, but the matching skirt and jumper weren’t out of the ordinary, and the robes would do as they were completely nondescript. Her shoes seemed a trifle large, but not enough to worry about.

Crap. I need a name, a wild-eyed Hermione realized, suddenly tempted to run after the couple and hope to catch the woman’s name.

Don’t be stupid, Granger. That would be a waste of time. “Time – have to keep track of the time,” she muttered while checking her watch. Unfortunately, the only names that came to Hermione’s mind were Potions ingredients. “Belladonna? Oh! Donna! No, not exactly a wizarding name, and I’ll be damned if I use Pansy,” Hermione muttered while trying to think. “Rowena would work, but Rowena what? Obviously I can’t use Ravenclaw. Delacour? I could be an English cousin, and I know some things about them. Enough to pass for a distant cousin, anyway.”

Having decided on a name, Hermione felt a little less anxious before it dawned on her that this was Boxing Day. It cut down drastically the number of places that would be open. “The Leaky,” she whispered before taking the cloak off her head and mussing the hair her donor had spent several hours on. Brushing it down, Hermione Apparated and found herself in front of The Leaky Cauldron. Hoping it wasn’t closed for the holiday, she was greatly relieved to feel the door under her hand open.

There were exactly four people inside the pub, counting the bartender, and Hermione felt her spirits sink. Walking to the bar, she took a stool and looked at the other three customers. One, a dark haired, middle-aged man, sat by himself in a corner and met her gaze briefly. There were two older women sitting at a table not too far from him, but they seemed interested in nothing but each other and the glasses in front of them.

“What’ll it be?” a gruff voice asked. Hermione almost fell off the stool in shock, but managed to maintain her balance as she turned around to face – not Tom. Butterbeer hovered on the tip of her tongue before she tilted her head in the middle-aged man’s direction. “Uhm, whatever he’s having?” she managed to say. The bartender gave Hermione what she thought was a leer before grabbing a glass and filling it with something from a tap. “Ten Sickles,” he stated while still holding onto the glass. Pulling what money they had from her pocket, Hermione made sure he couldn’t see while counting it out. She felt bad about spending some of their food money, but if she could manage to get Harry a wand for those few Sickles, it would be a bargain.

Picking up the glass, Hermione sniffed it before taking a cautious sip and grimacing slightly. So that’s what ale tastes like. Nasty.

Having paid her “dues,” so to speak, Hermione felt a bit better about looking around and decided quite quickly that the lone man would be her target. The women weren’t as scary to contemplate, but there were two of them. If she managed to lift one of their wands – there would still be one wand available to use against her.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione slid off the stool, still clutching the glass of ale, and headed in his direction. Feeling her borrowed assets sway under the jumper didn’t help her confidence level as she walked in his direction. The added weight make her wonder briefly if she would tip over if she didn’t keep her back as straight as the proverbial arrow.

“May I sit with you? It’s Boxing Day, and I’m feeling a little lonely,” she stated simply as she came to a halt. The man looked up, and his eyes narrowed slightly before they dropped to the borrowed breasts and then back to his drink.

“If you must,” was the slightly slurred response.

Slipping into the seat opposite his, Hermione’s spirits rose when she decided he was probably well on his way to being intoxicated. She couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on her mouth when she estimated her chances of getting his wand were growing by leaps and bounds. Braving a larger sip of the ale, Hermione tilted her head and tried to see into the man’s eyes.

“Are you all alone too?” she asked.

He drank the remainder in his glass before making a small circling motion with his hand. Hermione wondered if he was related to the Lovegoods and was re-thinking her options. “You’re stating the obvious, Miss–?”

“Rowena,” Hermione said as the bartender brought over two glasses of ale. Her eyes widened slightly when he put one of them in front of her. “Oh, you didn’t have to – I’ve still got…”

“You’re not playing the game correctly, Rowena,” the man across from her said with a smirk. “Is this your first time out, then?”

“First time – what?” she asked, completely confused.

“First time picking someone up,” he stated while the smirk grew larger. “Come now, I’m the only man available other than the bartender, and if your tastes ran in the other direction, you wouldn’t have come to my table.”

He drank half of his ale and raised an eyebrow while looking pointedly at her two glasses. “Drink up, Rowena, and don’t fret; I’ve already paid for a room. Although, until you walked in the door, I was contemplating merely using it to sleep.”

Hermione’s mouth hung open for a few moments before his hand slid under her chin, and it closed with a snap. “If that’s not what you’re doing here, it’s time you left and let me get on with drinking myself into oblivion.”

“That’s – you’re crude and – rude and – thoroughly despicable!” Hermione stated as she rose.

“So? What other options do you have?” he asked with another one of his annoying smirks before he took a large swallow of his ale. “However, I do like where you’re standing. It allows me to see your tits a bit better. What size are they?”

He’s right, but for the wrong reasons. I don’t have any other options.

Blushing, Hermione sat back down before the man opposite her gave a nasty laugh.

“Trying to play the coy virgin, now? Why else would you come in here – this time of night – Boxing Day or not – with your considerable assets unbound if not to attract a mate for the night, dear Rowena?” he asked after finishing the newest glass of ale. He gave a surprisingly sad sigh before saying, “I’m not playing the game properly either, you see. My time is too dear for games. Do you wish to accompany me to my room or not?”

Time! Hermione thought before chancing a glance at her watch. A half-hour of her time under the Polyjuice had already flown by, and if she left the miserable sot where he was, where would she find another? She still had one dose of the Polyjuice she could take, but the chances of finding another easy mark were slim. Holding her breath, Hermione drank as much of the first glass of ale she could before banging the glass down.

“I will,” she stated shortly.

“Good, and even though you haven’t asked, you may call me Hershel,” he stated. Rising, he put some money on the table and held out his hand. “Come, fair Rowena. We shall celebrate together in the best possible fashion.”

Second, third and fourth thoughts ran through Hermione’s mind while she stared at his outstretched hand. She could Apparate back to the tent and no-one would be any the wiser at this point.

It’s your fault Harry doesn’t have a wand, she told herself before rising and clutching Hershel’s hand rather tightly when her head spun a little.

Hershel reached over and picked up the full glass of ale. “Get the other one, Rowena. No use wasting it.”

Not sure that she wanted any more, Hermione did as he asked, hoping against hope that he’d pass out as soon as they reached his room.

**********

The short candles that had lit the room had long since burned down to flickering stubs of faint light that threw vast shadows around the room when Hermione woke. She was warm, relaxed, quite comfortable, and couldn’t be bothered to identify exactly what had roused her. Heavy eyes opened to the unfamiliar room, and they widened quickly when she heard an unusually loud snore – from beside her.

Hershel — he — I — Oh, bloody, buggering — no, we didn’t do that at any rate! Shite! I can’t believe I — with a perfect stranger — and I — need to leave! Now!

Slipping gently out of the bed, Hermione used the faint light from the candles to find what she could of her clothing. Her skirt, jumper and shoes were located and slipped on, but she couldn’t find her knickers. It was only as she pulled on her jumper that she realized she was once again wearing her own body.

I’ve got others, she told herself while snatching up her robe and making sure Harry’s invisibility cloak was still tucked inside.

Gods, I still can’t believe I slept with a stranger! At least I knew Gavin for a few months before we… It must have been the ale!

Grabbing her wand to Apparate, Hermione paused and stared at it while she chewed on her bottom lip. She’d started out on this mission to gain Harry a wand, and while the price had been higher than she’d originally planned on, she hated the idea of it being all for nothing. The lump in the bed that was Hershel seemed to be sleeping on his stomach and hadn’t moved a muscle.

Hershel’s clothing was mostly on the other side of the room, and Hermione crept carefully past the sleeping man. The clothing he’d worn was patted softly, noiselessly, and she was almost ready to give up when she noticed what she thought was the handle of a wand peeking out from under his pillow.

I can do this.

Her index finger and thumb found the barest edge of the hidden wand and started to gently pull it from under the pillow. Hermione kept glancing from those digits to the back of Hershel’s head, whose snoring remained reassuringly consistent. It was almost half-way out when Hermione’s eyes became fixed on the dark wand, sure that she’d seen it before. Busy searching the corners of her memory for where and when, she didn’t notice when the snoring ceased, or the hand that shot out from under the covers to grab the wand back. The dark head on the pillow turned and spat, “I don’t think so, my — Granger? Oh, fucking hell!”

Hermione gasped, horror-struck at the sight of her old Potions master, before regaining enough sense to finally Apparate. Hermione didn’t see him twist out of bed or hear the desperate, “Wait!” he bellowed before he dropped the outstretched hand not holding his wand. She also didn’t see the defeated slump of his shoulders before he prepared to dress and return to Hogwarts.

**********

Hermione’d managed to pretend to be absorbed in A History of Magic when she returned and heard Harry stirring. She was more than grateful when Harry held out his hand for her wand and she was able to slip into the tent to find another pair of knickers.

Not long after that, they decided to break camp early, and when Hermione suggested they leave under the cover of the invisibility cloak, Harry didn’t object. She had thought she’d heard someone moving around and was terrified it was Snape, that he’d somehow followed her, and she’d have to tell Harry where she’d been and what she’d done.

When they’d set up in the Forest of Dean and all the protective spells were again up, Hermione wound herself up in the blankets of her bunk. As tired as her body was, her mind wouldn’t allow her to sleep until she’d gone over and over her unexpected assignation with Hershel/Snape.

Who’d have thought he’d be out looking for a shag! How did he manage to get away from Hogwarts without… someone… asking where or why… I didn’t sense a glamour, but I suppose he…

Hermione didn’t feel at all brilliant when she realized that she wasn’t the only one quite capable of brewing Polyjuice potion.

“Sometimes I’m so thick, I disgust myself,” she muttered.

“Hermione? You all right?” Harry asked from the opening of the tent.

“I’m fine, Harry. Just reminding myself of something,” she replied evenly, telling herself there had been no real harm done and to close her eyes. It only seemed like a few moments later that Harry was waking her up, telling her that someone was there.

“What do you mean? Who — ?” she managed to stammer out before the reality of Ron being back hit her in the face. Ron, who had run out on them, was back and dripping water all over the floor of the bloody tent. Ron, who could have gone with her to find Harry another wand. Ron, who would have been the extra person she needed to have perhaps chatted up the women in the pub instead of Snape. Ron, who – if he’d been with them at Godric’s Hollow – might have made the difference between the current reality and Harry’s wand not having been shattered in the first place.

It’s all his fault! Hermione decided when the full force of the fury she was feeling broke through the little restraint she had when she saw Ron raise his arms toward her. She didn’t know, or care, what words she yelled as her hands and feet sought to pummel as many parts of his anatomy as she could.

Later, after all the explanations had been heard and Hermione no longer had so much adrenalin flowing through her veins, all she wanted to do was sleep and try to forget. And then Ron did the thing she could never, ever, forgive him for. He pulled out another wand and handed it to Harry.

Harry’s buoyant spirits after Ron’s return merely reinforced the fact she’d never be the friend in Harry’s eyes or heart that Ron was. Hermione tried to convince herself part of it was due to the unexpected help in obtaining the sword from the unknown sympathizer, but it was difficult to maintain a cordial pretence. Most of the time she didn’t, and she couldn’t have cared less if they thought she was sulking. Maybe she was, but it no longer mattered, because it didn’t matter to them.

She had been relieved to know it wasn’t anything she’d done or hadn’t done that allowed the Death Eaters to find them in Tottenham Court Road when they’d first left The Burrow. That small balm hadn’t lasted long as Ron and Harry’s constant talking only reinforced the silence that had almost echoed in the tent before his return. Hermione didn’t appreciate Ron’s groveling to try and get back in her good graces, and more than once, she’d glared in his direction and wondered, How in the hell did I ever imagine myself in love with that spineless, arse-kissing… arse?

She hadn’t known, of course, that the Lovegood residence was almost as deadly a trap as Godric’s Hollow had been, but her first thoughts were for the rest of the Weasley family and how it would affect them if he had been seen. Ron was still a friend, and his continued good health was important to Harry, so Hermione would continue to protect him – and by extension his family – when circumstances forced them into a corner, but she was no longer under any illusions about her feelings.

Later, looking back, Hermione was never quite sure when she had realized she was pregnant. It had lurked in the back of her thoughts, coming out now and then – like a small mouse – nibbling on what peace of mind she managed to have. It was a worry, but one that she couldn’t do anything about, so it was shelved for later.

The first time she’d felt her baby move, Hermione had been at Shell Cottage after they’d managed to escape from the Malfoy situation; and while she was saddened at Dobby’s death and all they’d gone through, it was a relief to be able to cry without anyone questioning why. The small, almost non-existent, flutter deep inside her abdomen had been a surprise. It had made her child real and filled her with a completely unexpected joy. Hermione didn’t quite know why she felt the need to express it with tears, but there it was, and the love for the tiny life inside her blossomed into being.

My child. I’m really going to… have a baby.

She’d wanted so badly to talk to Fleur about being pregnant, but she held her tongue, knowing she’d probably tell Bill, who would – in some manner – let Ron and Harry know. However it turned out, none of them would have allowed her to continue on the quest. Whatever the cost to her or her unborn child, she had no choice. She had to if they were to have any kind of future at all.

They survived the break-in at the goblin bank, and the love for the tiny life inside her grew. They survived the fall into the water after they left the dragon’s back, and so far, they’d survived watching the man who’d given one of them life be attacked by Nagini.

Hermione was a trifle numb as she blindly followed Harry and Ron out of the Shrieking Shack. Each step she took away from her child’s father felt… so very wrong. When they’d reached the castle, the wrongness finally broke through and demanded action. She mumbled an excuse about needing the loo to separate from them, and Hermione raced back to the shack, hoping she was in time.

She couldn’t let it end there. Her own conscience and the possible future censure of her own child wouldn’t let her. What answers would she have when the questions about the person who had fathered him – or her – started coming? She didn’t know if she’d be able to lie to her child about something so important, and the love for the tiny life inside her grew greater.

As she knelt beside Snape’s body, her hand trembled slightly when her bottomless purse was opened. She Accio’d the antidote Smethwyck had developed when Arthur Weasley had been attacked and was thankful she’d had the presence of mind to acquire it so many months ago. She also pulled the Blood-Replenishing Potion she’d been hording and placed it near Snape’s shoulders. She waffled over which one to administer first, but reasoned that if he didn’t have any of the poison left in his system, it would make the wound easier to close.

Between the wizarding potions and the Muggle method of artificial respiration – which was made easier when a bit of wand work took care of the compressions on the chest – Hermione was gratified to feel a pulse in Snape’s neck. It wasn’t what she would call strong, but it was there. She frowned and wasn’t at all sure what to do with him as she couldn’t very well levitate him to the castle. Voldemort thought Snape was dead, and while the rest of the witches and wizards out there might not wish him dead, there were bound to be those on both sides that would attack him.

“It’s best you stay here,” she muttered and moved the still unconscious man to the broken down sofa. Hermione decided to dose him with a bit of the Draught of the Living Death to insure he’d stay there. After all her efforts, she didn’t want him stumbling back out into the middle of the fray. If she and her child survived what was to come, she’d return and make sure he was taken to the infirmary. If not, when it wore off he would be strong enough to fend for himself.

********

Hermione, after finding and restoring her parents’ memories, had only a small window of time to try and regain their trust. She knew her parents had many late night discussions about what they wanted to do. While they missed some of the friends they had had in England, they didn’t miss the stress. When Hermione finally filled them in on all that had occurred, they decided then and there that to move back would be insane.

When she knew for sure that they’d decided to remain, and to retain the last name she’d given them, she found the nerve to let them know they’d be grandparents. The shock on their faces grudgingly left when they found out she would be remaining in Australia with them. It didn’t stop the endless questions about the father of her baby, but she made it clear that it wasn’t Ron or Harry. It was Hermione’s mother that made her stop and question the wisdom of keeping the father’s baby totally ignorant of his offspring, but she couldn’t bring herself to simply write a letter, and she was too far along to even think of traveling. It would simply have to wait.

Andrew would be turning one year old in a little more than two weeks when Hermione’s mother brought up the subject again. Monica was sitting at the kitchen table putting new photos of Andrew in an album, and her hand caressed the baby’s smiling face. She sighed and glanced over at her daughter, who was busy trying to keep the child’s messy fingers out of her hair while she cleaned them off. She hadn’t seen Hermione use magic in a very long time, and it worried her. While Hermione still received the odd owl letter from her friends, she hadn’t actually seen any of them in over a year, and Monica was afraid she knew why.

“Are you going to wait until Andrew is eleven before you let any of them know he even exists? Are you… ashamed of him, Hermione?” her mother asked in a soft voice, concern etched in the wrinkling of her brow.

“No! Not at all!” Hermione stated, gathering Andrew close. “I just… I don’t know that I want him in that world,” she added quietly. “It’s so dangerous.”

“That’s still your choice, Hermione; no matter who knows about him.” Monica slowly closed the photo album. “Are you afraid his father will find out? You must have had feelings for him at one point; surely he’s not that terrible, is he?”

“It’s complicated, Mum,” Hermione said for the hundredth time before she stood up and moved toward the nursery. Laying Andrew down for his nap was accomplished far too quickly, and she returned to the kitchen to discuss possibilities with her mother. Apparently the time for waiting had ended.

Grabbing a soda from the refrigerator, Hermione sat down opposite her mother before opening it. A small sip seemed to help the dryness in her mouth, and the can was something to keep her hands occupied. “Would… If I… go back… would you and Dad keep Andrew here for me?” Hermione asked before raising her eyes from the can and meeting her mother’s gaze.

“When would you go?”

“Soon?” Hermione hedged and dropped her eyes to the can.

“He’ll be a year old soon, Hermione. You need to make up your mind, one way or the other. If you’re going to do it – then do it. If you’re not going to do it, don’t pretend. Don’t waffle about it until he’s ten or fifteen and asking who and where his father is before realizing you never intended on carrying it out.” Monica rose and slid the album in front of Hermione. “It wouldn’t be fair to you or Andrew in the long run.”

Hermione watched her mother walk out of the kitchen, leaving her alone with the soda and the album. Her bottom lip was worried to the point of being raw by the time she closed the album again. Seeing all the phases in Andrew’s life, marveling anew at how quickly he’d grown and changed in the short year he’d been a part of her world left Hermione’s soul bare and hurting. She knew how she’d have felt if she’d been denied that year in her child’s life, but she didn’t know how Snape would feel about even having a child. She’d never pictured him wanting them, but then again, she’d never pictured him in love with Harry’s mum either.

She’d never actually seen the memories Snape had given Harry when he’d thought he was going to die, but listening to the testimony Harry gave on Snape’s behalf made her ashamed of the whole lot of them when she remembered how he had been treated. It was amazing what a little knowledge could do when the bright light of truth shone on it.

Her judgment had been harsh, and she’d found him wanting when the Polyjuice potion had worn off that night so long ago. Hermione had only seen the dreaded Potions master and the wizard who had killed Dumbledore. The human emotions and soul housed in his body had never been considered – because it had never occurred to her that he had them.

Hermione had wondered many times since what would have happened that night if she’d known even half of what she now knew. He had gone searching for human contact – the most basic love there is in existence – perhaps afraid of being rejected if he’d worn his own face, and she’d done just that. The idea of facing him again, seeing him sneer at her, had held her back more than anything else.

He had the capacity to love someone else – does he have the capacity to love his son? Do I have the right to deny him – both of them – the chance because I might feel discomfort in his presence?

Rising from the table, Hermione tossed the can into the recycling bin before picking up the album and going in search of her mother. If she agreed – Hermione would travel to England as soon as she could make the arrangements. Either way, she would be back in time for Andrew’s birthday; she wasn’t about to miss that.

-~*~-
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

In Search of a Wand