Chapter 5: The Damaged Soul

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author.

A big hug of thanks goes out to VIVAvivacious and her mad beta skills.

--

The book was left open on the coffee table before the fireplace, the page marked with an old, worn bookmark, just in case.

It had taken Hermione the better part of three days to find information in the Hogwarts library about magical surges and control before she had finally found something that would be of use to her. All her digging prior to her search of the Restricted Section and old archives had been fruitless, and she had been close to giving up on her pursuit. However, her lack of control had only worsened, and while she was able to hide her condition from Snape until that point, she didn't want to risk him discovering sooner than she would have liked him to. So, she had continued her search.

The night before, she had snuck up to the library shortly after the students' curfew and searched through the old archives until she finally hit upon something that described her condition almost exactly. Her wand no longer responded to her or channelled any of her spells. It was resting on the nightstand beside her bed, untouched since the day it stopped working for her. Hermione had been relying solely on her ability to perform simple wandless magic whenever she was required to.

The day before, Harry had visited her for a few hours, and it had been a real drain on her energy to contain her magic and prevent it from lashing out at her friend.

Harry. There was something that had been unexpected. He hadn't come to see her for over two weeks after the battle in the forest clearing, and when he had, he had been so reluctant to speak with her about it. Hermione had spent nearly two weeks of her time in seclusion, avoiding questions and ignoring Snape, Madam Pomfrey, and even Dumbledore. All she had wanted was the chance to speak to one of the only friends she had left, and it seemed he had all but abandoned her, especially in light of all the negative press she had received over the incident. She was all alone.

Sighing, she pressed her forehead to the cool glass pane of the window. Beyond it was an idyllic autumn scene with a tall tree shedding orange, brown, and golden leaves, scattering them all over the ground. The window would enable her to see any scene she desired, for in the dungeons there was no natural light, nor was there any scenery to speak of. She sighed heavily and pushed away from the window, walking back over to the armchair she occupied most regularly.

She stared down at her hands, turning them over so her milky-white palms were visible. It was almost like she was looking at hands that were not her own. Clenching them into fists, she closed her eyes. She was going to have to speak to Snape. She felt like she was in a body that was not hers anymore. She needed to purchase a new wand and attempt to get her magic under control once more.

In the book, it had described all the ways magic could become uncontrollable in adults, and she recognized hers had been a result of her soul being fractured by casting the killing curse. It had been a suspicion of hers since she had discovered the problem, but she had been unwilling to accept it until she had thoroughly researched the matter. It pained her to think her soul was no longer as whole as it once had been, but she cleared her mind of that quickly. Every time she looked into her mind, it never ended well – all of the images of Ron and Greyback would dredge up to the forefront and torment her for hours on end.

Looking up to the clock on the mantle, she saw it was only three in the afternoon. There was still plenty of time for her to see Snape and convince him to take her to Diagon Alley to buy herself a new wand.

She left her chambers and walked down the hall to Snape's classroom, where she knew he would be fastidiously tidying up after his final class for the afternoon. She paused at the open doorway, peering in to see the man brandishing his wand and sending untidy piles of books back to their regular shelf. Seeing the familiar sight of Snape being as obsessive-compulsive as ever comforted her slightly.

'Professor?' she asked softly as she stepped into the classroom.

He spun on his heel sharply and looked at her with a surprised expression before he managed to arrange his features back to indifference. 'How can I be of service, Miss Granger?' he replied.

'I need to ask a favour of you,' she said, looking down at her feet.

'And that is?'

She took a deep breath before exhaling slowly. Snape certainly wasn't going to make it easy on her. 'I need to go to Diagon Alley,' she murmured, walking closer to him. 'There is something I need to purchase there, and it is important I do so as soon as possible.'

Snape's eyebrow rose in question. 'What is it?'

'I need a new wand,' she said, her voice almost a whisper.

Snape's eyes widened with realization faster than she would have expected. 'I understand,' he said with a nod. 'I should have probably guessed earlier.'

Hermione frowned at that statement. 'You mean, you knew this sort of thing could have happened to me?' she demanded.

Snape nodded and sighed heavily. 'Forgive me, but the idea slipped my mind with all that has been occurring,' he answered. 'I knew about the effects the killing curse would have on your soul and your magic, but I had not realized it was already in effect. I knew because it happened to me after the first time I was forced to cast Avada Kedavra.'

Hermione's eyes widened. Well, of course Snape had been forced to cast the killing curse. In his position as a spy, it would have been nearly impossible for him to avoid, but she had not expected him to admit this to her so freely. She watched as he withdrew a second wand from up the sleeve of his frock coat, laying it on his desk beside his regular black wand and beckoning her over to him.

'This was my first wand,' he said, indicating the brown wand to the left.

Hermione touched it reverently, running her index finger over the wood and feeling the texture of it. It had been a beautiful wand, birch, eleven inches, and from what her magic could sense, it contained a single phoenix feather at its core. She let her fingers drop from it before she slid them over to his current wand. It was thirteen and a half inches, made of ebony and had dragon heartstring at the core. It had a beautifully carved black handle and was a wand that was obviously created for the sole purpose of protecting its master, excellent for Wizards' duels.

'Your second wand suits you much better than the first,' Hermione whispered, looking up at Snape just in time to see a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

'Your wand, the one that no longer responds to you, what is it made of?' Snape asked her.

'It was made of buckthorn,' she began softly, staring at the wands on the desk before her. 'The wood has vine-like carvings all the way along it. I was always very proud of my wand – it is ten and a half inches and has unicorn hair at the core. It was perfect for Charms and Transfiguration, but not terribly adept for duelling. I was lucky to get by mostly on speed and skill.'

'I can see how this entire situation has rendered your wand useless, especially with the unicorn tail hair for its core,' Snape said, picking up both his wands and slipping them up their respective sleeves. 'Your soul being torn by the killing curse reacts badly with something so pure.'

Hermione nodded. 'I could only find one book in the library archives that could confirm my suspicions,' she said. 'I didn't want to say anything until I was certain it was the only reason.'

Hermione watched Snape nod and then go silent. She knew he was thinking hard. She had seen that hard expression many times over the past three years as they were researching together in the library at Grimmauld Place. He walked down the aisle to leave the classroom, beckoning Hermione to follow him. After they had left and warded the classroom, he led the way down the hall, past his chambers to hers.

'Collect your wand and bring it with you,' he said simply when they stopped at the portrait that guarded her rooms.

She hurriedly complied, summoning the wand from her nightstand wordlessly, then quickly made her way back to the hallway. Snape stood waiting patiently, and when she emerged, he led the way even further down the hallway until they reached a dead end. He pulled his ebony wand from his sleeve and tapped it against a brick. Not unlike the wall that stood between the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley, the stones began to shift position until finally another dimly lit hallway was revealed to them.

As they entered, the stone wall closed once more behind them, and Snape grasped Hermione's arm as he led them down the hall. She could barely see a thing and was grateful for his intuitive grasp on her arm. She followed silently until they reached yet another dead-end, this one blocked by a heavy wooden door. Snape released her to grasp the iron handle and give it a great pull to wrench the door open.

When it finally opened, she moved away so he could open it fully. She stepped out of the hall into the cold air outside the castle. She looked back at Snape to see him pulling the door closed behind him before the pair began walking in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. Once on the outskirts, Snape took her arm again.

'I am going to Apparate us to Diagon Alley from here, Miss Granger,' he informed her. 'I suggest envisioning Ollivander's.'

Hermione closed her eyes and thought hard about the wandmaker's shop. A moment later, she opened them and found both she and Snape were standing under the shop's sign. She followed Snape silently into the shop, the bell tinkling above them as they entered. She stared around the shop and found everything was exactly as it had been the last time she had been there – everything except for herself.

'Ahhh, Miss Granger?' asked a voice, snapping her out of her reminiscence.

Hermione looked up sharply and saw Ollivander was standing just over the other side of his counter now. 'Yes, sir. That is me,' she replied.

'And what brings you here this fine autumn day?' he asked smoothly. 'Perhaps to purchase a new wand? Old wand not working for you anymore?'

Hermione could almost feel his blue-eyed gaze piercing her like a knife. So he had obviously read the articles in the newspapers about Ron's death at her hands. What did it matter? The people who knew the truth were all that mattered. She swallowed back a rude retort to his accusing eyes and nodded curtly.

'Yes, my old wand no longer responds to my magic the way it used to,' she said quietly. 'I would like to purchase a new wand.'

Ollivander nodded and wandered down an aisle, reaching up to pluck three boxes down from a shelf before returning to the counter. 'Your old wand contained unicorn tail hair, am I correct? Ten and a half inches made of buckthorn with a vine pattern engraved into the wood?' he asked, but he already knew he was correct. 'Well, let's see if this wand does you any good...'

Hermione accepted the first wand from him and gave it a wave. It sent every loose paper in the shop flying up into the air and scattering all over. Ollivander shook his head and took it back, replacing it in its box before taking out the next. Every light bulb in the shop shattered when she waved it this time. He frowned and passed her the final wand. Hermione felt the tingling feeling thrum through her veins in the direction of her fingers, and she knew then that her magic was flowing into the wand. She waved it this time and levitated all the quills off the top of the counter.

'Ebony, twelve inches and dragon heartstring,' Ollivander announced with a small, Dumbledorean twinkle in his eyes.

Hermione stared at the wand in her hand and nodded. It was the right one.

--

A/N – It will get dark soon, I promise. v