Harry looked down at the hawthorn wand that had once belonged to Draco Malfoy. Dean, who had lost his wand to the Snatchers, was watching rather gloomily. She was out on the back lawn at that moment, testing its capabilities in the late afternoon sun. Ollivander had sent Luna a new wand that morning. Ollivander could have made me another one too." "I miss my wand," Hermione said miserably. 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. "This is the wand that tortured Neville's mum and dad, and who knows how many other people? This is the wand that killed Sirius!" "It'll probably help you get in character, though," said Ron. 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. 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. It feels all wrong, it doesn't work properly for me. "I hate that thing," she said in a low voice. ![]() Hermione looked frightened that the wand might sting or bit her as she picked it up. "And you'll be using her actual wand," said Harry, nodding toward the walnut wand, "so I reckon you'll be pretty convincing." ![]() ![]() 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.
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