Ron Wealsey walked alone passing the sleepy row of shops on Diagon Alley. He silently noted the shop fronts that had changed in the past year, and those that had not reopened in the wake of the second Wizarding War.
He eyed the window displays that signal the start of the school year with a queasy feeling in his gut. School shopping had always made Ron somewhat uncomfortable. The crowds in the Alley, the intimidating list of required materials that grew with every school year, the anxiety of picking out an item he thought he could afford new, hoping the price tag would not shame him. Waiting in the changing room, his patience and his will to live draining by the second, while his mother dug through the racks of Madame Malkins to find a set of robes on sale with sleeves that would reach his wrists but ultimately being forced to settle for discolored sets that did not fit, anyway. Worst of all, having to dig through the crumpled “bargain” parchment bin in the far corner of Flourish and Blotts. The errand was always a humiliating demonstration of his family’s issues with money, and he tried his best to avoid thinking about it and get it done with as quickly as possible.
The one bright association he had with the task was that it meant the school year was starting again and he would be able to see his friends. He could always fondly remember critiquing quidditch equipment with Harry and Ginny, or sharing a sundae with Hermione at Forseque’s while regaling her of the Egyptian adventure he had been on before their third year. Hell, even now, the memory of his father decking Lucius Malfoy in the book store brought a tiny grin to his face.
Unfortunately, for this shopping season, all the nostalgia in the world could not make him hopeful for the upcoming school year. For you see, it would not be his school year. Ron had made the not so difficult decision not to return to Hogwarts to “officially” graduate.
Ron liked to think surviving the ultimate fight of good vs evil was a fair demonstration of his magical prowess. No one really argued that this wasn’t the case. Instead of a diploma, he had received an Order of Merlin, First Class, and had even been offered a position in the Auror Academy right alongside Harry.
His best friend jumped at the opportunity to train and continue the work left unfinished after the war. Plenty of straggling Death Eaters were on the run or else forming weak retaliations at the demise of their leader. Harry, always quick to shoulder the problems of the world on his own, saw it as his solemn duty to join the Aurors to keep fighting the good fight. Always keen to follow his friend into battle, Ron had been nearly ready to accept the offer as well…but he just couldn’t.
George was in worse shape than the Hogwarts castle in the aftermath of the war. He had threatened to never reopen the joke shop, and was ready to call the whole project a waste of time now that Fred was gone. Ron knew he couldn’t let George give up, and although it took many late night conversations with his brother to chip away at his emotional armor, George finally reconsidered his feelings about the shop. He was ready to try again, but couldn’t do it alone.
Ron was honored to offer to stay and run the shop with George, even if it meant putting his own aspirations on hold for a bit. He would have been able to focus on the shop and ignore the incoming school year altogether if it weren't for one prospective student that he hadn’t expected…His girlfriend.
Like Harry and Ron, Hermione already had her pick of the positions, both with the Aurors and practically every other department within the Ministry of Magic. She, however, was compelled to go back to school to finish what she’d started. Ron was immediately skeptical of her plans, but figured she would reconsider on her own when the time came.
Apparently, the time had come last night, and Hermione was still dead set on going back to Hogwarts. It had started innocently enough, and she had asked Ron if he would have the morning free to spend with her. Which of course he did. Since becoming an item, and finally free of the burden of war, their alone time together had quickly become a favorite pastime. He asked what Hermione would like to do, excited by the prospect. When she explained that she would like to get her Hogwarts shopping out of the way, little did they know that a game of exploding snap had begun.
Until last night, Ron had been sure she would abandon this plan for the far more practical options before her. Hearing Hermione commit to finishing out Hogwarts was baffling, and frankly kind of hurt. He began to question her motivations, wondering if there were other reasons for her decision that were counter to everything he thought he had understood about one of his closest friends, not to mention the love of his life. He regretted his initial reaction. Honestly, he had been trying to understand, but intentions didn’t matter now. Questions had turned into assumptions, and the conversation had rapidly devolved into a shouting match of needling jabs, until Hermione had abruptly ended the fight by unfairly apparating away.
Just when Ron had thought they had turned a corner, now he suddenly felt further from her than ever before. In the wake of their fight he did not sleep and rose from his bed feeling worse than ever. Even breakfast did nothing to quell the discomfort of how he had left things with Hermione.
The empty satisfaction of having said what was on his mind wasn‘t worth missing time with her. As things stood, she was leaving in less than a month, and he was damned if they were going to waste any more of it by being sore with each other.
Thanks to his new occupation at Weasley Wizard Wheezes, Ron was very well versed in the timetables for the stores of Diagon Alley. Thanks to years of observing everything about the woman, he was also well versed in Hermione Granger, so he apparated to the Leaky Cauldron after breakfast to set off in search of his girlfriend.
He popped down to the joke shop first in the admittedly narcissistic hope that she had come looking for him in the way that he was looking for her. The shop hadn’t even had a proper reopening; they were waiting until a bit later in August, just in time for when the younger Hogwarts Students explored Diagon Alley one last time before boarding the train at King’s Cross.
He wandered through the back entrance and found George and Percy taking inventory together at the break table. Eager to re-establish his place in the family, and newly unemployed from the Ministry, Percy had also put his hat into the ring to help restore the shop to its former glory. Percy’s sense of humor left a little to be desired, but Ron had to admit the man had a flair for bookkeeping. Business aside, it had been once unfathomable to imagine that Percy would be welcomed back into the fold, much less animatedly chatting sales numbers with George. Seeing them working in harmony together now, Ron though that if they had been able to reconcile, there was hope for Ron and Hermione yet.
“Watcha, Ronnie!” George noticed Ron first, and stood from the table.
Percy followed suit. “Good morning, Ronald. Decided to come in, after all?” he remarked with a hopeful glint in his eye. “Thought you were keen on taking the morning for yourself.”
“I was…I am,” Ron mumbled, already blushing at his next sentence. “I’m stopping by…looking for Hermione. Have either of you seen her?”
“Ron, I know she’s your girlfriend, but you mustn’t give away the wards to the store as you wish,” Percy admonished, ignoring Ron’s question.
“She hasn’t been round, yet,” George answered, picking up a mug of tea for a sip. “But we only just got in a short while ago.” A ghost of his old mischievous smirk played across his face. “Trouble in paradise, Ronnikins?”
“You could say that,” Ron grumbled, digging his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I’ll be back later for that chat about shelving, or whatever Percy put on the calendar.” He nodded a goodbye and hurried out of the store before Percy could rope him into working or George could rib him more about his love life.
Back on the main road, Ron debated which way to go first to continue his search. If he were to go north, he would be able to check Flourish and Blotts. The bookshop opened earlier than most other stores on the Alley; the perfect place to corner a certified bookworm like Hermione and then beg her not to chuck him. It seemed like an obvious destination, but as much as Hermione loves books, she loved to be time efficient more. She probably wouldn’t have started her shopping at the bookstore, because she would surely lose track of time by skimming through the copious stacks of newly published books. Like a dessert, Hermione would save such a treat for last.
Ron turned south; the caldron store, apothecary, and Madame Malkins were all down this way, and he was sure Hermione would be in one of them to get some of the more tedious items of her list checked off.
He slowed down as he drew closer to the Apothecary, playing various scenarios in his head, when suddenly he stopped dead as he realized she was much closer than he had thought. There she was, not in the Apothecary or any of the other stores he suspected. She was in Ollivander’s!
He had nearly forgotten she wanted a new wand. Since the battle at Hogwarts and coming to stay at the Burrow to recover, Hermione had been through a series of secondhand wands. She detested the one she had taken from Bellatrix LeStrange and refused to cast another spell with it. In a sad irony, there were a great many wands without owners after the battle. She had taken up Tonks’s wand, hoping to honor their fallen friend but Hermione had admitted, even without a diagnosis from Ollivander, that the pairing never felt right. Ron’s mother offered Hermione one that she had tucked away some time ago, and while still not a perfect match, that was the wand Hermione took to Australia to find her parents. Since then, the matter rarely came up, perhaps she too held off in the naive hope that her original wand would make its way back to her; the way Harry had managed to mend his Holly wand.
Yet there was the ‘Open’ sign now hanging in the store window and beyond that, stood Hermione at the counter. Her back was to Ron, but he was used to seeking out her mane chestnut curls. His heart did a little flip in celebration, it had barely been a day but Ron had missed her more than he could have known. Taking two steps forward, Ron froze, suddenly very aware that he hadn’t prepared anything to say. He immediately realized as he gazed through the window, heart aflutter, that the hard work was only just beginning.
He took another moment to observe her while she was unaware. She had put barrettes in her hair to hold her fringe up, but the rest of it hung down her back in a waterfall of ringlets. She was wearing a soft cotton sundress. It was one of her favorites. A new pang of guilt hit Ron, knowing she had probably picked the ensemble out to wear the day before, and before their row. Ron looked down at his outfit, a faded set of jeans and a t-shirt that Bill had loaned to him after their stay at Shell Cottage over Easter. In his estimation, Hermione looked like a put together young lady and he looked like hot garbage.
“Stop that!,” Ron said to himself as he shook his head violently in an attempt to dislodge that line of thinking. Putting himself down by comparing himself to Hermione wasn’t going to help anything. She looked like Hermione, and he was never going to discern how she was feeling by ogling her backside from outside the shopfront.
He squared his shoulders and took in a deep breath before striding up to the wand maker’s shop.
Bells tinkled and chimed, announcing his arrival. There was no turning back now.
“Ya, Guten tag?” a pleasant stranger called from beyond the shop counter. For a moment, Ron was thrown, he had read the right sign, hadn’t he? There were shelves of countless wands lining the shop. There couldn’t possibly have been a new wand maker in town that he wasn’t aware of, and certainly not next door to Ollivander’s. No one was daft enough to do that.
The man smiled over Hermione’s shoulder waiting for a response.
“Erm…yeah, hi. I–erm I need a new wand?” Ron blurted out, attempting to convey that winding up in the wand shop alongside Hermione was just a coincidence. It was technically true; he probably ought to find a new wand for himself. They had never recovered his 14” willow from Malfoy Manor and since the Battle at Hogwarts. Much the same as Hermione with Tonks’s wand, Ron had asked George if it would be okay to use Fred’s wand.
Like a frightened cat, Hermione flinched at the sound of his voice. Ron could practically see her curls begin to frizz in distress. She clearly hadn’t expected him to be in the wand shop today. Ron deflated, more convinced than ever that she probably never wanted to see him again.
“Oh, Mr Weasley!” Mr Ollivander emerged from the back of the stacks with a wand box in one hand, and a walking stick for balance in the other. The past year had left his face weathered and marred, but Ron was relieved to see him in good spirits, not to mention it put his mind to rest that he was indeed in the correct shop. “I was just asking Ms Granger if I would be seeing you soon, and here you are.”
“Here I am.” Ron laughed weakly. Hermione remained stoic and still as a statue. He wished fervently she would at least turn around and acknowledge him.
“Jonas,” the old man signaled to the unknown gentleman opposite Hermione at the counter. “This is Ronald Weasley.” Realization dawned over the man called Jonas’ face. “He and Ms Granger rescued me with Harry Potter.”
Instantly feeling sheepish, Ron shuffled from foot to foot, unprepared to discuss that fateful night. Hermione’s body also tensed even further in remembrance of that evening.
“Please come in, Mr Veasley!” Jonas entreated Ron with a genial smile and held his hand up. Ron obliged the invitation and took a couple steps forward so that he was next to Hermione at the shop counter. He took Jonas’ hand and shook it. Ron chanced a sidelong look to Hermione, who was staring intently at the grain of the wood in the counter top. Jonas continued, ”Good to finally meet you. Thank you for everything that you did for my uncle. It was your brother that cared for Garrick for some time after that, yes?”
“You mean Bill? Yeah, he’s my oldest brother.”
“The Weasleys are quite prolific when it comes to their large families.” Ollivander reached the counter and set down the small box he was handling. “And I have provided wands to every one of them for the last 3 generations,” the old man bragged while his nephew rolled his eyes with good humor.
Ron raised his eyebrows in intrigue. He knew Ollivander had always been the best wand maker around, but he had no idea how old he truly was. He looked over to Hermione, and Ron could tell the comment about his family had left her curious with an unspoken question. She finally picked her eyes up from the counter and glanced between the two wand makers.
“Is that the wand you wanted me to try?” she said, pointing to the box. Perhaps she was only beginning to get impatient.
“Oh, Goodness, my apologies, Ms Granger!” Ollivander chastised himself, “We didn’t mean to neglect you. Jonas, please have Mr Weasley measured while I help Ms Granger?”
Jonas nodded, taking out his wand and flicking it towards Ron. A measuring tape soared out to him from the back room and began invasively measuring various parts of Ron’s body.
Ollivander fiddled with the box in front of Hermione and presented a long wand made of a wood that happened to match the color of Hermione’s eyes, “Yes, Oak with Dragon heartstring, 16 inches. Very strong temperament, a bit unyielding at first. Let’s have you give this one a wave, hmm?”
“Just a wave?” Hermione narrowed her eyes at the old man, amused.
“You’ll have to excuse my uncle,” Jonas chuckled. “He’s so used to fitting children with their first wand. Any spell will do.”
“Any spell?” Hermione parroted, weighing the wand in her hands. There was a curious edge of danger in her tone, and she turned her head toward Ron.
“Please don’t jinx me, Hermione,” he whimpered reflexively as the measuring tape tightened around his neck. Ron wheezed out a laugh for the benefit of the wand makers watching, but he often found that that look was usually followed by tiny yellow birds whizzing towards him.
“Perhaps a Patronus,” the old man behind the counter offered.
“Expecto Patronum!” Hermione called out. Her form was perfect, as always, but her patronus did not emerge from the wandtip. Instead, a formless misty white cloud idly floated from her extended arm and quickly dissipated.
Ollivander clicked his tongue, disappointed, “Not meant to be I see.”
“Are you sure I shouldn’t try again?” Hermione asked, flushed and embarrassed to underperform. Ron frowned, she was clearly not happy to see him just now, he would be remiss to be what stood between Hermione and a good wand.
“No need, dear. This is absolutely normal,” Ollivander assured her.
“I dunno,” Ron chimed in, seeing an opportunity to be helpful. “Hermione was casting Patronuses with Bellatrix LeStrange’s wand for months!”
“Ah, yes, I know.” Ollivander scrunched his nose at the name. “But wands won off of another witch or wizard are quite a different thing compared to a brand new one that has never had a partner. Not to worry though, every failed match is most instructive. And I know, for a fact, Ms Granger doesn’t have any qualms trying every wand on my shelves,” he said in a tone that implied he was put out, but the moonbeam irises of his eyes glimmered with mirth. “Not to worry though, I’ve got something in that back that might suit you better.”
“Right behind you, uncle,” Jonas summoned the measuring tape off of Ron’s left ankle and read the results. He takes a moment to ponder the tape’s meaning and then nods. ”I’ll be back for you in a minute.”
Ron saluted the young wand clerk, and both men disappeared behind the dusty stacks of wand boxes. Finally, the moment Ron had been anticipating all morning had arrived.
“Nice bloke,” Ron commented, unsure of what to say. “…who is he? Ollivander has a nephew?”
Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes at how inconsiderate he could be. “Jonas has come from Dresden to assist Mr Ollivander.”
“Huh,” Ron nodded, realizing he had heard Jonas’ accent before while listening to Quidditch interviews with players from the Dresden Dynamos. “I never thought about Mr Ollivander having relatives. He’s always seemed so… solitary.”
“Well, people have all sorts of families, Ron,” she said curtly and turned away from him, content to end the conversation.
Now or never, as it were…”Hermione, can we talk?” Ron began.
“We are talking, Ronald,” she snapped back.
“I mean about last night–”
“I thought you made yourself perfectly clear last night. You think I’m daft to go back to Hogwarts.” Hermione’s voice warbled as she knotted her arms over her chest.
“That’s not what I–” he started to argue, but that wasn’t the goal this morning. “I’m sorry. Okay.”
She only sniffled in response.
“I don’t want you to go,” he spoke earnestly, “I am never going to want you to go.” He laughed out loud to the ceiling at how easy it was to speak the truth. She was looking at him properly now, and he could tell she was about to speak up, but he held up a hand for her to let him explain, “But I shouldn’t have made you feel bad about it.”
Hermione lowered her arms to her sides, placing a hand on the counter between them.
“I know you’ve made up your mind. And I know I can’t tell you not to go. I also know that I can’t come with you. George needs me right now, and I don’t regret choosing to help him, not for a second…It just means that we are going to be apart. And I am bloody scared, Hermione. We’re still figuring this out,” He chanced a step closer to her, and put his hand out on the counter next to hers. ”I’m already scared of messing this up, and rather than tell you that, I managed to find a way to make it your problem. So yeah, I guess I just messed it up anyway. I’m sorry.”
Hermione blinked passively back at him in response.
“And I love you, please don’t chuck me,” Ron tacked on in her silence.
Hermione flitted her eyes up to him, and gave an exhausted sigh, “Ron…I love you, too.” To match her words she grabbed his empty hand on the counter. She held it tighter as she said. “I forgive you…and I’m sorry too. I left out of nowhere, and that was a horrible thing to do.” A tear leaked down her cheek.
“It’s ok,” Ron assured her, pulling her into his arms. She hugged him back fiercely as if she hadn't seen him in decades. He sunk into her warmth. “Everything I said was rubbish, you were right to leave.”
“It wasn’t all rubbish,” she cried into his chest.
“What do you mean?” Ron reluctantly pulled her out gently from his arms to hear her properly.
“Ron, I’m scared too,” Hermione confessed.
Ron furrowed his brow as he rubbed his thumb across her cheek to catch a teardrop.
“I’m not going back to school out of some sense of duty. The truth is that I’m not ready to be anywhere else…I haven’t been ready.”
“What are you talking about?” Ron was perplexed to say the least.
“Well…I don’t know,” Hermione, herself, seemed frustrated by her indecision. “After I got back from Australia, I realized how fast everything is passing. I lost a whole year with my parents. I know I did the right thing by taking their memories, but I know things aren’t how they were. And–I want that back; that’s just stupid, I know.” Ron bit his tongue hard, resisting the urge to scold her for talking about herself that way. “I know I could move on, go to work at the Ministry, be useful…but that feels wrong…even if it’s with you.”
“Hermione, you could have just said so.”
“I…I didn’t want you to think less of me. You have no idea how selfish I feel…”
“I could never– Hermione, you’re brilliant, and whatever you need, you know I am going to do my best to support you. You don’t owe me–or your parents–or the bloody Ministry anything. I just need to know you’re okay.”
Hermione sniffled in agreement and looked as if she was struggling to contain an outburst.
“I love you so much!” she cried out, jumping to loop her arms around his neck. He caught her around the waist, and they remained in a tight embrace for a blissful moment until they were interrupted by the clattering of boxes.
They suddenly remembered where they were.
“We can talk more once we’ve got our new wands,” Ron whispered, releasing her and taking her hand in his as they stood together at the counter. “Was he really not joking about trying all the wands in the store?” He cocked an eyebrow at how long the shopkeepers had been gone.
“Oh goodness, he really wasn’t joking when he says he remembers everything!” Hermione bemoaned, overcome with shy embarrassment.
“What do you mean?”
“He was poking fun at me, about matching me with my first wand,” Hermione shared, begrudgingly.
“So what if you had trouble finding one? What’s wrong with that?” Ron asked, “He just said how it's okay that some wands won’t work for you.”
“Well,” Hermione drummed the counter, flustered, “It’s possible that I was matched with one of the first wands I tried, but I wasn’t quite convinced, so Mr Ollivander indulged me a bit and let me carry on waving wands.”
“And?”
“I broke that window, there,” She pointed over Ron’s shoulder, “and I singed his left sleeve.” Ron, in shock, sputtered with laughter. “And then, after testing half a dozen more wands, I settled on the one he said I already matched with.”
“You didn’t think to stop after breaking a window?” Ron asked, scandalized.
“I was 11! I was excited!” Hermione sputtered to deflect, “Weren’t you when you got your wand?”
“I was just relieved to finally have a wand that worked!” Ron could still taste the slugs he jinxed himself with in second year thanks to his broken wand. “I don’t remember much about getting my wand. Oh! Except Ollivander was really cross with my Mum when he realized I had been using Charlie’s old wand instead of bringing me into the shop before my first year. It was brilliant. I’d never seen her so speechless.”
They laughed together at the thought of Molly Weasley sheepish facing the old wand maker. On que, the man in question emerged from the stacks of his inventory carrying a pile of boxes under his arm.
“Glad, you managed to entertain each other,” Ollivander said coyly as he sidled up to the counter and deposited his wands in front of Hermione.
Wide-eyed and giddy, Hermione squeezed Ron’s hand before releasing it to inspect her options.
Jonas joined his uncle shortly, with a stack of his own for Ron.
Ron looked down at the selection of wands before him, reading the combinations of wood and cores inscribed on the label of the lid.
“None of these are made of willow,” Ron remarked looking up to Jonas.
“Oh, I wasn’t aware you had a preference.”
“I don’t!” Ron jumps to mollify him. The man spent more than a good minute picking out these wands, and he probably knew what he’s talking about. “That was just the last wand that I got from Ollivander. I reckoned there would be one like it here.”
“Ah, well that's perfectly normal to expect. Some wand makers do prioritize the types of wands you have used in the past, but uncle has always said the wand chooses wizard. Some wands can stay with you for life and grow with your powers,” Jonas explained. Ron noted that Hermione had paused her own search for a wand and was listening thoughtfully. “The willow wand you had in your youth could have served you well your whole life, were it still in your possession.” Ron’s mouth wobbles again thinking about the night he lost his wand. “But that does not dictate which brand new wand will suit you now.”
“Well said, Jonas.” Ollivander thumped his walking stick in a small applause. “We don’t mind taking down your preference.” The old man’s tone indicated that he minded very much, actually. “Though too many wizards place stock in superstition when it comes to wand wood. Please do give a few of these a try, for Jonas’s sake.”
“Of course, sure.” Ron scanned the selection once again. He picked one out. It is a straight dowel of Fir wood without a traditional handle. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger before preparing to wave-
“Ooh, but not that one though!” Jonas lunged for Ron’s hand and frantically picked the wand out of it. He looked as though he had averted a disaster. “I already know it’s not for you.”
“Oi?!” Ron called out testily, but Jonas offered a no nonsense shrug as he placed the Fir wand back in its box and pushed it to the far corner of the counter out of reach. Ollivander nodded in agreement with his nephew. Wand makers.
“Perhaps another,” Jonas suggests. Hermione giggled softly beside him.
Ron uncovered another box to reveal a long wand of dappled tan Poplar wood with a braided motif carved into the handle. He lifted it from the case and liked the weight of it, too.
“Oh, Ron, that wand is beautiful!” Hermione proclaimed, putting down the apple wood wand in her hand.
“It’s certainly the prettiest wand I can remember holding,” Ron quipped, admiring the natural light and shadow of the wood grain up close. His first wand, Charlie’s wand, had already been properly abused by the time Ron took it to school for first year. Not that Fred’s wand was unbecoming, but like Charlie, Fred had not been the most precious with his wand. His willow wand, though it had served him well, Ron had to admit had been rather drab and ever so slightly crooked. That was nothing compared to the chestnut wand he had won from Peter Pettigrew. That wand was properly warped and uncomfortable to look at, but maybe Ron was biased against its past.
“Let’s see a wave then,” prompted Mr Ollivander, also keenly watching.
Hermione nodded in encouragement.
“Expecto Patronum!” Ron called out, summoning the memory of his reconciliation with Hermione just minutes ago. He felt as though a warm breeze had rushed over him as the wand in his hand glowed with a blue pulsing light. From the wand tip leapt the stout figure of a Terrier Dog.
The spectral scamp bounded about the shop for a few laps, and then sat in front of Ron on the counter top.
“I think you’ve found your wand, Ron!” said Hermione grinning at the terrier. She admires the stark detail of its glowing face, ”Wow, I’ve never seen a patronus just settle like this.”
“The right wand can have very exciting effects,” Jonas said, inspecting the dog as well.”May I?” He looked to Ron with an outstretched hand for the poplar wand.
Handing it back, Ron felt a sense of loss. He blinked away the notion that one could become so attached to a wand. Then again, this was hands down the best patronus he had ever conjured. He couldn’t wait to tell Harry!
“Twelve and three quarters, poplar with core of unicorn hair,” Jonas pronounced.
“You weren’t planning on a career in politics were you?” Old Ollivander grunted out a laugh eyeing Ron and his new wand.
“Uncle! Now who’s placing stock in superstitions?” Jonas scolded.
“What’s he mean?” Hermione asked.
“Poplar wands are said to be drawn to wizards of high moral integrity,” Ollivander explained. Ron felt a rush of heat to his ears.
“There is a running joke in the wand making community that many government officials with Poplar wands just happen to trade them in after a year or two.” Jonas shook his head, but was also clearly amused.
“Well, for a wand like this, I suppose I can hold off running for Minister,” Ron laughed, taking back the wand from Jonas.
“Mr Ollivander, what does that symbol mean?” Hermione asked, inspecting the lid of the poplar wand’s box. “It looks like a caduceus.”
“A what?” Ron raised his eyebrows, ready for a free Muggle studies lesson.
“A caduceus,” Hermione said again, “It’s an image associated with muggle hospitals.” Ron peered down at the box’s inscription, and next to the Wood type appeared to be a pair of squiggles both coiled around a straight line. “Is poplar also good with healing charms?”
“Ahh, no,” Jonas furrowed his brow down at the squiggles. “Uncle, what is that?”
Ollivander passed his gaze from the symbol up to Ron and then Hermione. Suddenly, he looked down at the abandoned pile of Hermione’s potential wands. Finding the proper box, he removed the lid, and offered up the sleek honey stained wand, “Ms Granger if you don’t mind?”
“I - What’s this about?” Hermione asked, unsure what this had to do with Ron’s wand..
“Please, just indulge an old man?” he said, waiting for her to take it. Hermione smiled at his phrasing, and took the wand. She turned it over in her hand, grasping the handle elegantly and smiled. She looked up at the wand makers, nervous they'd change their minds and suddenly want it back. The two men signaled for her to proceed.
Hermione looked at Ron and took a deep breath in, “Expecto Patronum!”
A burst of light erupted from the wand in a dazzling display of sparks, and Hermione’s Otter swam jubilant and free about the shop. Ron’s Terrier perked up at the sight, and wagged its stubby tail. The Otter dove towards the other patronus, and began circling the dog in curiosity. The two figures faced each other nose to nose, until suddenly their forms melded together, combusting in a spectacle of bright warm white light.
The burst blew everyone back as they were hit with a sensational rush of good feelings. The room shivered as they all caught their breath.
“What?! Was that!?” Ron grabbed the counter for balance.
“Your spells combined,” Ollivander announced triumphantly.
“I didn’t even know that was possible!” Hermione gasped, staring at the wand in her hand.
“It’s extremely rare!” Ollivander corrected her. “You see, Mr Weasley has a twelve and three quarters inch Poplar with core of Unicorn Hair,” he reprised the information, sliding the inscribed lid across the counter. “Ms Granger, what you have in your hand is an eleven inch Elm with a dragon heartstring core.” As if playing a card game, Ollivander turned over the lid he had been holding close to his chest, and they read the credentials of Hermione’s wand.
“That’s that ca–ca-that symbol again!” Ron pointed, the familiar squiggles featured on both lids.
“It’s not a healing symbol, Ms Granger!” Mr Ollivander shared with a conspiratorial glint in his eye that beckoned them all to lean in closer. Under the counter, Hermione grabbed Ron’s hand and squeezed it in trepidation. “That is a sign of a gemmel. It’s a herbology term that describes a phenomenon where two or more trees fuse together and grow as one. Your wands are sourced from a Poplar,” he gestured for Ron to lift his wand in his left hand, “and an Elm,” Hermione followed suit, “that have grown into one another.”
“And that made our Patronuses combine?” Ron scrunched his brow. Had he known he was going to learn so much today he would have brought a quill for notes!
“Mr, Ollivander, how do you spell gemmel? Is that one ‘L’ or two?” Unbeknownst to Ron, Hermione had conjured a pocket booklet and had a pen poised on the paper ready for the information. Seeing her hungry for the information, he had to keep his face from splitting into the goofiest grin.
“I think I understand,” Jonas intruded the lesson, wagging a finger at his elder, “You are clever, Uncle.”
“You found that Poplar wand for Mr Weasley,” Ollivander pointed back to Jonas in congratulations. “I simply cannot resist a good experiment.”
“I am still not quite following,” Hermione cut their little party short, eager for answers, “How are our wands connected?”
“Well, yes,” Jonas picked up from where Ollivander left off, “Generally, wand makers do not source their materials from the same tree more than once. Gemmels are a special case; we can harvest from each tree because they are distinctly separate, and they do not rely on each other to survive. However, because they do share bonds, it is supposed that properties from both trees are passed between one another.”
“So, our wands…remember each other?” Ron said slowly, worrying this was something akin to Harry’s wand and its brotherly relationship with Voldemort’s.
“In a sense,” Jonas nodded. “But more importantly, your wands are linked by the unique qualities they share. It amplifies their casting abilities together. In short, you make each other stronger.”
“Ho–how did you know the Elm wand would accept me?” Hermione asked.
“I didn’t. It’s one of my best Elms, and I knew you would be able to handle its power. I do enjoy sending a talented Muggleborn out of my shop with a wand that foolish pureblood wizards would trip arse-over-elbow to own.”
Ron and Jonas let out a bark of laughter together, and Hermione’s blush deepened.
“When Mr Weasley paired with his Poplar wand, I could not help myself,” Ollivander continued, “It is quite uncommon to sell such things in pairs, and gemmel wands owners rarely become aware of one another.”
“Why not? If they make each other more powerful, why wouldn’t you reserve them for Aurors that work together or something?” Ron asked.
“That may seem like a very shrewd business endeavor, but the wands are too particular.”
“What do you mean?” Hermione inquired.
“The gemmel trees-” Jonas searched for the words for a moment. He steepled his hands to demonstrate, “are two parts of a whole. It’s not exactly a fifty-fifty split, but each tree imparts values unto the other. Therefore, the wands seek out what you call kindred spirits.”
“You don’t say…” Ron said with airy sarcasm. He looked over to Hermione, their hands still intertwined. There was a pinkish glow spreading across her face as she bashfully contained a smile. They locked eyes, and Ron’s heart did another flip.
“Quite kismet, indeed,” Mr Ollivander concurred, “But we have taken up enough of your Saturday.” He thumped his walking stick decidedly. “There you are Ms Granger, I have provided you with some literature to do some research.” Old Ollivander nodded to the pad of paper floating at Hermione’s side. The page now listed book titles scrawled with a swoopy handwriting that Ron knew immediately wasn’t Hermione’s. ‘That whole stick was a wand? Wicked.’
“Oh, thank you, Mr Ollivander!” Hermione’s face lit up brighter than a child's on Christmas Day. “I look forward to looking them up once I am back at Hogwarts.”
“That’s right,” The wand maker nodded. She must have mentioned she was shopping for school supplies before Ron had joined them. The wizen man passed a confused glance between the powerful wand he had just sold, and the very powerful witch holding it. It was the same confusion that plagued Ron all the way up until last night. Hermione, too, seemed to feel the mild heat of the wand maker’s judgement, “And what about you, Mr Weasley? Will you be returning to Hogwarts this fall?”
“Me? No.” Ron said nonchalantly, “Professor McGonagall reckons Harry, Hermione and I altogether is what really causes trouble for Hogwarts, and is only allowing us back on the grounds one at a time. We drew shorter lots than Hermione and she gets to go back.” Ollivander and his nephew laughed politely at the joke but Hermione blushed in appreciation, and that is all that mattered. “You’ll be seeing more of me at my brother’s shop down the way. Jonas, if you're staying on for a while, you should come down and see us at Weasley Wizard Wheezes.” Ron dropped his hand from Hermiones to say goodbye to Jonas. As he reached out to him, Ron conjured the shop’s purple business between outstretched fingers.
Impressed, Jonas nodded, taking the card from Ron.
Then, Ron wrapped his arm around Hermione’s shoulders in gentle solidarity. “Now, how much for these wands? We’ve got more school shopping to do!”