Deus Ex Machina

7 Diagon Alley





Right, I know it is Saturday – not Monday, but I’m going to be really busy tomorrow and Monday is another field trip!



In answer to some reviews (and they’re in the order of review, so it’s a bit jumbled! You might find a personal response to you a couple of times – keep scrolling down):



RavenElfwitch I used your muslin idea – thanks a lot for your input!



Voracious Reader I had thought about little French maid outfits for the female French elves… but that outfit has a lot of sexual connotations with it and I scrapped it. I think Hermione’s elves are dressed differently for (a) practical reasons and (b) because they actually respect them.



And your title suggestion was excellent! I know you weren’t insulting me – just the definition I found!



Debby Oooh, do you know, You’ve just influenced me a bit, miss-journalist-in-training! Does Debby stand for Deborah?



meankitty69 I’m taking this to Diagon Alley today, lol, but the plot does develop a heck of a lot more – it just needs to be done slowly so I don’t miss anything!



Ithilwen A bit of a LOTR fan, are you? Your penname is very elvish! ‘Ithil’ is the moon (in Quenya, I think. I don’t think it’s Sindarin), and ‘wen’ as a suffix is female. I’m a bit of an LOTR nut myself – but I’m just not good enough to write LOTR fics – it would be like blasphemy against my favourite books!



Oh, Tom won’t have control – that’s a definite!



Oh, ‘refreshing’ isn’t the word I’d use for describing Lucius losing his virginity… hilarious might be better! Lol!



LaBib Gammy isn’t related to Dobby… but I have a sinking feeling that you’re reading my mind with that idea! Shhh!



Ooops, lots of whoopsies.



werewolfhime Gamay is an odd hybrid of lady’s maid and PA – she’ll be there for Hermione every step of the way!



Let me get this straight… you’ve got Remus AND Severus, but Sev isn’t noticing you. (He’s only not noticing you because he’s too busy noticing a certain 5’ petite lass with shoulder-length ginger-blonde hair and grey eyes! Muhahahahahaaaaaa.



Voracious Reader Third time you’ve read it and you still like it? Eh? I don’t understand that one! And if you want Lucius I’ll slip his collar off for you…



Debby Don’t start a “We want Lucius” chant on me! He’s coming, he’s coming! Give me chance to set the scene!



Voracious Reader Funerals do tend to get a bit mad, don’t they. We had one heck of a skeleton come out of a cupboard at my Granddad’s sister’s funeral. My Granddad’s sister had a much younger sister… who it was revealed was actually my Granddad’s sister’s DAUGHTER, who had been raised by her Mother’s Mother and thought that her real Mother was actually her big sister.



It was really, really upsetting as nobody really knew! The daughter in question had never been able to go on holiday abroad because she didn’t have her original birth certificate (and you can’t get a passport with a photocopy) – and it turned up in a biscuit tin at the back of her “sister’s” cupboard – with her “sister” named as her Mother and the Father line left blank.



Hermione’s family are rich, they’re powerful and they’ve drawn a lot of attention. Stuff like this happens too often to the celebs of this world. Look at John Wayne – his grave is in a secret location because he didn’t want fans visiting his grave!



Oh, believe me, the money-grabber will get his comeuppance, don’t you worry!



werewolfhime who do you think this cousin is?



Snapes_Goddess I’m with you on being sad and not looking it. But I feel I owe it to the person I’m mourning to be in my best clothes and dressed appropriately. But, stuff makeup and hair – makeup just runs and my hair won’t behave on a good day! I actually have a ‘funeral suit’ – the only full black suit I have, reserved just in case. Sad, isn’t it, that I have that suit? Unfortunately, I’ve had to wear it too much.



My cousin was 6 ½ months pregnant when her Mum committed suicide, she had to identify the body and help plan the funeral. I think she just threw a black jacket over a grey suit dress she wore for work, rather than shopping. Everyone was so worried that something would go wrong with the pregnancy due to the stress… but Alex came out alright, and the scamp’s just turned five.



Don’t worry about the rant! Rants are good! Get it off your chest!



Ithilwen Vultures! Good word! It is amazing how many ‘relatives’ crawl out of the woodwork at a funeral. Sometimes all I can think is ‘you never bothered to get in touch when they were alive – a Christmas card isn’t enough’.



LaBib Chapter 10? Erm… 6?



Corin has one heck of a crush, he doesn’t know how to deal with it and shuts himself away… though with a sister like THAT, you’d hide too!



Not another one chanting! Lol! I had to modify this chapter just to squeeze him in for you ‘chanters’! lol!



I’ll leave it as ‘so far, nameless’ – it shows the progression and development of the story, and the reviewer input!





That everyone??







Hermione had three days to settle into a new home in England before beginning the academic year at Hogwarts. Great Aunt Adamina lived in a small castle in very north England (almost Scotland). The grey-stone building only had nine bedrooms, four bathrooms, one kitchen, three reception rooms, one dining room and a small study. It was positively minute for a castle – but it was a castle nonetheless.



The building had a typically square shape with three bedrooms and a bathroom on each side, a small courtyard garden sat protected and peaceful in the centre. Windows overlooked both the courtyard garden and the little wizarding village at the bottom of the hill the castle stood upon.



Hermione’s room faced East, and the sun shone into her corner room every morning, reminding her that there was a new day behind each new dawn – the pale light of morning gave her a reason to get out of bed, count her blessings and get on with her day – Great Aunt Adamina had told her to adopt the ‘British stiff upper lip’, roll up her sleeves and keep going with her life.



Adamina was an ancient two-hundred-and-twenty-six, incredibly frail and prone to frequent chest infections. She was unable to walk, never mind manage the higgledy-piggeldy staircases of the castle, and one of the reception rooms had been converted into a bedroom for the elderly witch. A healer lived permanently in the bedroom above. Adamina’s body might have been slowly crumbling to diseased dust, but her spirit and magic were as strong as they had been in her hundreds – and there were very few who could best her in a game of wizard’s chess or in a verbal sparring session.



Hermione found herself gladly spending time with the relative she’d hardly seen, discovering that Adamina was very similar to her Father – witty, as sharp as a needle and insanely practical. Adamina didn’t let her broken body stop her, just changing her lifestyle to accommodate her limitations. Adamina had inspired Hermione to keep going, and keep living. Her Great Aunt had out lived her elder sister (Hermione’s Great Grandmother, on her Mother’s side), her daughter (Hermione’s Grandmother) and her Granddaughter – Adamina pointed out that if she could live through the deaths of her sister, daughter and granddaughter, not to mention all of her childhood friends – that Hermione could do it too.



***



Gamay had dressed her in soft cotton grey undergown, black high-necked cashmere over robes with long sleeves and styled her hair to hide the few burn scars on her face – nobody at the funeral had seen them, thanks to Gamay’s skill with concealer and foundation, but Hermione wasn’t prepared to put on her ‘war paint’ every day. And thus some long strands at the front hid the pink, shiny blemishes.



“Good morning, my dear!” the elderly witch said as Hermione joined her for breakfast.



“Good morning, Adamina, did you rest well?” she asked, pressing the plunger on the French press and pouring a cup of very strong black coffee. She slowly nibbled away at a freshly-prepared croissant.



“I rested fine, once the sedative kicked in… good Merlin, am I ever going to convert you to something more sensible on a morning?” she tutted disapprovingly at Hermione’s cup. “Can’t you drink a nice cup of tea like a normal person? Or at least put some milk in that almost-black sludge you drink!”



“I need more than tea has to offer on a morning, Adamina!” Hermione giggled, almost losing a mouthful of coffee out of her nose at her Great Aunt’s facial expression.



“Well, I’ll drink my tea, and you drink your coffee; then we can agree to disagree and argue again tomorrow breakfast!” the old witch said cheerfully; slowly downing the thirteen different potions that an embroidered-pillowcase clad house elf held on a little silver tray. Once all her medicine had been washed down with a much-needed cup of tea, Adamina spoke again.



“School begins in three days; and I have invited the headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore, to tea this afternoon to talk through what will happen at Hogwarts; he’ll be here at around three o’clock – you’ll have to see him alone, I’m afraid, I’ll be out for the count by then due to my potions.”



“Oh, I do not know him – must I see him alone?” Hermione asked, not confident in greeting guests unaccompanied.



“Oh, Albus is a darling – you’ll be fine with him! He might bring a few of the other teachers with him too, and the elves will not be far away! Their favourites will be prepared for when they arrive.” Adamina reassured her, “Where are you headed off to this morning? You still have quite a to-do list, don’t you?”



“I am in need of a wand, and I will be flooing directly into the premises of…” Hermione reached into the pocket of her simple, but top quality black dress for a slip of parchment, “… Mr. Ollivander, Diagon Alley, London.” She recited.



“Oh, Ollivander is a master – he’ll not steer you wrong!” her Great Aunt said with a smile, “You couldn’t be in better hands in search of a wand! His Grandfather sold me mine – still works like a dream!”



The mantelpiece clock of the dining room chimed nine times, and Hermione threw back the remains of her coffee before standing and kissing Adamina’s cheek. She pulled her cloak around her, grabbed her bag and then stepped through the floo to the wandmaster.



***



“Well, good morning, Miss Grangier! A pleasure to meet you!” Mr. Ollivander said shaking the young witch’s hand as she stepped through the flames.



“Bonjour Monsieur Ollivander, thank-you for seeing me on such short notice!” Hermione said, removing her cloak and laying it over the back of a chair.



“Not a problem, Miss Grangier, but you are one of those customers that I know will need more assistance in finding the right wand that will choose them! You’re one of those few who I know will take a long while, hence you actually having an appointment.” He said.



“Oh, I did not need an appointment for my other wand.” She said, confused; Mr. Ollivander had merely shaken her hand the day before, taken a brief look into her fire-whiskey-brown eyes and booked her an appointment for the following morning.



“No – but it is very rare for such a young witch to require a new wand, and your wand was destroyed in a fire, it didn’t choose to stop focussing your magic as they are want to do occasionally… you are a very special case!” The wandmaster seemed deliriously happy upon saying this.



“Oh?” Hermione replied, not sure what else to say.



“Oh yes, I do like a challenge! Now, what was your other wand?”



“Vine wood – from our vinyards; and dragon heartstring.” Hermione answered, blushing – it was actually a very personal question to ask a witch or wizard, and not something that was spoken of in society.



“Hmm… fitting for you, I think. It is nice when someone can provide their own wood because the tree means something to them. What a shame to lose it.” The wandmaster seemed genuinely upset for the loss of the wand.



“It is a Grangier tradition, all Grangier children have their wands made from the wood of the vines. It has been like that for centuries.” Hermione replied.



“Well, I do have some vinewood wands, but I do not think they will choose you, Miss Grangier, there is something about your magic that screams for something different…” the wizard bustled around his shop; ignoring the queue of customers outside his door – a sign said he was closed until ten o’clock. A small pile of boxes were lined up on the counter, and he motioned for Hermione to give each one a swish and flick.



Thirty boxes later, and Ollivander still had the same enthusiasm as when he had passed her the first box – Hermione, however, was close to tears as wand after wand rejected her magic.



“Hmm… five minutes to opening time…” the wizard said, scanning his thousands of boxes before doing a double take and extracting one box. “I wonder…”



“What is this one?” Hermione asked, her zeal deflated.



“A very odd combination, very odd indeed… Holly, eleven inches, phoenix feather core. Very strange; has an air about it, an arrogance – this wand will only accept someone who will do life changing things – wonderful things!”



“I do not think I live up to this wand’s expectation.” Hermione said, her fingers hovering over the opened box.



“Let the wand decide that.” Mr. Ollivander said, grinning smugly as a warm golden glow surrounded the witch, “Oh yes, this wand has waited a long time for a suitable witch or wizard, a long time.”



“Thank—you, Monsieur Ollivander, for your assistance!” Hermione beamed, shaking the wizard’s hand as he flicked his wand to open the shop’s door.



“You are very welcome, Miss Grangier, very welcome! I’ll send the bill directly to Gringots, shall I?”



“Oh, that would be most convenient!” Hermione said, taking the re-boxed wand from the wizard and placing it into her shoulder bag. She pulled up her hood and began walking through the door. As Hermione was leaving her heart skipped a beat.



“Damien?” she whispered, noticing the small lad with pitch-black hair. He turned around, showing sallow skin with deep dark circles beneath the darkest eyes she’d ever seen; his nose seemed too large for his face, and his clothes far too big and tatty. No. Not Damien, though Damien’s broken body had looked healthier than this lad.



“Severus, don’t let Mr. Ollivander choose your wand – we haven’t got the funds for a new wand, go through some of the reconditioned wands he has, we have enough money for those.” Said the woman next to him, quietly, her hair had once been the same black as her son, but now it was thoroughly shot through with shades of grey; she was painfully thin, and what looked to be finger-print bruises marked her barely exposed wrists.



“Mum, what if… what if those wands don’t choose me? I have to have a wand, what if it is the wrong one?” asked a quite high pitched voice that would no doubt deepen in time.



“I don’t know, Severus, but you might struggle with a few spells – but wandwaving isn’t everything!” said the woman with false cheer.



Hermione slipped back into the shop, past a handsome, dark haired man; and whispered in Mr. Ollivander’s ear: “Monsieur, whatever that boy’s Mother cannot afford to pay – charge to my account, please.”



“That is rather odd… do you know him?”



“Non, I do not; but he reminds me of my little brother, he died in the fire… no wizard should have to walk away from a wand that chooses him because his family is poor – take some money from his Mother, but take the rest from me – I have more than plenty.” Hermione pleaded with the wizard.



“Some of us do have other engagements today, miss, have you not taken up enough of Mr. Ollivander’s time?” said the handsome man from his place in the queue behind the dark-haired boy and his Mother.



“Mr. Riddle, do not fret, the day is young! Miss Grangier was just informing me of something important.” Hermione smiled at the young boy, pulled her hood back from her face and winked at him, she grinned at his surprised expression before pulling the hood back over her face and leaving the shop to tick off a few other things on her to-do-list.



“Well, then, what can I do for you, young man?” said the wandmaster to the lad.



“Erm… my first wand?” he replied in a whisper, obviously not used to saying much.



“Marvelous…” he was cut off by the Mother,



“… Perhaps you should look over there, Severus.” She said, pointing to the pile of pre-owned and reconditioned wands.



Ollivander glanced into the black eyes and looked rather shocked for a brief moment, “that is only a small selection of reconditioned wands – allow me to fetch a few more for you.” He arrived with a few tatty boxes, all old and their labels faded in the sun.



“Try this one, a most unusual combination, but one that I think needs a master who will do great things one day…”



“Didn’t it’s previous owner manage it?” Severus asked.



“It waits for someone new to try, I think.” Said Ollivander, quickly covering himself as he read the side of the box before handing the wand to the boy, “Thirteen and a half inches, yew, phoenix tail feather… unusual, rather volatile, but someone powerful will do great things – give it a flick.”



The dark haired boy gingerly took the wand in long slim fingers, and was wrapped in golden light.



“Well, that settles that!” said the wandmaster, stunned that he’d sold brother wands one after another.



“And I should settle the bill…” said Severus’s Mother, looking into a rather empty money bag.



“That will be five galleons, as it is a reconditioned wand, after all.” Mr Ollivander said, giving Severus a very similar wink to what Hermione had.



“Thank-you, sir.” Said Severus, looking at the length of springy wood and phoenix feather in his hand, then back at the wandmaster. His dark brows knitted together.



“Best have that back in its box, lad, we don’t want you having any accidents with it! No using your wand out of school until you’re seventeen.” Chuckled Ollivander, carefully packaging the wand back in its box. Severus looked at the box and saw the recently crossed out price tag of thirty-five galleons – so recently crossed out that the ink was still wet.



“Come on, Severus, let’s keep moving, we don’t want to be late home.” Said his Mother, tugging on his arm to get hi to move. He carefully placed the box into his patched satchel.



“Mum, do you think I’ll do great things?” Severus asked with a hopeful expression.



“I think he tells everyone who buys one of his wands that with it they’ll do great things, but you’ll always be great to me.” She said, hugging him briefly before moving on to the second hand robe shop to find something suitable to their purse to fit his malnourished frame.







Mr. Ollivander turned to his next customer, “Ah, Mr. Riddle, what can I do for you today? A new wand, perhaps?”



***



Hermione’s next stop was Magical Menagerie, the witch had never found a familiar, but there was something drawing her to the shop. Hermione walked through the door to be met by a middle-aged witch with heavy, black-rimmed spectacles.



“Hello, what can I do for you today?” she asked, poking a few apple slices through the bars of a cage full of ravens, they made even more racket as they squabbled for the treat.



“I don’t know – I’m… I can’t describe it… I’m drawn here.” Hermione whispered, watching the black rats preen themselves in their cage.



“Have you ever had a familiar, a true familiar?” the shop owner asked, looking around her menagerie for suitable candidates.



“No, I’ve hardly ever had pets! I had a hamster when I was little.” Hermione said with a shrug.



“Hamsters, eugh, you won’t find one of those in my shop!” ranted the proprietor, before motioning Hermione to walk past every cage she had, waiting for something to happen.



Hermione walked past one cage and cried out in shock as the ginger feline within it bit her and began lapping at the blood dribbling down her fingers.



“Keep still, child, keep still! It isn’t often a kneazle chooses a witch!”



Hermione looked ready to be sick as the cat lapped at the blood, purring contentedly once the wound closed.



“A true familiar needs to occasionally feed on their witch – just a few drops, nothing too serious.” The shop owner said reassuringly, motioning for Hermione to pick up the cat.



“Does she… is it a she?”



“Yes, a lovely lady indeed; the sire is my familiar – out in the back yard chasing less intelligent rats.” Said the owner.



“Does she have a name?”



“I call her Duchess – she certainly acts like it!” the owner laughed.



“Duchess? And you’ve chosen me?” Hermione asked the cat, bringing the kneazle to eye level, only to have the cat lick at the scars on her face.



“Please… stop that.” Hermione whispered, and the cat chirruped in complaint.



“You’ll be taking her? Not that you can really refuse, that doesn’t happen often!”



“I’ll take her – and anything else she might need.” Hermione said.



“Marvellous! Shall I send the bill directly to Gringotts?” asked the proprietor, looking at the large-eared, lion-tailed intelligent cat.



“Please, is it alright for my elf to collect her?”



“Of course! She’s completely litter trained, and spayed – no kittens from this one!”



Hermione called Gamay, who collected the cat, accessories and Hermione’s boxed wand before apparating back to the castle.





***



Hermione walked past the queue outside of Madam Malkins, dozens of young wizards, witches and their parents had waited until the last minute to buy their robes – robes weren’t cheap, and waiting until the last minute ensured that money wouldn’t be wasted on a sudden growth spurt. Gamay, however, met her outside Twilfit & Tattings, a more upscale (more expensive) outfitter that didn’t have a queue of students outside it. Gamay had not been able to acquire Hogwarts robes in France – but not for lack of trying on the elf’s part. And Gamay would only have the best for her mistress.



The elf and witch entered the shop, and Hermione dropped her hood back, silently glad for whatever charm Gamay discretely performed on her suddenly static hair.



The shop’s foyer was discretely decorated in a neutral warm cream; the desk was the greyish colour of antique oak, with cream leather desk accessories on its top. A gold and cream striped sofa sat in front of a small coffee table that contained fashion magazines of the highest quality. Someone sat on the opposite arm chair, nose-deep in a textbook and ignoring the world around him.



“Welcome to Twilfit & Tattings, do you have an appointment?” asked a very smartly dressed young witch in cream and gold robes that matched the décor of the room.



“Yes, this is being Lady Grangier, for her fitting.” Gamay said firmly, clicking her fingers to remove Hermione’s cloak, folding it and placing it on the sofa.



“Oh, black is such a severe colour for someone with your complexion, you should be in paler earth tones and warm colours; and that neckline is far to severe! Show a little cleavage, you’ve got great curves hidden by those robes!”



“My Mademoiselle is being in mourning! She is not wearing any other colour than black! And showing cleavage is for tarts!” snapped Gamay at the assistant, sneering at the witch in cream and gold.



“And who are you to reprimand me, elf? You should iron what’s left of that ear!” spat the assistant.



“I zink I shall take my custom across ze road to Madam Malkins, I will not ‘ave my Lady’s Elf dizrespected in zis manner. If you dizrespect my staff, zen goodness knows ‘ow you will treat me!” Hermione hissed, her accent more prominent in her anger; rather ‘phlegmy’ to Hermione’s ear if she was being honest; but she was just too furious to think carefully about every syllable that left her mouth.



“Charlotte! You are needed in the back room – go!” said an older witch in a strained voice, “Miss Grangier, please excuse my assistant, she is rather inexperienced at the craft.”



“Zen you should train her to respect her cuztomers and zeir staff!” Hermione replied, the posture an exact mimic of the one her Mother held when she disputed with people mistreating their elves.



“I must apologise, Miss Grangier, most sincerely. It won’t occur again.”



“You owe an apology to my Lady’s Elf.” Hermione sneered, controlling her accent and meeting the witch in the eye and not backing down.



“My most sincere apologies, Gamay, wasn’t it? I received the note with Miss Grangier’s measurements a week ago – your efficiency has made my job easier. I haven’t worked with a well trained Lady’s Elf in a long time. Charlotte will be reprimanded.”



Gamay nodded once in response.



“Thank-you for your apology.” Hermione said calmly, taking a seat on the sofa, Gamay, in her white blouse, grey dress and beret stood by.



“Mister Malfoy, your new robes will be with you shortly, they’re almost finished. Your new dress robes will take a little longer, I’m afraid - probably another three weeks; it appears that I will be finding myself suddenly a little short staffed.”



“Thank-you, Madam Twilfit, but do not rush – I don’t require dress robes until Yule.” The young blonde man didn’t look to happy at his last words, sneering.



“Of course, but they will be ready in three weeks regardless.” Said the saleswoman, “Please help yourselves to tea or coffee, I have pressing issues with my assistant.” Madam Twilfit bustled from the room and carefully closed the door to the back room behind her.



“They is already having your measurements – will not be taking long for your robes.” Gamay assured Hermione.



“Thank-you for thinking ahead, Gamay.” The witch replied.



“I is not liking these new robes, is not being as nice as Beauxbatons – is having no shape!” Gamay complained, pulling a face.



“Hogwarts is not Beauxbatons, Gamay, and it is a mixed school, perhaps they are trying to hide figures for propriety’s sake?”



“You are a transfer student?” asked the blonde, putting down his book.



“Oui, from France.” Hermione replied, looking into his grey eyes.



“Lady Grangier?” He looked at the obvious burn scars on her hands and those just peaking from behind her hair, “Was it your home in the fire, the vineyard?” he asked.



“Oui… how do you know?” Hermione replied, suspicious.



“It was all over the financial papers – I am sorry for your loss, I know how hard it is – I’ve only just put my mourning robes away myself.” His voice was quiet and resigned, “Do forgive my bad manners; I’m Lucius Malfoy, this year’s Head Boy at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” He offered his hand.



“Hermione Grangier, I would have been Head Girl at Beauxbatons this year.” She replied, placing her fingers in his palm and watching as he carefully brought them to his lips and kissed the air near her scarred knuckles.



“I am sorry for your losses also, Monsieur Malfoy.” She whispered, especially conscious of her recently bitten and previously scarred hands, folding them together at her abdomen.



“Me too, but it does get easier – honest.” He said gently, moving to collect his bagged clothing as it appeared on Madam Twilfit’s front desk.



“I hope it gets better, each day is agony at the moment.” Hermione whispered, looking down at her knees.



“I know. But I was telling the truth, it does get easier.” The young wizard said, re-tying his hair in a black ribbon, only to have it practically slip straight back out. Gamay shook her head and snapped her fingers – instantly tying the ribbon in his blonde hair.



“Thank-you?” Lucius said, looking uncomfortable.



“You is being welcome.” Gamay replied.



“Oh, Miss Grangier, ignore everything everyone might tell you about having to battle a troll or swim the lake to be put into your house… it’s nothing like that.”



“What is it like?” she asked.



“Oh, you’ll find out in a few days.” he said with a charming grin and a small bow before leaving the shop.



Madam Twilfit reappeared, and motioned for Hermione and Gamay to enter a dressing room for her fitting.