At the time of original submission, this chapter is un-beta'd. I just didn't want to keep it away from you all for too much longer. Once a beta has gone through the chapter, I will come back and make any changes that were suggested.

Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. Any other recognizable objects or characters belong exclusively to their respective owners. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.

The Magic Shop – Chapter 3

She was satisfied with her work.

Never again would she need to worry about losing her connection with her Craftsman. She loved her Craftsman, but she knew she could never have him the way she wanted. She could, however, help him be happy. She knew him better than he often knew himself.

The Scholar would make him happy. She could see the interlocking shape of their souls, the threads that tied them together. She could see that they each needed the other.

But she also knew that her Craftsman felt himself too old for happiness, too old for spiritual connection of any kind, and the Scholar was so very young. She solved that. With help from the Bird and the Cat, she admitted, but it was she that put events into motion.

If she could smile, she would.

When Hermione woke the next morning, she had a horribly cramped neck and spine. She opened her eyes and saw she was still sitting at the worktable, surrounded by open books. She must have fallen asleep while reading again. That was one of the many wonderful things about apprenticing under Mr. Ollivander: he understood her compulsion to read anything and everything placed in front of her and had never chastised her for her ambitious reading habits.

He was a good man, a kind man. Sometimes she wished that there were more men her age that were like Mr. Ollivander.

Her age.

Oh no.

Suddenly remembering what had happened the day before, Hermione bolted out of her seat and through the workshop to the living quarters upstairs. She heard several voices coming from the kitchen. Please be a dream. PLEASE be a dream! Let Mr. Ollivander be alright!

"—and judging by the sudden sound of thundering feet, here she comes now," said one voice.

"I think you're right Fred. And also judging by that very same din, she remembers what happened," replied another. Apparently the twins were still here. That in itself solidified her fear that yesterday's occurrences did in fact happen. She charged through the kitchen doorway and nearly collided with the table as she skidded to a halt in her stocking feet.

"Fred! George! Where is he?!" Hermione half shouted in her frantic state.

"In his room. Asleep. Or he was until you came barreling in here like a rampaging hippogriff," replied one of the twins (she wasn't sure which twin it was, nor did she particularly care at this very moment).

True enough, they then heard the sound of movement from the room down the corridor, including several loud bangs (one of which sounded like a small explosion followed by the thud of something hitting the door).

"And there goes our monitor," the other twin sighed.

Hermione glared at them. "Monitor? What did you two do that he needs to be monitored? What was that explosion?"

They didn't answer. Instead, one twin—whom Hermione now recognized as George—pushed his breakfast away, stood from his seat at the kitchen table, moved toward the door and out into the corridor. The kitchen's remaining occupants could faintly hear him knocking on the bedroom door and asking if the wandmaker was all right. There was a muffled response, and then they heard George walking back to the kitchen.

"He says he will be right out," George stated, answering Hermione's interrogatory look. "The monitor's Following Charm went wonky. The little blighter decided to climb onto the nightstand and knock everything off of it."

"And what was that explosion?"

"The monitors self-destruct if they are detected. We haven't been able to work out that bug yet," said Fred.

"Mum nearly went spare when one climbed into the china cupboard last week. It exploded all of the good teacups," said George.

"I don't believe that I blame her," said a new voice. They turned to see Ollivander walk into the kitchen.

Hermione jumped up from the seat that Fred had placed her in.

"Are you alright, Mr. Ollivander, sir?" she asked, moving to usher the man to the last unclaimed seat at the table, all the while looking him over, searching for any signs that the twins may have inadvertently brought harm to her teacher.

The man chuckled, allowing her to pull him to the chair before gently shrugging her off.

"Hermione, please stop your mollycoddling." He smiled. "I am fine. I'm not as old as I used to be."

The twins snorted.

She grimaced, both at the joke, and the gentle jab at her concern. "That is not funny!"

"Actually—" said the Weasleys.

"—it was—"

"—just a little."

"Oh, you—"

"Enough!" Ollivander intervened. "This isn't important now. I apologize, Hermione. Perhaps my joke was in poor taste. I know you worry."

She pursed her lips and sat back down, still looking a bit perturbed, but calmer now that she knew her teacher was unharmed and, apparently, in good spirits.

He smiled kindly. "Honestly, my dear, I'm fine. I haven't felt this good in years."

Just then there was a quiet, brush, tap, tap, scratch, sound at the kitchen window.

Ollivander looked up and, seeing the cause of the sound, exclaimed, "Ah, the morning post," then turned, opening the sash to allow five owls, a swan, and a very nervous looking Crowned Pigeon to fly in. Two of the owls simply dropped their cargo—a copy of the Daily Prophet and an issue of the Quibbler—onto the table, and flew back out. Two others flew to Fred and George, bringing each of the twins several envelopes (one of which smelled suspiciously like bubotuber pus). The owls had gotten accustomed to bringing the twins' morning post to the wand shop; it had become a regular occurrence for the boys to come over for breakfast, though usually Hermione was the one to let them in.

The last owl, a lovely, caramel colored barn owl, landed on the back of Hermione's chair and started preening her feathers. She had been carrying a thick envelope (which was promptly dropped in George's scrambled eggs), and had an air about her that implied that the sender was not expecting an immediate response. This owl belonged to Professor McGonagall, to whom Hermione had requested use of the Hogwarts library. The Headmistress had obviously seen fit to send something other than a simple affirmation.

"Hello, Athena," Hermione said as she stroked the owl's breast, gave her a piece of the bacon from the breakfast table, and turned her attention to the large pigeon that was now attempting to nest in her hair.

"A little help?" she pleaded. The boys, who were, until now, near howling, then proceeded to help extricate the troublesome bird from her mane. Why did Luna have to decide that she wanted to breed various species of pigeon? Hermione supposed that she should be glad Luna hadn't sent the Nicobar pigeon again; last time, the silly thing arrived three days late and it took two hours to catch.

She took the letter from the Crowned pigeon and let it go. It gave her a grateful nibble with its beak, and flew out the window. Luna's birds were brave, but they understandably didn't want to be in a confined space with one of their natural predators any longer than needed.

Hermione opened the letter—which was more of a note, really—and read, Believe in old stories. They are more real than you think. -Luna

She raised an eyebrow. It was not a very specific note, but it had recently been discovered that Luna was a very distant descendant of Cassandra and as such had the gift of True Sight (which also explained some of her odd behavior). While her visions were usually vague and were often interspersed with her nonsense about nargles and snorkacks, anyone who knew Luna knew from experience that to not listen to her could prove unwise. Keeping that in mind, Hermione set Luna's letter aside and then focused on the rather spectacular Mute swan that was waiting patiently on the kitchen floor. This was the letter she was most eager to receive; it may hold some of the answers that she was looking for about yesterday's accident.

She quickly untied the package from the swan's leg (tied because, after all, swan feet don't work like owl feet) and nearly tore it open in her eagerness.

"Well, what does it say?" asked Fred as Hermione opened the attached letter. The twins both looked up from their post—most of which was comprised of W.W.W. mail order slips, with one or two hate letters—and Ollivander set down his glass of orange juice. All three men had their attention on her.

She read:

"Dear Hermione,

While I greatly hope you are able to find the cause and the solution to your problem, I'm afraid I wasn't able to provide as much help as either of us would have wished.

Last night I called on the family of Mr. Mykew Gregorovitch (Nikolai, the grandson, has recently reopened his late grandfather's shop). As you know, they are old family friends, and I felt they were the most likely to hold the answers you needed.

I have enclosed copies from several craftmasters' diaries—pages which Nikolai and I believe may be the most helpful in your search. Also enclosed is a book which Nikolai's father remembered Mykew reading to him as a child. While it may seem like a collection of children's stories, Nikolai believes that this may be a similar situation to that of the Tale of the Three Brothers. Read it carefully; it may prove useful.

The package is spelled to open only at the hands of yourself and those of Mr. Ollivander. This is, after all, information that is liable to prove dangerous if it were to be intercepted by inexperienced or malicious hands. My bird is obviously an added security measure.

Give my best to Mr. Ollivander as well as the Weasley twins (I'm assuming they have elected to help you). Send me a reply when you can.

Yours,

Viktor."

Hermione finished the letter, swatted George's hands away from the package ("Hey!"), and pulled it toward herself. Giving the parcel a tap with her wand, the paper neatly unfolded itself, tucking itself underneath its contents: an envelope containing what she assumed were the wandmakers' notes, and a very old, musty-smelling, leather bound book entitled, Tales from the Sorcerer's Ghost: The Collected Works of Yen Sid.

Flipping through the dry pages, she discovered that it was indeed a book of fairytales. Hermione handed the book to her teacher who then glanced through it.

"I know this book. I recall my own father reading this to me as a boy. The tales are not especially popular any longer, however," Ollivander grumbled as he passed the book to Fred, who appeared entirely unfamiliar with it. "It seems parents don't want their children reading anything with substance."

They all agreed. Hermione took the book back, eager to start reading. She would figure this out.

She watched. The Scholar would soon begin her quest for knowledge, and through that pursuit, the Scholar would discover more than she had realized possible. She then would join the Craftsman in both mind and soul. As was meant to be.

She would have to be careful, however. The Scholar was young, and with youth came obstinence. The Scholar would not so easily allow herself to be molded to the Plan.

The Craftsman could also prove difficult. Although his Form was restored to a previous state of existence, his soul was tired. He felt outdated. He felt unworthy of happiness; nevertheless, he could be rejuvenated, and the time he spent with the Inventors and the Scholar would go a long way toward this goal.

She must be vigilant. She would ensure that the Plan was followed, the Goal obtained.

She would watch. She would wait.

But for now, however, she was content.

End Notes:

So how was it? Was it worth the wait? I sincerely apologize for the long interval, and I hope I haven't lost too many of you loyal readers that decided to follow this story.