Combat Robes and Wands

"Come on, come on!" shouted Astoria excitedly. "I've been waiting eleven years for this! Come on, you slowpokes—"

Astoria had got herself in such a tizzy that she started violently coughing. After hearing of her sisters' exploits over the past two years, her adventurous spirit had only grown. The poor girl had been weak and sickly all of her life, and hadn't seen much of the outside world. But now, she was finally eleven, which meant she was finally going to Hogwarts! That wondrous and mysterious place, where adventures awaited!

In truth, there were not that many adventures to be had at the school. There were definitely secrets to uncover, but adventures? They either had to fall into one's lap, or one had to actively go looking for them in the first place. Hogwarts had been a rather safe place before a certain scarred boy started attending the school.

"Calm down, dear," her mother said. "You wouldn't want to have a fit on your big day, would you?"

A look of guilt flashed across Daphne's face. If all had gone to plan, then the Bloodline Atavism Potion would have gone to her sister to cure her of her blood malediction. Daphne rationalized that there was no need to feel bad about it; she didn't have a choice drinking the potion; it was either that or die. But the fact remained that she had desperately wanted to drink it.

Daphne would have gladly brewed the potion all over again, but a crucial ingredient was missing: the Phoenix ashes. The last time she had seen Fawkes, it had looked in the prime of its life. Unless she killed Dumbledore's pet, there was no way to obtain more ashes.

"Sister, you've got hyacinths growing out of your hair again," Oleandra noted.

"Yes, very pretty," said their mother, patting her on the head. "Now, I have some business to attend to at Gringotts while we're there, so let's not tarry overlong. Shall we?"

She threw a bunch of Floo powder into the fireplace ("Diagon Alley!"), and left through the flickering emerald-green flames.

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Soon after, the four ladies had arrived at their destination.

"Well, what do you want to get first?" Iris asked her youngest daughter.

"My own wand, of course!"

"Good, then here's seven Galleons," Iris said. "Daphne, take care of your sisters while I visit Gringotts. Let's meet at Madam Malkin's if you finish up at Ollivander's early."

"Hey, why do I need to be looked after?" Oleandra complained.

"Don't worry, Mother," said Daphne dutifully. "I'll make sure they stay out of trouble."

She ignored Oleandra's look of mock outrage, and ushered Astoria into Ollivander's store. The tinkling of a bell resounded, and soon the owner shuffled out of the back to meet them.

"Good day, ladies," he said softly. "And this must be young Astoria?"

The young girl in question nodded enthusiastically, while Oleandra let her eyes wander across the store. The last time she had come here, she had been repulsed by the web of lights that connected each and every wand together.

"Hmm, I wonder what would happen if I crashed this network of theirs?" she asked herself.

Ollivander was slightly put off by the evil smile that Oleandra was giving his wands. He had never quite liked the girl, and she didn't even use one of his wands to top it off!

"Miss Greengrass, yew with a core of unicorn hair, ten and a half inches?" he asked Daphne.

She nodded, and showed him her wand. A look of appreciation appeared on Ollivander's face. The wand was well maintained.

"And Miss Greengrass, cherry with a core of unicorn hair, eight inches, was it?" he said, turning to Oleandra, who offered him her wand for inspection.

"Hm, it's in a very good state. And I can see you've carved some runes into the handle. While I don't recommend modifying your wand, I have to say that the handle is the best place to do it, as it won't affect the wand's performance much."

Oleandra smiled contritely. She didn't use her wand very much outside of class, which was the reason why it didn't suffer much wear and tear.

"Miss Greengrass, if it's all right with you," said Ollivander, turning back to Daphne. "Would you mind if I purchased some of your hairs? Purely for experimental purposes, you understand."

Daphne politely declined his offer.

"Well, Sis," said Oleandra. "It looks like you've got everything under control here, so I'm going to head out to buy some clothes in advance. See you there."

Daphne nodded distractedly, and Oleandra left for Madam Malkin's boutique. Once inside the shop, she made a beeline to the counter to talk to the proprietress.

"Excuse me, do you make combat robes?" she asked Madam Malkin.

"Why, yes, dear. I have an exclusive contract with the Auror Office to make all of their robes. Reinforced with real dragon leather, you know. They'll take nothing but the very best for their Aurors!"

"Good, then," said Oleandra. "I'd like to commission some combat robes, then. A customized robe following my designs. Have you ever worked with Basilisk skin?"

"Heavens, no," said Madam Malkin in shock. "Basilisks are highly dangerous creatures, it's illegal to raise them, so I've never had the opportunity."

Suddenly, it hit her. She had read about this girl in the Daily Prophet; she had defeated Hogwarts's Basilisk!

"You, you have it? The skin?" she tittered excitedly. "A thousand-year-old Basilisk's skin?"

Visions of Galleons flashed before her eyes. Not only was Basilisk skin as resilient to magical attacks as dragon skin, it was much more supple, and it also offered much more protection against curses. If she could get a hold of this skin, she could make a fortune selling protective robes to Magical Law Enforcement!

"Only enough to make a few sets of robes," lied Oleandra. "The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets has been sealed by the headmaster."

Oleandra didn't lack money, and she didn't want everyone to be walking around with Basilisk skin robes. Who knew if she would have to fight against Aurors in the future?

In the end, they drafted a contract. Oleandra would hand her all the Basilisk skin she claimed to possess, and Madam Malkin would make her the robes she wanted for free, as a V.I.P. client.