[She purses her lips at that.] Honestly, I'm not sure. It's what we've been taught, since the start. Each witch or wizard needs a wand, and the wand picks the wizard.

[And here, she pauses, and reaches up her sleeve to pull out hers, from the holster she's fashioned herself to look like something of a bracelette. Sets it on the table, dark walnut and dragon heartstring core.]

It's not mine, this one. I lost it, in the - [Her mouth gets dry, the memory of the blade digging into her arm, the crucio spells wrecking havoc on her body. Her hands tremble a little, and she picks up the teacup. Apparently, this is something he'll have in common with Anduin: Hermione just telling them both things of her world, because they're safe and not from there and they can't really use it against her.]

I was tortured with this wand. It ended up with me because...well. I had lost mine, so I've been fighting with it and casting with it but I don't feel it as mine, despite trying. [A small sigh, and a sad little smile his way now.] Wish I had a way to replace it, but this place is all wrong. It has wands, but they're all wrong. More than this one.