Her own wand was perfect, matched exquisitely with her own unique magical signature, but this was like holding lightning with one hand, like throwing a rope around a wild horse. Every hair on her body stood on end, and as the sunrise crested beautifully over the horizon, everything was haloed in shining, beautiful gold. Every atom in her body responded to the elder wand, and that snide, logical voice in Hermione’s brain spoke up: 