The Darkwood Wand

Xylomancy

"Leg, Merc," Draco snapped.

The owl spun its head again, its dislike of Draco warring with a sense of duty. Finally, Merc stuck out a long, skinny leg, its talons flexing dangerously close to Draco's injured nose.

Draco hurried to tie the scroll on. Usually he completed such mundane tasks by magic and he was rushing to finish this before class. He cursed as he dropped the package and pawed around for it in the filthy straw. Merc eyed him with disgust. Draco shook the dirt and droppings off the scroll and tried again. He would do this.

He hitched a tight knot around the owl's leg, drawing an outraged hoot and a nip on the hand that drew blood, but Draco didn't care. It was done. "Deliver this to Mother. Wait for a reply."

Merc's hoot was almost a snarl, but the bird obeyed, launching off the perch in a sudden burst of feathers and smacking Draco in the face with a long wing. The owl made a graceful turn to watch Draco howl in pain, then flew out the nearest window.

"Bash-ard," Draco muttered, holding his nose. He really hated animals.

***

After a tense morning and lunch, Draco arrived early to Divination, hoping to speak with Granger before the day's nonsense. It was Xylomancy Day, with twigs and strips of wood scattered on all the tea tables. Frankincense billowed from a heated plate, and Draco coughed as he took a seat on his pouf. He could feel another headache coming on.

Trelawney was nowhere to be seen. He wondered if Granger would show up, or if she was with McGonagall and the Head Auror writing out Draco's arrest warrant. Kidnapping, assault, illegal spellwork, unauthorized creation of magical objects ...

Well, it could have been worse. Much worse. Thank Salazar the Vanishing Spell had whisked Granger away. Even without all that shouting and kicking, it would have been nearly impossible for Draco to sneak the witch out of his bedroom without waking Tennant. That wizard was inhumanly alert, even while sleeping. Not to mention Tennant's anti-Muggle traps. And even if they somehow escaped the room, the Slytherin dungeons crawled with dangerous, magical familiars at night and neither of them had had a working wand.

Draco wasn't a man given to personal reflection; the less he knew about his own character and motives, the better. But there was a voice deep within Draco (a very small, rarely heard voice) that acknowledged he'd put an innocent witch in great danger the night before. The terror he'd felt when Tennant tugged at those bed curtains—what if Draco hadn't been able to protect her? What if—

"Dear boy!"

Draco nearly fell off his pouf at the twittering call, and his knees hit the underside of the tea table. Steadying it with his hands, he took a breath and waited for his heart to start beating again.

"I Saw you would be early!" Trelawney cried. She pointed to the hearth's thin birch logs, which were all standing on end and licked with flames.

"Looooook," she crooned. "See the logs, Mr. Malfoy. What do you See?"

Draco barely glanced at the hearth. "Ah, that log is burning on the top."

"So it is! Quite significant! It wasn't burning there before you arrived!" The professor gave him a wide, glassy gaze. "You aspire to something quite high," she breathed. "It remains to be seen if you succeed, my boy."

The crazy old bat had hardly finished speaking when the little flame on the top of the log went out, leaving only a trail of smoke.

"Apparently not," Draco said drily.