The Darkwood Wand

Changes

"The little tiger is watching me," Tennant said in an undertone.

"She's on full alert now, thanks to your stupidity," Draco snapped. He glared at Granger, but she just continued to eye Tennant in what she fondly considered a stealthy manner.

"That Mudblood is going to be fun," Tennant said, with a sharp crunch of his pork chop, right through the bone. Granger's eyes narrowed, and Draco concentrated on not groaning in despair.

He had every intention of accompanying Tennant out of the Great Hall, but he was stopped on the way by Headmistress McGonagall. Aside from a single, scaldingly uncomfortable interview, they had managed two months with no contact.

"Mr. Malfoy." The stern witch eyed him from behind her spectacles. "I understand that you are in need of a new wand."

"Yes, Headmistress," Draco said, startled.

"Your mother has arranged for someone to visit the school to help you. He's waiting for you in the Divination Tower."

"Yes, Headmistress," Draco said again. With McGonagall, short answers were safest.

Her gaze didn't waver. "You are quite fortunate, Mr. Malfoy, that this individual is willing to assist you."

Draco agreed. The black-and-white wand was generally behaving now, but it was still a little light on power. He needed something better if he was going up against ...

McGonagall was glaring slightly as Draco let his thoughts run, so he followed up with a "Thank you, Headmistress." The old witch swept off with a sniff very much like Granger's, and Draco headed back to the Slytherin dungeons to fetch his grandfather's wand as well as the broken hawthorn.

The Divination Tower seemed an odd place to meet, although likely quite private during the weekend with Trelawney off boozing somewhere. When Draco popped his head out of the trapdoor into the round room, he was amazed to see its single occupant: Garrick Ollivander.

The wandmaker was a far cry from the frail, beaten old wizard Draco had last seen in his family dungeons during the war. Ollivander had always been reserved and spooky, staring out from those round, silver eyes. He was still wand-thin, with wild white hair, but his face was now flushed and he moved with a new energy, as if he'd been given a second life and was determined not to waste it.

Ollivander had pulled aside one of Trelawney's heavy curtains and opened a window, dissipating some of the oppressive incense that always lingered. Draco breathed the fresh air, grateful to be spared another headache. He now noticed that most of the little circular tables had been pushed against the curved walls, leaving an open space, and most of the remaining tables held long, thin blocks of wood.

"Mr. Malfoy." Ollivander's voice was as soft and reedy as ever.

"Mr. Ollivander," Draco said quietly. "I'm sure my mother thanked you for agreeing to meet me. I'd like to add my thanks as well."

The wandmaker's thin brows rose at such courtesy, but he simply nodded. "Lady Malfoy mentioned you needed a replacement. You have the hawthorn, I presume?"

Draco laid the pieces on an empty table and Ollivander moved closer to inspect them. "Ten inches. Unicorn hair. Reasonably springy."

Not anymore.

The old wizard laid a bony hand on the shards and closed his eyes. "This wand was broken under interesting circumstances," he said.

You don't know the half of it.

"The wand was fighting a hostile hand. I sense fear."

"It was a ... misunderstanding," Draco said hastily.