The Darkwood Wand

Tact

Enough. Draco abandoned his search for a passage and strode over to the infirmary tower's wide windows, where he could see a pack of First-Year Slytherins practicing their flying. Not one showed talent; his House would have a shit team in a few years.

The First Years were soon replaced by a group of older students, mostly girls, all bundled up against the cold. It looked like a Charms Club, since most of the students were trying to levitate each other, but to Draco's horror, Isobel and her friends kept walking up to the group's boys, scrolls in hand. Most of the subjects stared at them wide-eyed, then turned red and tried to escape, either by land or air. Determined, Isobel began stalking a burly Hufflepuff with long dark hair. She backed him up against a tree and apparently managed to wring some sort of response from him, because she began scribbling furiously. Flitwick's appearance (the Charms teacher wore a knitted blue cap as long as he was) ended the extracurricular research and Draco sighed in relief as more students began to float over the soft grass, their striped scarves dangling.

A sudden downpour ended the morning's entertainment, and Draco wandered back to his cot to find a lunch tray. After eating, he searched inside his bedside table for his traitor of a wand.

The darkwood did allow Draco to trap a spider in his water glass, Professor Moody-style. But he couldn't freeze the spider or Petrify it, only turn the insect purple and add an extra leg. Draco then tried to smash up his bed, but the wand just smoothed the covers and plumped the pillow. Bloody stupid wand.

Now thoroughly bored, Draco slipped into the infirmary stores to locate some anti-Dementer chocolate bars. Madam Pomfrey caught him there and read out a lecture about snooping, then set him to making Calming Draughts.

Draco liked working on potions but brewing Calming Draughts set his teeth on edge. The heavy scent of lavender gave him a headache, and crocodile hearts were a bitch to slice properly. Then Pomfrey set Draco to replenishing her Skele-Gro supply and that was even worse. Skele-Gro was much easier to brew, but its stench mingled horribly with the lingering lavender. The scarab beetles needed as a thickening agent kept running all over the table and Draco's wand wouldn't let him Stun the little vermin. Desperate, Draco clubbed the beetles with the pestle, which wasted valuable juice, some of which got on his tie and pin (beryl and brocade—really?). And the wand refused to clean it off.

The rest of the afternoon went in similar fashion until Pomfrey arrived with the dinner tray. The matron insisted that Draco clean his plate, then scolded him for eating too fast. In a time-honored boyish tradition, Draco hid his leftover beef pie under his pillow and poured tomato soup into a pot of dittany sprouts as soon as her back was turned. He presented his empty tray to Pomfrey, who was using her wand to fold linens. Pomfrey stopped her work to check his pupils and pulse.

"Very well, Mr. Malfoy," the matron said shortly, still a bit put out after her bogless day. "You may go. And thank you for your brewing assistance."

Draco tried to step toward the infirmary door, but he couldn't move his feet. The darkwood wand vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out. "What now?"

The wand swiveled in his grip to indicate Madam Pomfrey.

"What?" Draco repeated. What could the demon stick want? The Elder Wand had been less trouble.

"I think I'm supposed to say something to you," he told Pomfrey sullenly. The matron raised her eyebrows.

"Goodbye, Madam Pomfrey?" Draco hazarded.

The wand was still.

"Have fun with your Mud Pit of History?"

Nothing. Draco shook the wand with no result. Pomfrey looked smug.