"She had something to confess to

But you don't have the time so

Look the other way

You will wait until it's over

To reveal what you'd never shown her

Too little much too late "

-"Muscle Museum", Muse

Showbiz

Chapter Three

Harry was solemnly silent as he laid the elf to rest. After that, he barely spoke.

Ophelia empathized with her friend, even if she had never properly met Dobby the elf. People were dying every day because of the war, and there was no near end in sight.

Ophelia wanted to comfort Harry, or perhaps help Fleur with making dinner, or Ron and Dean collect firewood, but her task was clear. Hermione, Griphook, and Ollivander were all weak and injured in some way or another.

"I remember you," Ollivander smiled through his pain, as he greeted his healer, "12 inches, unicorn hair, hawthorne wood, nice and flexible."

Ophelia tried her best not to lose her smile. She thought of herself at eleven years old- unusually tall for her age, skinny, speckled with blonde freckles, and a long blonde braid trailing down her back. She had big blue eager eyes, ready to officially become a witch. That memory was old and tainted, and it made Ophelia feel cold.

"Yes, that's right," she replied, pushing back the covers on Ollivander's bed, so she could get a better look at his wounds. He was healing at a fair pace, though his age was somewhat of a hindrance. He was weak too, and coughed in between his words. It worried Ophelia to think that such a prominent man might be nearing his end.

"I remember you," Ollivander repeated, letting out a small cough, which Ophelia could feel as she peeled back his bandages.

"You were so tall and shy," he smiled to himself, "but I could tell right away that you had potential. Hawthorne wood, good for healers, you know."

Ophelia knew. She'd researched every aspect of her wand the night after her trip to Diagon Alley. She wanted to be sure it was right for her, just like the old man had promised.

"But there's something else about hawthorne wood," the old man wheezed, "that you won't read in a book…,"

"Shhh," Ophelia commanded softly, "you need to save your strength."

But Ollivander shook his head, a stubborn look in his eyes.

"Hawthorne is a very rare wood. You cannot give a hawthorne wand to just any witch or wizard."

"I know," Ophelia's voice was losing its softness, "it's because I'm a healer."

She frowned as she inspected Ollivander's wounds. They still needed some work.

She knew how risky it could be to use magic at this point, so she cleaned the wound by hand.

"No, no," Ollivander croaked, wincing slightly as Ophelia's movements became more aggressive, "if it were that simple, I'd have given you a willow wand."

Ophelia stopped what she was doing, and looked the old man in his eyes.

"Curious, are you?" Ollivander smiled, "You see, Hawthorne is a complicated wood, for a complicated user. It is meant for an individual who has endured a great deal of pain, but has the audacity to overcome such pain and continue to help others."

Ophelia's heart was racing, but she merely let out a light laugh.

"Surely that description can't apply to every hawthorne wand…it's much too specific."

She returned to washing Ollivander's wound until she was satisfied with it. She applied a light salve to speed up the healing process, and carefully bandaged it back up.

"No…that description was meant for someone special," the old man laughed, holding back a cough, "I've heard about the great things you've been doing, Ophelia. You're a very brave girl."

"Brave?" Ophelia shook her head, "are you telling me I should have been a Gryffindor, Mr. Ollivander?"

The old man simply shook his head and smiled. He had said all he wanted to say.

"I'll back to check on you tomorrow," Ophelia put her hand on the old man's shoulder, "get some rest."

"Things will turn out alright in the end, my dear," Ollivander held Ophelia's hand in his own.

"I certainly hope so, sir."

Ophelia walked downstairs and sat herself down at the table in the quaint little kitchen of Shell Cottage. It was sweet- endearing even, with seashells hanging from the ceilings, and light sandalwood countertops. For a moment, Ophelia was a little envious of Bill and Fleur, who had such a perfect little home- an escape from the harshness of the world. But she waved it away. The Weasleys were risking a lot to house Ophelia and her friends.

Harry walked in through the kitchen door, wiping his feet on the rug. He still left a small trail of sand as he walked on the tile floor, sitting himself next to Ophelia.

"Alright?" Ophelia inquired gingerly.

"Yeah," Harry shrugged, "for now, I suppose."

They sat together in silence for some time, just appreciating each other's company.

"How's Hermione?"

"She's going to be fine," Ophelia smiled, "I promise. But the others…Ollivander and Griphook will need time. I know you don't want to stop now-"

"People are dying Ophelia…so many people…," Harry muttered.

"I know, but sometimes these things take time. If we act too quickly, we'll never get anywhere. Use this time to rest and think about what we're going to do next."

Harry was quiet again, until he abruptly spoke up.

"You lost the baby, didn't you?"

Ophelia looked past Harry, and out the window and the sand banks, and the lapping waves.

"Yes."

A/N: I know this was a really short chapter, but sometimes we just need filler chapters haha! Thanks so much for following this story, guys! It's great to see all my readers catching up with the third story! Remember- you can always send me a message, I'd love to talk with you guys :D

I hope you enjoyed the information about Ophelia's wand- I based that off of the Pottermore information, so technically it's canon. Anyway, thanks again, and the next chapter will be up soon!