Chapter 25: Calculations

He'd read over her notes, her calculations, her translations several times now. The files from the Healers theoretically looked good on paper, but there had been no positive results in any of their trials. Something must've been missing from those options. Begrudgingly, he had to admit that what he saw was straight forward. A decision was easy to make, with all of this laid out on the table in front of him. That book did yield the most promising possibility of success. He sat forward on the table, closing his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly.

She was right. Not really that surprising, considering her brain. But, he didn't like it.

He opened his eyes, resting his head on his hand while picking up one piece of paper. The bit about the wand just confounded him, as he knew nothing about how to make a wand work the way this described. It had to cast the spell from memory- an actual replication of the magic it had done, not just a shadow. How was that possible? Then, there was the timing factor.

He put that page down to lift another. It appeared there were two versions of the potion possible. One was a daily draft, to stop damage from progressing any further. He'd calculated that already on his own. That version seemed minimal in risk. It was almost like a charm-induced coma, but it was a potion that only halted the damage, and let the drinker function normally. Very practical and clever. It was also a general potion, not unique to the drinker. None of the ingredients were dangerous, merely expensive and rare. That wasn't a problem. He could have that started within a few hours. It didn't take long to brew, either. Just a month. That wasn't unreasonable for a potion with that kind of effect.

Draco put that aside and lifted another page, putting it down in front of him. He sat forward, holding his head in both hands, staring down at the second page of calculations.

For healing- true, actual healing, the potion had to be brewed in time equal to at least half the amount of time the damage had existed. For Granger, the timing was going on a minimum of a year. For his mother, that was only going on a few weeks. For Longbottom's parents… he had no idea. But, as it was brewing, more time needed to be added, didn't it? The math there made him frown. Would they need some kind of time-alteration to do this? The ministry strictly regulated things like that. Additionally, some of those potion ingredients could poison if they didn't react properly with the other ingredients.

It made more sense to use his mother as a test subject, and if it worked… the thought of using his own mother made his skin crawl. In terms of time, for the sake of understanding the method, it made more sense to start there. However, he didn't have his father's wand. That was the only thing holding him back. They could get everything they needed for Hermione's potion, she had told him about Bellatrix's wand… that thought made his skin crawl, too. There was no good option here. He pressed his palms against his face, exhaling heavily in irritation.

"...hey." His head snapped up. Ginny Weasley stood there, arms folded across her chest, leaning against the doorway, eyes unreadable. He sat up straight, frowning slightly. "Walk with me."

She turned towards the front door and was gone. Draco hesitated a moment before slowly gathering all the papers back into a pile with a wave of his wand. He didn't plan on giving that back to Granger, no matter what she wanted. Potter would be blasted across the house if he dared to attempt another break-in to Draco's mind. Weasley wasn't going to raise a wand at him while he remained defenseless ever again.

Ginny strode out towards the hill they'd been on, the night they had demolished the bottle of Firewhiskey. It was dark, the clouds hiding most of the stars overhead. The moon occasionally broke through to light the night. Shadows twisted along the ground. She led him to a tree, just over the hill, just beyond the sight of the Burrow. The woman stopped and leaned against it, crossing her arms just as she had in the kitchen. "Why here?" He asked quietly.

"You might've noticed that my family can be a bunch of nosy goblins." Ginny remarked dryly. "...The twins and I are the only ones that ever come here. Plus… I didn't want Hermione to hear me."

He was silent as he walked next to her, leaning against the tree, hands in his pockets.

"Do you know why she cried like that?" Ginny asked quietly, looking out over the village below. Few lights were glittering in the darkness.

"She fought with your brother," he replied simply, "I assumed it was because of that."

"I thought so too," Ginny admitted, then she pulled two wands out of her pocket. "Lumos." The light came alive at one wand. The other remained dark. Ginny extinguished the light, and handed both to him. "Try it."

Confused, Draco accepted the wands. "Lumos." The wand that had lit for Ginny remained dark. That wand felt wrong in his fingers. The other felt like part of his arm. Light immediately shimmered, bright and clear. He frowned, not getting why they were doing this, but he flicked his wrist with a silent Nox, and handed both back to her. "I don't understand."

"Me neither." Ginny confessed. She held up the wand he hadn't been able to light. "This is mine. Do you know whose wand this is?" Her hand held the wand that hadn't worked for her, but had worked for Draco.

His stomach flipped as he actually examined it. He didn't know, but now he had a suspicion. "...is that Granger's?"

Ginny nodded slowly. She pocketed both wands, facing him now. "...Ollivander always said that the wand chooses the wizard. Hermione's wand doesn't work for me. Harry can sort of make it work, and it doesn't work at all for Ron… I couldn't stop her bleeding last night… but you managed to heal her hand, without the slightest problem."

Draco didn't know what to say. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Hermione was crying because of Ron being an idiot. Then, she snapped when her wand answered to you," Ginny said, eyes reading his face.

That might as well have been a punch to the gut. She'd cried like that because her wand had worked for him? Why did that matter? Why did it make him feel guilty? Why did it also make his heart pound in his chest? What did that mean? "Weaslette," he growled, the flood of sensation grating his nerves. "What are you trying to get at here? Spit it out."

"That's it," Ginny replied calmly, turning to walk away.

"That's it?" He stared after her. That didn't make sense. Why would she want him to know about that? What difference did it make?

Ginny turned to look at him. That look pinned him to the spot. It reminded him of Mrs. Weasley, staring him down in the kitchen to declare his love of tomato soup. She nodded firmly, looking pleased with herself, and marched back up over the hill.

Draco stayed there, mulling that over in his head for a while. It felt good to be alone here. It was also a strange kind of relief, to know that even after Ron had spat all that doubt at her, that her wand had not resisted him in the slightest. He hadn't thought about that. It was as easy to use as his own wand. That wasn't normal. Draco recalled when he'd been forced to use his mother's wand. Even that had felt awkward in his fingers. Why did Hermione's wand feel comfortable? What did that mean? Did it mean anything? Or was Ollivander's crazy saying just the rambling of a strange man?

He was tired. The sensation snuck up on him again like it had a few days ago. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the tree. Did he have the energy to walk back to the Burrow? No. He flicked his wand, summoning one of those brooms from the other night. The broom met him and he flew back to the house, feeling heavy as he walked across the kitchen towards his room.

George was awake. He watched Draco drag himself to bed, and lay down on his back, fully clothed, shoes on. His head touched the bed and he was asleep before the broomstick slid out of his hand to the floor.

He woke to the smell of bacon and eggs. His stomach grumbled at him. Now he was hungry? He stretched, sitting up slowly. The broomstick had been propped up next to his bed. His shoes were untied, sitting on the floor next to the door. Who had done that?

Draco changed, magicing his teeth brushed, thankful again for the simplicity of having his wand back. Most of the Weasley's were at the table, chittering and eating happily. Ron's seat was still empty. That was fine by him. Mrs. Weasley greeted him with a smile and waved her wand. His seat, across from Hermione, had a plate of too much food and a cup of tea waiting for him. He spoke his thanks quietly, sitting to join the meal.

He wasn't used to this, either. Meals with his family were always proper, and polite, and quiet. Words were often few, and to the point. This table never seemed to lack laughter or conversation. Occasionally, George and Ginny would fling food at each other behind their mother's back. Mr. Weasley was engaged with everyone, no newspaper in hand, no checking of the clock to rush out the door on time, relaxed and laughing along with the rest of them.

It was a strange difference. Draco thought of his father, reading the newspaper at breakfast, the last time he'd seen him alive. His appetite was gone. He gently pushed the plate away, the smell suddenly making him incredibly nauseous. The thought of moving almost made him sick, right there at the table. Mrs. Weasley bent down over his shoulder for a moment to swat at Ginny with her dishtowel, and he saw a very small tonic sitting behind his teacup when she pulled away. How had she known?

She bustled away, making a fuss at her husband. Everyone looked towards Arthur, suddenly roaring with laughter. Draco flicked his wand. The small tonic rose, opening, poured into his tea and the empty vial came to his pocket. He took a sip of the tea, feeling his stomach settle. Her eye caught his for a moment as she turned back towards the stove. She winked. No one else saw that. He nodded just slightly. This didn't seem like the kind of thing a Weasley would do. Subtlety wasn't their speciality. Had Aunt Andromeda told her things about his family? That had to be it. There was no other explanation.

Though he had slept, he felt drained. If he were going to brew potions later, then he needed energy today. He had to eat, and he knew it. Draco sipped at his tea until his stomach felt normal again. Mentally, he boxed any thoughts of his family from his mind. He picked up half a bagel on his plate, biting into it hesitatingly. The bread stayed. He ate some of the eggs, feeling okay with that as well. He didn't dare risk the meats on his plate. While the tonic was known to settle the stomach, there was no guarantee it would last long.

Soon, the house was empty. Mrs. Weasley had taken Ginny off to do some shopping. The others had all gone to work. And he and Hermione sat at the kitchen table, the file, book and notes between them. His thoughts wandered back to her wand, back to the conversation with Ginny. He didn't want to think about that right now.

"...I'll do it," Draco said quietly, "...but you can't be the first test subject. It has to be my mother." She opened her mouth to argue, but his eyes flashed at her and she paused. "One year, Granger. I'm not willing to put in the effort to a potion that we don't know will work for that long. My mother… her potion would only take a few weeks, at best. I just need to find my Father's wand. I still don't understand the time requirement." He stared at the table. "...I can start the daily draft today. That's safe for any of you. I need to do this at the Manor, though. I can't focus here. There are too many people."

For a moment, he thought that she was going to argue with him. Working here would rip his sanity to shreds, and they would really fight if she refused to listen to him. He was too emotional in this place, and that was the last thing he needed to be when attempting to brew complicated potions. She nodded slowly… but he could see she wanted something. He was getting familiar with that look. He saw her chew her lip, struggling with her next words. "...can I come with you?"

She wants to come with you. That strange flutter in his chest caught him off guard. But she doesn't want to force it on you… She actually had listened when he'd told her he didn't like being asked to do things he didn't want to do. He had wanted to be alone. His plan was to start the draft, and enjoy the solitude of the Manor. But now… she was asking to come, instead of telling him she was coming… that made a difference. After a long moment of hesitation, he slowly nodded.