In the time of the Order of the Phoenix, a mysterious transfer student from the United States of America comes to Hogwarts. With hair to rival Hermione's, and a tongue to rival Draco's, the suspicions and tensions rise in Professor Snape's classroom. And we thought Dolores Umbridge was the problem...
This story will be told in many different parts, in many different times. It will jump from the years at Hogwarts to the years after the war, and it'll be up to you to figure out the puzzle.
Harry 17
Harry supposed it was easy enough to believe that Fleur and Ella were related. They sort of looked alike. They both had high cheekbones and big eyes, but Ella was as dark as Fleur was silvery-fair. They were both very pretty, though Ella seemed a bit sad these days. Her grandmother was there, too, who looked even more out of place at the Weasley's than the Delacours. She was an extremely elegant French lady, with narrow eyes and full black eyelashes; Harry couldn't see her hair color underneath her magnificent hat. She was, however, more than friendly towards everyone, which was a bit of a shock to Harry. She didn't make rude comments about the birthday dinner, or balk at being seated next to Hagrid, or recoil at Professor Lupin. In fact, she congratulated him and Tonks on their recent marriage with much enthusiasm. Ella was oddly quiet until a silver weasel patronus came into the Burrow.
"What the—?!"
It was the patronus of Mister Weasley, informing them that the Minister of Magic was on his way. Professor Lupin and Tonks stood up.
"We'd best be off, then," said Tonks, holding Remus's hand.
"Why?" asked Ella, who had apparently grown quite close to Tonks last year. "The party's just starting—"
"Don't worry, sweetheart, we'll see you soon." Tonks wrapped her arms around her in a tight embrace before heading for the door.
"Ella, dear, the Ministry, well—" Mrs. Weasley began. "—They're not so kind to people with Remus's condition." Professor Lupin gave a tight smile.
"Off we go. Thank you for everything. Happy birthday, Harry," said Remus, hugging him tight. They disapparated; Ella's face was a bit red with anger.
"That's so rude," Harry heard her mumble as she went off to the kitchen. Her grandmother and Fleur followed.
"What does the Minister of Magic want here?" asked Ron to nobody in particular.
"I doubt it'll be good." Shortly after, Minister Scrimgeor arrived in the burrow. There were, of course, a few pleasantries exchanged, hands shaken, but all were tense. His yellowish eyes then fell on Harry, and he gave a sort of grin.
"Sorry to intrude," spoke he. "Especially as I can see when I am gate-crashing a party. Many happy returns."
"Thanks," said Harry, tense.
"I require a private word with you. Also with Mister Ronald Weasley. And Miss Hermione Granger. Ah—" He looked over Harry's shoulder. "And Miss Ella Zamora, too. I suppose I should have expected you to be here."
"Considering I'm a bridesmaid in my cousin's wedding tomorrow," she deadpanned, her arms crossed.
"Ella, don't be rude." The Minister's chest puffed and his cheeks went a little red at the sight of Ella's grandmother, putting her arm around her. "You mus' show rezspect to ze foreign dignitariesz."
"Helene Christophe," said the Minister, removing his hat in reverence. "My word. You haven't aged a day." Harry frowned at Ella's grandmother. They knew each other? "As formidable as you are lovely."
"Oui. C'est vrai," said Madame Christophe walking forward and offering her hand. The Minister took her fingers gently and kissed. "Alors, what beez-nuss do you 'ave weez my granddaughter and 'er friendsz?"
Minister Scrimgeor grew visibly uncomfortable. "I'm afraid that's a private matter." They exchanged a look. Madame Christophe shrugged and slowly walked away, Harry catching her winking at Ella before she returned to her cognac with the Delacours. "Mister Potter, if I could see you each in the sitting room, privately—"
"—No," said Harry. "All of us. Together."
"Mister Potter—"
"—I'm not going without my friends."
Ella came up to his side, her head held rather high. "If this is not a criminal charge, Minister, and all parties involved consent to the action, the prosecuting individual is legally obligated to concede to the demands of the aforementioned group."
Minister Scrimgeor looked rather flabbergasted, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione all looked to Ella in shock and question. "Miss Zamora—"
"Minister, please refer to me as "Counselor" as I am Mister Potter's legal representation in this matter. The International Statute of Wizarding Welfare, Supreme Court ruling 5:03, section A, Ammendment C, states that a neutral legal council may be present in any and all judicial, executive, and legislative hearings."
Scrimgeor then crossed his hands over his front, giving a rather condescending look. Hermione seemed a combination of surprised and impressed. "You are not a licensed attorney, Miss Zamora, nor are you a trained Auror, and therefore unqualified—"
"—Massachusetts Supreme Court Ruling 3.03 states that a law student may appear on behalf of a defendant in legal proceedings."
"And you're a law student in Massachusetts?"
"I was educated at Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, located in Massachusetts."
"You're a resident of New York."
"I spent a combined 3.75 years residing in Massachusetts, far exceeding the required one year it takes to claim residency in that state, and during said time I spent the required two years of study in E.G. Magical Law, which counts as my credits towards becoming a licensed attorney. Furthermore, the logged hours of personal tutelage at Hardman Red Feather over summer breaks more than qualifies me to represent Mister Potter and his associates in legal matters—which we hadn't been yet disclosed the subject of."
Minister Scrimgeor's patience was wearing thin. He narrowed his yellowish eyes at her in anger. "Miss Zamora—"
"—I-I want her to be my lawyer," Harry interjected. "She's my, er, legal council, Minister."
"So do I," said Hermione. "I…consent to her being my legal representation."
"Er, yeah me too," said Ron, looking a bit confused, but willing enough to go along with it. The minister sighed through his broad nose and then nodded, motioning to the sitting room. The trio began to walk towards the couch, when Ella stopped in front of them.
"A moment, Minister, to confer with my clients." Minister Scrimgeor visibly rolled his eyes and went off to the sitting room. Harry didn't know what to think of the Minister of Magic being able to be bullied around by seventeen-year-old American girl. "Listen," she whispered to the three of them. "I don't know what's going on, but something doesn't smell right."
"America and Britain are different, Ella," whispered Hermione. "The President of the MACUSA might not come calling to someone's house, but—"
"It's better safe than sorry, Hermione. Trust me. Something about this is just weird. We don't know who we can trust right now. Just let me do the talking if he asks you any questions, alright?" She then looked over her shoulder. "Darn, we should have a scribe, too… Well, let's hope this is just a simple hearing and not a deposition." Harry had no idea what she was talking about. "Alright, let's go."
The three of them sat on the paisley loveseat, while Ella brought a small stool to perch herself on at the head of the coffee table. Minister Scrimgeor laid out a leather wrapping on the table in front of himself and unfurled a scroll of parchment. It levitated itself at eye level, facing both the minister and Ella. Harry noted how quickly her eyes seemed to be reading it; she really was quite scary when she got focused.
"Herein is set forth the last will and testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," spoke the Minister.
"You're the executor of Dumbledore's estate?" questioned Ella.
"First, to Ronald Billius Weasley," continued the Minister, dismissing Ella entirely. "I leave my deluminator, a device of my own making, in the hope that it will show him the light when things seem most dark…" The Minister handed Ron a hand-held device that looked like a silver cigarette lighter, but it had, he knew, the power to suck all light from a place and restore it, with a simple click.
"Dumbledore left this for me?" Ron asked in disbelief. He examined the deluminator, then clicked it open. The lights in the sitting room zipped from the bulbs to Ron's hand, and then zipped back to the bulbs in a glimmer with a second click. Ron laughed. "Weird," he said.
Minister Scrimgeor shifted. "To Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, in hopes that she will find it entertaining, and instructive." He handed her a well-worn copy of a book, which looked to be a first edition of that tome.
"Mum used to read me those!" Harry and Hermione gave him blank looks. "Oh come on! All the old kids' stories are supposed to be Beedle's, aren't they? The Fountain of Fair Fortune… The Wizard and the Hopping Pot… Babbity Rabbity and her Cackling Stump…"
Hermione frowned. "Excuse me? What was that last one…?"
"Come off it!" laughed Ron. "You must've heard of Babbity Rabbity—"
"Ron, you know full well that Harry and I were brought up by muggles!" snapped Hermione. "We didn't hear stories like that when we were little, we heard Snow White and the Seven Dwarves and Cinderella—"
"What's that, an illness?" Harry couldn't help but snicker a bit. Ella remained wholly silent.
"To Mister Harry James Potter," said the Minister. "I leave the snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts…as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill." He unwrapped a cloth to reveal the glimmering golden snitch, and held it out to him. Harry frowned and gently took it from his hand. The minister looked tense, almost as if he expected something to pop out of it. He then sighed and slumped his shoulders. He looked, almost, as if he wanted to say something, but then seemed very aware of Ella's presence, and became very visibly uncomfortable. "To Miss Ella….Xanthippe…Zamora—" the three of them all took in a breath and held it "—I bequeath…my wand, in hopes that she will put a spare to good use, when the time is right."
"What?" barked Ella, obviously confused.
"Indeed," said the Minister, presenting the wand, wrapped in silver embroidered silk. "A most-unusual gift. Did you mention that you admired it?" Ella and the Minister exchanged a look, and Harry thought, for a moment, he heard something of a pair of voices whispering in the back of his head. She took the wand and pocketed the silk kerchief. Harry would have recognized Dumbledore's wand from anywhere, long and knobbed in a symmetrical fashion, engraved and yet natural all at once. "Is there any reason he might bequeath this wand to you? Did you grow especially close over the last two years?"
Ella looked quite miffed just then, and pocketed the wand. "It is not the place of the executor of the estate to question the motives behind the deceased, is it?" she snapped. "I take it that's all, Minister?"
"Not quite," said the Minister, turning to Harry. "Dumbledore left you a second bequest…the Sword of Godric Gryffindor." He cleared his throat. "Unfortunately, the Sword of Godric Gryffindor is not Dumbledore's to give away. As an important historical artifact, it belongs—"
"—To Harry," said Hermione. "It belongs to Harry." She turned to Ella. "Ella, do something."
"No, he's right," said Ella, her eyes locking with the Minister's. "The deceased may only bequeath that which is their own assets. You cannot own a historical artifact like that, nobody can. It's line of ownership, at this point, is almost impossible to trace. Unless Dumbledore had blood ties to the Gryffindors—"
"—It still belongs to Harry," Hermione insisted. "The sword presented itself to him when he needed it most in the Chamber of Secrets!"
"The sword may present itself to any worthy Gryffindor, Miss Granger; this does not make it that wizard's property."
"So therefore it's sentient?" asked Ella. "It has no owner, really? It's an enchanted magical artifact that is capable of conscious thought?"
"You are correct, Miss Zamora, it is an enchanted magical artifact, and is therefore property of the Ministry of Magic. In any case, the current whereabouts of the sword are unknown."
"Do you mean to say that the sword is missing?" Ella and the Minister exchanged another look, Hermione watching closely. The Minister then looked as if he had been slapped, and Ella stood suddenly. "It's getting late," she stated. "I'm sure you have other business to attend to." The Minister stood, insulted. "Good evening, Minister." Harry wasn't sure what had just happened, but the Minister of Magic snatched up the will and left the Burrow in a fury, slamming the door behind him. The three of them looked at Ella, who was standing strong, her chest heaving slightly in resolve.
"Young lady." The four of them turned to see Ella's grandmother, standing in the door, her arms crossed. "Ze law you cited eez an American one, and a No-Maj law, at zat. It also sztatesz zat a law student may reprezent a defendant in criminal proceedingz, not jjust legal 'earings. And zat a licenszed attorney muszt be preszent to szupervize."
Ella shrugged nonchalantly. "He didn't know that," she replied, causing Hermione to gasp.
"You took that big of a gamble!"
"Well it kept you from being interrogated, didn't it? Which is exactly what he meant to do." She looked at the door. "I really don't like this. Not at all…"
"One of zeez dayz," began Madame Christophe. "You are going to get yourszelf into trouble zat I cannot get you out of. And zen what will you do? Ah?"
"You only get in trouble if you get caught," argued Ella, shifting uncomfortably. Her grandmother gave her an extremely irritated look, quite similar to the kind Harry would get from Uncle Vernon when 'he wasn't going to tolerate his nonsense anymore.' "Alright, geez!" whispered Ella, throwing her hands up in defense. Madame Christophe frowned and motioned her come forward. Ella came and presented Dumbledore's wand to her grandmother. Harry almost jumped up, shouting at them for touching it, but he kept himself restrained on the couch. Hermione's hand came over his.
"Why in ze world...?" Madame Christophe took the wand and examined it for a moment, then held it up to her ear. "Odd," she commented. "Very odd."
"Seriously," Ella replied. "I wasn't even close to him. Not at all. And what do I need another wand for? It's not like I have a habit of breaking my wands...it was just that one time."
"Cher, écoute," said her grandmother, who then held the wand up to her ear. Ella took the wand and listened, as if she were holding a seashell. Harry couldn't see Ella's face, but Madame Christophe's expression, though neutral, was suggesting that she knew something that she didn't. "Do you 'ear?" Ella tensed and stuffed the wand in her pocket.
"Can I put this in my trunk, now?" she asked, her voice a little rushed. There was a pause, and Madame Christophe nodded with a tight smile. Ella ran upstairs to where she was staying, and her grandmother rolled her eyes with a sort of grin. She looked to the three of them with a grin.
"Shall we?" she asked, motioning back to the dining room. Hermione stood first, looked at the book in her hand, then, Harry supposed, decided that it was better to look at it later and went into the dining room, Ron on her heels. Harry paused and stared at her. "Oui?"
"Madame Christophe," Harry began, "You looked as if you knew the Minister..."
"I am Helene Christophe, 'arry." She grinned. Harry paused. "In my line of work, you get to know many. I could shock you weez all zat I know." He wondered if she might have known Dumbledore. "You are wondering about Professor Dumbly-dore?" she asked with a smile. "Alors, 'e loved you, but I zsink you know zat. And ze zsnitch? Alors, what do you know about zees zsnitch? What do you know about zsnitchez in general?" Harry paused in thought. He knew that snitches had flesh memories, that nobody touches it without gloves on, except for the Seeker that catches it. He knew they were bewitched, made by magical metal workers... "Per'aps now eez not ze time to zthink about eet, 'arry. Eet eez your birzsthday. Tomorrow we shall zspeak more, oui?" She then smiled sweetly and put her arm around his shoulders and led him to the table, just in time for Ella to come back down. They all took their seats and ate.
Fred and George had bewitched purple lanterns to float around, glowing with a golden "17" on each one. Mrs. Weasley had baked a cake in the shape of a golden snitch, as big as a beach ball, which sat handsomely in the middle of the table. Harry was sitting across from Hagrid, who had given him a very handsome moleskin pouch as a gift.
"Seventeen, eh? Six years ter the day that I met ye for the first time, d'yeh remember?"
Harry smiled. "Vaguely. Didn't you smash down the door, give Dudley a pig's tail, and tell me that I was a wizard?" He earned a few laughs, and then caught a look from Ella, and was reminded in that moment of their conversation last year about him and Hagrid. "You also baked me a birthday cake," he said. "It was the first one I ever got." The table fell silent. Harry smiled at Hagrid, who was tearing up with a smile. "It was the best birthday I've ever had," he added. Ella was right; Hagrid really was Harry's dad, and he wasn't about to let another one of them die without telling them at least some semblance of how important they were in his life.
"I think that's a really nice thing to say, Harry," said Ella, quite clearly and loud enough so that everyone could hear. She smiled at him, and Harry smiled back; she really wasn't so bad.
"'agrid," said Madame Christophe. "Madame Maxine of Beauxbatons eez coming tomorrow, and she 'as been asking about you. Be sure to save a dance for 'er, oui?" Hagrid's cheeks went a little red, and Harry couldn't help but laugh a little. There was some more talk about Beauxbatons, some more talk of Harry and his birthdays in the past. There was, mostly, happiness and love, and Harry realized that it was moments like these that were precious, that would become memories to treasure and keep him warm on cold nights when he was out there hunting horcruxes. "Ella, Madame Maxine expresszed interest in you az well, cher."
"I'll say hello," said Ella, a bit short, avoiding eye contact with her grandmother. It seemed there was a tension between them. Madame Christophe gave a tight smile. Fleur looked as if she was about to say something, but Gabrielle stopped her, miraculously.
"Zeet up zstraight," she said, when it was quite clear that was not what she was really saying. Ella straightened her back to stop slouching and ate quietly for the rest of the meal, all through the cake. That night, as Harry was going up to bed, he ran in to Ella in the hallway, on her way to Ginny's room, where she was staying. She smiled at Harry in a friendly way when they made eye contact.
"Ella," he began, realizing halfway through saying her name he was unsure of how to continue.
"You want to know why Dumbledore left me his wand?" she asked. Harry's silence was enough of an answer. "Well, during my fifth year, I broke my wand. It was made of Sycamore wood and had a Thunderbird tail feather core. I was a little hysterical about it, but..." She tensed. "Well, Professor Snape had to go to Diagon Alley that weekend anyway for Hogwarts business, and he had Draco take me to Ollivander's while he was there. This was before Dumbledore got kicked out of Hogwarts for your whole "Dumbledore's Army" mess," she quipped. "So he knew about it. That's all I know about the correlation. I don't have a habit of breaking my wands."
"Malfoy took you to get a new one?"
"Yes, Draco volunteered to go with me to Diagon Alley to get me a new wand, because he is a complex being capable of good deeds and kindness. And you know what? When I tried to pay with dragots, he pulled out his galleons to cover me, and said not to worry about paying him back. So why don't you put that in your pipe and smoke it."
You're pretty protective of somebody who calls you a Mudblood, thought Harry.
"Do you want your ass kicked?!" she whispered angrily through gritted teeth.
"Sorry!" whispered Harry, backing himself to the wall when she advanced. "I—" He frowned. "Did you just read my mind?" he gasped. "Can you read minds?!"
Ella stopped and seemed to calm. "I..." She sighed through her nose. "It's not like that. I'm not a legilimens. I just..." She then got an angry look on her face again. "You know you really should get better at controlling your emotions and disciplining your mind. Also keeping a neutral facial expression..."
Harry paused. "So...you didn't read my mind, you just...?"
"It's not legilimency, Harry, it's psychology. I can read your face, your body language..."
"Well—stop it, then!" he whispered, his face and neck rather hot with an embarrassed sort of rage.
"I can't stop! I just...I can't help it, okay? I can't help noticing things." They looked away from each other; this wasn't getting them anywhere.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I guess I just thought you were over him." Ella tensed, her face went a queer shade of purple-ish red. "Not that it's any of my business!" he quickly added. "I—" He sighed. "I guess I'm not doing very well at this, am I?" That seemed to quell her anger, at least enough to give a smile.
"I'd say I'm having fun watching you try, but..." Harry smiled.
"I'm sorry, Ella, I just..." He paused, struggling to find the right words to get her on his side. "I need to know why Dumbledore left you his wand."
She shook her head and shrugged. "I'd tell you if I could," she sighed. "Really. I know what you're up against, and I want to help you all I can, but..." Ella shook her head again, her curls bouncing over her shoulders. "I just don't know. I do know that everything happens for a reason, and that the greatest struggle in life is to find out what that reason is... The truth of the matter is that we may never know. Sometimes...we just have to have faith." She swallowed then, almost as if her own words tasted of bile.
"Earlier this evening, when your grandmother was holding the wand to your ear...it was as if you were...listening?" She nodded. "What did you hear?"
The young Slytherin laughed through her nose. "Would you believe me if I told you that it was a voice?"
"Actually, at this point, I think I'll believe anything."
That earned Harry a small laugh. "Well...it was a voice. It wasn't saying anything, really, but..." She shook her head. "Have you ever studied wand lore?" Harry shook his head in reply. "Well, I have. Did you know that we get our wands at Ilvermorny? Do you know how it happens?" Harry shook his head again. "After we're sorted, we're led into a separate room where we're told to close our eyes and listen very hard. There are representatives from the great American wandmakers there, and they all help us to sort of...hear our inner voices, our souls. It's like we say a silent prayer and are..." She then shook her head. "I can't tell you the details, but the point is that we don't choose our wands, our wands choose us." Ella pulled out her own wand, arrow straight, beautiful and black with knobs where thorns once were. "The day I got my wand, it was a nightmare. I went to Ollivanders and he took over an hour trying to fit me for a wand. It took so long..." She sighed, almost as if the memory itself was paining her. "It wasn't until I started crying he was able to fit me with this. I was shocked. All I wanted was for him to repair my wand, my sycamore wand. But the fact of the matter is that I outgrew it. A wand chooses them that sings a song only they could hear." Harry blinked. "Ugh. I'm not explaining this very well, am I?"
"Sorry," he said. Maybe Hermione could understand it better?
"Do you remember getting your wand?" Harry did. "Remember that kind of...surge? That kind of feeling like a wave has grown within you? Like something was awakening? You know how in the movies, when the music sort of swells, and gives you a rising feeling of hope or determination or something?"
"You watch movies?" he piped.
Ella gave a nervous scoff. "It's a guilty pleasure. I like to go to the movie theaters, but none of my friends ever want to go with me, so I always end up going alone. Don't tell my grandma, okay? She doesn't like it when I go into No-Maj places by myself."
"I won't tell her," promised Harry, which caused Ella to smile in relief. "I do remember getting my wand. It was like...waking up." Ella smiled wide.
"Yeah, like electricity? Like a powerful wind blowing within you? Like a surge in a storm?" Harry nodded. "Well, according to wand lore, a wand feels the same things you feel when it's picked up by the right wizard or witch. Every tree has a magical property or two, and you can really tell a lot about a person by the kind of wand they get. My father, for example, has a wand made out of aspen wood, and a wampus cat hair for a core. This makes perfect sense, as aspen wood favors duelists and revolutionaries. Who better than my father to receive such a wand? Have you ever heard of the Silver Spears? They're a legendary dueling club, rumored to only admit those wizards and witches which wield aspen wood wands."
Harry hadn't ever thought about the kind of wand a person might own, but he nodded anyway to allow Ella to continue. He was reminded of Zabini saying that Ella would tell you her whole life story if you'd let her talk, back last year on the train when he had snuck into the Slytherin's compartment with his invisibility cloak. The rest of that scene he'd tried to block out...
"My mother got her wand from Ollivander's, you know. He said it was one of most-unusual wands he'd ever made: ash wood, 14 inches precisely, leprechaun beard hair core." Harry frowned in question. "I know! He said he just made it in his younger days as an experiment. As the decades passed, he wondered if there would be any person alive that would be able to use it. He said that it was lying in a crate under his workbench, near-forgotten, when my mother came in. Ash wood is stubborn, you know. The one that wields an ash wand will have found a mate for life; the wand will lose power and skill if passed on to another. If you met my mother, you'd know she's unbearably stubborn, but with a sense of humor, which, I guess, explains the leprechaun hair... It was buried with my mother."
"Ella," began Harry. "You talk of wands as if they have feelings, that they can hear."
"They do. They can." She held out her wand. "Try casting something with my wand. Go ahead, try it." Harry tensed as she waved her wand at him, remembering the shattered glass and wand boxes flying off the shelves when he tried out his first wands at age eleven. "See? They're sentient, in a way. They're vessels, with which to channel magic. My wand doesn't want to do magic for you, and I doubt that your wand will want to do magic for me. But I'll bet you anything that Hermione's wand might do magic for you, or Ron's." A beat. "That's because you're such close friends."
"Did you ever let someone else try with your wand?"
"Oh, God, no, never," she gasped, shaking her head violently. "No, no. Slytherins don't...do that. It's just...we don't."
"Then how do you know that...?"
"Because I've seen it done before. You know, I used to steal my dad's wand when he slept to try and practice magic. His wand knew who I was, and would let me do small spells, safe spells, like making things fly or creating light. My mother's wand, however, would set something on fire if I ever even thought of going near it." Ella then gave a tiny scoff. "I learned pretty quickly to not touch it."
Harry wondered just then what it might have been like to have borrowed his parent's wands. He wondered if he might do the same, sneaking a wave of his dad's wand while he napped, or trying to play with his mother's wand while she read a book. He felt a sort of shame for even thinking of taking his parent's wands, which was followed by a near-immediate curiosity of what had happened to them. "So..." He became almost desperate to continue speaking, if only to keep himself from wandering down the dark path of depression. "You and...Draco never...?"
Ella went a little red again. "That would have been a little...intimate for us." But weren't you two...? Harry quickly cleared his mind. "So...you're really not coming back to Hogwarts?" she asked. Harry shook his head. "That's okay. I understand. And I expect Ron and Hermione are going with you?" Harry nodded after a pause. "It's a shame. I doubt that Hogwarts will be safer than the open road for you, anyway, since Professor Snape has taken over as Headmaster." Harry's blood began to boil, his fists clenching. "I wish I could help you more," she said. "I frankly would love to just give you his wand. That senile old queen..." Harry's face must have gone bright red, for how she smiled. "Look, it's not like I agreed with or even liked that maniac of a Headmaster. But he seemed to have a ton of dumb luck on his side, or at least had some semblance of future-sight. He wanted me to have his wand and that's all I know about it." A beat. "Look, I still have to put some finishing touches on Fleur's gown. It's getting late, okay?"
There was a rather long pause. Harry felt like screaming. "You made the gown?" he asked instead, quietly.
"We all did; Aunt Apolline, Gabrielle, and myself. She was going to be wearing my shoes, but my feet are too big..." She shifted. "So I did the embroidery on her gown instead. I like to sew needlepoint. It's a nice hobby."
"How do you possibly have time for hobbies?" asked Harry in disbelief. "You run student council, you're a Slytherin Prefect, you organize every single contest known to man and captain the dueling club—"
"Now, now, Harry, it's unfair to say that I do those things by myself. I simply preside over those organizations and delegate tasks. None of the contests, the fundraisers for the dueling club, or anything else like that would be up and running were it simply me. I've got lots of responsible and creative friends that do it all with me. It'd be impossible for me to do everything by myself, wouldn't it?" She then smiled. "Needlepoint is just one of my hobbies that I like to do when I'm having trouble falling asleep. It calms me down."
"I would have thought you'd like to read."
"Oh, no," she laughed. "No, no, reading gives me too many ideas. I'd never get to sleep were I to read before bed. Needlepoint lets me slowly turn my brain off, nice and gently." Ella leaned against the doorframe and nodded pointedly inside. "It's not much. I have to finish putting it on the dress, a few more touches here and there...in a perfect world, a woman only marries once. So you really do have to make it count." Harry noticed her absentmindedly playing with the great diamond ring on her left hand. She must have noticed him looking for she glanced down at it and gave a sad smile. "It won't come off," she said. "I've tried everything. Every salve, every oil, every spell. It just won't come off." She gulped and looked up at him with, he guessed, as charming and as light-hearted of a smile as she could muster. "Why won't it come off, Harry?" Ella whispered, her eyes beginning to well. A single tear spilled over her cheek.
"I..." He didn't know what to say. What do you say to someone like her, living in her situation? In spite of their rocky start, Ella had still shown kindness to him in ways he wasn't sure was possible. He could make an effort; she did steal from the MACUSA for his sake. "It's a nice ring," He then offered. "It'll come off someday. Until then it's...nice to look at."
Ella laughed and smiled, then wiped her eyes quickly. "Yes, that's true. I suppose if I'm going to have a bewitched diamond ring stuck on me until further notice, it may as well be a pretty one." She then shook her shoulders, as if her feathers were ruffling and unruffling all at once. "Oh, listen to me jabbering on while I've got a wedding dress to finish. Well, goodnight, Harry. Sweet dreams." She then closed the door quickly. Ginny appeared behind Harry.
"Is she alright?"
"Er, yeah."
Ginny put her hand on Harry's shoulder. He turned his head and locked his eyes with hers, bright, green and exciting. She grinned. "She's worked really hard on that wedding dress," said she. "I can't believe one person did that."
"Well," he said. "I can't wait to see it." He took in a breath as he felt her close in, a light scent of flowers brushing gently against his face. "Good night, Ginny," he whispered.
"Good night, Harry," she whispered back, her breath tickling his lips. She must have heard Ron coming, for she quickly pecked him on the cheek and retreated to her bedroom. Harry stared at the closed door, unsure of how exactly to feel. He sighed through his nose and went up to Ron's room, where Hermione was sitting, nose-deep in The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Harry flopped down on the bed, face first, and let out a long, low breath into the pillow. Ron appeared soon in the doorframe, his hands full with a big plate of the rum truffles that Ella and Gabrielle had made earlier that evening.
"So," announced Ron, coming and sitting on the bed. "Ella's got Dumbledore's wand, eh?" Hermione looked up. "And I got the deluminator. Hermione, you got a book. Harry, you got the snitch." The wheels in Ron's mind began to turn, Harry could see, when he glanced over. He took a truffle and shoved the entire thing into his mouth. "He's got to have a reason, eh?"
"Of course he's got a reason, Ron!" said Hermione. "We just have to figure out what that reason is..."
Short-ish chapter, short and sweet. It's got quite a bit of info here. I didn't want to rewrite scenes we already know, i.e. the wedding and the Trio's talk the night before. We know what they talk about, we know how the wedding goes...I'm trying to give info that we don't know yet. And why the hell does Ella have the Elder wand? Remember, we don't yet know that it's the Elder wand, but we all know that she's in a TON of danger now. It's going to get scary, I'll warn you now. It's going to get tearful and dramatic. Stay tuned!
Big thanks to HeartofAspen, Pancakestack, SabrinaJasmine, and my guest reviewers for your love and support! You are the reason I keep pushing forward. 3