The Pink Umbrella

She worked long and tirelessly into the night. While the other girls slept, the odd sound or two of deep breathing echoing along the walls of the dormitory, flashes of white and sounds of sparks were creeping through the gaps of her four-poster's curtains. Thankfully the mid-Autumn rain clapped violently down upon the windowpanes and high steeples of Ravenclaw Tower, and so the noises erupting from her wand as she worked went virtually undetected. She sat cross-legged upon her bed with the shards of wood in her lap; she had two piles of wood on both bare knees – she would pick up one piece, run over it with her wand where it would glow and vibrate momentarily, and then she set it down on her other knee… this knee felt heavier… it was heavy with the magic that the other pile had lost.

She knew she was performing magic of the likes she had never seen, and never heard of. And yet, she felt no pride. It had merely been an impulsive action, something that called to her, something that needed to be done to alleviate a shed of her guilt, something for her friend.

The sun was beginning to illuminate the cerulean threads of her drapes by the time she had finished enchanting the hundreds of tiny broken strips… but she had finished. She fell against the headboard of her bed and allowed herself a moment to close her eyes and relax. She was utterly exhausted from the sheer amount of power she had exerted – but then, she had just rebuilt and resurrected a wand, it was to be expected. She wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand and ran her fingers through her lanky black hair, sweeping the sticky threads away from her face. She couldn't leave it like this… no matter how magic was restored inside it, it would be unusable if it was still in shreds, and she couldn't glue it together.

"Lumos."

She stuck her wand (and her head) through the curtains and vigilantly scanned the room with the light. Billions of items of clothing, books, hairbrushes (a viable option but she couldn't really see Hagrid wanting to weave that around), an owl cage, a wet umbrella, a Ravenclaw scarf… she bit her lip and thought for a while... it would have to be a completely non-magical object, and yet something that would be easy to weave and to interlace with the air. That umbrella would have to do. It wasn't even hers but it looked cheap, and she knew Lucy Fawcett wouldn't miss it – every single girl in this room was outrageously wealthy, herself included.

She quietly placed her bare feet on the ice-cold stone floor, the rush of coldness sending tingles up her leg all the way along her spine, and tiptoed over to the closed door where she picked up the umbrella still dripping wet from when Lucy came back from her evening stroll that night and had shaken the water all off in their dormitory which made the girls rather disgruntled. She took the umbrella back to bed with her and trusted the heavy rain to dampen the sounds of her breaking the timber of the object in half and implanting the magic-stained wood of the broken wand in various places inside its core. She knew it wouldn't be half as effective as a customary wand, but at least he could hold onto at least a shred of his past, at least he could still feel a part of this world; considering she was still allowed to be a part of it, Hagrid deserved to be too. She swept her wand across the umbrella, making carefully organised criss-crossing patterns in the air as she did so. The shaft of the umbrella began to tighten and fold in on itself, enveloping the broken wand in its depths. She didn't even know how she was doing this, or how she knew what to do, but she was doing it… it was almost instinctive. It was in her. Magic wasn't all in books or class. It was something that could be felt in every pore.

When the umbrella had completely sealed itself, she placed her own wand under her pillow and held the half-wand in her hand, turning it around and observing every inch of her complex work. But she knew that in order to be completely sure of its success one final test had to be undertaken; she pointed it purposefully at her pillow and whispered: "Evanesco". The pillow vanished before her eyes leaving only her wand in its place. She allowed herself a proud smile.

"Exorior."

The pillow rematerialised. It took longer than it would have done were it her own wand, or any other wand for that matter, the Exorior charm was almost instantaneous (a quarter of a second if one was finicky about these sorts of things and she certainly was), but for a wand that had been rebuilt from shattered shreds, for something that would have been deemed beyond repair even by the most accomplished of wizards and witches, it wasn't too bad. It wasn't too bad at all. Indeed, she knew it would remain the utmost height of her magical achievements.

A shame that only herself and Hagrid would ever know that she was capable of such sorcery. For the rest of the four hours of early morning she allowed herself – she slept hard.

He found it that very same day. Hagrid had made his way back from the dinner which Professor Dumbledore insist that he attend… and if Professor Dumbledore insisted then he could not refuse, despite the disdainful glares radiating from Riddle and his band of followers (and even one or two of the teachers who had not yet managed to escape the elaborate stories and lies regarding the Heir of Slytherin that was wrecking havoc around the school). Dumbledore had worked almost to the point of complete exhaustion to keep him at Hogwarts despite his expulsion, and for that he would remain ever grateful, and ever loyal.

He thought at first, when he noticed it leaning against the wall on the second step leading up to his hut, that one of the students (one of 'the' students, not one of his 'fellow' students any longer) must have accidentally left it there after the rain had stopped at sunset; Hagrid picked it up and began unlocking the door preparatory to settling by the fire and contemplating his future prospects at the school – which entailed many more years than his ex-school chums would have – when something completely inexplicable struck him… something he could not describe but something that felt extraordinarily familiar, something like home. It was half an unconscious act, but he found himself inside the hut with the umbrella still in his hands, unforgotten… with one swish of the thing he knew in an incomprehensible instant that it was his wand. It was his wand! Hagrid pointed it at a book resting on the mantelpiece and whispered: "Wingardium Leviosa".

He was never good at Charms, and so it was amazing the thing moved at all, it had titled itself upward and hung in a vertical position for a few seconds before Hagrid released the spell, stunned.

"Wha…?" he mumbled into the empty air.

And it was then upon further curious inspection he noticed that the handle of the umbrella was rather irregular and slipped between his fingers very unlike a steady plank of wood would do… when Hagrid lifted the handle up to examine he finally found the piece of parchment that had been tied around there and left for him.

He ripped it away from its host and unravelled it to reveal its secrets. What he read made his heart crawl up into his throat:

R. H.

… Not for a second. Never will.

E. P.

Everything became quite blurry after that… he scrunched up the parchment in one hand and held it very close to his now wet lips. The umbrella tumbled to the floor, forgotten.