A/N Summary at the bottom. JK Rowling invented the Whomping Willow, I just put the Whomp in it. If you skipped the first bit, you could read it anywhere, j/s. *winks*
Dumbledore continued sifting through the memories swirling in his pensieve until he found the one he wanted. He allowed a sad sigh and braced himself to relive the torment of losing a student on his watch. The fact that it had happened at all appalled him, the unexpected nature of the circumstances did nothing to defray the sense of failure that he still felt. He shut his eyes against the familiar tilt as his mind plunged him backwards in time to the early days of his headmastership.
He watched his younger self pass by, patting the arm of the woman by his side and smiling into the serene expression of Lily Evans. Her left hand was heavy with a ring for the first time and she had enlisted his help in breaking the news gently, to someone whom she had thought might take it poorly.
"He will be happy for you I'm sure," he had reassured her.
"He will be happy that you are here," she had murmured, her face showed just how grateful she was that Dumbledore was with her. It was well known that Severus loathed James with a passion ripe for violence. What Lily could not have known was that the violence was reciprocal, just never in front of her since Dumbledore had inaugurated the Forest Games to give them both an outlet in a way that protected the other students.
"I said I'd meet him by the Willow…we are a little late…" she let the sentence drift. Dumbledore was not so coarse as to mention the evidence of delay darkening her collarbone where it disappeared into the v of her shirt or the scruff rash pinking her neck poorly hidden by the curtain of her hair.
"I wanted to wait for Graduation, but James wouldn't hear of it," Lily dropped her chin and embarrassment bloomed on her face. Dumbledore squeezed her hand in sympathy, he knew himself how James hands were always so gentle, but his mouth had a casual brutality and passion was a poor warden. The bite mark on at the top of the back of his thigh tugged at his memory at every step and he quashed the remembered hunger for more. Hunger also fanned a small flame, that another might take James' place.
Dumbledore followed the couple climbing the hill steadily, cresting it just in time to hear Helens cry of triumph and Snapes guttural groan of relief. Dumbledore watched Lilys shocked gasp cut through Snapes haze like a hot wire through butter. The curl in his own stomach was from the sight of Severus in a parody of Dumbledores own fantasises.
Helen twisted beneath Snapes body, the motion pushing him out of her body even as he pressed his hips closer to anchor her to him as she reached both hands overhead for her wand, carelessly brushing the trunk of the Willow with one as her wand sprang into her other hand.
"Lily, no!" Snapes anguished plea that they not be seen caught Dumbledore unawares every time. Dumbledore witnessed the instinct that allowed Snape to reach for magic without the conduit of his wand as he thrust his palm towards the spectators, the force of emotion so strong that the shield also defied Helens stroke at her rival.
Dumbledore never saw the ricochet at a trajectory that Helen was unable to avoid, perhaps unintentionally killed by the weight of her love as surely as his hand…nor could he explain why his own wand was out and his arm trembling from the force of a magical exertion that left him reeling.
Lily clutched her hands to her face and screamed when the boughs of the Willow shook like a girl letting her hair down and again when it took aim and set about itself with flailing limbs. Dumbledore dragged himself away, clinging once more to the basin of the pensieve in his study.
A new edict had been issued that fateful day, Magic at Hogwarts was not allowed to take life. No training would be passed to students in regard to killing curses. He had forced a high ideal on others, that he could not swear he had kept himself.
He moved to the desk and shuffled papers into a manila folder, one of them an old thesis by an honours student, Pomona Sprout who postulated that Helen, on the instant she was hit had sought the Willows embrace and the Willow had taken her in, or as much as could pass before Snape had interfered in trying to capture her consciousness in an orb.
A letter from the Ministry, dated the day after the thesis had been submitted, immediately invoking a moratorium, extrapolated that Vine wielders could incite the Forests to rise against them. Dumbledore fingered a copy of his reply poo-pooing the ridiculousness of the idea. He had been shouted down anyway. He folded a note from a conversation he had shared with Helen the day before she died, her eyes bright with excitement saying that she could talk to the trees. He had been busy crafting a letter to James parents about his latest altercation with Severus and had paid it no mind.
Vine wands were banned, the world turned and a bright young Witch was united with a forbidden wand anyway.
He flicked through the results of the subsequent experiments with lesser Vines in the tropical glasshouse, but little had come of them. A black and white photo of Helens wand slipped into his hand, the rod had been snapped into two and the Vine, ripped from the rod, lay twisting like a slow-worm severed by an incautious spade. Minervas wrath had been for her sister, Dumbledore was uncertain even now if Severus had ever known the strength of the other sisters feelings for him..
Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose and hoped for his colleagues safe return. There were stories emerging about the new casino in Diagon Alley and Snape had the best poker face he had ever had the misfortune to play against. And Wandmakers were not to be trusted.
0.0
Olivanders thoughts faltered under Snape piercing gaze and it took a moment for him to collect himself and remind himself that Snape had come to him, needed him for the skills he had to offer. He had the upper hand, it just didn't feel like it at present, or come to think of it, at any time during their conversation.
"Ministry work is complex," Olivander rambled. "Results are varied as I am sure a person of your considerable learning would understand, Professor."
"Go on," Snapes tone was bored, with a thin veil of impatience.
"The living wand contains a morphic memory of sorts, a unique scoring of the core if you will, based on the actions the wands have been party to, or in some cases merely witnessed."
"And.." Snape prompted, although the difference was barely palpable, he was more animated now than before.
"The memory may need to be extracted in order to confirm a certain sequence of events"
"And…," Snape waved a hand as if to draw the desired information from Olivander.
"Innocence, guilt, even can be determined in this way. The wand acts as an unending library of magical actions and events."
Snape made a digusted noise in the back of his throat and looked away as Olivander recounted more populist wandlore.
"The living wand is as much a part of the wielder as their own skin, its longevity is intrinsically linked to the care and attention bestowed upon it. Its ability grows over time, as the wielder grows in magical potential, so does the wand."
In an attempt to win back the Professors attention, Olivander strayed into more murky territory. "When a wizard dies…." The words suffocated under Snapes renewed stare, his gaze both curious and knowing in equal measure.
"Do go on…." Snape leaned forward, interest craned his protesting frame into a rictus of eagerness.
Olivanders throat bobbed with effort.
"Depending on the condition of the wand, its age, even how it has been stored can affect the retention of these abilities. Of course if the owner has passed in battle, the victor may claim the wand as their rightful possession and force it to work for them. It will work well enough, although there have been some casualties reported. Undesired outcomes and so on."
Olivander perused the wand further. "There is no scorching on the wandwood. Hmm. Not lost in battle then?" He muttered to himself. "That's surprising under the circumstances."
Snapes fists clenched and opened repeatedly under his robes. A sick hollow feeling purged acid onto the back of his tongue. She didn't even bother to fight to save herself, the child was too precious even for that. Bitterness curled his lips into a sneer.
Snapes voice is faint, "how much of the ability remains if it were not lost in battle?" He locked his jaw and spat out the remaining question between almost closed teeth. "The ability to shield or protect for example?" He resisted the urge to scratch at his forearm.
"When the owner dies…" Olivander wrinkled his nose, "willow with unicorn," he tsksed and shook his head. "Even with a different core…" he shrugged, his shoulders made a more eloquent answer.
Hope damaged almost beyond repair, Snape slumped in his chair. A second option whispered, he winced away from the hurt that walked hand in hand with what he must ask to bury his pain once and for all. For the first time in the meeting he was almost softly spoken, "…and the memories?"
Olivander replied as if the answer was as obvious to his guest as himself. "Lilys wand has a unicorn hair core. A single unicorn hair as a core. It is common knowledge that these wands die with their owners, my own abilities only extend as far as the living wand."
Snape raised both eyebrows and lifted his chin in query, certain that he had heard the answer before and equally certain that this time, this time, it is a lie.
Olivander raised Lilys wand flat on his palm between them, "these things are simply not possible."
A brisk hand swept the wand from Olivanders grasp as his visitor rose so fast that the stool behind him teetered on two legs.
"Pity," sneered a voice Olivander came to feel was synonymous with his own indigestion. "Perhaps the Bavarian Guild would be more…accommodating. I'll be sure to pass on your regards"
"Wait!" Olivanders alarmed tone arrested his visitor. The thought of losing that wand to a competitor was unthinkable. "They wouldn't be able to unlock it." Desperation seeped into his tone at Snapes impassive expression. "If it means so much to you, there are ground breaking techniques that I could try, if you would only allow it."
The tsunami of words pouring from the wandmakers mouth reignited a tiny flame of Snapes future in which Lily existed, in some form. Any form.
"The Bulgarians have had some success with a crystalline mesh to preserve the core. It's not extraction so much as projection." Olivander prattled on, wringing his hands before gesturing again to the vacant seat.
Snapes cold voice echoed emptily as he raised a finger to point directly at Olivanders heart, sinking back onto the stool. "You will get me….everything."
An array of emotions played across Olivanders face, elation to …fear. He shook his head, the glory of defeating such a challenge and having it known amongst the inner echelons of the Wandmakers Circle was suddenly eclipsed by the notoriety that it would bring him in the greater wizarding world and this didn't bear thinking about. "If it became known that this was even possible, that my name was linked to such a thing," he whimpered.
Snape smiled thinly, his voice thick with sarcasm, "I am myself, the very soul of discretion."
"The price…" Olivander persisted, ever the businessman.
"Money," replied Snape, "is no object. I guarantee your reward will be commensurate with your expertise in obtaining the desired result."
"The memories then?" Olivander confirmed, his voice hardened, sensing the bargain to be made. He took a quill and ink, scrawling an outrageous figure on a scrap of parchment and pushed it across the table. "My best and only offer."
"Snape barely spared it a glance. It was not a 'no.'
"It will take some time," pondered Olivander.
"The night is long," stated Snape. "Unless you have a pressing need to be somewhere else." The last word is drawn out as a sibilant hiss. No part of it was posed as a question.
The wandmaker shifted nervously, he was less than keen to work with an audience. It was clear, however, that his colleague was unwilling to relinquish the wand to Olivanders custody without something in return. Ire made his tone harsh and his demand brash, "I will retain the wand after," he reasserted.
Snape inspected the ceiling minutely, breathing in heavily through his nose. "Agreed." Snape stamped the butt of his wand against a corner of the parchment, leaving a bifurcated mark like a woodland beasts footprint. It fluttered away to a corner, impaling itself on a spike weighted with a wooden block.
Olivanders form melted against the workbench with relief. Deal done. Parameters set, he knew four of the driving forces that divine a mans fate and hugs them to his chest. Money. Possession. Challenge. Danger. A fifth, it seems, his unlikely customer owned, or was more accurately owned by. Love.
Determined to set a benchmark of expectations, Olivander continued, "whilst memories may indeed remain, there could be fading, fragmentation, some discontinuity….after all a considerable length of time has passed since the unfortunate events of Lilys passing."
Lank hair bobbed in time with the head nodding genially at all the reasons why the results might be less than a man clinging desperately to the wreckage of a dream could reasonably wish for. The grim reminder of his first loves demise snapped his backbone straight and he resumed his unwavering appraisal of the wandmaker and his subject.
His voice brooked no argument. "Begin."
"I need something that I do not have, in order to split the Wandwood without further damage. Normal methods with an object as fragile as this has become, would simply obliterate the core."
"And that is?"
"Hermiones wand and the tools that I gave her at the end of the Summer."
0.0
Snape let himself out of the Wandmakers shop. Darkness had fallen, but the Alley was lit with the raucous light from the Casino. His feet moved him there, but he wavered at the entrance. His mind was on Lily and gaming required concentration. Perhaps it would serve as a distraction.
"Yes, Sir!"
"Right this way, Sir!"
"Try your luck, Sir!"
"New batch just in, Sir!"
"A galleon if you please, Sir! Drink up, Sir! May I take your cloak?"
Snape came to himself as solicitous hands tried to separate him from his cloak and the precious cargo in the pocket. He stared at the pinkish cordial sloshing in a decorative bottle, Lilys voice in his head, saying the same phrase, when he had come to visit shortly after the baby was born.
"May I take your cloak?" Stay…
A voice still ringing with friendship, in spite of her choices, his choices. He had showed her the bridge on the butt of his wand and held the child uncomfortably at arms length until she took him again. She had smiled, told him it didn't matter and he had asked for hope, without resorting to telling her about James. She had coloured furiously when she hugged him, unexpectedly hard, at goodbye, her actions telling him she already knew.
"Another time," Snape tipped the bottle up and watched the contents patter on to the pavement as the doorman leapt backwards.
"Another time." When we are alone
"Right you are, Sir! Next time you are in town perhaps, Sir!"
The bottle vanished as soon as the liquid had leaked completely away and Snape turned on his heel.
The doorman swiped at a drop splashed on the back of his hand. Nothing untoward happened until his fingers brushed the back of the pretty cashiers hand and he found himself in a foreign body…with breasts.
0.0
Breakfast clattered all around her, but Hermione was momentarily oblivious. Yoghurt should not be permitted as a breakfast option she decided as she tried her best to scrape the unfortunate incident from her sweater. It was no good, she would have to go and change. Muttering to Harry and Ron that she would meet them in Herbology, she rose using Rons shoulder as a pivot point and stepped over the long bench. Ron hid his face in his hands, trying to suppress his laughter at her shocked expression that an inanimate object had dared besmirch her pristine self and hunched his shoulders for the inevitable whack that would signal her departure. It never came.
Ron stared about, looking for her departing form, but saw only a lanky gait and floppy hair exiting the great double doors at speed, robes flapping. Huh, he thought, post breakfast booty call, lucky bastard, or maybe not, on a full stomach and all. He helped himself to another jam doughnut and sighed, breakfast of kings. Harry nudged his shoulder and gestured with his chin to where Cho was sitting, awkwardly craning her neck to watch a path most travelled. Cedric gone, Cho still here, Hermione...the jam from Rons donut hit poor Creevy in the eye.
0.0
Hermione made her way swiftly up the staircases, tugging her sweater over her head and balling it up in one hand, her wand idle in the other. Strangely the vine unwound itself and draped dreamily over her closed hand, drifting to and fro like someone would dally a finger in a lazy stream. She was nearing the top of the current staircase when it started to move and she grabbed unsteadily for the banister. Bloody things only ever moved when she was in a hurry, it's like they reacted to emotional distress and spun about to disperse the pent up energy.
She turned in the direction of travel to see where it might land and out the corner of her eye caught sight of him on the tier below, his staircase also in motion...towards hers. He was looking up, directly at her, there could be no mistaking the intensity of his gaze and she felt the heat rise from her toes to her face in a matter of seconds. He folded his arms and raised his chin in acknowledgment. A secret smile played about his face, as if unsure if it was welcome and did nothing to hide the fact that night had not been kind to him.
Expletives rose silently to her lips starting with 'arse' and ripening progressively as the staircases meshed and ground to a halt, the bottom of hers to the top of his and she turned away so that he might not see the distinctive shape that her mouth made when she couldn't stop herself saying aloud the word 'fuck'. She gritted her teeth and stared in disbelief at the top of her stairs still in midair and now completely stationary. Staring heavenwards to relieve her breath and invoke divine intervention, she frowned when a black cowled face drew swiftly back, the expression it had held was pained and the owner...unexpected. She didn't have time to consider it further before she felt a finger slip down her spine.
She spun ready with knives on her tongue. He wasn''t even touching her, just stroking the mid rib on the underside of vine leaf nearest him, its edges curled languidly and she yanked it away embarrassed by proxy. Even a step step below her he was taller than her and she refused to look up at him. She put another steps separation between them.
"I looked for you," he said evenly, "after you ran."
"There was no running!" she said indignantly.
He worked his mouth. "After you...left," he was trying really hard not to let the smile leak into his tone.
"Are you avoiding me?" he asked considering, "only it's barely the beginning of term and you're taking advanced classes with me. I can't see that working for you."
He moved up a step. She moved up to the half landing that would knit with her floor when the blasted stonework agreed to cooperate, looking anywhere but at him. Looking would be a grave mistake. She could already feel the wall of sensation that preceded him, her skin peeling away under the blast furnace of embarrassment leaving exposed the imprint and ashes of yesterdays reality repeated in last nights dream. His exertions had pulled a shirttail out of his belt, not that she was looking. At all.
"I'm not...you can't...I'm...Oh!" she drew in a breath and with it a consciousness she had not expected to find. Her feet planted like a seedling, its roots questing through soil and grit ...and rock.
"You're not…?" his tone was amused but his face was serious, concerned by her rapidly unfocusing eyes.
"Like that…the library," she said faintly, barely making sense, weakly flailing her arms. Under her feet, the marble floor hummed and masonry dust fell twinkling into the stairwell below. In a sudden moment of clarity she knew what it would take to get her to the Gryffindor tower and she could get it with the slightest touch on bare skin. The tiniest brush from him would make it happen, she could feel the ripeness of the power budding under her skin. Not his hand, when he might expect a bond and expect to keep it, her – somewhere else with enough distraction to make it safe – safe enough. The knowledge was exhilarating and that she had access to it in this moment, terrifying.
"What?" he laughed, "Can't teach you what?" He took a step closer, trying to see into her face properly to help him understand, what direction to take that would get her to allow him closer, enough to touch her. Her eyes narrowed and her lips parted while she considered the price. There was no doubt that it was high, for her. There might be damage. Fallout. If he picked her up in the crushing hug that she had witnessed when Cho caught up with him this morning, she was lost. And she was not ready, so not ready for salt, not now she had found him.
She took a deep breath and took him by surprise.
"This," she said breathlessly and moved so her mouth was millimetres from his own, allowing him the thrill of closing the gap, or trying. She considered the chase and flicked between roles of hart and huntsman, discarding it for something more symbiotic, the rigidity of the Yew in her Mothers garden and the scrambling rose that hid under its cover all Winter and clothed it in glory all Summer.
Beneath them the staircase shook and groaned, setting itself in motion back the way it had come. Cedric grasped her upper arms to steady himself, with the exception of her mouth and the parts he was directly touching she was as stiff as the stone she stood on. At least until he breached the last step and loomed over her, she leaned her body back awkwardly to preserve the minute space between them, her breathing ragged and she reached for him to steady herself in turn, the balled up sweater shoved against his stomach, before letting herself fall away, timing it perfectly so that when he closed his eyes, she stepped backwards, slipping from his hands onto the landing as the staircase passed her exit and carried on turning. Cedric windmilled his arms to keep from falling.
"Hermione!" he called in annoyance, robbed. He spun on his heels, searching for where the stairs might stop, espying the next half landing in three, two, one, he jumped as the stairs swung away dizzily onwards. His shoulder hit the flagstones and he rolled as he might falling from a broomstick, gathering his feet under him and racing along the hallways. It was most unbecoming for his seniority, but he couldn't find it in himself to slow, knowing still that he would be too late to catch her and doing it anyway.
Hermione skipped up the steps to the common room and smiled prettily at the Fat Lady to mask the fact that she had no breath left to speak of. Her lips burned and burned. She fiddled with the vine stretched out like a recalcitrant child forced too soon to leave a favourite toy.
"Next time," she promised the drooping stem, rewinding the limp form and floppy leaves closer to the wandwood. It glowed faintly and she mentally kicked herself. She should know better than to swear on a wand and not mean it. There would it seemed, have to be ...something. She determined that it would at least be on her terms and absobloodylutely nowhere near the restricted section of the library.
"Strumpet," she gasped as Cedric hared around the corner into sight and the door swung open just enough to admit her.
The Fat Lady chuckled in good humour, "I'll say!" and looking past Hermione commented, "only reason for kicking that out of bed mind, is to make good use of the floor." She laughed uproariously at her own humour.
Hermione turned to walk backwards through the closing picture frame so that she might see every expression flit across his mobile features. Want. Hope. Acceptance. Resolve. Determination. He slowed and bent at the waist, gasping for breath, raising his head to stare at her beadily from under his floppy damp darkened hair. His eyebrows rose as he took in her watching him, closing the door in his face. The last word she thought she heard was disbelieving, "seriously?"
Hermione bounced up the stairs to the room she shared, stuffing the soiled sweater in the laundry bin and pulling a fresh one from her trunk. She perched briefly on the edge of her bed and swept a soft hand over the dozing form of the Kneazle. Crookshanks sighed in his half sleep and settled his nose tighter in under his tail, the hairs up his spine rose like a hand had brushed them the wrong way. Hermione struggled into the fresh clothing, she hadn't settled properly last night without her familiars help.
First he had caught and noisily eaten what looked like a bumblebee although it was chequered with black and gold instead of the usual stripes, trod down the bedclothes close to her fitful form and then settled heavily across her midriff. His steady purr soothed her jangled nerves and her dreams had relived every shake and shudder under Cedrics ministrations. The hug of the bed linen a lovers embrace, the draught from a window ajar a steady whisper against her skin and the Kneazles weighty form the brawny shoulders and heavy head of a sated admirer. She had awoken well rested, if in need of another shower. How far they had come since The Burrow.
She took the Floo to the Great Hall, set herself on the path that would take her to the largest of the three greenhouses and allowed herself a small cringe at the pre-match related memories trying to break through. Ginny and she had left Harry and Ron in the pool hidden in the salt marshes when they started talking about playing submarines. This was her what, fourth year being around the two boys and frankly if they ever grew up, it would be a miracle. She had pulled Ginny away, the girl had plenty of time to see Harrys 'periscope' when she was older.
As for Ron, she had little interest and it was only in the last year that he had stopped goosing her with his 'periscope' – that might have had something to do with her grabbing hold of it the last time and refusing to let go. Her lips twisted and a small snort escaped as she recalled his reaction and his reaction to his reaction and then she scratched at her palm and tried to think of something else. Molly Weasley sprang to mind, joking about Ron in the kitchen over a bacon butty while she updated Hermione on how birds and bees worked in the magical world – since her own mother would have no clue and these things come up in conversation when Cosmo is left lying about. The phrase 'a babys' forearm holding an apple' tried to paint itself pictorially over the door handle of greenhouse 3 and Hermione choked on her own spit. No, that wasn't what she was looking for. Focus she told herself.
"Ah good, 'Ermione," Hagrids gruff tones always appeared to come from his stomach rather than his mouth. Whether that was due to his beard or his stature she never knew. The students already gathered were garbed elbow deep in khaki green gauntlets. Malfoy jostled in behind her and gave her a dirty look for blocking the doorway, or maybe for just being alive. He withered under her hard stare, cupping himself and moving behind Crabbe and Goyle.
"We will be feeding the carnivorous cabbages today, but you an' Neville are wanted in green'ouse 1 with Professor Sprout." Hagrid looked shifty. "Err somethin' to do with your wans' he growled. She would have believed him if it weren't for the sight of a familiar arm around Nevilles shoulders, the owner hidden behind Hagrids burly form.
She schooled her face as Cedric straightened and stepped into view. There would be a death she decided, she would do her best to make it look accidental, but maybe she didn't care, when Neville looked between Cedric and Hermione and appearing perceptive as ever announced in his bluff honest tone, "Wow man, you took down the Granger?"
0.0
Cedrics teeth made a brief appearance, reflecting the amusement he found in her appalled face.
"We were only practising Nev," Cedric paused, grinning more widely the more pissed off she appeared. "Hermione asked me to dance and you know I hate to disappoint a lady."
"Oh yeah, I heard that." Neville replied, a mixture of wonder and hero worship in his voice
Dancing thought Hermione, wilting with relief, they were talking about bloody dancing.
"Hey Hermione, you could have as'ed me. You know I'm good coz of my Nan an' all." Neville sounded more sure of himself in that moment than she thought she had ever heard him be. He puffed out his chest like a pouter pigeon, reliving the dancing lesson sprung on them by McGonagall in preparation for the Yule Ball. For almost an hour he had shed the awkward shyness that surrounded him and given everyone a faceful of the gallant, gifted and gentle man that lay beneath. Like Cinderella, it vanished when he took off the shiny, narrow shoes and he had knocked into the Parvati sisters, downing them like skittles. To be fair they hadn't been looking where they were going – Harry was still on the floor, trying to pick Ginny up off it. Nerves were getting the best of him around her and ever since the dinner table incident he had been treating her like a grenade with the pin missing.
"Thanks Neville, but umm I think I've got it now." It wasn't his fault she decided, he was being led by the nose.
"Yes," affirmed Cedric, tugging Neville into a headlock. "I think she's got it too, no?"
Hermione turned back towards the door and sighed, "come on." Stepping into her usual role as marshall of the troops.
"Green'ouse 1 remember," came Hagrids booming voice. She gave him a backwards wave and pushed the sliding door aside. It grated back over the shuffle of footsteps and she looked back to see Neville being planted none too gently on his back in the dirt. Cedric was poised over him, his face a thundercloud before he broke into his usual easy smile and offered Neville a hand to pull him to his feet. Neville took it, wincing when he righted himself and dusting himself off, watching his adversary warily. Cedric swept a hand over the back of Nevilles robes, using the time to digest the revelation that Neville had inadvertently let slip.
"What ARE you doing? We are going to be late!"
"Alright little Miss white rabbit," said Cedric, as the two boys drew level
"I'll just be going on ahead," said Neville, back to his usual downtrodden self. He stepped around them and hurried away.
"What did you do?" asked Hermione mystified. Cedric studied her for a moment, wrestling with the unfamiliar possessiveness that Neville had brought to the surface in telling him that he, Neville had already asked Hermione to go to the Yule Ball, for which Cedric had knocked him on his back. Further, that she had turned him down because she was already going with someone else and it wasn't him, which had inspired Cedric to help him back up, although without apology. Moreover he mused, she must have been asked before the night in the library, after which he had considered her strangely his when in fact she was potentially already someone elses entirely. It didn't sit well with him in the least. Not only that, but there was the Library issue to skirt around and the orb to discuss, none of which he could accomplish if she kept bolting.
He didn't answer and forced a smile, knocking into her shoulder. "Nothing," he lied easily and offered a hand that she pointedly ignored.
"What's with the change in lesson plan and DON'T tell me you are not behind it."
"You left something, after we were…together." She stared at him, her feet dragging as the greenhouse came into view. The distinctive figures of Professor Sprout and Longbottom were heads together at the far end.
Cedric offered Hermione the butt of his wand.
"I don't want it now," she said rolling her eyes.
He waved it at her. "Take it," he gestured with his chin, "a third of the way up, you'll see what I mean." She gingerly took hold of the wandwood, sliding her fingers up the cool, smooth rod until they met a distinctive ridge. The hairs on Cedrics forearm bolted upright and he self consciously coughed back the lurch in his stomach. She rubbed a thumb over it, back and again like a penitent shuffling rosary beads and knew what it was without looking, but yanked it out of his unwilling hand anyway and held it up to the weak sunlight, twisting it this way and that.
"It can't be," she said, thinking back to how close the wands had been that night and now desperate to examine her own wand for damage.
"I'm pretty sure it is," he whispered, closer than she had realised and she jerked her face away from his lips curving into an irritatingly familiar smile. His hand closed around her hand around his wand, saying conspiratorially, "you've scarred me for life." Above their joined hands, a tendril from Hermiones wand had seated itself, the night in the library, so firmly in the Ash of his wand that he couldn't dislodge it. He thumbed the space between the two ends of the ring and frowned, almost certain that the gap was smaller than he remembered. He had polished it for hours last night, hoping to wear it down but then just for the feel of it, slipping the ridge pleasingly against the cleaning cloth covering the circle of his thumb and forefinger. The join was so tight, not even the edge of a fingernail could get under it.
She was getting annoyed, he could tell from the waves in the magic potential belting up his arm. Like the game of Russian Wizards chess where the more pieces you lost, the more shock you got when you made the next move, she was getting too hot to hold.
"How do we take it off?"
"We don't," he said, dropping her hand like she scalded him and tugging his wand out of her hand. "That's what Professor Sprout is for."
"It's not really herbology," said Hermione dismissively
"No," he granted, "but it will be a damn sight more interesting that omnivorous kale"
"Cabbages…"
"Them too, come on, stop dawdling." He plucked at her sleeve and skittered ahead, holding the greenhouse door ajar magnanimously, then tweaking the ends of her hair when she stepped past him. He laughed when she growled at him and slid the door shut, sealing them in the steamy atmosphere of the tropical house. He was bold enough to put a hand on the small of her back where her shirt had already started to stick to her clammy skin, moving easily in step with her along the narrow path between the lush vegetation to the study pod at the end. She shifted her shoulders, uncomfortable at his propriety and the way her brain just checked out the moment he touched her.
A ticklish memory from her time with Olivander slipped through the fingers her memory and lurked behind the sensation of Cedrics touch. It was still there, gentle and unassuming, even though they had slowed to a stop and were awaiting the Professors attention. Something about wands, something about wand wood being alive even after reaping and, moreover, something about vines in particular.
Professor Sprout was stooped over a workbench holding a flat square pan of grey sand. Nevilles wand was seated tipped up slightly away from her, gleaming under a harsh spotlight, while the Professor picked at it with a small pair of fine tweezers.
"Excellent condition Longbottom, considering everything…" she praised him. He smiled nervously, intent on his wand and what the Professor was doing.
"See here the vine is so embedded in the wood grain that it can be barely distinguished from the original wandwood. Do you have your Mothers wand?" She tsked when Neville shook his head, shoulders bowed under the weight of his memories. "The vine is probably the only reason this still works at all you know," she said brightly oblivious to her students doom clad expression. "What starts out as a shield can grow to be stronger than…"
Hermione turned furiously to Cedric, "is this really necessary? Can't you see it's killing him?" She stepped away from Cedrics side, moving to put a hand on Nevilles shoulder. Cedrics mouth flattened into a thin line and he pulled at the knot in his tie, flipping open the top button for something to do. Neville took a shuddering breath and glanced furtively behind her.
"Can you tell what species it is?" Cedrics quiet voice filled the space. "The vine," he clarified " what sort is it?" Hermione stared at Nevilles wand, the faint imprint of leaves, pendulous flowers and a curling stem stood out like silvery scars. It was covered in swirls, tip to butt lovingly encased in its symbiote, looking more like an ornate decorative piece than a functioning magical artefact.
"Oh erm Woodbine, common honeysuckle, sweet little thing actually, probably could get a sport off it if you wanted to Neville? Just scrape away a little of the bark…..wouldn't bring them back of course, but…."
"Thanks, Professor." Nevilles voice steadied, "I'd like that."
"Might not be magical," Professor Sprout carried on as if he hadn't spoken, reaching for moss, a clay pot and snicking open a wickedly sharp knife, proceeding to wave it about. Hermione took a nervous step back. "Just something to remember them by…." The Professor stopped suddenly, eyeing Hermione altogether too shrewdly for her liking before swivelling to face Cedric.
"You said there was another?" she queried.
Cedric nodded slowly towards Hermione.
"Woodbine?" The Professor enquired brightly, "we might be able to cross it with Nevilles and…"
"I'm not sure," Hermione frowned, "I don't think it's the same." She offered her wand grudgingly for inspection.
"Oh no," said the Professor, eyes suddenly twinkling. "Not the same at all." She turned it end over end. "This is vine through and through. Careful with it mind. Doesn't always play nicely with others, this one."
Cedric made a hollow sound that might have been a laugh. "Not Woodbine then?"
"No, not at all. Woodbine needs a scaffold, see?" said the Professor enthusiastically warming to her subject. "This one is strong enough all by itself, rare to see it bind to something else, only seen it once in all my years," she said thoughtfully. "Very strong the bound wand was. Strong enough to complete a spell cast even though the recipient was dying. There's a book on wandlore in the library that mentions it." She frowned at Hermione thoughtfully and Hermione belatedly remembered a turned down page, but that wasn't a book about wandlore per se.
Cedric shuffled his feet, amused by his inability to finish that particular book. He missed the next exchange and was buffeted by Hermione leaving the greenhouse at speed.
"What did I miss?" he said wondering. Professor Sprout was busy excising a node and sliver of cambium layer from the tip of Nevilles wand, exposing a dull green streak that oozed a sickly sap. She bound the removed sliver swiftly to a matching slash in a stocky vine, dressing the wound with moss and something that looked like spiders webbing, before pegging the whole thing against damp soil in the clay pot and covering it with a clear plastic bag.
Neville cupped the back of his neck with his palm. "Um, I think the Professor just called Hermiones wand a tart."
Professor Sprout laughed like a naughty schoolgirl. "Olivander might be an old goat, but he has never failed to match a wand to the wielder. Her vine is a Rubus-Passiflora cross I think, it's a good pairing with the dragon heartstring. Fire and the means to bind it." She smirked at Cedrics nonplussed expression. "Didn't get it near yours did you?" She asked darkly, raising her eyebrows. "Bramble and Passionflower," she clarified. "Best hang up your hat if you have, if there is one thing they don't do, it's share."
Cedric smiled back weakly, displaying the now familiar ridge on his wand. Professor Sprout tutted though her teeth like a mechanic inspecting a particularly nasty dent. The words shield and share rattled around his head like a pair of die at craps.
"It won't come off," he said flatly.
"Course not, stupid boy. And why would you want it to? Think something like this can be undone like that." She snapped her grubby fingers under his nose.
"Freely given?" she enquired sharply, her face relaxed into smiles again as Cedric considered, then nodded firmly. Her wand had been all over his as soon as she had launched herself across the library table, especially if one ignored the coercion running up to it. "It's a rich gift. Course you might not see it like that to start with." She slapped him smartly on the shoulder.
He gaped at her, "you mean it really won't come off?"
"Not without destroying your wand, now the ring is complete." She showed him the tails of the ring so snug together, it looked they had never been apart. "If you had come before…if you had really wanted to be free of it" she shrugged her shoulders eloquently. "Maybe…" She gave Nevilles wand back to him. "Off you go now, come back in a week to see how the strike is taking if you like. Both of you…." She finished, herding them before her out of the sticky atmosphere.
"Cedric?" she called suddenly, when he turned back Professor Sprout was frowning. "Hermione has a book she should share with you. Ask her, she'll know the one." He nodded solemnly and added it to the list of points for discussion under the orb and above the keystone.
The two boys walked silently back to the main building.
"I won't say anythin'," Neville hedged when the silence between them became oppressive.
"It's ok Nev." He injected lightness into his tone as a prelude to pillaging for information. So who are you going to the Gala thing with?" He slung an arm companionably across Nevilles shoulders. Despite the disparity in their ages, the younger boy was almost as tall as him.
"Ginny said she'd take me on account of really wanting to go," the words tumbling out, "although I know she wanted Harry to, he was going to ask Cho."
Cedrics hands curled into fists, "and Hermiones going with Ron?" He felt vaguely sick and thought that was bad enough until Neville told him who she was really going with.
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Hermione stopped when she reached the stone circle, out of breath and mortified beyond belief. She held up her wand and squinted at the vine. Sure enough, there was a pale oval on the main stem where a tendril had been pulled away from its parent.
"What did you do?" she hissed at her wand. The wand raised a leaf on either side.
"Is that a shrug? Are you shrugging at me?" One of the leaves pointed at her
"Oh no, you are not blaming this on me. At no point was I wound around Cedrics wand!" She stopped short, feeling ridiculous as her mind resupplied her in vivid detail of parts of herself wound around his face. She slapped her forehead with a palm in remembered embarrassment. "I need a wandlore book," she said under her breath, "and I need it now!" She slumped back against the largest of the stones, making a disgusted noise when it canted away from her.
An eagle owl called shrilly and Hermione looked up to the Owlery. She shoved the wand up her sleeve and started up the steep, stone stairs. There would be quill and ink on a lectern inside and it would allow her to access a living, breathing library on wands and their foibles. She started drafting the enquiry in her head, this might take a while to get right without embarrassing the crap out of herself.
She stopped at the quarter landing at the top of the stairs, staring down across the black lake. Past the Durmstrangs strange vessel, something whipped the surface water into whirlpools of differing sizes, eddies connected them with one another and looked for all the world like watery crop circles.
The ant like figures of Cedric and Neville strolled into view, walking in step and she shrank away, out of sight. Neville must be talking she thought, his hands were animating his conversation. Cedric seemed attentive, but strangely tense and he shoved the younger boy away in what was probably horseplay. They continued on towards the main building albeit with a little more space between them than before.
Hermione ducked into the doorway, grimacing at the unfamiliar skulking and feeling not a little trapped. There was only one way in and one way out of the eyrie. She put it out of her mind and set to composing her missive whilst trying to breathe as little as possible, the ammonic stench alone was enough to peel paint. She evanescoed three before she felt satisfied that she had got her point across without incriminating herself and settled on one of the schools barn owls to deliver it. She held up the address to the birds beady eyes before tying it to an outstretched claw. The owl shrieked once and hopped awkwardly to the landing platform, bobbed once and heaved itself into the air.
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A/N The original vine in Celtic tree lore is the Bramble, not the grape vine. I think it fits Hermione to a 't.'
Kudos if you remembered the bumblebee from earlier!
Geez, how to summarise this stuff, ok here goes.
The Vine wand - has a mind of its own. Vine wands are special and endow their users with special abilities. They are possessive of their users partners, are rare and new ones have been banned, but Hermione got one anyway
The orb - originally a headpiece for a wizards staff, was a love token from Helen to Snape. It will display the thoughts of whoever is holding it. It is failing.
The new batch of Twins potion - has an interesting side effect
Hermione - is just about keeping up with the Vine maturing, most teachers are trying to help her do this.
Cedric - wants in Hermiones pants and more. He might get it.
Helen - is dead, its not clear who did what. Some of her is in the willow, some in the orb
Snape - is trying to help. His wand is damaged from his frolics with Helen and he wants Lilys memories
Lily - is dead and so is her wand, but dead wands tell tales
Dumbledore - was having an affair with James and is doomed to disappointment with Snape. Don't let anyone bite you there, ever. Sitting, standing, walking, running, that shit hurts.
Minerva - was carrying a torch for Snape and broke her sisters wand after her death
Sprout - has green thumbs and a stash of pot
Minerva - was carrying a torch for Snape. Now its more likely to be a flamethrower
Firenze - is teaching Hermione advanced classes in Foretelling and Astral Physics
Luna - spends a lot of the time in the Forest
Olivander - was up to no good and is being distracted by the thought of making his name
Ron - has indigestion
Viktor - is taking Hermione to the dance, his patronus is a bear
Harry - whos Harry? Only kidding...anyone interested in Harry? Mmhm. See you next weekend.
I'd be really interested in your thoughts on the line, 'fire, water, salt' - you know what that is right. DevApp, you know I'm looking at you? Nods...
If you have questions and don't want to leave a review, PM me k? I'm on GMT, so it might take me half a day to reply if you are Stateside.
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