Guys, you are so amazing. The response was huge (for my standards at least, there might be people who just laugh about that) and you made me all giddy and happy. Thanks to everyone who read, alerted and favourited and of course to the four awesome people who reviewed.

"Don't you worry," I said, checking my appearance in the mirror.

I didn't even recognize myself; Narcissa had done a thorough job at making me unrecognizable. Now, I just had to stick to the story and hope that Ollivander wouldn't ask too many questions.

Tom's eyes narrowed. "Well, you are offering yourself up on silver platter..."

"I am not," I said. "Please, I even agreed to take one of your minions-"

"No," he growled. "You're taking the young Malfoy shopping. That's different."

"My options were limited," I bit back.

"Severus could have taken you."

"Severus is a spy," I said.

"Do you really think Lord Voldemort would allow a spy in his ranks-"

"No," I muttered. "Of course not. Forgive me."

He frowned at me as if he disapproved of my compliance. But that was what he had always wished for, wasn't it? And, looking at it like this, it was much easier than fighting him.

"Now, first you go and get that wand and then you can go get whatever else you need-"

"Sure."

"I want you able to protect yourself."

"Yes."

"Stop it!"

I raised an amused eyebrow at him. "What? Have I angered your Lordship?"

"I told you to stop it. Drop the act, Lorraine."

"There's no act, Tom. There's just no point arguing with you."

"You always saw the point before."

"Please, darling, we had that conversation." I reached out and took my cloak from the chair where I had dropped it before. "I promise you, I will be fine."

He didn't comment, just stood there; watching, as I pulled on the cloak and made to leave.

I opened the door and looked back over my shoulder. "Happy Easter, Tom."

Draco Malfoy looked very much like his father; but unlike Lucius, he didn't seem slippery. He seemed to be rather put off, though, that he had to accompany me.

His eyes wandered up and down my body and he huffed. "Not even brave enough to show your face, huh?" he sneered.

"Draco!" his mother exclaimed, but I offered them a smile.

"Well, were I fifteen, I would have better things to do, as well. So let's just, uh... get this over with."

He nodded at me and freed himself from the fluttering arms of his mother. "Until later."

Narcissa watched with wary eyes as we picked up Flew Powder and her son disappeared in the depth of the fireplace.

"You'll be careful, right? Keep both eyes on him."

"I was under the impression it should be the other way round."

"The Dark Lord certainly thinks that you can watch out for yourself. He only sends Draco so that if something happens – he's got someone to blame..."

"You shouldn't say these things," I said coldly. "And I am sure it's not true."

It was probably true. I had told Tom to properly punish Lucius – was he now sending out his son to possibly dangerous missions? That certainly was not what I had had in mind.
I threw the powder into the flames and stepped in myself. One last look at Narcissa and I loudly announced, "Diagon Alley!"

"I really don't need you with me to buy a wand."

"I was instructed to-"

"By whom?" I snapped.

"My father told me-"

"Well, your father's word doesn't count much to mine."

Draco frowned at me and I sighed.

"Look, nothing will happen. And if it does, I want you out of the way. Got it? Leave, and get to something you're actually interested in."

"The Dark Lord wanted you protected," Draco said sternly.

"So he sent a fifth-year with me? Let's be honest here, Draco-"

"I get it, all right? I get it, I'm not stupid."

"I know," I said, taken aback. "I never said you were."

Draco looked around, the anger that just welled up still clearly visible on his features. "I won't leave you alone."

"You will. It'll be our secret."

He huffed, annoyed. "I'm not a little kid you can win over with these tricks."

"Merlin, you really are a buzz kill. See you in twenty minutes."

With that, I left him on the streets, directing my steps determinedly towards Ollivander's.

I entered, and it looked almost exactly the same that it had back when. Mr Ollivander always claimed to remember every single wand he had sold – surely, he did also remember me and my wand? My poor wand, destroyed by the Ministry's henchmen...

"Welcome."

I was pulled from my thoughts by the appearance of a definitely aged Ollivander - though his eyes were still the same. Still, they seemed to be almost glowing; it was spooky.

"Ah, Mr Ollivander, I assume?"

"Indeed." His brows were drawn together as he studied me. "You want to buy a wand?"

"Certainly," I said. "Mine broke."

"Maybe we can fix it," he said.

"No," I answered. "It was beyond repair."

"How'd it happen? May I see it?"

"You'll have to take my word for it, Sir," I said, growing impatient.

He stared at me for a moment that stretched impossibly long as I imagined that he put two and two together – a mass breakout and an unknown customer without a wand-

"Very well," Ollivander said and with a flick of his wrist, measuring tapes rolled out and started measuring my arms and fingers.

"I do not remember you," the shop-owner said casually. "You haven't bought your old wand here?"

"Inherited it from my grandmother. It was tradition in the family," I lied easily.

"But that is – no offence, Ma'am – that is not good. The wand chooses the wizard, you know, or the witch, in your case. A wand you just inherited would never work that well."

"Why, I couldn't complain."

"Uh-huh," Mr Ollivander muttered and then nodded to himself. "That should be enough."

The measuring tapes snapped shut again and Ollivander disappeared into a long row of shelves.

"You may find," he said as he emerged again, six boxes in his arms that, as a staple, reached over his head, "That a wand that specifically chose you might even work better. You might achieve bits of magic-"

"We'll see," I said, trying to end the discussion. I was sure that no wand would ever work as well as my old one had; it had been perfect. I was a firm believer that wand and wizard should learn together – I certainly had felt like it had been that way. A new wand could never fit me as well as the one that had accompanied me over decades.

"Try this one," Ollivander said, offering me the first of the staple he had dropped onto his desk. "10½ inches, holly, and core of unicorn hair-"

At once, I felt that this was not the one. It weighed too heavy in my hand and seemed to revolt even as I just held it.

"No," I said quickly putting it back into its box. "It's all wrong."

"Of course, of course," Mr Ollivander muttered. "It was too brittle, eh? You need something a little more-" He searched through the boxes and pulled out another one. "Like this."

He opened the box and handed the wand to me. "10 inches exactly – ash, and dragonheart-string... I'd say it's rather unyielding."

Again, I felt it at once. Only, this time, it was the warm, tickling feeling that told me that this could actually work.

"Lumos," I muttered and instantly, the tip of the wand erupted in shining light.

"Good," I told Mr Ollivander. "This one's very good."

"I thought so," he said happily. "Well then. That makes 15 galleons."

Draco still wore that sour expression as I met him again after leaving the shop.

"See," I told him. "Nothing happened."

I motioned for him to follow me through the streets. It felt strange, being among so many people. The chatter, busy people pushing their way through the crowd, crying children and yelling mothers to match them; it felt normal. They were so alive. I didn't belong.

"Don't you want to go back?" Draco said, hurrying after me.

"Didn't you say you need to buy something?"

"Stock up my potions kit. Already done," he informed me.

"Oh, that sounds exciting," I commented dryly. "Come on, anything else you want to look at? Tell me about the newest brooms."

Draco pulled a face. "I'm flying a Nimbus 1001. Was the best until the Firebolt came out. Bloody Potter got one for free, of course..."

"Harry Potter, you say?"

Draco sneered. "Never paid for a broom yet. Got his first one from the school, and the second just appeared out of nowhere. Lucky beggar..."

"Uh-huh," I muttered. "Why don't you buy a Firebolt, then? Not like your folks haven't got the money."

"Nah, my father bought brooms for the whole team when I joined – said I wouldn't get a new one as of yet."

"Too bad."

Draco looked around. "Wouldn't matter anyway. If I got a Firebolt, Potter would find a way to get an even better broom. Likes showing off, he does."
He reached into his robes and pulled out a crinkled magazine. "See, had to boast about how he escaped the Dark Lord even though no one believes him."

"What do you mean?" I asked, snatching the magazine from him.
It was the Quibbler with a huge photograph of a teenager on top; he had messy black hair that seemed to point in every direction. Yet the most distinct part of his appearance was the lighting scar that sat on his forehead. This was him. Harry Potter. The boy who lived.

"What do you mean, Draco?" I repeated. "What do you mean no one believes him?"

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