The Hawthorn Wand, or

The Green Winter Of The Holly-Tree

Chapter 25

In the second week of November, Professor McGonagall called the whole school together for a general assembly. Everyone buzzed with curiosity to find out what it was all about until she took her place and raised her voice.

"Students, I have suspended classes for the day for a solemn and yet a joyous occasion. Over the last months you have all had a series of Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, as each of your professors have taken their turn in teaching you their own particular methods. Some of you have also had the benefit of learning from older students who proved themselves very ably in the War. Next term we will be bringing in guest lecturers from among the greatest wizards now living. Until the Christmas holidays, however, we will have a guest teacher of the most distinguished sort. Though only a student, he withstood the most fearsome Dark attacks through quick wit, deep loyalty, and a good heart. I think you know who I'm talking about. Hogwarts, please welcome Mr. Harry Potter."

The din in the Great Hall was perfectly deafening as the slight figure of a mere boy walked down between the tables. He looked as if he was not precisely enjoying the cheering, the clapping, the people trying to touch him, the sudden sobbing. Standing with everyone else, Lucia didn't clap but only watched him intently and hoped he didn't see her, didn't even know she existed. He was shorter than she expected, thinner, younger. Technically an adult at eighteen but still so very young-looking. There was something of Chador's pale, pinched look to him, and something of Astoria's stout-hearted, on-with-life spirit.

Across the tables, she caught a glimpse of Ginny, standing very still, pale with her freckles standing out on her skin. In one of those confess-things-to-Lucia moods that came over people now and then, she'd told Lucia all about her understanding with Harry, that they had something between them to pursue but that he was too tired and too conflicted to pursue it. That was really why she had gone away to school, to give him space to recover, telling him, "I waited for you since I was ten. I can wait longer."

Professor McGonagall had gone pink with pleasure as she welcomed Harry up onto the dais and finally managed to quiet the Hall after an interminable amount of time. She seemed to know he didn't want a speech made about his greatness or courage or whatever else and said instead, "Mr. Potter will take each of your Defense Against the Dark Arts classes in turn. He is here so you can learn from him, not for your hero-worship. He has been a student just like you and not even as good a student as some of you." (Harry grinned at that.) "Today, though, he is here to tell you a story. His story, as you have not yet heard it. Of course you have all heard the essential tale, such as was in the newspapers and official releases, but he asked my permission to come and tell you all the full tale of his dealings with Voldemort. He feels that you, students, deserve to know the complete truth about his side of what happened. Mr. Potter, the floor is yours, for as long as you want it."

Clearly he was not yet at ease with giving speeches, but not a sound other than his amplified voice could be heard in the Great Hall as he stumbled his way through his first remarks, and soon he fell into a natural pace of storytelling. It was a very, very long story, and no one cared. No one wanted the food that came halfway though. Only the story mattered. Gaps were filled in—more were created. Everyone knew Severus Snape was a hero—no one knew it was because he loved Harry's mother. Everyone knew Peter Pettigrew was a Secret-Keeper and a great traitor—no one knew he'd lived with the Weasleys for years as a pet rat. Everyone knew Voldemort had gone to Hogwarts as a child—no one knew it was Albus Dumbledore who brought him from his Muggle orphanage. They drank up the tale as only students can, students who have suffered and never been trusted with the full truth behind their suffering.

And then they all went away quietly to their Houses to spend the rest of the day and night talking endlessly to each other about every detail. Lucia was not the only one who noticed Ginny lingering behind in the Great Hall and Harry giving her a look that was somewhat shy and apologetic and wholly besotted.

The next day Lucia learned, somewhat to her dismay, that her DADA class would be the first one Harry would be teaching. She would stand out among all the little kids.

She sat in a back corner and tried to be inconspicuous while he said with a smile, "The best DADA teacher I ever had was a werewolf. I'm going to teach you something he taught me: how to use humor to overcome your fears."

She sat quietly out of the way while he showed them what to do against a boggart. Without a doubt if he made her come and try it, it would take the form of Lucius Malfoy and would drag her away to a tiny version of Malfoy Manor in the box Harry kept it in. But maybe he didn't want to see what frightened a Malfoy, because he never called on her, and the younger children spent the class period putting clown faces on spiders and fake ghost sheets over clowns and making the Carrows burst out into pumpkins and tulips.

Near the end, one of the students asked, "Could you show us how to do Expecto patronum?"

Harry grinned. Evidently he'd been expecting that. "Yes, I will. I'll never tell you you're too young to learn what you want to learn. Maybe you are too young, but if you are, you'll find that out for yourself."

He showed them the technique, demonstrated the glorious stag that came from his wand. "Think back to your very best memory or your most exciting dream, and then say, Expecto patronum!"

No one got an animal, of course. Some of them got nothing at all, but one of the Slytherin girls got a brilliant shower of sparks. Harry congratulated her, impressed, and she announced, "I just thought of myself being Head Girl like Ginny!" And then the whole class laughed when Harry blushed.

Lucia's wand would still only dribble sparks, though. It seemed as though she could feel the Patronus every time she touched her wand, but it got lost somewhere in her mind. As she kept trying, stubbornly, a hand touched her black-clad arm.

"You have to believe it," Harry said. "Really and truly believe it, that joy is stronger than despair and that love wins out over all."

"Do you believe it?"

"Yes." He smiled, a deep, serene smile. "I carry it inside. Dementors can't bother me anymore. My mother's love still protects me."

That evening, Professor Sinistra said, "Lucia, will you come with me to the Headmistress's office, please?"

Being summoned to McGonagall's office was always an alarming thing, even when you were fairly sure you'd done nothing wrong. Lucia went with trepidation and found there Professor McGonagall and Harry Potter."

"Take a seat, Miss Bonnefoy," McGonagall requested. "Don't worry. Nothing is wrong. Harry only wanted to meet you properly."

Lucia sat pale under Harry's direct and critical gaze.

"Ginny told me about you," he said, "and Luna. They both said you'd be afraid of me."

"Not—not afraid, precisely," she answered. "Not of you. But of giving you bad memories, and of you thinking I'm like Draco."

"Draco has no power of me. When I have bad memories, he's not even in them. He was a stupid and pitiable git, and that's all that's to be said for him."

"No, it's not!"

They were both slightly shocked at her outburst.

"He's my brother," Lucia said finally. "He's a stupid and pitiable git, and he's my brother. So I—I can't just pass him off as somebody else's problem."

Unexpectedly, Harry smiled. "No worries about anyone thinking you're like Draco. You should stop worrying about that. You don't even look like him—even though you do."

Lucia smiled back and made a sudden decision. "He's missing."

"Missing…?"

"Disappeared. Gone. Run away. Narcissa hired my mother to find him."

Sinistra and McGonagall, still there with them, looked as shocked as Harry.

"Hired a Muggle to find Draco?"

"Yes. That's how worried she is. His time under Lord Voldemort kind of drove him out of his mind. He's worse off than you. Maybe—maybe he suffered almost as much as you did. In different ways."

"Ways of his own making," Harry said sharply.

"Some, yes. But mostly ways of Voldemort's making."

Harry stared at her, and then he nodded, once. "I want you to give this to him."

He handed her a golden brown wand. She took it slowly.

"Hawthorn, unicorn hair core. Ten inches. Reasonably springy. You took it from him. It's yours."

He shook his head. "This is mine." He pulled out his own wand of white wood. "It fits me. That one works for me very obediently, but it doesn't fit me."

"But why give it back?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe because his mother saved my life. Maybe because of you."

"Me?"

"You believe there's hope for him. I don't know if I do, but you do. Give that to him when you think it's the right time."

"If I ever meet him."

"You've never met him?"

"No. But I hope to. I just hope he doesn't despise me. Do you think his wand will work properly for him again, since it switched its allegiance to you?"

"I don't know. I'm giving it up freely, so maybe it will. But if it doesn't…maybe that's all the better, in case he keeps on being a stupid git."

"It'll be interesting to see what'll happen when someone gives a wand back. I wonder if anyone has ever done it before." She put out her hand toward Harry's wand. "May I—?"

He held up his wand. She didn't take it, only touched her fingers to it and felt the familiar frisson. More than familiar. It wasn't quite like touching her own wand, but it was more than touching the average piece of holly. There was close acquaintance but not intimacy.

Harry was giving her a quizzical look through his glasses. She unwrapped her own wand. "Look. No—touch it."

He touched it and gave her a startled glance.

"Holly. The same tree as your wand. Maybe the same branch. And the core—unicorn hair. The same unicorn as Draco's."

"What?" All three of Harry, McGonagall, and Sinistra said it at the same time.

"I know. That's what I said. Hollies are poisonous—but they protect. Unicorns are dangerous—but they're living works of art. Hawthorn is related to roses, and it brings hope, heals broken hearts. It all means something, and I'm going to find out what."

Later she told Chador, "He offered to help me with Expecto patronum, but I said no."

"Why?"

"Because you're teaching me."