Siblings, or

Ordered By An Intelligence So Wise

Chapter 32

The Christmas Ball, a special gift from Professor McGonagall, not a usual part of a Hogwarts Christmas, was over. Lucia thought it would probably remain one of her most sparkling memories, all white and silver and blue. She had worn white with hints of green, and Luna had transfigured a tiny butterfly pin she had into a large, moving, pale green Luna Moth to wear on her shoulder, and Astoria had done her hair up. She almost felt perhaps she was old enough for romance, particularly when she saw Chador in his dishy dress robes and most particularly when an enchanted ball of mistletoe persisted in hovering over their heads until Chador kissed her once, very softly, on the lips. Life could never quite be the same after that, could it?

But now she was on the train with Astoria, and she was going to see her mother again after what seemed like ages. Miss Precipa was there to meet them at the train station, and since Miss Precipa had not enough magic to fly or Apparate them home, they took a cab, Astoria's first time in an automobile.

"I can't believe the ways you people come up with for transportation!" she gasped, flinching at every vehicle that passed them on the road.

"This from the person who chases dangerous balls around a hundred feet in the air on a broom!" Lucia laughed at her. Astoria was Slytherin Quidditch captain.

"That's a logical way to travel," she grumbled, but she was enjoying herself. "I should learn how to pilot one of these things. It might be fun."

"Drive. You drive them."

They stopped off in Charing Cross Road and made their way into Diagon Alley to pick up some Christmas things. On one corner Lucia saw a shop that had formerly been all closed up now full of light and noise, children spilling out the doors.

"Did George Weasley get his shop opened up again, then?" Astoria asked. "I never had much use for it—a lot of stupid stuff they carried. But still, it's nice to see it back. It's so strange to think of George being depressed. Even stranger to think of him without Fred. They were kind of our heroes for a while, at Hogwarts." She sighed.

This was the first time Lucia had been able to buy all the peculiar wizard things Miss Precipa always brought her and her mother at Christmas, and she enjoyed it immensely, but she was glad to leave again and be on her way back home. As they drove up to the house, Astoria stared out at the little while bungalow with holly trees on either side of the door, brilliant against the frozen greyness of the winter evening without snow.

"Is that what you made your first wand out of?"

Lucia nodded. "I'll show you."

Miss Precipa kissed her. "Good night, dear. I'll see you tomorrow." She kissed Astoria, too, which made the older girl go pink and try to hide her pleasure.

Lucia dragged Astoria up the walk. When she opened the door, they could hear voices in the living room. Astoria clutched Lucia's arm.

"That's Draco!" she hissed.

Lucia turned white, then red. "What do I do?"

"Go meet him, idiot! I'll—I'll wait here."

She went slowly into the living room. It was warm and cheery, a Christmas tree before the window. Dita and Draco were sitting on either side of the fire, drinking tea. Seeing her, Dita made as though she would spring up, but then she stopped herself as Draco leaned forward.

She hadn't expected his hair to be so long, or his face so thin, or his eyes so overshadowed. Was she afraid of him, this wicked, Death Eater brother of hers? She thought she was, looking at his hard face, until she dropped her eyes and saw that he was clenching and unclenching one hand at his side. Then without warning she flew at him and hugged him tight and kissed his cheek and didn't quite succeed in not bursting into tears.

Draco didn't exactly know what to do, especially when he found unwarranted tears in his own eyes. He pushed her slightly away from him and said, "What are you crying for? You're a Slytherin. Slytherins don't cry."

"Oh, yes they do," she snapped and wiped her face. "You can't tell me not to cry. You don't even know me."

"If we're such strangers, what are you crying for? How old are you anyway? Eight?"

"Fifteen and a half!" she flared. "Quite old enough!"

"Now, children, do I have to send you to your rooms?" came Dita's amused voice.

Lucia turned and nearly strangled her in hugging her. "Thank you," she whispered in her ear. "Thank you."

"Now you're going to make me cry, darling. Would you like some tea? We only just got home ourselves, and Miss Precipa had everything laid out beautifully for us, and the tree, and even presents."

Presents! Lucia put her hand into her bag and touched Draco's wand wrapped up next to her own. Harry had said give it to him when it was the right time. Was it the right time? She gazed up at Draco, who stared back with his lips pressed together in a tight line.

"Draco," she said hesitantly. "I was asked to give you this." She pulled out his wand and held it out to him.

For a moment he didn't touch it. It had been nearly a year since he had last touched it.

"Where did you get that?" His voice was harsh.

"Harry Potter asked me to give it to you. He releases it freely and hopes that's enough to make it work properly for you."

He seemed afraid to take it. Was it that it had killed Lord Voldemort? Or that he was afraid it would refuse to belong to him? Finally, glancing at Dita, he jerked out his hand and took it.

Lucia and Dita couldn't tell what the reaction was at first. Slowly he sat back down in his chair.

"It's different." He used it to lift his teacup, turn it into a tiny pig and back again. "It feels different."

Ever fascinated, she asked, "Do you think—is it yours?"

"It's not reluctant. It responds to me as it always did. But it's different." He turned the teacup back into a teacup-sized pig and whispered, "Crucio." The pig looked up at him quizzically and tried to run off the edge of his chair but encountered his biscuit and crunched on it happily instead.

"You have to mean it," Lucia whispered, white-faced.

"You have to mean it, and your wand has to want to do it." He turned the pig back into a cup of tea. Now it had biscuit bits floating in it.

"Why a pig?"

"What?"

"Why would you turn a teacup into a pig?"

He suddenly snorted. "I have no idea." And with brightness in his eyes, he said, "Expecto patronum!" and birds burst from his wand.

Tears came to Lucia's eyes but abruptly disappeared. "Crows! Ravens—Mummy, I forgot. I left Astoria out in the hall."

"Astoria? Astoria Greengrass?" Draco exclaimed. "Daphne's little sister?"

Astoria was standing in the doorway, drawn in by the crows. "Hello, Draco." To her own everlasting humiliation, she was blushing.

Draco stared at her. Obviously he hadn't expected a grown-up, striking-looking Astoria. He probably hadn't given her a single thought in two and a half years.

She seemed to feel the need for a preemptive strike and said, "I'm trying to think of the last time we met, Draco. Was it that time you tried to turn me into a newt? Or the time you laughed at me for being as clumsy on a broom as a troll squatting on ice?"

Was it possible Draco was turning red? "I—er—don't remember."

"No, I shouldn't think you would." She turned to Dita. "Thank you for inviting me, Miss Bonhomme."

"Call me Dita. Lucia has told me so much about you. I feel I know you. She told me all about how you led your Quidditch team to victory against Ravenclaw. Congratulations on that."

Dita was so deadpan Lucia knew she was bursting with mischief, particularly since Draco was flaming red by now. His eyes were demanding help from his sister, and she couldn't help but give in.

"What about that tea, Mum?"

"Yes—I'll make some more." Draco seized his wand and produced a new tray.

"Have your tea-making skills improved, Draco?" Astoria asked sweetly. "Last I remember you were always making Daphne make it because you couldn't."

Dita took pity on the spluttering Draco. "Lucia, take your brother to the kitchen and teach him to make tea properly."

Lucia dragged Draco into the kitchen. He watched her put the water on to boil in a rather dumbfounded way.

"I don't know how they do it."

"What? Who?"

"Muggles. Survive. They have to work so hard to do the simplest things."

"Well, Muggles have to learn to use their brains instead of magic."

He crossed his arms and scowled but didn't respond. Which, she reflected, was probably as big a step for him as an act of extreme generosity might have been for another man.

"I can't think why I never knew about you," he said while she heated the teapot.

"Dumbledore protected me from your father."

"Our father. Dumbledore did a lot," he muttered.

"Yes, he did. Do you realize he protected you as much—or more—than he did Harry? He sent Harry off to die, but he died for you."

Draco turned swiftly away, his back rigid. "I do not wish to speak of it. Not here—not now."

Lucia smiled to herself. Not with Astoria in the next room? "Alright," she said cheerfully. "How long are you staying?"

"I…don't know."

"I hope you stay the whole two weeks I'm home. But when you go home, you can't tell your father about me."

"Why not?"

"Because it's my choice, not yours."

He turned back and looked at her, slowly nodded. She put out her hand to him.

"I'm glad I finally got to meet you."

He touched her hand hesitantly. "Your water's boiling."

She made him carry the tray out. As they went into the living room, they heard Astoria asking, "What's that?"

"The crèche?" Dita queried, dumbfounded. "You've never seen a nativity scene before?"

Astoria shook her head. Draco furrowed his brows at the little figures in the stable structure.

"Well, then. Bring the tea to the fire, and I'll tell you. It's the whole point of Christmas, you know."

Lucia poured out the tea and handed round Miss Precipa's Christmas cake. Dita tucked herself up in her chair and began telling that old, good story to her strange, young audience.