Neville blinks in the sudden sunlight of the forest clearing he finds himself in, holding his hands up over his face.
It's been a long day: he's been in the forest since eight am, and based on the position of the sun it's getting close to two or three.
Neville is starving, aching, and if he never sees a bowtruckle again it'll be too soon. (They think they're being helpful, but they mostly just get in the way.)
Despite being such a long and tiring day, Neville has also been reasonably successful. He has a couple branches from some potential trees, and has high hopes for the apple wood especially.
Neville's vision finally clears enough to actually see the clearing. Neville gasps as he takes in the sight before him, other wood options suddenly forgotten.
There, in the middle of the clearing, stands a single tree. It's small and a little overgrown looking, but the sight of it has Neville's breath catching all the same. He moves towards it as though he's in a daze.
Neville is further into the woods than he's ever been before, but instead of feeling lost he's just been feeling more and more at home. He's been trying to follow that feeling, ever since he'd run into the forest girl earlier (Luma? Luna?) and she told him to trust his gut.
Or, that's what he thinks she said. In retrospect, Neville isn't sure she was talking to him at all. She may have been talking to the bowtruckles. Neville shudders. So many bowtruckles.
Despite the dreary early November weather, the tree is glowing golden warmth from its yellow and pale orange fall foliage. It has bushels of bright red berries hanging from nearly every branch. Neville reaches out gingerly to touch a branch, and the softer twigs curl gently around his fingers.
"Do you… can I have a branch? I'd like very much to use your wood in my wand," Neville asks.
The tree doesn't respond (as it is a tree), but Neville doesn't need an answer: he knows as well as the tree does that it's going to be a part of his wand. Neville goes to pull away from the branch in order to look at other branches but the twigs curl in even more. He laughs.
"I can't stay," Neville says.
A breeze blowing through the clearing makes it sound like the tree is sighing.
"I was going to look at other branches, but I could take this one?" Neville muses, tugging a little at the branch.
On his third tug, the branch comes away with him.
"Oh! Okay, then," Neville says. "There's your answer, I guess."
He looks down at his prize. It's a branch of about thirteen inches long, and is already reasonably straight and tapered. It would make a good wand as it is if not for the branching twigs and leaves dotting its length. Neville thinks that with a little targeted carving and polishing, it'll make a fine wand indeed.
"Well then. Wood acquired, I guess," Neville says to himself. Great. Now all he needs to do is find a core.
Neville thinks hard as he begins the trek back to the castle, idly picking the leaves and snapping the twigs off of his branch. He's been putting the core off, as he knows how difficult it is going to be to acquire. Traditionally, wands use one of three cores: phoenix feather, dragon heartstring, or unicorn hair.
Harry's wand has a phoenix feather, and Hermione has a dragon heartstring. Assuming that a wand core is best suited to a caster's magic, it would stand to reason that Neville should start tracking down the unicorn herd.
Neville doesn't especially want to see the unicorns, is the thing. He's not sure he's ready to confront the family of the one he'd held one in his arms as it died. Neville knows it's irrational, but a part of him worries the herd will blame him for their loss.
Oh well. He's going to have to get it over with eventually. Maybe he'll ask that girl next time he sees her. She seems the type to know where the unicorns live.
Neville is so lost in thought that he almost runs himself through with the arrow that's suddenly pointed at his chest.
Neville's blood freezes in his veins and his gaze follows the arrow up and up until he's staring directly at the stormy face of a centaur. Bane, if Neville is remembering correctly.
This is bad. Neville is in a lot of trouble. He's encountered the centaurs before, and would in all honesty prefer to deal with the giant spiders again.
"We have given you warning after warning. Tell me now why I shouldn't kill you where you stand," Bane says, voice shaking with fury.
Neville would love to do that. Only, if the panic climbing up his chest and throat is any indication, Neville won't be able to speak at all, much less give an explanation, Still, he opens his mouth to try and respond when-
"Bane! Have you no honor?"
Bane jerks his head to the side, face going even stormier. "Firenze," he growls. Neville almost collapses in relief.
"I ask again, have you no honor? Threatening a young one with death?"
"I have warned the young one three times now, and my patience grows thin. At some point, the child must be held accountable."
"To the point where he forfeits his life? You offer leniency to the other time and time again, why does this one not deserve the same treatment?"
Bane scowls. "That is different. The other is wise, and knows the stars better than any human I have met before. She can hardly be counted amongst their numbers. He," Bane gestures at Neville, disgust evident on his face. "Is weak, and small. He holds no use for us."
Neville tries to muster up some indignation, but he mostly just feels resigned. After all, that's just more of what he's been told his whole life.
Firenze doesn't seem to agree, though, as he laughs right in Bane's face. Bane looks as taken aback as Neville feels.
"Explain yourself," Bane says in a tone that brokers no arguments.
"I do not need to. Child," Firenze says, turning to Neville. "Show Bane your prize."
Bane narrows his eyes.
"Uh, th-this?" Neville asks, fumbling to hold his tree branch up.
Bane snorts.
Firenze shakes his head, amusement glinting in his eyes. "Not the rowan wood."
Neville waits, but the centaur doesn't seem to be any more forthcoming. Neville furrows his eyebrows in confusion when realization hits.
"Oh! This," Neville says, pulling the jar filled with unicorn blood-soaked moss out of his bag.
Bane jerks backwards, bow and arrow held taught once again and ready to be let loose right at Neville's face.
"You dare?" Bane asks disbelievingly.
Neville clutches the jar and the branch close to his chest.
"N-no, y-you do-don't under-understand," Neville gets out.
Bane's arrow doesn't waver. Fortunately, Firenze steps forward, pushing Neville gently behind him.
"The blood was given freely."
"That's… that's impossible," Bane says, arrow wavering.
"I saw it myself, Bane. You know it to be true. The boy is as much of the forest as the girl is of the stars."
Bane stares, but lowers his bow. He glances between Neville, Bane, and the unicorn blood.
"Fine," Bane spits out.
He looks like he wants to say more, but his gaze flickers back down to the unicorn blood and he turns and gallops off without another word.
Neville lets out a long sigh of relief and turns to Firenze.
"Th-thank y-you. I'm s-sorry, I wasn't paying attention. I would h-have steered cl-clear of the ter-territory oth-otherwise."
Firenze nods. "See that you pay more attention in the future. I will not always be there to intervene, and we have been very patient with you."
Neville swallows hard and stares at the ground, nodding. Firenze places a hand on Neville's shoulder and he jumps.
"Life would not be living if mistakes are not made. Learn and grow from them, as the forest does."
Neville isn't surprised in the least that that girl and the centaurs get along so well. Oh! Neville's head jerks up.
"If y-you don't mind me asking," he starts.
Firenze raises an eyebrow, and Neville forges on.
"Do you know where I can find the unicorn herd? I've been trying to make a wand and I need a core."
"Your core is closer than you think," Firenze says.
Neville sighs. At least that means the herd isn't far, then.
"You should go back to the castle," Firenze continues. "It grows late and not all of the residents of the forest are as reasonable as we centaurs are."
"Th-thanks again," Neville calls as Firenze turns and gallops away in the same direction Bane had gone.
Neville looks up at the sky, trying to ascertain the sun's position through the dense foliage. He winces. It really does seem to be getting late. But he also doesn't want to miss his chance at finding the herd.
Decision made, Neville takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, feeling for that same feeling of 'home' he'd followed to find the rowan tree.
He furrows his brow. He doesn't feel any pulling. The feeling just hovers around him.
Maybe his branch is interfering with the signal? He opens his eyes again and goes to put the branch in his bag when he realizes he's still clutching the unicorn blood. Oh, that would be interfering with the signal too: it gives off the same feeling the branch does.
Neville puts both objects away and closes his eyes again, prepared to focus. Then, his eyes snap open.
They both give off the same feeling.
Neville sinks to the ground, pulling the jar and the branch out again. What had Firenze said? He had said the core was closer than he thought. He hadn't said anything at all about the herd.
Neville looks at the moss, then to the branch; and he just knows. In his hand he holds his wand.
True, most wand cores are either hair, feather, or heartstring, but there's no rule saying it has to be one of those three. Neville is already going about this unconventionally, why not go the whole nine yards?
Now he just needs to figure out how to put it all together.
Neville sighs. That's probably going to be another month or two of research, then the actual woodwork and polishing.
He's loved exploring the forest, but now he's going to be spending the foreseeable future cooped up in his dorm. This wand had better be worth it.
Neville shakes his head. What is he talking about? Of course it'll be worth it.
Neville looks down at his branch fondly, despite the work he knows he's going to have to put into it. At this point, thanks to his idle fidgeting, it's been stripped of most of its bark, its twigs, and its leaves. Now it's just a smooth pale yellow-ish green-ish wood with some knots and streaks of bark, with more bark clinging to the wood towards what will be the base of the wand.
Neville purses his lips. He actually quite likes how it looks. It's nothing special, but it looks sturdy, and natural. Different, but good different. Maybe…
Trusting his instincts, Neville gingerly unscrews the lid to his jar and places the jar firmly on the ground. With his other hand, Neville grabs the base of the branch and gently presses the tip of it into the blood-soaked moss.
Despite the fact that it's been months since that fateful night, the blood hasn't dried at all, and the moss has remained lush and green (where it isn't glowing silver).
As Neville presses the branch in, however, the blood begins to slowly climb upwards, clinging to the branch and leaving the moss dry and brown. Neville watches in amazement as an impossible quantity of mercurial blood sinks into the wood, emphasizing its natural texture with silvery glowing lines.
Neville distantly registers a growing feeling of exhaustion, of pulling, but can't bring himself to stop whatever it is he's doing. In fact, he wouldn't know how to if he tried.
The last of the blood drains from the moss and Neville is suddenly shielding his eyes against a blinding glow as the blood sinks fully into the wood. Neville blinks a couple times, trying to clear the afterimage away from his retinas. Finally, his vision clears to the point where he can see the final result:
It looks a hell of a lot like a stick.
Neville loves it.