The Darkwood Wand

Xylomancy

It was a good thing Draco felt marginally better rested, for Monday was very trying. He lingered outside the Great Hall before breakfast, hoping for a discreet word with Granger or Vane, but neither would cooperate. Vane stuck close to her giggling friends and refused to enter any alcoves. Granger waited until the last minute to show, entering the hall minutes after Draco finally joined the Slytherin table.

From a distance, she appeared entirely unaffected by recent events, strolling in with Longbottom, who was carrying a 10-foot Cringing Vine. Granger's hair looked like it had exploded out the top of her head and she wore a pink jumper, denim skirt and purple-and-white-striped tights. (Draco's hand tightened on his teacup: For Salazar's sake, did the woman have to dress like a freed house elf?)

Draco, on the other hand, was still walking carefully, with a spreading bruise on his forehead and a slightly swollen nose. He pushed away his plate: How could he eat when he was one frizzy hair away from expulsion and Azkaban? His whole future depended on two Gryffindor witches and neither one would look at him.

He eyed the Teacher's Table, half-expecting to see McGonagall stand and denounce him: Kidnapper! Rapist! Criminal! Death Eater! But the Headmistress just spooned up her porridge and chatted with Flitwick. A cool one, that old bird. Playing with her food before she ate it. Draco turned his gaze back to the lions' table, where a certain bushy topnot popped out from behind an open book.

"I can help you with that little swot, Drakey," said a hoarse voice beside him. Fuck, Tennant made his skin crawl.

"You want that filth? Chase her yourself." Draco's voice was cold.

"Maybe I will. I've heard a lot about that one. Hermione Granger." Tennant tilted his head of sandy hair and crunched his bacon. He lowered his voice to a dark rumble. "You can have a turn when I'm through."

"Fuck that," Draco snapped, standing.

"Oh, I will."

Draco left the Great Hall without another word, sending students scattering. Usually he enjoyed the gasps and squeaks and the crash of overturned benches as he passed, but people like Tennant and Granger always took the fun out of life. The images his roommate had placed in Draco's head made him want to punch stone walls.

He climbed staircase after staircase toward the owlry, hoping to get a message to Mother before his first class. There was always a chance he wouldn't be expelled, and if not, he needed a wand. Surely the Manor had a few lying about.

The circular tower was freezing, with nests lining the stone walls, and Draco couldn't help flinching as owls swooped in and out of the open windows, talons extended at the perfect angle to rip his face off. He crossed the straw-covered floor, rodent skeletons crunching under his polished shoes, and the stench of owl droppings made him gag.

The round orange eyes of Draco's owl Merc tracked his approach with disdain. Merc was a singularly beautiful Eurasian eagle owl, large and tawny with lush feathers and long ear tufts. He was also the nastiest, worst-tempered animal Draco had ever known (aside from that murderous Hippogriff and Granger's hellcat). Draco had been terrified of Merc in his younger years, and even now his heart rate increased as he approached his familiar.

"Down, Merc," Draco commanded, pointing to a nearby perch. He wasn't coming any closer to the nests. Merc just ruffled his feathers. "Now."

Merc flew to the perch with an insolent hoot, spinning its head and refusing to look at him.

"Deliver this immediately." Draco produced a tightly wound scroll.

One would think owls incapable of sneering, since they didn't have lips, but Merc managed it.