The Darkwood Wand

Fear

This longer, very nerdy chapter will provide some answers about the Vanishing Spell, but spark more questions, too. The title seems appropriate because every person in this chapter faces his or her fears in some way.

Thank you all again for your comments and kudos—every thought is welcome and often readers see things that I myself miss in the text.

Love, Thebe

Draco couldn't believe he was heading to Classroom C again. His last tryst there with Vane seemed a lifetime ago, when he lived an easy life with an easier witch and had felt utterly in command. Now every step Draco took felt heavy: He knew he was dragging his feet like a fucking peasant and grinding his teeth as he walked. And his posture ... Mother would be appalled.

He entered the third-floor corridor, hoping to be discreet, and so of course walked straight into a pack of First-Year Slytherins. Draco put on his most ferocious glare, but the little fiends just smiled up at him. One had a yellow Pygmy Puff on his head.

"Mr. Malfoy!"

"It's Mr. Malfoy!"

"Could you do another trick, please, Mr. Malfoy?" a girl asked.

The checkered wand promptly leaped out of Draco's suit coat pocket and spun like a top, emitting pink sparks this time. The First Years ooohed and clapped their hands.

"Stop that right now!" Draco yelled, but the wand danced backward with a jaunty sway. The children giggled. Draco bent to snatch it up, his fingers missing the wand by inches, and it rolled behind him.

"I said stop!" he snarled. The checkered wand rolled into the group, disappearing among their legs. "Get out of there!"

The First Years squealed and hopped about as the wand tapped their legs. Draco folded his arms.

"There's a snake wand in my room that does not enjoy your tricks," he hissed.

The black-and-white wand rolled up to Draco's feet. Draco held out his hand and the wand leaped into his grasp.

The children applauded. Draco gave them all another glare, which had no effect whatsoever, and continued down the corridor. Merlin, he missed his hawthorn. So it had fought him a bit. At least it didn't dance.

He should be in the library with that little Ravenclaw right now, Draco grumbled silently as he opened the door to Classroom C. He'd spent most of lunch drawing up a Numerology chart riddled with errors, and under his bed was a neglected magical seedling that would surely catch her interest. Both excellent strategies and Draco couldn't execute either one because he had to research Vanishing Spells with Granger. He had no idea why she kept turning up in his fucking bed; the Astrarium clock shouldn't even matter because he'd broken the spell. It was broken. Yet there she was, night after night, wrecking his sleep, his body and his mind ...

The former DADA room was dark and shadowy, its only light the October half-moon shining through the single wide window. Draco sank into a chair, grateful that Granger hadn't arrived yet. The mirrored doors on the wardrobe in the corner reflected his drawn, colorless face and dark-ringed eyes. He looked terrible. Clearly he'd gone mad. Insanity ran in the Black family after all. His mother with her frog guts, Bellatrix, Sirius, that Auror daughter of Andromeda's who married that old werewolf—all mad.

Well, he wasn't the only one. The war had turned Granger mad as well, and how bad was it that Draco found that rather alluring? He'd woken in the middle of the night to her lips brushing his chest and he'd almost fainted from the shock. She'd pleaded for danger in that breathy voice and at that moment he would have given anything—anything—to be that danger for her.