The Prince's Secret

A Swap

Christmas at Hogwarts had long passed, and the weather was getting colder and colder. Leaving bed every day had become a struggle, and everyone fought for the spots in the common room closest to the fire. It was hard to believe that Quidditch practice still took place on Hogwart's frozen grounds. Daphne, Blaise and Leilla would sometimes sit on top of the North tower where they had a good view on the Quidditch pitch without having to go outside.

Blaise bore them to death with his constant Quidditch talk – he wanted nothing more than to be on the Slytherin team one day. His preferred position was Chaser, and he was planning to take part in try-outs for the team next year.

Hogwart's in winter was dark and gloomy. The cozy Chrismas decorations had disappeared, and hardly any students spent time in the hallways or on the grounds. They mostly huddled in the Great Hall or at the library. Every time she was there, Leilla tried to borrow Modern Magical History, but it seemed like the book was in demand as there was never a single available copy.

It was now mid-February, and Slytherins were having breakfast in the Great Hall. Leilla had had a bad morning – she overslept and got dressed in a hurry. When she looked down at her feet she realised she was wearing two different socks. Today was destined to go badly – she could feel it.

To make things worse, their first class of the morning was Transfiguration, and Professor McGonagall was going to hand out the essays they'd written last week. It was the most difficult piece of homework she had given them so far, and Leilla was worried she would get her first zero of the year. Of course, when she told her friends about it at breakfast, she was immediately reminded that she had never got a single assignment or spell wrong in Transfiguration so far.

'Seriously, Leilla,' said Daphne, 'McGonagall likes you so much that if she was a Sorting Hat she'd put you straight into Gryffindor.'

The Transfiguration classroom was located by the Middle Courtyard and the open-air corridor leading up to it was exceptionally freezing. As usual, Professor McGonagall was standing by her lecturn, surveying them from behind her thin glasses. She announced that they would practice turning scarabs into quills today, which was bound to come up at their final exam.

'Mister Crabbe,' she said, 'why don't you show us what you've learnt in the past month?'

Leilla heard Crabbe gulp loudly behind her – he dreaded Transfiguration. To no one's surprise, his scarab was soon running across the classroom with no intention of having itself transfigured into anything even remotely resembling a quill. McGonagall looked at him sternly, pursing her lips.

'Miss Green,' she said, turning to Leilla. 'Please, show your friend how to properly apply the Transfiguration formula.'

Leilla nodded politely and reached into her inside pocket for her wand. As soon as she touched it, however, she felt something wasn't right. She pulled it out and her heart sank – she was holding the red wand she took from Aunt Isabel's bedroom. She opened her mouth mutely and stared at McGonagall, who stared back questioningly.

'Is there a problem?'

'I—'

She had no idea how she could have mistaken the two wands for each other. It was true – she rummaged through her trunk very hurriedly this morning and was half asleep when she walked out of the dormitory, but she couldn't believe that she had actually managed to grab the wrong wand!

Her hand shook slightly as she pointed at the scarab. Would the wand backfire? Would it explode violently and rip her hand out?

She felt everyone's eyes on her and prayed that Daphne – who sat next to her – wasn't familiar enough with her old wand to notice the difference. She focused hard; her only hope now was to concentrate and say the incantation with confidence.

'Scribblifors,' she said, as clearly as she could. To her utter shock, the scarab spun around, elongated, sprouted feathers, and then turned itself into a perfectly immobile quill. Leilla looked at Professor McGonagall with a smile of relief; she couldn't believe the wand had worked.

Professor McGonagall found nothing exceptional in her performance since Leilla was one of the best students in class and had had no trouble in the past. She awarded Slytherin three points and proceeded with the topic for the day.

Leilla stared at the red wand beneath the table, running her fingers across its handle. 'It worked', she thought, 'someone else's wand worked'.

Leilla wasn't sure if she should tell Blaise and Daphne about what happened. The three of them were very close, but she had never shared any of her secrets with them. They had told her quite a lot about their lives but knew almost nothing about hers. She realised, however, that sooner or later they were bound to notice her new wand's unusual colour.

The red wand still felt unfamiliar. Even holding it somehow felt wrong. And to make matters worse – now she wasn't sure which of the two wands she should be using. Hers – pine and unicorn hair – worked perfectly fine. It was the wand that chose her at Diagon Alley and its maker, Ollivander, said it was the right one for her. Was she to abandon it? The red wand, for some reason, obeyed her. By the end of the week, it hadn't failed her once. Thinking about it had begun to eat her up inside, so she finally caved and told Daphne and Blaise.

'Whose wand is it then?' asked Daphne, as they sat on top of the North Tower on a Thursday afternoon.

'That's the thing,' said Leilla. 'I have no idea.'

Blaise thought hard.

'Maybe it was your grandmother's? My mum uses her mother's wand. Sometimes wands can be inherited, you know? They can run in a family.'

Leilla felt a sting in her chest. The wand could very well have belonged to Aunt Isabel's mother, but as far as Leilla knew – she wasn't related to her at all. She desperately wanted to tell Blaise and Daphne about it but knew that Snape would never allow it.

'It must be your grandma's,' said Daphne, as though the matter had been settled. 'Just ask your mum – I'm sure she'll tell you. Why don't you write to her? You can use my owl.'