The Secret of Riddles

Chapter 6: Forms of Energy

"You'd imagine that at almost 40 years old we would be able to know things by now, but no. We are still kept in the dark about certain things," Hermione was saying as they shared tea in the Burrow's kitchen. Molly Weasley was sitting quietly at the table, gauging each person's reaction to their meeting with Professor McGonagall. Ginny was intently listening to Hermione's rant. Harry was contemplating his tea. Ron was contemplating the biscuits he was unable to reach.

"My only issue, Hermione," Mr. Weasley interjected from the sink as he rinsed out his own cup, "was that they told you at all. You have to realize that all this must be extremely delicate and that even telling you this was a little dangerous. You lot are not known for your ability to stay in the dark after all."

Ron looked up at this. "He's got a point you know."

"I know," said Hermione, exasperated. "It is just very distressing. We are supposed to stay ready, yet we have no idea what we are supposed to stay ready for!"

There was a noise from out by the gate and moments later George opened the door, a rather put upon looking Angelina following behind. "Well," George said at the sight of them. "Quite the party we have here." He smiled at each of them, but the happy gesture died when he reached Hermione. "Did Ron behave like a right git again?"

"This time it was not me," Ron answered, then catching the look Angelina was giving her husband added, "if I knew any better I'd say that you have been acting like a right git, if Angelina's face is any indication."

George flashed a smile at her and replied, "Harmless joke, she just didn't like it much."

"I wasn't aware that dying my entire laundry load the color of that boogey flavored bean was a joke I was supposed to enjoy. Especially when it doesn't go back to normal for three days."

"So they actually work?" inquired Ron, reaching for a biscuit nonchalantly, his arm narrowly missing Hermione's cup of tea, nearly knocking over a stack of papers right next to the dish. When his fingertips met air Hermione grabbed one for him and dropped it on the small plate in front of him, shaking her head as she did so. Ron swore he heard her signature 'honestly' muttered as she grabbed her cup and took a sip. "Thanks, 'Mione."

Hermione rolled her eyes in response and directed one of those 'my husband' sighs at Ginny, who only nodded in agreement and understanding. Harry, for his part entertained Ron with an exaggerated imitation and finished with an exasperated, "Men..." Earning him a smack on the arm from Ginny.

"So what is going on then?" George asked taking a seat at the table, while Angelina presumably went in search of Mrs. Weasley.

"We're being kept in the dark... again," said Hermione. "I'm Head of Magical Law Enforcement, for Merlin's sake! I should be allowed to know something that is of such importance!"

"This doesn't affect me at all in that case now does it, Hermione?" Harry asked calmly, a look of quiet smugness seeping from a small smile that played on his lips.

"We all know you're the youngest Head of the Auror Department ever, Harry. How could we forget about it after all the missed family dinners when you were off doing who knows what in who knows where," Hermione retorted with a huff. "All this is really making me more upset than I wanted to be after hearing the heathens got into trouble."

"'Mione..."

"Think about it, Ron, our Rosie getting into trouble the same night we are once again treated like bloody first years..."

"Hermione..."

"It's making me so mad that I..."

"HERMIONE!" Ron finally shouted. Effectively silencing his wife and shocking the rest of them as well. "Calm down."

Hermione, to everyone's amazement, gave a curt nod before sipping on her tea.

"I obviously don't want to know anymore details," George announced before turning to his father. "How has it been at the ministry, Dad? What's the name of that crazy wizard in your department that kept selling you those... spurt plegs... in exchange for a Sickle or two?"

Harry looked down at his hands, not hearing the rest of George's turn to the conversation as he began to slowly study the lines that crossed over his palms. The swirls that covered his fingertips and the faint scars that read I must not tell lies etched across the back of one. Invisible to those who didn't know to look for it, but to him sometimes they felt like they had the first days, red and clear as could be.

I must not tell lies.

"Harry, did you say something?"

Startled, Harry looked up at those around him, lines forming between their brows as each set of eyes probed into his own green ones. "I..."

"Umbridge isn't around at all, Harry," Ginny said almost too low for the others' ears. She reached for his hands and grasped them firmly, giving each a squeeze as her eyes looked deep into his, warmth spreading from where her skin touched his.

"I know," began Harry as his eyes dropped to the intertwined hands, "but yet, someone is lying. I don't even... know her name. There's this girl I've been seeing visions of. Like I was saying to McGonagall. I don't know her name. I don't know who she is, but she must be important, and for some reason I believe she is lying or hiding something or somethings." He gave Ginny's hands a gentle squeeze before lifting his eyes and looking around at them all.

I must not tell lies, Harry.

Harry shuddered as if a cold breeze had ran completely along his spine as the words reverberated around his head. I must not tell lies, Harry... I mustn't... I cannot lie to you... but I do...

"Harry?"

A small warmth touched his face, soft feathers trailing their way across his cheek, becoming firmer as the assailants ran through his untidy and greying hair. Harry's vision went from black to light as he opened the eyes he hadn't realized he had closed. He was sitting in a highchair in a kitched bathed in yellow warmth. The slight breeze from the open window caressed his face and lifted the ends of his jet black hair off his forehead. There were two women in the room, one was at the sink, in the light her red hair was set ablaze. The other stood by her, dark hair barely reaching to her pale shoulders. She said something to the red-head before walking over to Harry and lifting him from where he sat. She felt steady and sure underneath him, small and more like a girl than a grown woman, not as tall as the red-head seemed for sure, but sturdy, strong, protective just the same. As if her size had no correlation with her ability to fight.

His cheek pressed against the girl's, heat radiated off her steadily, warming him from the outside in, or was it the inside out? Being close to her was like standing in the midst of a fire, but instead of an unbearable heat it was more like the calming warmth of water. Burning and soothing all at once. Harry recalled something he had learned in Muggle primary school - heat is a form of energy.

I must not tell lies, my dear Harry...

But oh, how I would tell them to you...

~

"Alex! Are you ever cold?" a rough Scottish brogue rang out across the pitch. Thin, white flakes were cascading down from the colorless sky and swirled in the harsh wind chill. While the speaker was bundled up as much as possible under her gold and scarlet uniform, along with all others except for the girl she was shouting at.

The small dark haired girl flew lightning fast over to the Scot. "What is it, Minerva?"

Minerva now got the full look at the tiny second year, who had joined the team the previous year when their originial Seeker had been injured and quit. Alex hadn't bothered to try out for the team as first years generally weren't allowed, but an exception was made when everyone noticed her natural skill and grace atop a broom in the class and on the pitch. Especially when the match against Slytherin was within a week of the original Seeker's resignation. "You must be freezing!" Minerva exclaimed at the girl. "Alexis, honestly..."

"I'm fine," assured Alexis with a small smile. If Minerva didn't know better she would've thought that the girl was an average, sheepish thing. However, one doesn't think that when there was rumors and truths running about the school.

As Alexis made to move away, Minerva grabbed her arm to hold her in place and to her utter amazement she felt as though she had placed her hand over one of those blue flames they had learned to make in classes. Warmth spread throughout her fingertips and into her soul, suddenly Minerva was hot under all her layers, burning, boiling... sweating, under her clothes from the intense heat.

A light flashed in Alexis' eyes as suddenly that warmth was removed and Minerva became colder than before. "What..." began Minerva, not grasping for adjectives to describe what she had just felt. She stuttered for a few more seconds before Alexis removed her arm from her captain's grip.

"It was nothing, I'm not cold." The voice was even and sounded much like Professor Binns'. No inflections or color... it just was... and the now wide-eyed and open-mouthed girl didn't question further.

Alexis flew away and continued with the practice, catching and releasing multiple times the small golden ball that flew at a much faster pace than what she would be playing with in actual matches in order to challenge her and improve her time.

When their captain finally called practice, they each trudged back to the changing room. Peeling away her layers of clothing, Minerva glanced in Alexis' direction and noticed she had already removed and dried the few layers she had placed to protect her body from the elements. The small girl had her back turned from the rest of them as she pulled on her long-sleeved grey vest over her white button down. Her dark hair shown pure black from the beads that had hit her outside, the dark waves reached to her waist, swirling into perfect curls in some places.

After she had finished dressing and such, Alexis grabbed her bag and walked towards Minerva to leave the room and return to the castle. "Hold on, Alexis!"

She stopped, pivotting on her toes to look at Minerva, who was hastily finishing her dressing, grabbing her own bag before smiling at Alexis. "We can walk back to the common room together."

In return she received a small smile and slight downward movement of the smaller girl's head. The two began their slow return to the warmth of the castle as the wind used trees for lips, a quiet high pitched sound resulting.

"Alexis, why don't you wear your hair shorter?" Minerva began casually, smiling kindly. "It might make your time even faster and also help the next time a Slytherin tugs on your hair as you're going for the snitch."

"I don't want it shaved," the girl said quickly, her heart beginning to flutter.

"I didn't say shaved -"

"I don't want it shorter. I like it long. I like it." Alexis clutched the small book in her arms tighter to her body than she already was.

"Alright," Minerva began, "I was only suggesting..."

"Just forget it, it's nothing." With that final comment Alexis began moving her legs more quickly, lengthening the distance between the two girls until she had put herself a good fifty feet in front of Minerva. By the time the latter had reached the door to the castle, she had no idea where the smaller girl had gone.

~

"I remember every wand I've ever sold," Ollivander said to his son. "The only wand ever known to contain a thestral tail hair is the..."

"Elder wand," finished the younger Ollivander.

The older man chuckled slightly. "That, however, isn't true." A smile spread across his face as a glint appeared in his eyes.

His son's brows pulled together. "What do you mean, father?"

"I remember every wand I ever sold... so many years ago a young witch came in here to buy her wand before she went off for her first year at Hogwarts. A peculiar child. I began with the wands that should have chosen her from my thinking. I ended with the wands that I never thought would..."

"And that was the one that picked her?"

"No."

"No?" the son asked, his voice rising slightly. "But you didn't..."

"Let her leave without one? No, my dear boy. I had her try every single wand in the shop. Hours, my boy, hours were spent. Every combination imaginable I had tried. Unyielding, pliable, swishy, supple... everything. Charms, transfiguration, those prone for darker magic, those to defend against it, I tried them all. None were right for her.

"So I brought her to the back room where all different types of elements were. Different woods and my three favorite cores, all picked from different creatures, some kind, some intelligent, some stubborn, every different kind. I told her to place her hand palm up and will for the right two to come together. Personally I doubted this would work, but I was desperate and running out of ideas. Suddenly, however, a piece of birch flew to her open palm. This one I remembered collecting. It was the lone one I had never the heart to use before. The tree had survived a great fire, and had stood lonely for decades, at least that's what I was told. When I had taken from it, I felt something. It was as if the tree had touched my very soul. The poor thing was greatly scarred and neglected, yet it stood strong. I told her this. A light brightened in her eyes as she confessed she'd seen many a fire, many a death... many a burning flesh. Exactly that way.

"Naturally I began to think. I asked her once again to try willing the right core to her but none came."

"None?"

"None."

"Then how did you make her a wand?" Ollivander's son inquired running his hands along his own wand gently. How easy it had been to find his own wand compared to that poor girl. She must have thought she'd never find one.

"I found out the girl was an orphan. She was alone in the shop that day, in Diagon Alley actually. No one had stayed with her for the final task of buying a wand. She confessed her fears of not finding one now, what if she was a freak? I can still hear the smallness in her voice that had been absent when she first entered the shop. Her brilliant blue eyes had stared at me, they had grown large and round. It was then that something strange happened. She turned her head to the door and stared at the seemingly blank space before walking over and plucking something from the area. When she returned she held up whatever it was supposed to be and I asked her what it was I was supposed to see. She looked at me and inquired, 'You didn't see him?' Of course I asked who 'him' was. She told me that a black skeletal horse had come to give her a hair.

"I placed my hand out and her warm fingers placed what felt like a long, coarse, thick string in my hand. Only, I couldn't even see it. A thestral had come to give her a hair."

"You must be joking, father," the son said with a barking laugh. "Thestrals don't just come 'round giving out hairs..."

"No, they don't, my boy..."

The somber look on his father's face silenced any laughter he still had in him.

"I made her wand. Birch and thestral hair. thirteen inches long, strong and unyielding, tempermental, loyal... an interesting wand for there was a soft quality, an emotional element... from the tree I imagine. When I handed it to her and asked for her to give it a wave..."

"Father?"

"A warmth spread throughout the entire shop. I felt it ignite under my very skin. The entirety of Diagon Alley felt the warmth. It was like a microexplosion had occurred. Only there was no devistation. There was only heat and warmth... this feeling of a greater energy. The minute her hand grasped onto it. When she did wave it the entire shop began to glow and it was like being in a wonderfully golden and sun-drenched room... the shop was filled to the brim with this perfect warmth. I could feel it for days after she left. Those who walked in could see and feel it. This energy..."

"Father?"

"I remember every wand I ever sold... Birch and thestral hair, thirteen inches, powerful, strong, unyielding, tempermental, loyal, soft, emotional... that was her wand..."

"Whose wand, father?"

A small smile played on the older Ollivander's lips. "No one's, my lad, no one's..."

~

"Harry?"

"Harry!"

"Ron, get a glass of water."

"Aw, why do I always have to..."

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!"

"Alright..."

"Harry, love, can you hear me?" a sweet voice questioned somewhere above him and to the right.

"His eye just twitched towards you, Ginny," another female voice came, "he's awake."

"Oh, thank goodness, Harry, please, open your eyes for me," Ginny said, the same feathery warmth ran across his face. Ginny's fingers. He felt his cheeks move as a smile spread across his face.

"Gin..."

"Oh, Harry, we were so frightened... you just fainted," she said as she trailed warmth down his face.

"It was so warm, Ginny..."

"What was, Harry?" Her voice had gained a slight edge.

"The memory, her holding me, as a baby," Harry replied as his green eyes fluttered open, all he could make out were blurred, fuzzy shapes meant to be people.

Ginny replaced his glasses on his face and each blob became a solid and distinguishable person. "Who? Your mother?"

"No. The girl."

I remember every wand I ever sold, Mr. Potter... "I want to see Ollivander," said Harry suddenly, gratefully accepting the glass his best friend offered him, taking a gulp of ice cold water. "I want to see him now."

"Now?"

"Now."

"But, Harry..." Hermione spoke this time.

"I know, he retired years ago..."

"Who's to know he hasn't died, mate," Ron added slowly, quietly.

"Besides," Hermione said, "how do you know the girl got her wand from him?"

"It's worth a shot, isn't it?"

"Harry..."

"No, Gin, I have to know... she knew my mum and probably my dad too."

~

Birch and thestral hair, thirteen inches... the wand felt warm against my fingertips as I trailed them along its length. "Powerful, strong, unyielding, tempermental, loyal, soft, emotional, my dear... quite the wand you've gotten for yourself."

"Is there anything wrong with it?" I asked in a small voice that was very unlike the one I usually used.

"Wrong with it? My dear, there is never anything wrong with the perfect wand that chooses you..."

"But, Mr. Ollivander, you just said..."

"It is curious, very curious, such a wand is more than rare, it is one of a kind, and very powerful. We should expect great things from you, my dear, great things."

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"What is it good for?"

"That is complicated..."

"Why?" My voice was picking up momentum and power, becoming more of what I was used to hearing come forth from my lips.

"It is good for, everything, at least that is how it seems," said the old man, his voice wavering at the last part.

The paleness of the wood shone in the dark as the natural lights found it within my grasp. There was glow coming from within the wand as well. There was nothing wrong with my wand, so why did I still marvel at its uniqueness?

The wood that had survived a fire, survived the burn...

"Tommy! I got it! My wand!"

"Brilliant, Lexi." A smile played on his thin lips. He was handsome, black hair, dark eyes... eyes that used to resemble mine so much had changed. Aside from my blue and his always dark, we used to have similar appearance there, but while mine had stayed larger, his had grown harder.

I ran my fingers through my own dark locks, loving the feel of it being there... "It took forever. We tried every wand, Tommy..."

"Oh, come now, not every wand," he replied.

"Yes, every wand. He had to make me my own. It's completely unique, none other even come close," I said, smiling as I take the box from my other packages and remove it from its ribboned wrappings. The wand was warm naturally. Even reaching for it I had felt that, but in my grasp it became even warmer.

"What's it made of?"

"Birch," I replied, "and thestral hair... thirteen inches."

He smiled at my silliness, but I was finally thrilled. No more holding his yew wand carefully, feeling its power and knowing that it didn't feel quite right... waiting for a wand all my own.

MY wand...