Timidly, the Hufflepuff stared at the small plastic box for a while, clutching desperately at her '11 and three quarter birch wood with a unicorn hair core' wand. It was resting safely in her hip holster, where it had been ever since Professor Lawson bestowed that helpful device last year. But even before that, the carefully polished wand had been by her side or in her grasp at all times.

This was her wand! This was what made Wesley a witch- what proved her existance and importance. It was her best friend, and she didn't want to give it up. Without it, she felt naked.

But she trusted Professor Bunbury; no matter how intimidating the older woman was with her heels (these ones looking exspecially dangerous) and pink, she was a teacher. She was only looking out for her student's safety, right? If Wesley couldn't trust the red-haired Herbology professor, she couldn't trust anyone.

Face crumpled in broken helplessness, the tiny girl pulled out her wand, right hand crossing correctly to her left hip, and stood on her tiptoes, reaching her arm high in order to place it safely in the box.

"Bye-bye," she whispered to the wand, and then, giving a small, shaky smile to Professor Bunburry, the Hufflepuff walked away, head hanging low, to where the other students where sitting.