9. Disapparate
She obtained a wand, apple wood with an ivy handle. The man called Ollivander had asked her what trees she felt were right. His eyes had glittered strangely at each choice. It had a phoenix feather core, apparently from a deceased phoenix named Fawkes. She loved it. Because it was shorter than the others, Ron had joked that she had a midget wand but Ollivander had said cryptically, “Purer magic needs no filter. This wand is an indication of her spirit.” She thought it was all a bit corny, but the wand felt right. It also still smelt slightly of apple and ivy. “The wood polish is specially made from those two trees’ extract oils.” He had said in the most reasonable sentence yet. Taking her aside he said in a confidential tone, “I made Severus’ wand myself. I believe you. Believe in yourself.” The old man tottered off, still limping slightly from the torture he’d undergone at Malfoy Manor. Walking down to the beach behind him, she watched him Disapparate, to where she did not know. She settled onto a rock shaped like a stool and watched the setting Sun disappear into the grey blue waves. She heard footsteps. |