– CHAPTER FIVE –

The First Lesson

Harry lay on his bed and stared enviously out at the birds of prey circling the lake on the horizon. How lucky they were not to have both a terrorist group and a crazed mass murderer out for their blood. They were free to explore the roaming hills and woodland, while Harry was confined to his house-shaped prison. He knew he should be more grateful to Cornelius and Nicole; they had gone out their way to rescue him from the Dursleys. But it did not stop that dark voice whispering in his ear: you were safer and freer at Privet Drive.

Harry swung his legs off the side of the bed and, with some effort, got up to stretch. His bones clicked like Aunt Marge's after one of her marathon television sessions. Not a good sign. He cracked open the window and let the fresh breeze and the smell of freshly-mown grass wash over him. He noted that there were no Curse Breakers crawling over the front garden. As though to confirm, there was a brisk knock on the door.

'Come in,' said Harry. His voice was hoarse through disuse.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw Nicole floating in. She was radiant as ever in a flowery baby blue summer dress. She was clutching the gilded harp that normally lived by the hearth in the drawing room. At least she's enjoying herself, thought Harry mutinously.

'Here to rescue me, then?' said Harry.

A small smile played on Nicole's lips. She descended on him and attempted her ritual of trying to make Harry's hair lie flatter while he winced.

'Enough of that sarcasm, you,' she said. Her voice wasn't hoarse. 'What say we go out into the grounds? The weather-witches are saying this is the last sunny day before winter.'

'I don't think Kingsley would want to risk it; the ducks might be in league with the People's Wand.'

Nicole laughed her musical laugh and lightly smacked the back of Harry's head in admonishment. 'Kingsley and Cornelius are out on urgent Ministry business, dear.' She then leant in to whisper in his ear. Harry was glad to smell only her floral perfume; there no hint of Firewhiskey. 'And what Kingsley doesn't know can't hurt him.'

In spite of himself, Harry smiled and allowed Nicole to lead him out of his room, down the stairs and into the crisp, autumn sunlight. As they made their way towards the Great Pond, Harry searched for any sign of the Curse Breakers. In the fortnight since the "Azkaban Incident", a swarm of heavily-tattooed, bejewelled wizards had descended on Dante Cottage to strengthen its defences. They looked so effortlessly cool and were so magically skillful that curse breaking succeeded Harry's prior ambition of being an Auror.

Cornelius had decreed that he was not allowed any contact with the Curse Breakers, much to Harry's chagrin. And so, despite his best efforts to talk them out of it, Harry was locked in his room, guarded by Kingsley, whenever the Curse Breakers came around. Harry had begged Kingsley to let him watch them, and learn from them, but was met with the same response each time: "you never know who could be in league with the terrorists". Harry had to settle for reading the books on curse breaking that Nicole smuggled in for him.

They came to a grassy knoll by the banks of the glistening pond. 'This looks perfect,' said Nicole, and she gracefully took up a cross-legged position, the harp resting beside her.

Harry basked in the sunlight and the giddy thrill of being outside. Even the Azkaban guards in the distance could not burst the warm bubble that was growing inside him. On clear days such as this, he could see them, hanging in the air like sinister ghosts. Nicole simply referred to them as "those vile creatures" while Cornelius said they were "a necessary evil". All he knew was that even Kingsley was scared of them, and that was enough for him to never want to get near them.

Turning back to Nicole, he said, 'when are we going to start our lessons?' By now, this was almost a mantra.

Nicole smiled and said, 'soon, my dear, very soon.' She bent over her harp and started to play a low, soothing melody that harmoniously entwined with the songs of the birds above and the whistling of ducks travelling across the water.

Knowing he was not going to get a better answer, Harry ambled aimlessly along the banks of the Great Pond, throwing twigs he picked off the ground into the still water. He watched as the ripples glistened and spread out, disturbing the floating ducks. A magnificent pearl white swan ruffled its feathers regally. Harry knew that this was an irritable cob who often showed off for the females. But this time, it seemed to be warning off another bird, one Harry had never seen before. It was tall, thin and stood statue still in the shallow part of the water like a vigilant sentinel.

Harry crept towards the water's edge, but as he approached, a twig snapped underfoot. Quick as a flash, the bird turned its dagger-like beak towards him and retreated seamlessly into the long shadows cast by the wood beyond the pond.

Cornelius and Kingsley had both warned Harry against ever going into the wood alone. But the weeks stuck indoors made him feel reckless. This, after all, could be his last opportunity to explore until next summer. Glancing over his shoulder, he could just about make out Nicole and the harp on the other side of the pond. What Nicole doesn't know can't hurt her, thought Harry, and he stepped into the trees.

He found a a narrow trail, barely wide enough to accommodate him. Coarse, wiry branches hugged him on either side, each bearing plumes of golden leaves. The calls of the song birds overhead now completely drowned Nicole's harp.

The carpet of newly-fallen leaves crunched with every step Harry took further and further into the thicket. With each twist of the snake-like path, the canopy overhead closed further, squeezing out the last of the dappled light. The bird song seemed to die with the darkness. Harry was alone.

He knew he should turn back, but even the thought of Nicole's disappointed face did not slow him down. Something about the trees was drawing him in. It was almost as though something beyond them was calling out to him.

The ground was getting muddier and his shoes squelched as he went deeper into the darkness. With his vision impaired, his other senses heightened. He became very aware of the rustling of his robes against the branches, the prickly, itchy shrubbery and the smell of damp earth. Then, as Harry thought of turning back, the trees relented and a fork in the road opened up.

To his right was a clump of trees so dense Harry could barely see beyond the first few elderberry trees. To the left was a short path that seemed to open into a clearing. Thinking he must have come full circle, Harry headed left.

He stepped out and was almost blinded by the sunlight. As his eyes grew accustomed to it, he realised that he was at the edge of the great lake he could normally see from his bedroom. Great willow trees curtained the edges of the glittering water, and sycamore seeds rained down like a kaleidoscope of butterflies. It was one of the most beautiful sights Harry had ever seen.

With a jolt, he felt as though he was being watched. Growing in unease, he searched for would-be attackers or, more likely, Aurors looking to take him back to the house. Then he saw it. A young doe standing by the water's edge, some distance from Harry, staring straight at him. Her ears were quivering and her snout dripped with the water she had been drinking moments before.

Harry was inexplicably drawn to her and slowly, carefully approached. For long seconds that lasted half an age, the doe considered him. He could almost feel the thoughts going through her head: is this friend or foe? Foe, she finally decided, and bound off to the right into a copse.

Without thinking, Harry raced after her. There was something so familiar about the doe and he had to know what it was.

He darted through a web of branches and could make out the gracefully prancing doe far ahead. Then, as the trees thickened, and the light died, he lost her. Looking around, panting, Harry realised that he had gotten himself lost too.

Harry tried to quell the rising panic. He just had to retrace his steps. He looked all around him. Every tree looked identical. Which direction had he come from? One of the tiny paths looked vaguely familiar. Harry pulled himself together and marched forwards.

After what seemed like an hour of progress, the trees began to thin. Sunlight filtered through the canopy once more, the brambles underfoot had become healthy grass and the tall, thin trees were spaced at regular intervals. It almost looked … deliberate.

One of the trees caught Harry's eye. He was drawn to it. It was larger than those around it and had a much shorter trunk. There also seemed to be some sort of marking. For an absurd moment, Harry thought it might give directions. He went in closer until he could make it out.

The Explorers:

Abraxas Ophilius Malfoy

Henry Theodore Potter

1898

Harry stared at the names. Malfoy … and Potter?

Crack.

Harry whirled around, expecting to see the doe. But it was not the doe.

An enormous, pale-eyed, jet-black dog was padding towards him. Harry's blood froze. He could barely breath.

Numbly, Harry took a step backwards, then another. The huge dog kept advancing, waiting for the best moment to strike.

Then it all happened at once. Harry tripped backwards and reached out for one of the branches overhead to keep his balance. The branch Harry managed to grasp broke from the tree and the ground came up to meet him.

A voice yelled, 'Harry!'

The dog, which moments before was a coil ready to spring, dashed off into the woods.

Nicole descended on him with agility he would not have thought possible of her. Her grey eyes went from Harry to the tree and then to the branch he was still holding. She lifted Harry to his feet and brushed away the debris of dead leaves and dirty ground from his robes. The only sounds he could hear were her deep breaths and his own hammering heart.

Harry turned to the spot the dog had been occupying moments before. There had been something so … familiar about it.

Nicole, satisfied that Harry was safe and unmarked, looked more closely at the branch in his hand. She motioned for him to give it to her. But he moved his hand away a fraction. The branch felt comforting, like the blankets in his old cupboard after he'd had a nightmare. Nicole, however, was insistent, and prised it from his hand.

She held it up to the dying light filtering between the trees. 'Holly,' she murmured, 'about eleven inches … interesting … '

Harry stared. She had found him deep in the wood (a wood he had been strictly forbidden from entering) moments from being mauled by a rabid dog, and all she cared about was the branch. Did this mean he was not in trouble? He hardly dared to believe it; surely he was now destined to spend the rest of the year in the house?

Nicole pocketed the branch and rested a hand on Harry's shoulder. 'I was sure you would favour willow,' she said, looking at him intently, 'like your mother.'

Harry did not trust himself to speak, despite his growing confusion. Kingsley had told him that guilty suspects always talked their way into trouble. Best not to say anything.

Nicole Apparated them back to the Great Pond and collected the harp. She then looked at Harry expectantly.

'I … didn't mean to go into the woods,' Harry muttered, addressing his feet. 'I was just curious. Sorry.'

'Naturally,' said Nicole. Harry looked up and was amazed to find her smiling.

'You mean,' he said, struggling to believe it, 'I'm not in trouble?'

'Take my arm, Harry,' she said. Harry did as he was told and they began to slowly meander back to the house. 'You remember in Diagon Alley, when I pointed out Ollivanders?'

Harry tried to remember, but all he could recall was the attack. 'The wand maker,' she prompted. Harry nodded as a narrow, shabby building came to mind. 'Almost every wand in this country is made by Ollivander. But in some wizarding cultures, the art of constructing one's own wand is a key part of one's education in the magical arts.'

They came to the house and went into the drawing room. Nicole placed the harp back in its usual resting place, by the roaring fire. 'Honker,' called Nicole. Honker appeared almost immediately, wearing a green-stained tea cosy.

'Yes, mistress?' squeaked Honker, bowing low.

'Tell Ollivander that I require his presence, and to bring only his Holly wands. Eleven inches. Then prepare some drinks; we will receive him here.'

'As you say, mistress.'

Honker bowed again before vanishing. Harry buzzed with excitement. Was he getting a wand?

Nicole sat on the tartan sofa closest to the fire, and Harry followed suit. While he sank comfortably into it, Nicole, regal as ever, seemed to almost float above it.

'I encountered one of these wand-making cultures when I lived in Burkina Faso,' she said, as though she had not spoken to Honker. 'They have no wandmakers there. Instead, when witches and wizards reach their magical maturity, they are sent out into the savanna to find their wands.' In one fluid movement, she raised her wand and said, 'Accio album.'

A black photo book hurtled towards them seconds later and Nicole deftly caught it. She seemed to know it well, for she immediately turned to the page she wanted to show him. The black and white photo showed a young, black boy, not much older than Harry, saying goodbye to his weepy mother. He gathered his white, toga-like robes around himself and, head held high, stalked out into the endless plains ahead of him, armed only with a spear.

The photo on the next page caught his eye. A younger Nicole was stood outside a straw hut wearing the kind of shabby robes that the older Nicole would have burned. While her youth made her even more beautiful than she was now, she had dark rings around her eyes and a haunted look about her. Behind her, a tall, handsome man with pale skin and dark hair was pacing, lost in his own thoughts. Before Harry could look closer, Nicole snapped the album shut.

'Who was that?' asked Harry.

Nicole stared into the fire and, for a moment, wore the same haunted look she had in the photo. 'Nobody … an old friend.'

Her tone made it clear that she did not want to discuss him. Harry tried a different tact. 'What were you doing in Burkina Faso?'

She still was not looking at him. A long silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire. Finally, she said, 'In those days, it was customary for witches and wizards to spend a year travelling the world.' There was something in the way she said it that made Harry doubt the story, but he did not push his luck.

'Isn't it dangerous,' said Harry, 'sending kids out into the wild unprotected?'

Nicole looked at Harry as though she had forgotten he was there. 'Oh, yes, quite dangerous. Many children are never seen again. But it is a rite of passage, you see. The children must prove that they are worthy to wield magic. Do you know why I am telling you this?'

It was Harry's turn to stare into the fire as he wracked his brain for an answer. Then it hit him. 'Because … you wanted me to sneak off to the woods. You wanted me to find my wand.'

Nicole ruffled his hair. 'Exactly right, Harry.'

'But … I didn't find my wand at all,' said Harry, 'I just got lost.'

Nicole took the branch from her pocket and handed it to Harry. 'There was an array of wand trees in the wood,' she said. 'Equally, there were trees in there that have no magical properties. But you chose this branch, this wand.' She raised her head and smiled at something behind Harry. 'Or rather, I should say, the wand chose you.'

'Quite right, Mrs Fudge,' said a soft voice.

Harry started and looked for the owner of the voice. An old man was standing at the entrance of the drawing room. Beside him, Honker said, 'Honker is proud to present Mr Ollivander, if it pleases the master and mistress.'

'It does please me,' said Nicole, standing up.

Honker and the pale-eyed man looked expectantly at Harry. 'Err … yeah, me too,' said Harry, and stood up in mimicry of Nicole.

Only then did Mr Ollivander hobble into the room while Honker disappeared with a crack. He grasped Nicole's hands in his and bowed respectfully. 'Mrs Fudge. Yew and dragon heartstring, ten inches as I recall.' It was not a question.

'Correct,' said Nicole, smiling.

'Yes, one of my more powerful wands.' He moved closer to Harry. 'I'm seeing you earlier than I had expected, Harry Potter. You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in my shop buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches. Long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charms work. Mrs Fudge was of the opinion that you might favour the same, of course.'

Mr Ollivander moved closer to Harry. He affixed his silvery, unblinking eyes on the branch in Harry's hand. 'But perhaps not,' he said.

Mr Ollivander came so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.

'And that's where … '

Mr Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger.

'I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it,' he said softly. 'Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand. Very powerful, and in the wrong hands … Well, if I'd have known what that wand was going out into the world to do … '

To Harry's relief, Nicole said, 'can I offer you a drink, Mr Ollivander? I believe you are partial to elf-made wine?'

'Indeed I am. But I'm afraid this is my last appointment of the day, and I have a social engagement to attend to. Quite a shame.'

Mr Ollivander took the branch from Harry's hand and examined it closely in the light of the fire. 'You are sure it chose him?' he said sharply, addressing Nicole 'It can be difficult to tell.'

'I am certain,' said Nicole.

'Very well,' said Mr Ollivander, though there was a hint of disapproval in his voice. He took out his wand and traced a sweeping arc with it. A pile of dusty boxes materialised by the fire. 'All eleven inches, all Holly.'

Mr Ollivander rummaged around the pile and pulled out a relatively pristine box. 'Try this one. Dragon heartstring. Powerful and unyielding. Just give it a wave.'

Harry took the wand and, feeling foolish, waved it around a bit, but Mr Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

'Definitely not. Unicorn hair. Quite whippy. Try - '

Harry tried - but he had hardly raised his wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr Ollivander.

'No, no - here, thestral tail hair. Very rare. Quite flexible.'

Harry tried. And tried. He was getting a sinking feeling; what if he was a Squib? Mr Ollivander, however, seemed to get more and more excited. 'My dear,' he said, turning to Nicole, 'I wonder if we should widen the search parameters. I would be able to return in the morning with a healthier supply.'

'No,' said Nicole, 'let him try the last wand.'

'This is a most uncommon wand - I wonder, now - yes, let's try it. Holly and phoenix feather. Nice and supple.'

Harry took the wand, hoping with all his might that something would happen. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of green and silver sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of lights on the wall. Nicole clapped and Mr Ollivander cried, 'Oh, bravo! Yes indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well … how curious … how very curious … '

'Sorry,' said Harry, 'but what's curious?'

Mr Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.

'I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother - why, its brother gave you that scar.'

Harry shuddered and Nicole placed a protective hand on Harry's shoulder.

'Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember … I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter … After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things - terrible, yes, but great.'

Nicole delved into the pocket of her summer dress and produced a bag of coins. 'There's a little extra in there,' she said, 'to thank you for your … discretion.'

As he watched Nicole lead a bowing Mr Ollivander away, Harry couldn't decide if he like Mr Ollivander too much. He looked down at his wand, brother of the wand that had killed his parents, and wondered what great things it would go out and do.

AN: This will be the last chapter I post under this alias. The remainder of the story will be posted under my main account, Master Slytherin. A link to it can be found on my profile page. To avoid falling foul of the website rules, I will be removing this story from here and posting it to my main account in the coming days. Many thanks.