True Colours, Part 8

After what I’d been through, one would think I’d want to latch on to any chance for normality and returning to what passed for my life.

You’d think, anyway.

I had absolutely no interest in attending classes the next day. Truth be told, they were all well into the term and I’d have no idea how to catch up.

While my books and school supplies were still snug in my trunk, I didn’t have a wand, either. Fortunately, Professor, er, Headmistress McGonagall had already thought of that. I awoke shortly before noon when a House Elf cleared it’s throat rather noisily in my dormitory.

I looked around rather groggily. Everyone else was long gone, either they decided to let me have a lie in, or they just couldn’t wake me. The way I felt, it was probably all for the better that I did sleep longer.

My Head of – well, former Head of House met me at the bottom of the stairs. Two quick glamours later and a pair of fairly unremarkable looking people were taking to Floo to Diagon Alley and Ollivander’s.

The Headmistress was rather quiet as we walked through the crowds. I supposed part of it was a desire to avoid detection, but I don’t think that was all of it. Unfortunately, we had plenty of time to stare at each other in silence at the wand maker’s shop.

Nothing he had seemed to work very well for me.

I tried wand after wand, each one either spitting out a few feeble sparks, or going completely overboard and exploding random items within the shop. After the first couple of detonations, Ollivander frowned and put out his ‘closed’ sign. He stared at me for several minutes in that unnerving manner of his, before asking us to remove our disguises.

If he was hoping the glamours had been disrupting the tests, he was sorely disappointed. Twenty minutes later my ears were ringing and the shop was looking much the worse for the wear.

Finally, I held up my hand when Ollivander approached with his latest attempt to find a wand that fit. “Er, do you have any more with cores that came from the same source as my original one? I think that might, well, you know, work better?”

The wand maker’s lips compressed slightly, which actually made me feel better. If he was capable of showing signs of annoyance, that made it much more likely that he was human, and not the original proprietor since 37 BC. “I’m sorry, Mister Potter, but Fawkes only gave up two feathers for wands. I believe you know what happened to both of them.”

I sighed. Fawkes had disappeared after Dumbledore’s funeral, and hadn’t been seen since. This was going to be a problem. “All right,” I said, squaring my shoulders, “lets try the next one.”

OoOoO

Three hours later, Ollivander had to call it quits. He was looking quite rumpled, and even more annoyed that we had gone through his entire stock without finding a match. The damage to his shop was incidental to what I’d inadvertently done to his pride.

“Sorry this was a waste of time,” I murmured under my disguise as we left the shop.

“None of this was your doing,” she replied quietly, and surprisingly tried to pat my shoulder.

In spite of myself, I flinched away from her, leaving her to stare at me. It’s a good thing none of her students were nearby. Illusions or not, it’d hard to mistake that look.

I slowly straightened up and we resumed walking. I cleared my throat and spoke again in an undertone. “Sorry about that, but over the last few months every time someone’s laid hands on me, it been to, well, you know…”

She nodded. Once. “Understood,” she said crisply. “But I believe you would do well to see a healer about your… reactions.”

I stopped dead and stared at her. “Absolutely not,” I snapped.

Now the stare was back.

I glanced around at the afternoon traffic on the alley. “May we please discuss this later?” I asked quietly. To my everlasting relief, she just nodded and we continued toward the Leaky Cauldron.

OoOoO

I never imagined I would win an argument with Minerva McGonagall, but I did. Barely. And in her office, even, with the portraits of former headmasters glaring down at me.

Of course, I played dirty and brought up what had been done to Ginny. As far as I was concerned, the red-headed young woman living in the sixth-year dormitory wasn’t the girl I’d dated. The well-meaning Healers, in extracting a substantial piece if her memories of the last year, had turned her into someone else, someone I’d didn’t really know. They’d as good as killed her – because that was easier and quicker than actually helping her work through her grief.

I’d soon kill myself than leave my identity in the hands of those butchering quacks.

McGonagall stared at me for long time after I finished, and I became aware of how red my face was, and how I was standing with my fists clenched. I slowly sat down.

“Mr. Potter,” she said evenly, “believe me when I counselled against that method of treatment when I learned of it. But do not place blame on her parents. You were not there at the time, and her condition had grown quite alarming. What was done was done with the best of intentions. Nevertheless I can understand you objections to dealing with members of the profession that have caused you such personal grief. But if your symptoms persist, I will insist that you undertake some form of professional care, be it magical or Muggle. Is that understood.”

“Yes, Headmistress.” I wasn’t stupid enough not to take what I could get.

OoOoO

It took nearly a week of tests to confirm what we’d already guessed at Ollivander’s. My magic was rejecting the new wands. Madam Pomfrey said it wasn’t unheard of for magical children who’d been treated particularly harshly to have trouble being fitted for a wand, but not for someone of my age.

Of course, repeated exposures to the Cruciatus Curse and other nasty bits of Dark Magic wasn’t exactly your normal research methodology. Well, maybe at Durmstrang…

In any event, the theory was that unless I could re-acquire my old wand, it might take a while before my magic settled down enough to accept a new one. The only bright side to this discovery was that it gave me at least two reluctant allies for my other major concern.

I’d sent a politely-worded owl to the Ministry my first day on my feet, asking about Bulstrode’s whereabouts and if I’d be needed to give a deposition. I wasn’t expecting an immediate response, but four days was pushing it. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, she was also the only person handy who had any idea what had been done with my wand. So now, the Headmistress of Hogwarts had added her voice to mine, asking about the former student.

So it was another fine Saturday that we both made our way to the Ministry.