CHAPTER NINE

"Slow down," Lysander hissed, his voice just loud enough to carry through the dense trees as he hurried to keep pace with Kit. The forest was alive with the hum of insects and the rustle of leaves, the summer sun filtering through the canopy above in fragmented patches of light. Despite the serene beauty of their surroundings, Kit's determined stride and intense focus were anything but leisurely.

She glanced over her shoulder, a large branch cradled in her arm. "The wood isn't going to wait for us, Scamander," she said matter-of-factly as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "We have to harvest it at the right moment. If we miss this batch, we'll have to wait until next year. Do you want to explain to my grandfather why we failed to gather the materials in time?"

"Next year?" Lysander exclaimed, his face a mixture of disbelief and mild horror. "You mean to tell me that if we're even slightly off, we lose an entire year?"

Kit stopped abruptly and turned to him, her expression unreadable. Her gaze was sharp, almost clinical, as she waved her free hand for emphasis. "The wood we're harvesting is cultivated to a very specific growth cycle. If we're careless, the wand made from improperly harvested wood won't hold up—it could snap under even the simplest spell. Worse, the imbalance between the wood and core can cause catastrophic effects, including injury. In extreme cases..." She hesitated, her voice dropping. "It could lead to death."

Lysander stared at her, his previous frustration melting into concern. "That's... intense," he admitted, his tone more subdued now. "Have you ever... you know, made that mistake? Harvested at the wrong time?"

Kit froze, her grip tightening on the branch she held. Her eyes flickered downward, the weight of his question pressing on her shoulders. For a moment, she seemed lost in her thoughts, her silence speaking volumes. "Yeah," she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "A couple of times, actually. The first time was when..."

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Lysander interrupted gently, stepping closer and resting a hand on her shoulder. His voice was soft, filled with genuine care.

Kit's lip quivered, her composure threatening to crumble. "I just... I can't be brave without him, Lysander," she admitted, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. "I'm not even sure I'm fit to do this without him."

"Hey," Lysander said firmly, his voice rising just enough to command her attention. "Don't do that. Don't diminish everything you've worked for. This isn't about being brave for someone else—it's about being strong for yourself. For Kit Ollivander. Not for Cato, not for anyone else. Just you."

Kit closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as if trying to draw strength from the air around her. "Alone isn't something I'm used to," she whispered, her voice raw.

"No one ever gets used to being alone, Kit," Lysander replied, his tone softening again. He gently tilted her chin so she was looking at him, his eyes locking onto hers with a steady determination. "But you're not as alone as you think. One day, you'll find someone who'll remind you of that—someone who'll make the loneliness feel like it never existed."

"That someone was Cato," Kit said, her voice strained as tears began to pool in her eyes.

Lysander shook his head gently. "Cato was your brother, your other half. He wasn't there to take the loneliness away; he was there to cheer you on as you found someone who could."

Her voice wavered as she asked, "Who's cheering me on now, Lysander? Who's going to support me?"

"You act like you don't have anyone in the world, Kit," Lysander said with a small, warm chuckle. He cupped her cheek, his touch light and comforting. "I've been cheering you on this whole time. And I'll keep cheering for you, as long as you'll let me."

Kit stared at him, words caught in her throat. She wasn't sure she could say yes—not yet. The walls she'd built around herself weren't ready to come down.

As if sensing her hesitation, Lysander smiled softly and added, "I'll wait on the outside. No rush."

Her eyes widened, startled. "How did you—"

"Trust me, Kit," he interrupted with a wink. "If I explained how I knew, we'd be standing here for hours. And we don't have that kind of time. We've got wood to harvest."

With that, he stepped past her, his movements confident and purposeful. Only when he was out of her sight did his composed demeanour falter, a faint flush creeping up his neck as he realized what he'd just said.

Kit stood frozen for a moment, her feet rooted to the forest floor. The faint rustle of leaves overhead and the distant chirping of birds seemed to fade into the background as her thoughts swirled. She could feel the warmth of Lysander's words lingering, a surprising comfort in a space she had grown accustomed to filling with grief and self-doubt.

She touched her cheek where his hand had rested, her skin still tingling from the unexpected gesture. The weight of his words replayed in her mind, breaking through her usual walls. She wasn't ready to admit it aloud—not to him and certainly not to herself—but for the first time in what felt like ages, she didn't feel entirely alone.

She exhaled shakily, shaking her head as if to clear the fog of her thoughts. Focus, Kit. The wood won't wait, remember? She repeated her earlier words silently, using them to ground herself. Yet, even as she told herself to focus, she couldn't completely push away the way Lysander had looked at her—the sincerity in his eyes, the quiet assurance in his voice.

Up ahead, Lysander paused, his shoulders visibly stiff as if he were forcing himself to appear nonchalant. He glanced back, catching her still standing in place. "You coming, Ollivander, or should I do this on my own?" he teased, though the slight crack in his voice betrayed his nerves.

Kit blinked, startled out of her daze, and quickly adjusted her grip on the branch she carried. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Scamander. You'd probably end up harvesting the wrong tree." She forced a smirk, though it lacked her usual edge.

He grinned back, but there was something softer in his expression. "Then it's a good thing I've got you to keep me in line."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't stop the corner of her mouth from twitching upward. As she approached, Lysander resumed walking, though his pace slowed slightly, as if silently inviting her to walk alongside him.

The forest stretched out before them, a labyrinth of towering trees and twisting roots. The sunlight filtering through the canopy created dappled patterns on the ground, shifting and dancing with the gentle sway of the branches above. It was the kind of beauty Kit usually found solace in, but today, it felt different—less isolating, more alive.

"Do you think this will be enough for your project?" Lysander asked after a moment, gesturing to the branches she'd already collected.

"Depends," Kit replied, her voice steadier now. "It's not just about the quantity. The quality matters more. Each wand has to feel... balanced. A partnership between the wood and the core."

Lysander nodded thoughtfully. "Like finding the right person to cheer you on?"

Kit faltered mid-step, her heart skipping a beat. She glanced at him, but his eyes were fixed on the trees ahead, his tone light but laced with meaning.

"Something like that," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

They walked in companionable silence for a while, the sounds of the forest filling the gaps in their conversation. Kit found herself stealing glances at Lysander, her mind torn between confusion and gratitude. He had a way of breaking through her defences, of reminding her that even in the darkest moments, there was still light to be found.

As they reached a particularly ancient-looking tree, Kit placed a hand on its rough bark, her fingers tracing the grooves as if feeling for its story. "This one," she said softly, her tone reverent. "This tree's wood could make something extraordinary."

Lysander stood beside her, watching her with a quiet admiration. "Extraordinary, huh? Sounds a lot like you."

She froze, her cheeks flushing as she turned to look at him. His expression was earnest, without a hint of teasing.

"Scamander..." she began, unsure of what to say.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Don't mind me. Just an observation." He leaned against a nearby tree, the easygoing grin back on his face. "Now, what's next in this wand-making crash course you've dragged me into?"

Kit let out a small laugh despite herself, shaking her head. "Next, you start taking this seriously. Wand-making isn't a joke."

"Neither are you," he said quietly, his tone serious again.

Kit hesitated, her gaze meeting his for a fleeting moment before she turned back to the tree. As she began marking the sections to harvest, she felt a strange, unfamiliar warmth settle in her chest. She wasn't ready to name it, to fully acknowledge what it meant. But for now, it was enough to know it was there.

For the first time in a long time, the future didn't seem so daunting. There were still challenges ahead, still wounds that hadn't healed, but in this moment—surrounded by the forest, with Lysander by her side—she felt a glimmer of hope. And that, she realized, was worth holding onto.