[Chapter Five: Breaking Bonds, Waving Wands, and Avoiding Scones. Edited.]

Dropping to my knees, I pulled the House-Elf into my arms and squeezed him tighter than ever. He squeezed me back, just as firm. I wanted to sob on his shoulder. I wanted the hug to last forever. But it was never about what I wanted, so I didn't.

"I've missed you, Dobby."

"Miss has been gone for hours and hours."

"I don't know how to come home, Dobby. I don't think they'll let me."

"Miss should never come home!" Dobby said, breaking the hug and looking strict. "Dobby said Miss would go to Hogwarts and be free. And free Miss is!"

"I don't want to leave you, Dobby... Is Father treating you okay?"

"Master is very angry with Dobby. Master is breaking things..."

"Has he hurt you?"

Dobby nodded, his big ears flapped, and he showed me his bandaged hands.

"Master made Dobby iron Dobby's fingers."

"Oh Dobby," I took one of his hands in mine, with great care, and pressed my lips against it.

"Dobby is better now!" He beamed and I gave a sad little laugh.

It was a running joke we had. Every time one of us would be injured by my father or because of my father, we'd kiss the wounds and pretend they were healed. I didn't remember when it started, but Dobby said that I once did heal him by doing it, when I was very young.

"I – I was disobedient before, Dobby," I crouched in front of my trunk and opened it, placing my fingers on the edge. "Can you close it for me?"

Dobby surged forward, knocked my hands out of the way and closed the trunk.

"Miss does not need to hurt anymore! Master can not control her! Miss is a free elf!" Dobby moved forward and hugged me tight.

"I don't want to be here without you, Dobby, but you can't see me again. Not here. It's against Father's wishes and I can't have you hurting because of me, Dobby," I started crying. "I'm going to miss you."

"Miss has Dobby in here," he said, now pointing at my heart. "And Miss is here, too." Dobby now pointed at his own chest. His giant eyes were watering. "Dobby must go."

"Goodbye."

With one last hug, Dobby vanished. I climbed into my bed and tried to hold back my tears. The bed was the most comfortable thing I'd ever touched, but I would rather the cold basement if it meant Dobby wasn't alone. There were loud noises outside my door and I shut my eyes, pretending to sleep.

"Willow?" It was Hermione. "I hope you're okay. Your father didn't seem very... nice. I don't know what you grew up with... but if you ever need someone I'm here... I wish I could say that when you're not asleep... Sweet dreams..." There was movement to the bed beside me, which must have been Hermione's. "I don't think anyone likes me..." She had a shaky exhale of breath like she was crying, or trying not to cry, before she fell asleep.

I woke early the next morning, which was a necessity in my life – get the early morning chores done before anyone's awake. Hermione was still asleep. I changed and headed downstairs. As I reached the common room, I saw Harry and Ron sitting by the fireplace. I was going to walk past them and not disturb them but Harry smiled at me, "Morning."

"Oh, it's you," Ron scowled. Harry looked embarrassed. I stared at him, startled, eyes wide. His eyes, however, narrowed. "Don't try to act so innocent. You're a Malfoy – rotten to the core."

I bit my lip and left the common room, heading out to breakfast... If I could ever find the Great Hall. Tears were boiling in my eyes and I couldn't see the hallway properly. I walked straight into a pillar and was knocked off my feet. After wiping my eyes, I realised it was no wall. It was the same man I'd run into the previous day.

"I-I'm s-sorry." My heart was beating a mile an hour.

"You... Lily..." He stared at me with a peculiar intensity, but then shook his head as though ridding his mind of a thought. "Willow. Go back to bed."

At a brisk pace, I walked until I was out of sight, before running the whole way back to the common room; the halls were slowly filling with tired students on their way to breakfast. I probably should have walked straight back to the Great Hall, but I was given orders, and if there was one thing I was good at, it was following them. I entered and saw Ron and Harry still sitting there. Harry smiled apologetically whereas Ron looked ashamed and awkward.

"I'm sorry I was rude. I'm – ah – trying to stop my own prejudice..." he looked uneasily at Harry who shrugged in return.

What does prejudice mean?

"That's okay," I breathed.

The three of us stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say or do.

"You are going to be late for breakfast," said a new voice. Hermione was standing by the door.

We walked down to the Great Hall together and sat together, though none of us spoke much. Professor McGonagall wandered along the Gryffindor table, handing out our schedules. Hermione looked at us and said, "Oh! All the Gryffindors share classes!" to which Ron pulled a face at Harry. He really did like pulling faces.

There were constant whispers around the hall, alternating from 'The Boy Who Lived' and 'The Malfoy Squib'. I bit my lip and tried to ignore them. Harry placed a scone on my plate and smiled encouragingly, but I didn't eat it. I didn't know if I could eat it. It felt wrong to me.

As breakfast ended, Professor McGonagall strode over.

"Miss Malfoy, could you come with me please?"

I followed her along several corridors before we reached a gargoyle. She paused and surveyed the corridor before stating, "Butter Menthols."

The gargoyle stepped aside and made a kind of moving staircase. When I stood staring at it, she nudged me onto them.

"S-s-sorry, Professor."

"That's okay, Miss Malfoy."

She opened the door and ushered me inside. A man, about Professor Dumbledore's age – maybe older – with slivery eyes stood in front of Professor Dumbledore's desk. He looked at me and then to the professor, eyes wide. I felt a jolt in my stomach.

"I'm Mr. Ollivander. It is a pleasure to meet you."

I wasn't really sure of how to talk to strangers, so I stood there, dumb.

"Here," He said and he offered me a wand. "Is this the wand for you?"

I took a deep breath. It was the moment of truth for me – was I or was I not a squib? My father's word against Professor Dumbledore's. I accepted the wand from him, and gave it a wave, but absolutely nothing happened. The dread that was building up in my stomach grew like wildfire.

"I don't think this wand is the one for you," Mr. Ollivander said calmly, and he swapped the want in my hand for another. I gulped when I looked at it, uncertain of whether or not it would work. "Don't be shy – give him a twirl."

I took in another breath of air and waved it around a little bit and –—

Nothing.

I am a squib. Dumbledore lied to me.

I tried to keep a casual demeanour whilst inside my mind set itself in a panic. Mr. Ollivander and Professor Dumbledore exchanged a look.

"Willow, from this pile, choose your own wand." Mr. Ollivander spoke in barely more than a whisper.

I walked over to Professor Dumbledore's desk where about sixty wands lay. Staring at them, I let my hand drift through the air, pausing over some, until, finally I saw one that had a slight bend at the bottom of it. It looked quite pretty.

I lifted the wand from the pile and waved it. A white light began to glow from the tip, and soon, the entire room was engulfed by it. Within ten seconds, the light had faded, and there was a pile of chocolate cupcakes sitting on Professor Dumbledore's desk.

"I – I'm sorry," I said automatically. The three adults looked alarmed.

"There is nothing to apologise for, Willow," Professor MgGongall said, whilst Professor Dumbledore started into one of the cupcakes.

"Where did you get them from, Willow?" Professor Dumbledore asked, after swallowing a mouthful. I gave him a puzzled look. "The cupcakes."

"I – I don't know, sir." The three adults in the room exchanged tense looks. "I'm sorry."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," Dumbledore said earnestly. "It's just curious."

I felt the need to say sorry again, so I kept my mouth shut tight.

"Your wand is willow, ten and one quarter inch, core of unicorn hair, swishy, good for charms work," said Mr. Ollivander, who was staring at me as though I were a rare artefact.

I spoke before I could stop myself, "It's willow and I'm Willow. That's funny."

"What's funny about that?" Ollivander asked.

I swallowed and my voice went back to its usual quiet volume, "Nothing. Thank you."

"Off to class now, Willow," said Professor McGonagall. She wasn't looking at me, but at Professor Dumbledore. "I believe you have Charms."

I left the room, shutting the large door behind me. I relished a moment in the silence – the small, enclosed space was calmer than any room I'd been in so far.

"The wand chooses the wizard." Ollivander spoke, inside the office. "That's the way it has always been... Yet she chose her own wand. It's impossible."

"And to choose a wand as powerful as she did," Professor McGonagall said. "It's curious indeed."

"A wand identical in every way to Lily – to whom she looks so similar. Surely I was not the only one who noticed."

Lily? Like what that man called me earlier?

"She is a small mystery." Said Professor Dumbledore.

"Very small, indeed," Professor McGonagall added, more pointedly. "She didn't eat this morning."

"Yet she drew food from thin air. Which is impossible." Ollivander said, as though in disbelief.

There was a short silence, which Professor Dumbledore broke, "I believe we will find many great things from, Willow Malfoy."

My mind had been spinning in such overdrive all day, that when I heard Professor McGonagall say, "Miss Malfoy," I was shocked to find myself sitting at a desk in the Transfiguration classroom. I hadn't remembered getting there.

"Have you payed attention at all, this lesson?"

A dull flush crept up my cheeks as every face in the room turned to laugh at me. My stomach twisted and I stared down at my desk.

"Yes," My hands began to shake, so I sat on them.

"What was the last thing I said?" She said, smirking and raising her eyebrows.

"You said: Miss Malfoy, have you payed attention at all this lesson?" I hadn't intended to sound cheeky, I was being completely literal. There was an outbreak of giggling from the class, nonetheless.

"I'll let you off with a warning," I don't think anyone else noticed, but I saw the smile edging on her lips.

My mind was still spinning by the time we sat down for lunch. Mysterious Lily, mysterious wand, mysterious white glowing thing I did that resulted in impossible cupcakes. It had been a weird day, to say the least, and it wasn't even over.

I was sitting next to Hermione and I was grateful she wasn't trying to make conversation. Having to speak in front of everybody in Professor McGonagall's class had unsettled me. I wasn't feeling up to much of anything. What I did know, was that school was going to be impossible for me. Everyone was already ahead of me. Some students, like Hermione, seemed to know their coursework already. Others, like Harry, had extensive knowledge of the outside muggle world. And the rest of the people, like Ron, knew everything else there was to know about the wizarding world. In comparison, I knew nothing. A lifetime couldn't catch me up with their knowledge. Reading was already a struggle for me, and having to read for school was a slow and uphill battle. It was only day one.

Fred and George sat opposite us at Gryffindor table.

"Hi Willow," One said. I was almost certain it was George, but I didn't want to mistake them.

"What did you just have?" Probably-Fred asked me.

I blinked at them a few times before I could force the word out, "Transfiguration."

"What did you think of it?"

They wanted my opinion. I had never been asked for my thoughts before. I struggled to find anything to say, but they were kind.

"I know what you mean. It's hard and confusing," Probably-George said. "Fred and I have been here three years and we still don't understand it!"

Hermione laughed and I smiled appreciatively.

"What are you up two up to?" Ron had appeared and squished into the seat beside George, while I moved over to give Harry a seat.

"Just talking to Willow and Hermione."

"How was transfiguration, little bro?" George asked. "Willow, here, doesn't know what to think of it."

"She didn't like it," Ron said, nodding enthusiastically as he piled his plate with food. "She was cheeky to McGonagall."

"Be careful there, Willow." Fred said wisely.

"She will not hesitate to kill you."

I excused myself from lunch early (after Harry had put a sandwich on my plate that I couldn't make myself eat) not because I didn't like the company, but rather it was all too overwhelming. I slipped upstairs to the common room, deciding I should try my best to read my transfiguration textbook. If it was going to take me twice as long to read it, I suppose I should have started twice as early.

The common room was utterly deserted when I entered. It was exactly what I needed. I sat in front of the fire and began to read. It was slow at first, but the language wasn't too complex. Within five minutes, I'd finished the first chapter, which wasn't very long, admittedly, but it was an achievement.

A mouse crept past me, also trying to enjoy the fireplace.

"I'm sorry, little guy," I whispered at it, pointing my wand. "Fera Verto!" I gasped as the little mouse sprang into a goblet, complete with elaborate details and peculiar markings – a cloak, a wand, a stone? I began to panic as I didn't know how to get it back. I couldn't let a little mouse be trapped in a goblet forever. "Fera Verto!" I whispered again, and the mouse changed back and ran away into a tiny hole in the wall. "I didn't mean to scare you." I called after it.

"Well done Miss Malfoy," said a voice from behind me. I wanted to sink into the floor. "Not paying attention does have its benefits." I stood up, straightened up, and turned around. It was Professor McGonagall. She seemed much taller than she had before. "How are you finding Hogwarts so far?" I gave a non-committal shrug. "Was there any reason you weren't listening in class?"

"I..." I took a deep breath and spoke slowly. "I don't... know if I belong here."

"What do you mean?" Professor McGonagall's voice changed. It was less-strict and softer.

Words tumbled from my mouth like never before, "I'm not like everybody else. They're smart and they know things. I... I miss home." I was ashamed for talking about myself too much. If my father was here, I'd be punished for sure. He hated when I was vain or self-absorbed.

"It is much safer here than it is at your home, I promise you." Professor McGonagall walked closer to me as she spoke. I backed up a few paces. "There are lots of people who care about you here."

"People here...they treat me different..."

"Different than what?"

"Than my parents... Everyone here is so... Kind." I shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable. I wasn't used to talking much, or having anyone listen. It was inexplicable.

"Your parents aren't kind?"

"No... They..." I was struggling to find the right words. "They're... Mother says it's tough love."

"No one should ever be tough to you, dear. You are kind and should be treated as such."

"Father says kindness gets you nowhere; that it's better to be powerful. He... He always tried to... He taught me that..." I stopped myself before the point of no return. I was about to mention the use of the cruciatus curse. My father would have killed me.

"How did he teach you?" I didn't answer. I stared at my feet. "Willow?" Professor McGonagall's voice was soft and worried.

"I'm sorry," I said pathetically, wiping my damp eyes on my sleeve.

"There is no need to keep apologising. You've got nothing to be sorry for, child," Professor McGonagall said, reaching out to my arm. I flinched and stepped back, out of her reach.

"I'm sorry."

"Willow –––"

Without so much as another word, I took off up the stairs to my dormitory, praying she wouldn't follow. I went 'round and 'round the circular staircase before I found my room. I sat on my bed and pulled the curtains shut, sobbing, shaking. I'd never let myself be this vulnerable before. I'd nearly gotten my parents in trouble. I didn't want to let them down. I didn't want to let anyone down.

The shaking subsided after a few minutes. I dragged myself off my bed and washed my face in the bathroom sink. My reflection was bizarre – I hardly ever saw what I looked like. When I was seven, I caught a glimpse of my own face in my parents' bathroom mirror. It was the first time, I think, I had ever seen myself. I remember staring at myself, and my skin and my body and wondering who I was, wondering how everything worked, wondering why my hair was not blonde and my face was not pointed like my family's. It was then that my father found me, and taught me why little girls should not be vain. I still have the scar on my back.

Now, I stared back at my blotchy reflection, with a haunting curiosity. I ran a hand through my tangled auburn hair, or as much as I could before it got stuck. I pulled faces at myself. Everything I seemed to do here was like a complete affront to my parents. The lingering thought of punishment followed me, already, with every step I took.

I exhaled, staring myself in the face, "Pull yourself together, stupid. Don't disappoint your parents."