CHAPTER TEN

THE NIGHT SEEMED EPHEMERAL, once we emerged from our training with Professor Basil. The sky had already started lightening it's color, it's darkness melting in on it self to slowly cease to exist. Such a private training after Ilvermorny curfew hours shouldn't have happened. Professor Basil knew that, and even Gabriel Chevrolet, for all his nonchalant intricacies, was aware of the fact.

So, the professor had resorted to hiding us. A protective charm that rendered us invisible while we practiced near the Greylock mountains. He took rounds of archery first, re-checking and re-testing each of our aims. Then he had monitored our speed in the air, on broomsticks. In one single night, Professor Basil had tightened whatever bolts that had come lose in each of us six participants. In a few hours he had made sure Beauxbatons reserved a spot ahead for itself, even in training.

As we now walked, weary, with muscles aching and sore, on our way back to the castle, I thought of Viktor Krum. My encounter with him had been a rough stone procured from the depths of a mermaid infested lake. Something rare and.. different.

He was vicious in his ways, and he had made it so clear. His hatred for Grindelwald was immense, and it seemed to blind him greatly. Hate binds you faceless to a wall, and while your ears still work, you see and hear nothing but your hate.

Krum's grandfather had been murdered, but had not Grindelwald a list more extensive than just that? He must have loved the old man, I thought sullenly, Viktor Krum must've loved his grandfather passionately—to be full of such hatred and yearn for revenge.

But then, should I not be the same? Grindelwald took my own grandfather—his brother—down with him, and my father too. The dark wizard marked me in my crib, forever dooming me and my mother to lives draped in thick curtains lest someone should find out about our connection and throw us in Nurmengard or even Azkaban.

Should I not be filled with this dark hatred that Krum held?

I had accepted it, accepted every second of my past because I know I can't change it, only forge a new future for myself. But Viktor Krum refused to accept the past, he thought he could somehow revert it all back. Somehow, his satisfaction one day might bring his grandfather back. But that wasn't it. You can't bring back someone from the dead, can you? Unless you had the resurrection stone, unless the story of the deathly hallows was true and more than just a symbol or a mark, on my skin. 

We entered the castle building. Past curfew, it felt desolate and abandoned, as though it hadn't seen a living soul for years. But the firelight still flickered in some corners, attached to the dark brick walls, lonely stumps of wood burning slowly to ashes. 

"Dieu, this is creepy," Bridgette hushed beside me, clinging to my arm as our footsteps tapped in the silence. 

"You'd think nobody walked these halls before us," Elias murmured, and I had suddenly forgotten he was behind us with Maximillian at his side. 

Professor Basil had already left from practice and so had Gabriel and Jean Dubois. The former was probably resting their wings snug in bed already while the two latters were undoubtedly off taking advantage of being up past curfew in unknown territory. 

We turned a corner as I held my wand up front, lumos ready on my lips if my wand's light was to diffuse again. It shouldn't have diffused on it's own, but it had a few minutes earlier. I felt the strangeness of it, my wand was feeling weak. As though it was a battery powered muggle radio with batteries faulty and dying slowly. Elias and Bridgette hadn't noticed, I had played it off as my mistake when we were plunged into the darkness. 

Suddenly, a cluster of foreign footsteps sounded and in the darkness, and we came face to face with dark robed students—two in number. They had startling ginger hair, lighter than that of the Ilvermorny girl Olivia Keystone's, but significantly ginger. They were twins, there was no mistaking that, with wide grins on their pale faces and striped maroon yellow wool mufflers carelessly thrown around their necks. I recognized the Hogwarts uniform. 

"Woah," One of them blurted, his grin spreading. "What do we have here?" 

"I suppose they are misfits," The other one answered, "Prancing about past curfew." 

"Funny," The first one spoke again, theatrically putting a finger to his chin. "I always thought Beauxbatons students were certified showpieces. A model batch, if you will, George." 

"I thought so too, Fred," George agreed, bobbing his head. 

"Mon Dieu, ils sont ridicules," Elias huffed under his breath, his exhaustion after practice radiating off of him. 

"Woah, woah, what was that?" Fred perked up, brows rising, more amused than offended. "Say it in English man, so that I can at least think of a comeback." 

"Anyway," George trailed on, ignoring Elias as his eyes settled on Bridgette, me and Maximillian. "What were the attendees of the model wizarding school Beauxbatons doing outside Ilvermorny grounds in the dead of the night?" 

"It is none of your business," Bridgette spoke, her English accent curt. 

"Well, it is if we are to be on the battlefield together," George shrugged. "I know headmasters Agilbert Fontaine and Dumbledore would not tolerate sneaky business so close to the Huntlock." 

I suppressed a retort. These two were part of the Hogwarts champions for the Huntlock? They looked as though they were sixth years, lean and sort of lanky. I wondered what they excelled at, was it Quidditch, chess or something entirely else?

"Yeah," Fred nudged his brother. "For all we know Beauxbatons could be planning to have a big cheat. We'd be heroes to uncover that before your plan takes action." 

"Get bent," I snapped, irritation flooding inside me. Then I made to dodge their forms and pass but the one called George stepped in my path. 

"Is that what you told Viktor Krum?" He grinned, sly eyes on me. "My man was altered after your little encounter in the hallway outside the library." 

I blinked taken aback. It was infuriating to know that they had seen, infuriating that anyone had seen. My encounter with Viktor Krum felt like a fever dream I wanted to forget.

"Maybe I did," I said. But before I could say something else, a foreign voice interrupted us. 

From the shadows, in stepped a tall boy right behind Fred and George. He had light brown hair, a burly form and a sculpted face prominent in his Hogwarts uniform. He even had the same colors wrapped around his neck as the two intruders in front of me. 

"Fred and George," The boy spoke, his voice curt, issuing a sense of dominance. "You should not be out past curfew, go to the dorms or Professor Dumbledore will hear about this." 

"Ah come on, Oliver," Fred turned to look at him, "We were just—" 

"Getting some air," George finished as the brothers both nodded at each other. "We'll be off mate. But blimey, drop the tone, we're not at Hogwarts. Loosen up a little." 

"We are here for the Huntlock, not to loosen up," Oliver's brown eyes narrowed at them and muttering to themselves, they both stalked away, disappearing in the shadows. 

"I apologize, for them," The new intruder acknowledged us, his eyes resting on me as I felt a slight tremor in my hand and my wand light flickered. Lumos, I repeated inside, and the light brightened again. 

When my eyes fell on the Hogwarts student again, he had noticed. I quickly wiped the uncertainty clean off my face. He shouldn't suspect I hadn't done it on purpose. I don't know what was wrong with my wand, why was it doing this? 

"I'm Oliver Wood," The boy spoke after a pause, putting his hand out for me to shake. I did, once, before retrieving my own away. 

"Dominique Lavigne," I nodded. Then he offered his hand to Bridgette, Elias and Maximillian, and they each all shook it once and handed over their names. 

"I look forward to training with you all," Oliver Wood smiled, and his smile was slight but stark. "I'm a seventh year and a keeper and I am captain to the Hogwarts Gryffindor Quidditch team, so if you need any help I'm always available to offer it. Just like I can require your aid in Archery training, your expertise is much talked about." 

Realization flooded through me again. We were all supposed to aid each other in training as though we would not be competing against each other but against someone else entirely. It didn't make sense, and I doubted anybody saw the strangeness of it but me. 

"Thankyou," Elias bobbed his head, "And likewise." 

"Well," Bridgette spoke, "We must be off, we're really tired. But we'll see you around, Oliver Wood." 

He smiled and nodded, and with that we parted ways. 

Back in our allotted Ilvermorny dorm with sunrise only an hour away, I inspected my wand. Dark and silver beechwood glinting in my hands. What was wrong with it? Instead of getting some rest like I had promised Bridgette, my mind was torturing me and so I had spent a good twenty minutes trying out discreet spells with my wand while Bridgette snored softly in the second bed at a distance. Each felt weaker than the other. The effort it took me with each spell was alarming, it was as though I was lifting weights, with chills creeping up my spine and perspiration hot on my skin. What was wrong with it? What was wrong with me? 

Had I made a mistake, not using it more often? But since when did that matter? Since when did a wand start losing its strength because it wasn't used more often? I did use it for class every day, if only for a single spell every hour. 

Tossing it aside, I gripped my head in frustration. This cannot be happening right now. My wand cannot die out on me like this with the Huntlock less than two weeks away. I had so much on my mind already to only add more to the pile. 

My options were limited. Should I let Professor Basil or Professor Fabien know? But what would I tell them? This happened because I was not using my wand outside of class? Would they figure it out just by looking at it? I relaxed slightly. I doubted the latter part. The Professors weren't wandmakers. I needed authentic answers. And my mind clicked then. 

Gregorovitch. 

He would know what was happening with my wand wouldn't he? He had made it. He was forced to make it. A distinct memory clawed through me then. A twelve year old me receiving the wand in a black cedar box with my name carved at the lid. A box sent to me on my birthday, a box packed for me when I was but ten years old. The wand was supposed to choose the wizard, it was something I had read and heard all my life. But in this case, it was my great uncle, Grindelwald, who chose the wand for me—or rather—had it made for me when I was only ten. 

It had arrived on our door, with no messenger, no deliverer. It had arrived exactly when Grindelwald knew I would be starting school at Beauxbatons. In his cell in Nurmengard, could he have sat and thought of me receiving it finally? A wand he had had forcefully forged?

Would Gregorovitch ever accept me if I were to walk in his shop with my wand? I knew it wouldn't have been simple. Grindelwald wouldn't have just made a request, my great uncle didn't do requests. It would've been an encounter Gregorovitch couldn't ever forget. 

I remembered the look of pure terror on my mother's face when I had opened the cedar box to gaze at my wand at twelve. She had looked at it as though it was a curse. She hadn't wanted me to have it, or use it. But she knew she had no choice. She knew getting rid of it was not an option, because even though Grindelwald had lost, the fear he had embedded in her heart was still so fresh. And me? I had been entranced with the wand. I loved it at first sight and I loved it now. It was my wand, and I didn't care if a dark wizard had had it forged for me. My great uncle had had it forged for me. Grindelwald was just my great uncle to me then. He was family. 

And now, I feared the wand was dying and I needed to know why. I could survive without it, I knew that, but it held value to me. A sick value that connected me with my great uncle, a sick affection I couldn't explain. So yes, I needed to know why it was dying out now. 

With a sense of finality and determination, I approached my suitcase and dropped on my knees beside it. Then, taking out my extension pouch from under the invisible charm I had put upon it, I dug inside and pulled out my time turner. 

The day would take over and I would have to go take classes and then practice for a tournament I didn't want to be a part of in the first place, for a cause I couldn't care less about. I was here for myself, and I will put that first. 

With a glance at the still sleeping form of Bridgette, I put two fingers together and drew the rune of time in the air. It bustled in a spark of green, and hung in the air, gently floating. Then I wore the time turner around my neck, the cold chain touching the skin at my neck. My eyes fell on the inscription on the silver bands.

'To my dear Dominique, so that you hold time in your hands, always.'

I shut my eyes tight. My silver encrusted time turner was birthday gift from my great uncle when I had turned ten. Around the same time he was having Gregorovitch forge my wand. So thoughtful of me, so considerate, so generous, while he burned the world around me. 

Ridding myself of his memory, I twisted the dial and rotated the silver hourglass holding crystal. And just like that, I stopped the time. The time turner could speed the time, and reverse it. It couldn't stop it. I had learned how to do that myself, through the rune. And I had only ever done it once. And now, twice. 

The green rune in the air diffused into a soft green mist before disappearing entirely. Bridgette's snores paused and so did the slow rise and fall of her sleeping shoulders. The rising, bleeding sun outside stopped dead in it's tracks. The clouds stood frozen, and the waking cream birds were now statues in the sky outside, with their wings spread and unmoving. Quickly, I grabbed a small bag with the basic necessities I might need and then hiding my dark silver and green wand in my knee length socks and one last look at my Ilvermorny dorm, I disapparated. 

It wasn't exactly disapparation, I knew that. You did that with a wand. I translocated with Heuristics. A chant and three runes drawn in the air in front to accompany it, and then the intention of my destination strong in my mind. Who had taught me that? no one. I had learned what I could of my magic, on my own. There were schools full of professors to teach a young witch or wizard how to use their wands, but there was no one for Heuristics, no one for me.

Besides, you cannot apparate or disapparate within Ilvermorny. It had been the same rule at Beauxbatons. 

The rush of air weighed heavy on my head. So heavy, that I felt my shoulders pushed down underneath the weight, but before I could succumb to submission, I had arrived. 

My surroundings were dark and firelit. I was in a quaint and crooked house with flickering candles on a rustic wooden desk in the corner. The windows were big behind the dirty sofas, and the darkness of the night outside was startling. I didn't realize Gregorovitch would be so far away that it was nighttime where I had just seen the sun rising in America. The curtains were not drawn to invite the uncertainty of the night in. The wooden flooring underneath my feet creaked as I moved, looking around. 

Time was still stopped. If Gregorovitch was in the house, I needed to know of his presence. Taking a deep breath, I took hold of the time turner at my chest and untwisted a dial, turning the silver ball holding the hourglass. Quickly drawing a rune in the air to accompany the action, I unstopped the time of the world. I felt the breezes wafting throughout the creaky house brush against my skin, and miscellaneous life sounds filled the air. 

I stood still, and soon enough, I heard the creaking of wood underneath stranger footsteps walk into the living room I was in. An old man entered, messy grey hair falling to his shoulders, head bent to the ground, and a candle holder with burning wax held high up in one shaking hand. He stopped, and slowly rose his head to meet my eyes. An expression of mild surprise sparked in his light eyes, but it was gone and replaced with a blank look. 

This was Gregorovitch. 

"Mr Gregorovitch," I started, levelling my voice. "I apologize for barging into your house like this, but I must inquire of your help." 

His eyes fell to my Beauxbatons uniform, and a resolve settled on his features after he considered my French accent. He had decided I wasn't a threat. 

"It is my wand, sir," I swallowed when he hadn't said anything. "It has suddenly grown weak. I fear it is dying. Can a wand even die?" 

He said nothing, just looked at me, eyes unblinking. 

"You made it, and I thought maybe you could tell me what is wrong with it." 

With that, I bent and retrieved the wand from my sock. As I pulled it out and held it up front, Gregorovitch's eyes widened slightly, and a tremor coursed through my heart. A constellation coursed inside me, it told me the wandmaker was afraid. His fear spelled out and doubled inside me, making me realize just the precise depth of how far it went. 

"I can't help you," He stammered, his voice deep and fearful. "Leave my house." 

I blinked, disappointment flooding inside me. "You can't or you won't?" 

"I won't," He spoke, "Please leave my house." 

My heart hammered inside me. I can't just leave now. I came all the way, I won't leave empty handed. 

"No, please, sir. I must know why my wand is doing this. I need it for the Huntlock games and I—"

"I hate your wand," He blurted then, and my resolve fell back and scattered. "I hated making it, and I hated how it turned out. I hate that it exists and if it dies, I will be glad for it, for you." 

The hatred was evident on his features now and I felt as though it was me who was being demeaned like this, not my wand. My affection for my wand, despite not needing it to perform my magic, ran so deep. 

"Sir, please," I pressed, "You must tell me why it is being like this, you must fix it." 

Gregorovitch snorted then, a scoff that displayed everything he was feeling at the moment. He approached a desk and set down his candle holder. 

"I will never fix what I was forced to make," Was his response, his eyes fixed deep in thought, head bent over the table. "Your great uncle—" 

I stilled as he paused, it was as though the words pained him. He had figured out the connection. Somehow, I had hoped he wouldn't. Would Grindelwald have told him who the wand was for while the wandmaker was laboring on it? It appeared that he had, but then, how could he recognize me? 

"He held the wand he took from me years ago, at a child," The wandmaker took in a sharp breath, "At a neighbor's innocent child and forced me to make your wand. And when I did, he killed the boy in front of my very eyes." 

"He stole a wand from you?" I asked, my brows furrowing in confusion. Why would Grindelwald steal a wand? 

Gregorovitch looked at me, a battle being fought in his eyes as he considered something. Then his lips parted and he said, "He stole the Elder wand." 

I blanched. "That doesn't exist." 

"It does," He said simply, as though he was merely stating the weather. 

I looked away, considering. The deathly hallows were a story, there was no proof that they existed. The symbol was something Grindelwald had adapted and made his own. It held no meaning other than of the viciousness of the dark wizard. Either the old man in front of me wished to fool me such so that I went away, or he merely wished to confuse me into leaving. His intention was clear. 

"My wand," I started after a pause, diverting the subject. "Please look at it. Tell me what is wrong with it, at least." 

The wandmaker sighed, then hesitantly he reached out a shaking palm. I neared and placed my wand in it as his wrinkled fingers curved around it. He brought it near the candle light and bent over it, hard in concentration, turning it over in his hand. 

"Your wand is not yours alone," He spoke after a while. "I—I don't know how but it feels as though it has two loyalties." 

"What do you mean?" 

Something hit him then, a memory or a realization and he looked at me in alarm. 

"I didn't think about this after I had made it and he had taken it away. I didn't want anything to do with it. But, your wand was made to be forged. If it weren't for Grindelwald—" He broke off as he uttered the name. "If it wasn't for him, your wand wouldn't exist. I wouldn't have made such a thing as this." 

"W-What are you saying?" My voice trembled, a dozen thoughts were rushing in my head. 

"Your wand feels bound to him," Gregorovitch swallowed, eyes dropping to my wand again. "Your wand owes it's existence to the dark wizard. It is loyal to you, but it is bound to the wizard too—though in a lesser degree." 

"It is bound to my great uncle?" I stammered, disbelief coursing through me.

"In a much lesser degree than it is bound to you," The old man repeated, sudden strength in his voice. "The weakness you've been feeling in the wand is a pull. It is the other loyalty that is being tugged. The other loyalty that has remained dormant all these years." 

"But why now? Why is it doing this now?" 

"Because it is being called," The wandmaker's face went pale. "It is being called." 

His eyes had gone dazed, and his voice faded out. 

"How can a wand be called? Can you be clear to me?" I cried, the fear in me rushing out in frustration as my voice cracked. 

"A wand can always be called," Gregorovitch snapped, anger in his tone. "Wands are alive. They choose their loyalties and their wizards. This wand chose the dark wizard Grindelwald and it chose you. And now the dark wizard is calling it. Do you know what this means, girl?" 

I blinked, fear numbing me. "It means he is still alive. He hasn't died in Nurmengard." 

There was no way to know if a captive had survived in Nurmengard. Grindelwald had made the place so that once someone went in, they weren't opened up again. They either died inside quickly, or perished over years. 

"More than that," The old man hissed, "It means he is still conscious. It means he knows what he wants. It means, he is up to something." 

"He is in Nurmengard," I spoke plainly. "It doesn't matter what he is up to. He will never see the light of day." 

"He doesn't want the wand," The wandmaker murmured. "If he had wanted it he would've taken it for himself the moment I had made it. He had it forged for you. He is calling you, and he is doing that through the wand." 

"No," I blurted. "You're wrong. He doesn't want me." 

Why would he call for me? Why, when he had removed himself from my life weeks before I turned twelve? Now, six years later, what could he possibly want from me? 

Gregorovitch didn't speak, his fingers turned the wand over and over, his eyes looking at the details he carved years ago. He seemed lost in thought, and the hate for the wand seemed to dull a little in his manner. 

"He loved you, you know," The old man muttered and I stilled. "Grindelwald held such affection for you that it made him mortal in my eyes, despite everything he did and went on to do." 

My eyes fell to the ground, fists easing at my sides as my heart mourned suddenly—for what or whom, I couldn't quite place. It wasn't him though, it wasn't my great uncle that I felt this for. He had dug his own grave. Wizards who dug their own graves deserved to lie in them. 

"He kept mentioning you as I worked on the wand with tears streaming down my face. He didn't care about my agony, just kept talking. He told me you were ten years old, with hair the color of the darkest night, eyes like the moon's flare and skin as bright as the glow of stars. His care for you was immense and I could feel it in his voice, in his manner. He told me you had a small birthmark in the shape of a moon beside your right eye. It was how I recognized you." 

My breathing was shallow as I took everything in. I felt a dozen things at once, to the point that my senses were going numb. Is this the reason why my hate towards my great uncle wasn't as intense as Viktor Krum's or the rest of the wizarding world's was? Was his love for me the reason why, to me, he was my great uncle before he was Grindelwald? 

"He even told me you would be starting at Beauxbatons in two more years," The wandmaker shook his head, "Perhaps he knew of this meeting. Perhaps he wanted me to be able to recognize you." 

"It doesn't matter what he wanted!" I cried. "I didn't come here for him, I came here for me." 

Gregorovitch stood, unfazed by my outburst, his eyes pinned on me. 

"What do I do? How do I make my wand work for me again?" 

He considered for a moment, then bent down to blow the solitary candle he had brought into the room. The other four candles already on the table still burned bright. 

"You have to sever the other connection," He answered, "And it can be done without killing him, though, that will do the trick as well." 

"How?" I pressed, irritation and anxiety clawing at me. 

"The Elder Wand," The wandmaker muttered simply. "Acquire the Elder Wand and use it to sever your wand's other loyalty." 

I scoffed. "I might as well keep the wand myself if I acquire it." 

"You won't," Gregorovitch muttered simply, as though sensing something in me that I hadn't sensed myself. 

"It doesn't exist!" I held my head with both hands, frustration was now eating me from the inside. I needed answers, but I had gotten more than I bargained for. 

"It exists girl!" The wandmaker bellowed, "It exists and Grindelwald took it from me. He knows where it is now and he is calling you." 

I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say, because my mind was still fighting over what to believe and what to not. Why would the wandmaker lie now? Why entertain me for so long when he wanted to be rid of me? He couldn't possibly be lying. I sought out the constellations inside me for the answer, but nothing responded. 

"You must go," Gregorovitch hesitantly neared me, his eyes suddenly pleading. 

"Yes, yes, I—" I made to turn towards the door, but the wandmaker gripped my hand. 

"No!" He uttered, "I meant, you must go to him." 

"To Grindelwald?" I asked, my voice a whisper. 

"Yes," The old man nodded his head violently. "You must go to him. You must find out where The Elder Wand is. He will tell you, he holds you dear for he wants you and not your wand. He must have something to say. Find out where The Elder Wand is and acquire it girl. Or else it will fall into the wrong hands." 

Wrong hands? I shook my head in disbelief. Who's to say if the wand did exist, it wasn't in the wrong hands already? 

Before I could voice the question, a deafening blow sounded and the house seemed to explode in rubble as my ears went numb and I was thrown off my feet, my vision going dark. 

***

A/N:
Hi, long coming with this chapter. I finally have some free time to work on this! expect frequent updates <3