"A witch ought never be frightened in the darkest forest because she should be sure in her soul that the most terrifying thing in the forest was her." –Terry Pratchett

*

     "My goodness, girl, twenty-seven times in Azkaban in one lifetime? You'll make history!" Ollivander paces the room as Darcy makes herself comfortable in his cozy kitchen. Ollivander is her uncle, and he's always been hospitable to her, including providing her with a new wand every time hers is broken in Azkaban.

     "I didn't mean for it to be this way." Darcy's first crime was an accident, but then she discovered the thrill made her feel more alive than anything, so she made a habit out of it. "And I'm thinking of laying low. I'm pretty sure the Ministry is going to crack on me soon and give me a life sentence." Well, she knows they are, but the less Ollivander worries, the better.

     "They can only crack on you if they don't crumble first," Ollivander says, setting hot tea in front of her and sitting in the seat across the table. "You-Know-Who is on the rise."

     Darcy frowns. "Let's hope he has no interest in me."

     "Nonsense," Ollivander says. "What would he need you for? You'll be safe. You said you were laying low? Do you need a place to stay?"

     "Aberforth agreed to let me stay," she tells him. She'd dropped by earlier that day and talked about arrangements. "I think he's glad that I'm getting off the radar for a while."

     "I am too." Ollivander smiles. "I think I have a wand that will finally be your match."

     He disappears downstairs in his shop. Darcy had never been able to find her perfect wand in the past, but she's always kept looking for it. She never attended school for magic either; she taught herself from watching others or reading spellbooks.

     Ollivander places the wand in her hand. "Aspen, ten inches, dragon heartstring, and a speck of dragon scales in the handle." The wand is as white as the clouds and airy with carvings in the handle that imprint her skin if she holds it tight enough. Darcy's hand feels warm when she touches it, but she'll have to wait until she uses it to know if it's her destined wand.

     "Thanks for the tea. I'm off." She thanks Ollivander for everything and leaves his shop after slipping a few galleons on the front desk, ignoring the glares she gets from people on the streets with ease.

     The next day, his shop is destroyed, and he's gone.

*

     Draco has spent any time he could on the Vanishing Cabinet, and it's already making him frustrated—and it's only been two weeks! He's never been good with mechanics or fixing things; this cabinet completely proves that. He took one look inside and couldn't even comprehend what he was staring at.

     His plan is simple: sneak out using the passage to Honeydukes' cellar and hope Darcy is still in Hogsmeade. He'd wait until there's a Hogsmeade visit, but there isn't one until the end of the month. He can't wait that long.

     One thing he didn't think of, though, is obstacles.

     "Where do you think you're going?" Blaise asks from his bed sleepily. Draco freezes mid-tiptoe and curses under his breath. He didn't compensate for someone caring enough to ask where he was going.

     "Just go back to sleep," Draco snaps. "It's none of your damn business."

     Blaise grumbles something inaudible but slumps back on his mattress nonetheless.

     Sighing, Draco treks downstairs and through the common room that's deserted besides a few first years stressing over homework.

     The longer Draco walks, the more flaws he finds in his plan. First off, it's two in the morning. If Darcy is staying in Hogsmeade, she'll be asleep. Second, where will they talk? In the street? No shop is going to be open. And he can't risk someone overhearing--though, due to his brilliant planning, he might have to.

     Convincing himself that it's not worth turning back because he's made it this far, Draco continues on, hoping this won't be a wasted risk. He also hopes it's not cold tonight; all he's wearing is one of his black suits.

     Reaching the statue hiding the passage, he taps it with his wand once so that it will reveal its path. The path is dark, but a simple lumos fixes that in a jiffy. The walk is long though; according to his watch, he walked along that path of twists and turns and upstairs and downstairs for forty-five damn minutes.

    Trailing up the stairs that lead out of the Honeyduke's cellar, he hopes they don't have security. How about you just Apparate, you idiot. His mother let him get ahead of the game this summer by teaching him to Apparate, more or less. He's still sloppy, but at least he lands where he needs to.

     He appears outside the doors and can't believe his luck. Darcy is outside the Hog's Head, relaxing on the concrete stairs with a cigarette.

*

Darcy, after settling into one of Aberforth's upstairs rooms, heads outside for fresh air. She can't seem to get enough of it now that she's been locked up so much. It's a blessing in of itself.

The sun goes down quickly, and the streets quickly thin out, much to her relief. Every single person who passes her decides it was worth the time to turn their heads and scowl at her. Mothers step farther across the alley with their children to avoid her, wizards avoid her gaze and hold their noses high, and worst of all, some kids who dropped their bag of Honeydukes sweets deny her help to pick them up. She'd pulled out her wand to use magic for them, but they give her cold glares that said don't even think about it.

Life sucks when everyone hates you.

Now that the moon is out (someone Darcy considers to be her best friend), Darcy feels more at ease. She lights a cigarette and smokes the worries of the day away. Sometimes Muggles invent things that are handy.

Suddenly, Draco Malfoy pops into her mind. She thinks about the encounter they had in Azkaban and frowns. He seemed so tortured. Probably because of his father. Poor kid. It's a shame he looked so tired and sad when he talked to her. Usually, he's pretty sharp. He still looked pretty good, but in a rugged, sort of beaten down way.

Darcy hears the unmistakable sound of someone Apparating and turns her head in that direction. She feels a smirk emerge on her lips.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.