After the evening banquet, I retreated to the Ravenclaw common room. The space was quiet, its vast blue-hued windows dimly reflecting the starlight, and aside from a few scattered chairs and tables, the room was empty—save for Hermione, who sat near the fireplace, her nose buried in a large book. As I settled in, she seemed too absorbed in her reading to notice me. Fidell perched near the doorway, his watchful gaze alert for any approaching footsteps, ready to warn me if anyone entered. Nyx lay comfortably across my feet, her warmth spreading pleasantly, though I suspected she also enjoyed the idea of pinning me in place.

  From my robe pocket, I carefully removed the materials for the wand: the Thestral hair, the cat’s tail bones, and the bits of wood I’d acquired from Ollivander’s. The last thing I needed was for an unwelcome visitor to stumble upon my work and ruin the project—or worse, harm themselves by meddling with things they didn’t understand.

  I began by casting a faint Diffindo charm to cut the wood into the precise shapes I needed. Concentrating intently, I felt each sliver fall into place, the small bits of wood shaping into a unique form that would bond with the bones. The final shape was an intricate bead—two pyramids joined base to base, with a hollow center that would connect the bones. Only one piece of wood differed from the others; this piece formed the back of the wand handle, resting against the bones in a design that allowed the wand to align smoothly with my palm.

  Satisfied, I started assembling the pieces. The wood fit tightly around the bones, creating a skeletal form with an almost unworldly elegance. The Thestral hair lay untouched for now, waiting for the final stage of enchantment.

  Just as I allowed myself a moment to breathe, a face hovered inches from my own, her wide eyes inspecting my work intently. Startled, I nearly toppled over backward in my chair, and Nyx jolted awake, her claws digging into my ankles.

  “Shit!” I hissed, clutching the back of my chair to steady myself.

  “Sorry!” Hermione exclaimed, clearly surprised. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just… fascinated by what you’re doing.” Her gaze fell on the wand components laid out before me. “When did you learn to craft wands? And… I didn’t know you could use bone.”

  Fidell hadn’t warned me because, in his eyes, Hermione was an ally. I hadn’t expected her to be curious enough to take a closer look. I hastily gathered the wand pieces, but Hermione’s intense gaze never wavered.

  “It’s just… a talent of mine,” I said, trying to divert her curiosity. The truth, simple as it was, often made the best disguise. As Death, I couldn’t lie.

  Hermione’s brow furrowed slightly, her expression unreadable. “You really are talented…” she murmured, though her face held a strange intensity. Was she doubting me, or just envious?

  “Is there… something else?” I asked, feeling the silence stretch between us.

  “Do you mind if I watch?” Her eyes softened a mixture of eagerness and trepidation.

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  I rolled my eyes in resignation. “Fine, but I need absolute silence. I need to focus.”

  Hermione settled back into her chair, her body rigid with intent as she watched. I turned back to the wand, pushing her presence from my mind. Using my finger, I began tracing runes along the wand’s body, channeling magic into each stroke, which glowed obsidian against the pale bone. These runes would give the wand its unique power, binding the pieces as if they had always been one. Another rune would fuse the components to make the wand virtually indestructible, while the last set ensured that no one else could wield it. The wand would shock any unwelcome hand, reflect spells cast by another, and return to me whenever I summoned it.

  With the main structure complete, only one task remained. Picking up the Thestral hair in my left hand and the wand in my right, I began channeling death magic through the hair, causing it to slip into a state “less here” so it could phase seamlessly into the wand. Once the hair reached the center of the wand, I focused, drawing every kind of magical energy through me to awaken it fully. General magical energy fused all types, allowing the wand to come to life—though in this case, it was more accurate to say “unlife.” I channeled an extra surge of death energy, reinforcing the wand’s alignment to undeath.

  In an instant, the wand sparked, sending a burst of green sparks shooting from its tip, its energies aligning themselves to me. The final result was both beautiful and ominous, a wand reflecting my connection to both life and death.

  Hermione gaped at the new creation in my hand, her face a mixture of awe and trepidation. As I began clearing away my materials, she finally spoke her voice barely a whisper.

  “What… are you?”

  I froze her words echoing in the silence. “Excuse me?”

  Her face tightened, and her hands balled into fists. “You’re not human… you can’t be. What are you?”

  My heart (or whatever had taken its place in this form) skipped a beat. “Hermione, that’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

  But Hermione’s eyes were sharp, suspicious, as she took a step back. “People can’t just do what you did. You’re crafting wands, enchanting them, and performing spells you shouldn’t even know yet. It’s not normal.” Her voice wavered as she tried to contain her fear.

  I met her gaze steadily, maintaining as calm a demeanor as I could. “Hermione, I’m gifted in certain areas, yes, but I am as much a student here as you are.”

  She seemed to waver, but her gaze remained intense. “But that… magic. It doesn’t feel like anything I’ve ever seen.” Her eyes flicked to the wand still glowing faintly in my hand.

  There was no clear way to explain myself without risking more questions. Her insightfulness was both good and a problem and as much as I valued her intellect, I needed to be careful.

  I took a deep breath, letting the weight of my words settle. “Hermione, some things are difficult to explain, even to those with the sharpest minds.” I set the wand down, folding my hands. “Magic… can manifest differently for different people. What I did tonight was simply part of my… unique affinity.”

  Her expression softened, curiosity mingling with suspicion. “So you’re saying it’s just… you, then?”

  “Yes,” I replied, holding her gaze. “It’s just me.”

  She studied my face for a long moment, her breathing slow, as if weighing her options. Finally, she sighed, nodding slightly as she took a step back. “Alright… but you can’t blame me for asking. I’ve never seen anyone do that before.”

  I gave a slight nod, acknowledging her persistence. “And I respect your curiosity, Hermione. Truly.”

  After a moment, she finally relaxed, her expression softening. “You are remarkable, you know that?”

  “Thank you,” I replied, the tension easing from my shoulders. With that, Hermione returned to her book, casting the occasional glance my way, as if she were still piecing together some puzzle.

  I sighed inwardly, grateful for the moment of calm but well aware that this was only a temporary reprieve. The shape of death may be ever-changing, but here, in the world of the living, secrets were far more difficult to bury.

  is she doubting me...or just jealous?