Chapter Text
Once upon a time, in a kingdom of peace and magic, a single drop of moonlight fell from the heavens.
From that drop of moonlight emerged a silver unicorn, coat of liquid mercury and horn of moissanite, her mane rippling in pearly, argent gossamer waves as she roamed the lands. Every step revived the wilted, and every brush breathed new life, until the forests thrived more than ever before, the harvests bountiful and rich.
But some were greedy for more.
Out of those greedy was an ambitious apprentice wandmaker, who’d been banished by his master for his cruel experiments. He tracked down the unicorn to its peaceful abode in a small cave on the side of the cliff, and struck it down with a flash of green light.
However, the unicorn disappeared.
All that remained was its horn, now dulled to a pale ivory, lying in a drop of moonlight, and the apprentice wandmaker eagerly tried to gather it up, both the horn and the moonlight.
But it was to no avail, for moonlight was never meant to be touched by impure hands.
As such, the wandmaker dissipated into ash, and the drop turned into mist, spreading out in a rippling curtain across the sky for all to see. That day was a joyous day, for all ailments and curses were fully healed.
The horn, on the other hand, fell down the cliff, never to be seen again.
Until the day of Prince Draco’s eleventh birthday, the day he was chosen by a wand from Ollivander’s Vault of Wands.
Everyone came to see, and the whole capital city celebrated, for Queen Narcissa and her husband were well-loved as kind and , just rulers, and their son Draco could often be seen strolling along the central street’s shops down to the beach.
That day, Draco received a smooth, cream-colored wand, its shape a spiral that tapered at the top.
“I sense it possesses the tail hair of a Thestral,” Ollivander had told him in that wise, all-knowing way of his. “How curious…. It’s said a witch or wizard capable of accepting death can master it.”
“It’s said’?” Draco had asked. “You don’t know?”
Ollivander had looked at him, pale silvery eyes gleaming.
“This is the only wand of its kind, your Highness.”
And Draco had lit up in excitement, that the wand in his hands was so special that even the kingdom’s foremost wandmaker didn’t know much about it.
It was only during an encounter that night that Draco began to understand what Ollivander had meant.
“Give me the wand, little boy,” demanded the witch, cloaked in black, “and no one will get hurt. I’ve explained, haven’t I? Answered your questions. You can’t stall forever.”
Chills ran up Draco’s spine at the way she sing-songed her words, as if she hadn’t already cast hexes at him.
And she had explained, explained that the wand in his hands was the horn of legend, a horn that could decide life or death.
A horn that was the most powerful wand in the world.
Draco wished he’d never asked.
“What’s the matter?” teased the witch mockingly. “Are you frozen with fear? Too scared to speak? You see, I’m doing you a favor. A wittle baby boy like you shouldn’t have such a powerful weapon in your hands, don’t you agree?”
Draco agreed, alright, because he was eleven, and what was he supposed to do? But the wand was in his hands, and despite every cell in his body screaming for him to just drop the wand and run, he knew he couldn’t.
He was the prince of Corona.
He had the most powerful wand in his hands.
How could he ever face the people, the kind shop owners on the street, the old man that was always fishing down by the beach, his instructors, his godfather, his parents, if he knowingly gave this witch, this intruder, the most powerful wand in the world?
What would happen if this crazy witch had this wand of legend in her hands? What if she went off to kill his family next?
It didn’t take a genius to know nothing good would happen.
And surely, anything was better than that outcome, right?
Right?
Draco had no one to ask, only himself and his terrified thoughts, and so he did what he thought was the only solution in this scenario.
He snapped his wand in half.
The witch screamed in outrage, and a white light filled the room, and the eleven year old Draco Malfoy saw no more.
~♫♪・・★・・♫♪~
“After him!”
Harry hid up a tree as he waited for the Royal Guard to ride past, then leaped off, darting through the forest. The plan to steal the crown of the lost prince had gone swimmingly well, with him and the Weasley twins splitting ways to better escape, so now all he had to do was shake the Royal Guard off his tail and make his way back to headquarters.
Easier said than done, of course, because the captain’s steed was like a bloodhound, somehow always knowing where Harry was, and it was getting ridiculous to the point that Harry was still out of breath and on the run even after having knocked out or incapacitated the Royal Guard chasing him.
Why, oh why, couldn’t the captain of the Royal Guard have ridden a broom like the rest of his unit?
Why did he have to ride some sort of eagle-horse hybrid that Harry had never seen in his life?
If only Hagrid were here; he’d know what to do about this bloody creature—Buckbeak was its name, apparently.
Because yes, Harry had gotten close enough to getting caught by Buckbeak to read its name on its harness.
Or his harness, rather, because yes, Harry had been close enough to see that part of the wretched creature, too.
Buckbeak chased and chased and chased, and Harry ran and ran and ran, until he ran straight off a cliff, because the idiotic bird creature had attempted to take his satchel with the crown in it and had flung it right off the cliff in the process.
Along with the both of them.
Now Harry wasn't one for animal cruelty—of course, not. He loved animals, especially dogs, but….
Merlin , did he want to hex the living daylights of that eagle-horse, who’d almost killed him pulling that stunt, though Harry had caught the satchel by a huge stroke of luck. He only narrowly survived the fall because of all the bushes that cushioned his landing—and scratched his face—and then he was on the run again because Buckbeak, of course, hadn’t fallen on account of having wings., and so it was a lucky break Harry had stumbled on when he'd pushed aside some low hanging branches, only to find that there was a cave behind them.
Except, it wasn’t a cave, but some sort of secret entrance, because the next thing Harry knew, he was staring at an open field and a high tower wrapped in flowery vines, right next to a small pond.
Harry blinked once, twice.
But then he snapped out of his stupor, hearing rustling noises in the not-so-far distance, and quickly made his way to the tower. He climbed up using the vines, though for some reason his skin prickled the higher he climbed.
It didn’t exactly hurt, though, so he continued.
He hesitated when he reached the top. Someone probably lived here, so it wouldn't do to just burst in, would it?
So he knocked.
“Hello? Anyone in there?”
He put his hand on his wand, just in case, as light footsteps pattered closer.
“Who is it?” asked a quiet voice. “Are you one of Mother’s friends?”
“Probably not,” said Harry dryly as he looked around, hoping and praying that Buckbeak wouldn't spot him. “But I’m being chased by a giant bird-horse creature that’s trying to kill me, so if I could hide here for just a moment, that’d be fantastic.”
The shutters cracked open to…a frying pan.
To be continued...