Written for round 11 of the Quidditch Leagues Fanfiction Competition. Additional prompts are flood and crimson.

Galahad Ollivander sighed, wandering around Diagon Alley. Everyone was going to avoid his small wand shop like it was poisonous once the news spread about the enchantment cast upon it; a never ending waterfall of crimson water that looked like blood, but definitely wasn't. It had flooded the shop and Galahad had been forced to evacuate, calling in the best wizard he knew that could break the enchantment.

The rather young wizard - at merely 19 he owned one of the most well known shops in Diagon Alley, having inherited it from his father when he came of age- continued to wander aimlessly through the magical street, smiling and politely greeting at those who he knew that passed him. He and his family's little shop had become quite famous over the years, turning from a simple stall to a proper shop in such a short space of time. His ancestors had certainly known what they were doing when they set up the wand stall.

With a tired sigh, Galahad finally stopped, deciding to sit on a nearby bench. He couldn't go into his shop for the rest of the day and he had nothing to do. Going home, although a viable option, was too boring for the slightly restless wizard, who had arrived at the shop ready for a day of hard labour, only to be greeted with a holiday he neither needed or wanted.

Finally, he got back up and started wandering back towards the shop. Maybe, if he was lucky, it would be cleared by now and he could get back to work earlier than expected. It was all he could hope for, but he knew deep down what he wanted was next to impossible. If the enchantment was so easily lifted, he would be at work right now after getting rid of it himself without needing to call in an expert. And pay for an expert.

Galahad sighed, reminding himself that spell breakers were good at their jobs. That was why they were expensive. They were smart and hard working and deserved to charge whatever price they wanted. It didn't mean the Galahad had to be happy about it, he just had to accept it.

As he approached the shop, he saw exactly what he had been expecting to see, yet he felt his heart sink anyway. Hope really could be a dangerous thing. Galahad walked over to Malcolm, who appeared to have momentarily paused in his work at the door of the shop, merely looking at the red liquid flowing within. "It seems pointless to ask if you are doing alright, I suppose?" Galahad greeted as he came to a stop next to the other wizard.

Malcolm jumped, clearly surprised by his employer's sudden presence, although his gaze remained on the inside of the shop. "I am afraid I must say yes, sir. Quite pointless," Malcolm responded quietly, and Galahad almost missed the undertone of frustration in his voice. It was definitely there though. That was worrying - Malcolm was one of the best, if not the best spell breaker in London. His frustration was definitely worrying.

"The problem is worse than your first impression of it?"

"Much worse. The bl-red water," Malcolm quickly corrected himself, having already been victim to Galahad's rant of how the liquid was definitely not blood, "that's already there won't clear and the waterfall won't ruddy well stop. I got it to slow down a little, but that is all I have managed to do so far. I suspect whatever spell this is has backfired slightly. I have never seen anything like it...the sheer amount of water being produced..." Malcolm shook his head slightly, disbelief clear on his face. "Rather impressive, though problematic."

Galahad groaned, not even wanting to consider the damage to the wands in the shop. It was going to be incredibly expensive to repair the damage done, both to the products and to the shop itself. "Forgive me if I focus my attention more to the problematic side of the matter," he said softly, his eyebrows furrowing as he kept his eyes on the shop.

"Of course, sir. A fair point," Malcolm replied, nodding as he too kept his focus on the shop.

"Do you still think you can have the problem dealt with by tomorrow?" He asked, scared to hear the answer.

"Honestly? I do not have an answer. It could take a few more hours, it could take a few more days, I have no way of knowing," he replied and as much as Galahad wanted to, he had no way to contradict his words and say that the job could clearly be finished by the end of the day. "At least you will have a nice day off, sir," he continued brightly.

Galahad almost groaned again at the mention of his lack of work. "Yes, I suppose I do," he agreed reluctantly. It seemed that he had no other option but to go home now, since he was tired of wandering Diagon Alley and there was definitely no chance of work being an option. "I think I am going to go home. Please write to me when you are done?" He requested politely.

"Certainly, sir," Malcolm grinned. And with that, Galahad apparated home.

For the rest of the day, Galahad found it too hard to focus, most of his attention on his beloved shop which he couldn't even see. He paced constantly, needing to expel his restless energy somehow. He barely slept that night, his thoughts filled with images of the shop, damaged beyond repair.

When morning finally arrived, he hopped out of bed far earlier than usual, changing into his work clothes before continuing to pace just as he had the previous night. He was hopeful that the shop was fine, but worry was still gnawing at him.

It was just as he had convinced himself that there was going to be no shop to go back to when he heard a tapping noise. He turned and found himself faces with an owl, carrying a letter and the Daily Prophet. He rushed forward and grabbed both, digging a sickle out of his pocket and putting it into the small bag tied to the owl's leg. He got a gentle peck on top of his head from the owl in thanks before it flew off, leaving him alone with his post.

He didn't bother looking at the paper, instead tucking it under his arm as he opened the letter.

Dear Mr Ollivander,

Your shop is fine. I managed to remove all traces of water late last night and to my knowledge, all of your products are fine. I will meet you there later today so that we can discuss a final price for the work done.

It has been a pleasure working for you

Malcolm Brannigan

Galahad sighed, all traces of worry or tension leaving him as he finished reading the letter. "Thank Merlin," he muttered, putting down the letter and turning his attention to the paper, his eyes widening as he read the headline.

The Daily Prophet, 19th March 503

OLLIVANDER'S BLOOD FIASCO

Galahad groaned. "It wasn't blood!"