Legal disclaimer: The following characters belong to J.K. Rowling, and this story derives from her original works, storylines, and world. Please do not sue me, I can barely pay tuition.
Warning: NA, non-graphic mentions of canon torture.
Author's note: I don't buy the "wands were only English and introduced to other parts of the world by emigrating Brits" line that we got from Pottermore because, well, imperialism is bad. So don't mind that! Also, justice for Ollivander; the man survived two years as Voldemort's captive and deserves a quiet life.
House: Hufflepuff
Role: Player (Second Year)
Category: Round 3, Standard
Prompt: [Theme] Travelling around the world (Include a minimum of three different locations)
Word Count: 1997
The Wandmaker's Guild
Take it from an old man
Time's just sand slippin' past
We wanna hold it in our hands
But no one ever sees what falls through the cracks
Take it from an old man
My mistakes have made me
And I am what I am
And though I don't believe in silver linings
I believe that there's something in you
Something good is tryin' to break through
You might have to fight the good fight
And when you think you can't
You can
Take it from an old man
-Take it From An Old Man, Sara Bareilles
Most children did not buy their wands alone. Curious, Ollivander thought as he glanced over the counter at the little girl. Wide-eyed, she'd come in empty-handed with two red braids, mismatched shoes, and a splash of freckles. By now, Ollivander was an old man – a tired man. A man who was well-known and no longer said hello when the bell at his shop door chimed. If somebody needed him, they would call him. They knew who he was.
The little girl wandered up to the counter and pushed herself onto her tip-toes.
"My father always told me that wands were more powerful than anybody says," she said. Ollivander paused to consider her, recognizing her from the papers.
"Yes, your father would know that, Miss Potter," he said. "Lily, is it?"
"Lily Luna," she said, sticking out her hand. "Pleased to meet you, mister."
"The pleasure is mine," he said.
"Wands are my favourite," she informed him. "One day I'm going to make them. I'll go all around the world to get the best materials to make the best wands. Trust me."
He smiled. Something stirred in the pit of his stomach—a good feeling, like just before you turned left and found unicorn hair tangled in a bush, ready for harvesting.
From his key ring, he unclipped the charm his father had given him, though it had been touched by many others: a simple wand crossed over an olive branch—the symbol of House Ollivander of the Wandmaker's Guild.
"Well, I'll tell you what Miss Potter: if wands are still your favourite when you turn fifteen, you can come back and give me back this charm. That's how I'll know you're quite serious."
"I am," Lily said. "Thank you."
"Thanks to you. And I will see you next year when you are here to find your own wand. Now you better go back to your parents before you scare them."
Lily nodded and left the shop.
"I still have your charm," Lily said. "I'm going to be a Ravenclaw—I'll learn lots, have great grades…"
"I don't doubt it, Miss Potter, but you are not fifteen yet. For now, let's find you a wand…"
All the wands in the store were humming excitedly.
"Stubborn things," Ollivander muttered as he perused. "Yes, yes, we all like her, but only one of you can… Ah, I know, let's get you a stubborn one, Miss Potter. Maybe you'll be able to tame… yes, of course…"
He was right: her wand was that damned 10 inches, willow, unicorn hair…
"Not unlike your namesake," Ollivander said. "Though yours has a tiny nick in the handle, a rare imperfection for an Ollivander wand…"
"Is it safe?" her mother asked.
"Of course," Ollivander said. "Powerful, too. The wand's pride is simply a little bit wounded. It might take a more gracious hand to wield."
"I will," Lily promised. She tied the Ollivander charm around its handle.
Her birthday fell over Christmas break. Lily made her mother bring her to Diagon Alley.
"I'm fifteen today," Lily told him, laying the charm down on the countertop.
"So you are," Ollivander smiled. "Happy birthday, Miss Potter. How would you like a job this summer?"
Lily beamed.
Every day, she came in with her hair tied back in a scarf, ready to work. Her brown eyes always looked a little surprised, and a smile always nicked at the corner of her mouth—nearly matching the handle of her wand. She had a piano player's fingers—delicate, careful, agile—and that was how she moved and behaved as well. Until she got comfortable, then she was rather playful. He quite liked having her around, though today she was quiet.
"My father told me you were a war prisoner," Lily said when he asked. "I think it just slipped, but… I'm sorry. I can't imagine."
"It's quite alright."
"I know Dad still has nightmares sometimes," Lily added.
"Your father was a child. A casualty," Ollivander said. "I carry more guilt and created my own nightmares."
Lily bit her lip.
"Why didn't you retire, after what happened?"
"Because this shop has stood for well over a thousand years," Ollivander said. "My mistakes did not change its right to live on."
"And what will you be doing after Hogwarts, Miss Potter?"
Lily froze and looked over her shoulder.
"I was quite hoping to secure an apprenticeship, sir," Lily said carefully.
"St. Mungo's will be lucky to have you."
Lily's face made him laugh.
"I'm teasing you, Miss Potter. I assume you intend to pursue wandlore," Ollivander said.
"I told you to trust me," she shot back with a beautiful smile.
"Trust you I have, and I will," Ollivander said. "Perhaps we can find ourselves a table at the Leaky Cauldron after closing and discuss your entry into the Wandmaker's Guild."
Lily's smile crinkled her freckles and threatened to split her face.
She'd been assisting him in the workshop and running errands for a year when he decided to send her off.
"Come back with a wand," Ollivander said simply. He handed her a bundle of canvas with a loop for a belt—her toolkit.
"Just like that, you're sending me off…"
"Yes," he nodded. "The world is now your oyster, workshop, and playground. Remember: for your first wand, you are to harvest and collect scarcely and carefully. Wandmakers may channel magic, Miss Potter, but for now you need to let it come to you. You know the rules: stay in exile until you are satisfied with your work, then send a letter to the Guild to schedule an examination."
"Who will help you in the shop?" Lily worried. "What if you run out of wood, or have errands, or need to bring something heavy up from the basement…"
"Now, now," Ollivander said. "I will manage without you, as you will without me."
Truth be told: he was going to miss her.
In Germany's Black Forest, Lily spent weeks coaxing a herd of unicorns. When one of the beautiful creatures let Lily run a hand down its flanks, she felt out of her own body. She took no hair, however.
The French her cousins had taught her barely got her up and down the French coast, where she was very tempted by the citrus trees of Menton.
In Poland's Białowieża Forest, Lily found four hundred-year-old oaks who had fallen decades before she'd been born, still humming with magic. Feeling their pull, she cut off a branch carefully and wrapped it in a cotton scarf. Every night for the rest of her trip, she would take it out and use a small, golden pocket knife and a variety of her tools to polish and shape the wood.
In Greece, she met a friendly group of mermaids. They offered to let Lily take a strand of hair, but she declined. She wanted to see more.
In Canada, she found maples whose bowtruckles would let you tap the trees for sap, but wouldn't let you take wood. In the old-growth Pacific forests, the trees were so thick she couldn't wrap her arms around their trunks. She wanted to go back to the shop and tell Ollivander: "The whole world is too big, and I am one person trying to make just one wand."
In Mexico, she learned how wandmakers made wands in the desert with the absence of the trees she was used to.
Chilean wandmakers were conducting studies about whether or not fruit trees in season yielded more powerful wand wood. They told Lily about all the intricacies.
The Columbian rainforest's air was so thick, Lily felt as if it was trying to squeeze her out. She didn't stay long; Ollivander had told her to listen to what the natural world was telling her. For her, this was not the place. She did, however, learn to dance rather well.
In Egypt, Lily met her first female wandmaker —a woman with wrinkles deeper than Ollivander's living in a home filled with charts. She could have spent years listening to her.
She was not prepared to meet the massive bowtruckles that guarded Tanzanian baobabs—the local wandmakers laughed at Lily's shock. "Must be easier in England," they teased.
While in Mozambique, she wound up on a marine expedition to go hunt sea dragons. It was the first time she'd seen such a fresh heart being harvested for its heartstrings, among many other things.
In Namibia, one of the young men working at the hostel teased her about all the magical things that could be in her bag. Little did he know. Still, Lily liked him quite a bit for the imagination it took to guess.
She wanted to see more of Africa but had to keep moving.
The cherry blossoms were in bloom when Lily reached Japan; the sight made something catch in her throat. She couldn't take wood from here; she simply pressed a flower between the pages of her notebook to bring home to Mum.
In Thailand, the vegetation was so green and lush and plentiful that it crawled on bridges, roads, temples, ruins, and on itself. She was overwhelmed by it; she didn't know what to do.
She spent a week in the mountains of Laos. One night, she repaired a nest a tourist had thrown stones at. The next morning, a mother phoenix was perched at the top of her tent, wings sprawled. Breathless, Lily ran her fingertips down its wing, like Ollivander had taught her, until they settled on a feather. The phoenix bowed its head, and Lily carefully plucked it. She smiled and thanked the bird quietly. Her fingers tingled with the rightness of her find.
When she realized how well her oak and her feather would mesh, Lily laughed. She swore, she even saw a rainbow dash across the sky.
And that was the eight-month-long story of Lily's first wand.
Exactly eleven inches, oak, and phoenix feather core. She assessed that it would be especially prone to Transfiguration. The Guild agreed.
The wand performed spectacularly, and Lily's name was printed on her tool kit in gold.
Lily Luna Potter – House Ollivander
Wandmaker's Guild 2026
"It would be my honour to buy it from you," Ollivander said.
She twisted her hands together.
"I… I have to keep it for... there's someone who was there, in a way, when I made it, umm… I'm so sorry, it's… Something happened while I was traveling."
"Miss Potter?" Ollivander said. She looked green. "Lily?"
"I'm okay," she said quietly. "I'm just… Mr Ollivander, I'm pregnant. I'm sorry. You've given me such opportunities, and I've ruined…"
He pulled Lily close, interrupting her.
"When I was a boy, my father brought me everywhere. He said it helped draw out the unicorns and calm the bowtruckles. I picked twigs," Ollivander said. "I sat in the back of this very store and did homework surrounded by wands... This is not an ending for you."
Lily looked at him inquisitively.
Taking her hand, Ollivander dropped the charm, her charm, in her palm, closing her fingers around it. It turned into the shop's key.
He smiled. "I trust that you will do, and make, many great things, without sacrificing great for good. You have the heart for it. The love for it. Please, Miss Potter. Take it from me."
Lily looked at the key in her hand. Her smile crinkled her freckles.
And finally, the Wandmaker could leave in peace.
MC4A Spring Bingo
Space Address (Prompt): C5 (Rainbow)
Word Count: 1997