Author's Note: I shall be taking inspiration from the legend G.R.R. Martin himself and write only when I feel I can produce the best quality possible. In other words, this will have no regular updates because life does get in the way and sometimes the words refuse to flow the way they should. It is my intention to finish this story, and in the following years too, but it will take time. A lot of time. So if you're willing, I'll be more than happy to share my take on the Wizarding World with you.
As said in the summary this is a Parallel AU, so the story will follow the general plot of the original but will deviate from time to time in both major and minor instances. Because of this, I strive to make sure the characters and their decisions are realistic and appropriate for the new personalities and/or situations I have created.
Alrighty, ladies and lads, without further ado, settle in and get yourselves ready for a whole new spin on The Boy Who Lived, the golden trio, and every other thing you already know about the world of magic.
~jj
Disclaimer: I own nothing except my own imagination. And a couple cats...
Garrick Ollivander has sold many wands.
For decades he has found no greater pleasure than mixing and matching wood types with cores to produce the most uniquely crafted wands in the world. From his own wand, Dragon heartstring, Hornbeam, 12 ¾ inch, Slightly Bendy, to among the thousands of youngsters entering his store to purchase their own, Ollivander has seen nearly every combination of wood and core—at least more than any other person alive to date. While some wands are common, the harmony between Holly and Unicorn hair or Fir and Phoenix feather, for instance, there have always been strange fusions, none more so than the wand sold in the summer of 1938.
Phoenix feather, Yew, 13 ½ inch, Brittle. An especially strange combination as Yew wood tends to lean towards a more dark and fearsome use, whereas the Phoenix align themselves with healing and light. Yes, it was an odd wand, but there have always been odd wands. In fact, the first ever wand Ollivander sold forced him to question his abilities as a crafter. Dragon heartstring, Hazel, 7 inch exactly, Quite Bendy. A combination thought most strange, however, it was merely a quickly learnt lesson on the ways the wand chooses the wizard—no matter how unlikely it may seem.
Whatever happened to that odd wand, Ollivander did not know. But he did know what came of the Phoenix feather and Yew. He would never forget, nor would the Wizarding World. The most dangerous wizard known to mankind, once a polite eleven-year-old boy named Tom Riddle, now known only as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named owned that wand. The wand achieved terrible deeds, terrible indeed.
From that moment on Ollivander became very wary of handing out or even so much as making wands capable of such power and such evil, keeping only the remainder crafted at the time on the tallest shelf in the back most corner of his cluttered keep. They were some of the most powerful in the world, capable of such greatness, Ollivander often shuddered at the thought of what they might become. Luckily, the few left have never once tried to seek a potential master, as if Ollivander had cast a curse upon them. Of course, he would never, for every wand made always holds the possibility of good. He would never destroy a wand—especially one of his own making, as they are alive with magic, and to kill magic would be one of the worst acts Ollivander could think of committing.
'Removing magic of any kind from the world was the worst crime one can do,' he thought sadly.
Ollivander turned to face the long aisle behind him, towered either side by long, grand shelves holding his stock of wands. His pride and joy. He took a deep breath and surveyed the dusty boxes sitting at the top then down to those near head-height which were worn and frayed after being taken out over and over. He picked up his wand and began repairing some of the more worse for wear boxes on his left, still brooding about the past.
The door swung open, a melodic chime ringing from the little gold bell on top of the doorway before being covered by the sound of confident footsteps.
Ollivander swivelled around quickly, having been so abruptly removed from his thoughts, knocking over a couple of boxes nearby in the process.
"Sorry to frighten you, Mr Ollivander!" A girlish voice called out from the front.
Ollivander waved his hand and smiled, "Not to worry, dear."
He waved his wand with a slight flick and all the boxes neatly placed themselves back to their original position. He now stood facing the source of the voice and cocked an eyebrow.
Standing in front with her hands behind her back was a young witch, and judging by her black robes Ollivander deduced that she was to be starting Hogwarts in a couple of weeks. Her head was covered in thick bushy hair and her face was slightly pudgy, still carrying some baby-fat, with rather large front teeth displayed proudly by her wide smile. She was shorter than the average eleven-year-old girl Ollivander usually encountered and skinnier too—a direct contrast to her round face.
'A strong personality,' Ollivander mused, noting the girl's steady gaze. 'possibly a Maple or Beech...'
"How are you, young lady?" He greeted pleasantly.
"Very well, thank you." The girl replied with a grin. "Just finished buying all my school equipment. I'm going to Hogwarts at the end of the month!"
Ollivander nodded and gestured around him, "Well would you like to try some wands then, miss...?"
"Granger," the girl finished. "Hermione Granger."
"OK Miss Hermione Granger," Ollivander picked up the box nearest to him. "take this and give it a little wave in the air."
Hermione grasped the box and pulled out a bumpy, curved wand.
"Phoenix feather, Ash, 9 inch exactly, Supple," Ollivander informed her as she gave him a quizzical look.
"Phoenix feather..." Hermione muttered. "Produces the widest range of magic, the rarest core, the most difficult to tame."
Ollivander's eyes widened, as did his smile.
"I read all about wand lore the moment I found out I was a witch. I really admire your work." Hermione said proudly and Ollivander bowed his head in respect.
"Thank you kindly, and very well remembered." He complimented. "What are you waiting for, give it a wave!"
Hermione took a shallow breath and swung blindly but nothing happened.
Hermione's face fell but Ollivander merely chuckled.
"I think not then!" He said loudly as he carefully chose the next box. "This one?"
Hermione placed the Ash wand back in its box and exchanged it with the one in Ollivander's outstretched hand.
"Phoenix feather, Walnut, 11 ½ inch, Yielding," Ollivander explained as Hermione waved it in the air.
Pitiful pink sparks dribbled out of the tip and splattered to the floor before disappearing.
"Interesting..." Ollivander said, retrieving the box from Hermione's small hand.
"It often takes a long time for witches and wizards to find their true wand," Hermione said brightly.
"Indeed." Ollivander agreed as he flicked his wand so a box sitting high in a shelf to the right of him sailed down onto his desk.
Hermione picked it up without question and swung it fiercely.
A loud bang erupted and send a full shelf of boxes cascading towards the ground, some scorched in little orange flames. Hermione squeaked and put the wand firmly back in the box just as Ollivander extinguished remaining flames and moved all the boxes back to their rightful place.
"What was that?" Hermione asked, her voice dripping with intrigue.
"Dragon heartstring," Ollivander answered. "which as it seems, you have a very powerful affinity towards."
Hermione beamed at him and jumped on the spot. "Dragon heartstring, the most powerful of the cores, the easiest to change masters and the easiest to turn to the dark arts."
Ollivander stood very still. Hermione was looking at him as if she was expecting praise again.
Something flickered in her eyes as she said "Dark arts"... Or maybe it was just Ollivander's imagination, the worries of an ageing man, though he could not say for certain. He stared down at the small girl, still smiling sweetly with nothing but pure elation in her eyes—no greed, no hunger. Maybe he saw nothing, after all, a trick of the light or his tiring brain. He shook his head and began selecting wands, replaying her words carefully and desperately attempting to remember her tone and her face when she said the words.
For hours it seemed, Ollivander handed wands to Hermione and she would wave them around with little to no effect. He knew Hermione was waiting for another Dragon heartstring, but as long as she did not ask, he would stick to Phoenix feather and the odd Unicorn hair, as her first wave with Unicorn hair resulted in angry red marks covering her hands. Nothing she swung yielded anything close to the amount of magic the Dragon heartstring did, just a few sparks here and there and a couple of bubbles out of a particularly unique Silver Lime, 15 inch.
After the ninetieth wand spurted nothing but warm air out of the tip, Ollivander had to admit defeat.
It must be done. He packed away the wand and slowly made his way to some of the more tame Dragon heartstring wands, in hope that it would satisfy her seemingly endless magical potential.
His eyes quickly scanned row upon row until his eyes landed on a box near the back of the store.
"Perfect!" He said excitedly. "Oh, how did I not see before?"
He summoned the box with his wand and faced Hermione with a near crazed expression on his face, ignoring Hermione's look of surprise.
"Dragon heartstring!" He announced, pulling the aged wand from its case. "Vine Wood, 10 ¾, Springy."
"Wow!" Hermione breathed, gaping at the neat, white wand being handed to her.
Ollivander smiled in triumph as Hermione's small hands tightly gripped the wand. Instantly the room became a few degrees warmer, not overbearing but not too pleasant either. Ollivander's smile faltered a little but then Hermione took a swing.
Shocking flashes of blue and yellow blazed across the room, but inflicting no damage, as if they were merely illusions. Then the blue and yellow swirled and mixed, blending nicely into a soft green which collected itself and turned into an orb. The orb moved with Hermione's movements precisely, demonstrating the control the young witch had over the light, and easing Ollivander's poor ageing heart.
It was pretty much perfect.
"Wow..." Hermione repeated, still moving the green orb around the room. "This is really, really..."
Ollivander was so happy he did not realise her eyes were resting on the back of the room, looking—searching for something. He did not notice that the ball had dimmed and was slowly decreasing in size and that her arm raised the wand a fraction higher. He did not see a glint in her eyes, it wasn't greed or desire more like passion for... something. Only when she waved it a second time did he hear the sound of air passing through his ears and realised that she had somehow managed to summon another box. A box he had not seen in a very, very long time for it had been stored on the topmost shelf in the back of his room. The place where certain wands were never sought after.
But now one had.
Before he could stop her, Hermione had opened the box. The wand was red, fairly straight but with a very sharp looking tip. It was carved with intricate swirling patterns along the handle which was slightly curved, to fit comfortably in one's hand. It looked more like a long, thin blood-caked dagger than a wand.
Hermione dropped the Vine Wood wand in favour of the red one and the moment the wood came in contact with her skin, the whole atmosphere changed. The slightly too warm air cooled to the perfect temperature with a delightful summer breeze wafting through the windows. The yellow glow from the now setting sun had illuminated double-fold, casting the room in a cosy gold blanket. Light sprinkles of grass blades sprouted through the cracks of the stone walls and wooden floorboards, drifting in the wind and the faint sound of chirping birds could be heard.
The pair stayed silent for a moment, taking in the new environment that had so suddenly enveloped them before Ollivander spoke in a weak voice.
"Dragon heart... Cherry... 14 ½ inch... Unyielding..." He said, forcing himself to speak. "Unusually pigmented, much brighter than the average... And one of the most dangerous combinations in the world if in the wrong hands..."
"Well," Hermione said confidently. "based on the reaction that happened when I touched it, I doubt my hands are the wrong hands."
As if to prove her statement correct, she twirled the wand in a tight circle and produced a small, silver bird made of paper which soared around and landed softly on her shoulder.
Ollivander stared at her carefully before properly scanning the room. Beautiful flowers began blooming in a circle around Hermione with pink and purple fireflies buzzing around above her head like a crown. She looked like a woodland princess. Perhaps... Perhaps she is right, and her hands will not be the cause of terror and ill intent. Even if Ollivander thought otherwise, he was in no position to deny the girl her wand for it was most certainly only belonging to her.
"Well, Miss Granger," He said with polite enthusiasm. "the wand chooses the wizard or witch in this case. I admit I was a bit nervous about selling this particular wand to anyone, but as you rightly said before, your hands are the right hands, the right ones to be handling that wand."
Hermione held the wand in both her hands, softly tracing a finger along the swirling carvings, and looked up at him with a broad grin. The atmosphere made even her two large front teeth look more pleasant.
"I will be honest," Ollivander continued, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. "I have never seen a wand react so strong nor so positively towards another before. It truly was a magnificent sight to behold. So I thank you." He bowed.
"My pleasure!" Hermione giggled.
Ollivander chuckled along with her as she paid for her new wand. That particular wand was slightly more expensive than regular, however, due to the remarkable bond between witch and wand, Ollivander was inclined to give the young girl a hefty discount. He watched as she left, waving goodbye and keeping his eyes on her dark shadow until she met with two taller figures then disappeared into the inky blackness of the night.
He wondered if people were disappointed that his shop seemed to be closed for the majority of the day, as an illusion appears whenever someone enters the shop looking for a new wand making it seems as if it were closed. This was due to the chance the choosing process takes a very long time, as in the case of Miss Granger, and it was easier for Ollivander to work with minimal distractions. In fact, the meeting with the young witch took so long, that Ollivander was a minute off closing for the night. Seeing as no one would have stuck around for a chance to purchase a wand from him, he decided to close slightly early.
However right before he switched out the light, a very loud knock came from outside the door.
"'Cuse me, Mr Ollivander?" A booming voice called. It was so loud, it made Ollivander's left ear pop.
He hurried to the door and gracefully opened it.
"Hello Mr Hagrid," Ollivander greeted happily. "how are you this fine evening?"
A man nearly twice the size he should be and three times the width stood completely covering the doorway, so Ollivander could not see past him. He has wild bushy hair with a beard to match, and beetle black eyes crinkled in an elated smile.
"Oh it's so great yer still 'ere," Hagrid said. "We thought you'd be closed fer the night."
"I had a very challenging customer late morning," Ollivander explained. "took up most of my day. My sincerest apologies, Mr Hagrid."
Hagrid waved an enormous hand. "Not a problem, Ollivander, not a problem!"
"So what can I do for you?" Ollivander asked.
"We'll be needin' a wand, ya see!" Hagrid said excitedly, clapping his hands together.
"But Mr Hagrid—" Ollivander began, but stop dead when he saw a flash of pale skin and a mop of black hair hiding behind Hagrid's left arm, now that he had raised it.
"Oh." He finished, moving away from the door and gesturing for them both to enter.
"Off yer go, Harry."
Ollivander's heart stilled for a moment.
Skinny and cautious, Harry walked into the small shopkeep. His bright green eyes lying behind circular glasses glanced around curiously, and his messy black hair styled in a way to attempt to hide his scar, but Ollivander knew as would any witch or wizard who saw him. The boy who stopped He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as a baby, the boy who lost everything except his life that night, the boy who saved the Wizarding World.
And here he was, thinking that selling one of the most lethal wands to a bubbly, slightly over-confident eleven-year-old girl would be the highlight of his day.
"It is my great honour to serve you, Mr Potter," Ollivander said, bowing deeply. "As I served your mother and father before you. Terrible tragedy, truly terrible."
Harry looked uncomfortable and gave a tight smile in return.
"I'll be waitin' out 'ere for yer Harry." Hagrid's loud voice called out before the door closed soundly.
Ollivander watched Harry with an intense glare eyes desperately searching for the thin, lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. Harry to seem to know that his eyes were going and ducked his head, moving away from the older wizard.
"Very sorry, Mr Potter," Ollivander said quickly, moving behind the counter and ushering the boy closer. "If you will come here, we can start seeing which wand suits you best."
Harry shuffled an inch closer before stopping, still a good foot away from the desk.
Ollivander nodded to him and began searching around with glee. He pulled box after box from every section of the room trying to get a good combination of wands to present to Harry. Once he held a stack nearly half his height, did he return to the desk.
"Right, Mr Potter," Ollivander handed Harry a box from the top of the immense pile. "If you will please try this."
Harry tentatively reached and held the box in his hands.
"Unicorn hair, Larch, 13 ¼ inch, Bendy." Ollivander described as Harry took the wand from within the box.
He gave it a small wave and a rush of cool air blew through the room.
"Excellent!" Ollivander cried. "Truly excellent!"
"So is this my wand then?" Harry asked, speaking for the first time.
"No my boy!" Ollivander laughed. "Oh no, no that wand will not do. Will not do!"
"Then why are you happy?" Harry said angrily.
"Because wands are my passion, Mr Potter," Ollivander said calmly after having received this treatment often during his long career. "And every wand you fail with is one step closer to finding your true wand."
Harry shoved the wand back in the box and handed it back, not looking the older wizard in the eye.
"Here," Ollivander offered Harry another box. "Dragon heartstring, Red Oak, 15 ¾ inch, Rigid. A rather uncommon one."
Harry picked it up and tested the balance, frowning.
"You don't like it?" Ollivander guessed.
"It's a bit heavy..." Harry muttered.
Ollivander huffed softly. "Well give it a wave and we'll see where it takes you."
Harry did as he was told and swung it with even less force than the wand before. The slight movement, however, was enough to allow bright red flames to spit out from the tip, burning a hole in the bottom of Ollivander's desk.
"No!" Ollivander said quickly, using his own wand to extinguish the flames and fix the damage. "Definitely not!"
"Sorry," Harry uttered, dropping the wand back into the box and putting it back on the newly repaired desk.
"No matter, no matter," Ollivander replied with a small wave of his hand.
"What about that one?" Harry asked, pointing to a box sitting on the corner of the desk, seemingly forgotten and already open.
Ollivander stood still, shocked. "Oh well, I don't think—"
Harry reached forward and picked up the box, staring at the wand for a moment before grasping it tightly in his hand. Dark green sparks immediately sprang from the tip, turning to pale snowflakes before hitting the ground. Harry twisted his hand a little to the right and a calm waterfall seeped out of the tip, turning into a slowing mist before it hit the ground. The waterfall then changed colour rapidly, following the spectrum in a very precise manner and slowly seemed to be turning into a liquid art piece.
"Oh..." Ollivander said with a small note of disappointment. "That is Phoenix feather, Pine, 12 inch exactly, Slightly Springy."
Harry ignored him and looked solely at the wand with carefully hidden pleasure. It was average in every aspect: neat, straight, smooth, with clean wood grains running from the handle to the rounded tip. It's medium toned, neutral brown contrasting poorly with his jet black hair and bright green eyes. The mundane appearance of the wand looked very out of place being in the hand of The Boy Who Lived, the most extraordinary child ever known. But Ollivander spotted a fleeting smile on Harry's face and knew that this was the wand for him. This boring, plain, completely ordinary wand that would have been seen as amazing in almost any other hand.
"How much?" Harry asked abruptly.
Ollivander snapped out of his trance and addressed Harry. "Normally a standard wand like this would cost six Galleons, however, seeing as you are—"
"Then I'll pay six Galleons." Harry interrupted with a firm note in his voice, diving his fist in his pocket.
"All right," Ollivander said quietly. "Are you sure this is the one you want, Mr Potter? You are more than welcome to try—"
"No I'm fine, thank you," Harry said with forced politeness. "Don't want to take up any more of your time."
"Don't worry about me, dear boy," Ollivander said lightly. "I am more than—"
"Here you go," Harry said quickly, dumping six golden coins on Ollivander's desk and turning to leave.
"Wait!" Ollivander called out desperately. "Do you not want to hear more about your wand?"
"No thank you," Harry said before swiftly leaving the store.
Ollivander stared at the door for a few moments, trying to make sense of the events that just took place. The Boy Who Lived with a wand suited for a timid, shy child? That could not be... Why had he not wanted to try more? Why had he not wanted to at least hear more about the wand he chose. Did he even chose it, or did the wand chose him?
The wand chooses the wizard. It is the philosophy Ollivander has maintained and preached throughout his entire career. If the wand had not indeed wished to be picked by young Mr Potter then the pair could lead to beyond dire consequences.
Ollivander's mind was spinning. A Phoenix feather in the hands of a child— in the hands of anyone who was not the true master was especially dangerous. Dragon heart could be turned by a strong enough contender, Unicorn would be damaged and cease to work unless a replacement was made. But Phoenix wands...The boy was at risk of terrible danger. He moved to the right of his desk and pulled out some parchment and a quill.
"Dumbledore," he muttered as ink blots stained the sheet. "He must watch over Mr Potter, he must tell him of the danger—"
He stopped instantly. He looked at the still opened box sitting on his desk and gasped as realisation flooded his mind.
"The core..." Ollivander whispered harshly. "The Phoenix feather... The core connected to... He shares a link with—!"
All thoughts of the potential mismatched wand and owner flew out the window as he rushed to re-write the note. He must tell Dumbledore, he must inform him about the twin connection between Harry Potter and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He felt ashamed to not have noticed before but now he knew, he knew that The Boy Who Lived was destined for that seemingly plain wand. It was his and Ollivander would bet his life that the wand had chosen Harry. He quickly locked his store and with a small 'Pop!' left the spot he was once standing.
He suddenly stood in his living room, his owl squawking loudly as he hurried to tie the note to his leg then send him away to Hogwarts. He must warn the Headmaster, he must inform him about the connection between the two most famous wizards of all time, and what that connection may represent. Ollivander sighed as he watched his brown owl soar off into the night and laid down on his bed. How he didn't see before, he did not know. Perhaps it was hard to see how such an important feather could lie in such a boring case. Perhaps in the rush of serving the most famous recent wizard got to his head and clouded his judgment.
It was no matter now, Dumbledore would soon receive the note and would be able to explain the importance of the wand that chose the young wizard. Yes, Ollivander would bet his life that the ordinary looking Phoenix Pine 12 inch desired Mr Potter as much as the boy desired it.
Through his entire life, he has never had such an interesting day, selling not just one but two extraordinarily weird wands. Weird but wonderful wands. As his mind raced through the day's events, he paused and saved an extra thought for the young Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, the boy who had stopped the evillest wizard known, the boy who was destined for greatness. While he feared for the boy's safety as every witch and wizard did ever since that fateful night, he held one thought to put his mind at ease.
He had never known someone in possession of a Pine wand to live a short life.