Hey guys! I've been playing around with this idea for a while, and I couldn't resist posting the first chapter. I don't have that much written already, but I wanted to put out the first chapter and see what you guys think. It's been a while since I've seen or read any of the Harry Potter stuff, so I apologize if something's off.
Enjoy! And let me know what you think?
August 26th, 1993
Ollivander's wasn't just a wandshop.
It didn't look like much from the outside in. The three-storey building was built out of painted wood, and it looked a bit crumbly and flaked on the edges. The window was wide, allowing for a good peek into its bowels, but in dire need of a good cleaning around the edges. It adds character, the Ollivanders said when pressed about whether or not they were looking into remodelling, it wouldn't feel quite the same if they did.
The shop faced the street in an unassumingly arrogant way, a contradiction in itself, which was indeed fitting – the Ollivanders needn't sell themselves, everyone knew who they were, and, most importantly, knew what they offered. Nevertheless, peeling gold letters over the door read: Ollivanders - Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C..
Walking into the shop was an experience in itself. Magic liked it in there, and it wrapped every newcomer in a vibrant warm blanket. It was a place of possibilities, where every wizard could find (or be found) by the perfect conduit for their magic: a wand.
Though the Ollivanders worked with a wide range of wood, they prided themselves in offering only three distinctive wand cores: Unicorn Hair, Phoenix Feather, and Dragon Heartstring. Any mention of Wampus Hair or Occamy Scales (or any other possible wand core, really) was strictly prohibited – they were merely pale imitations of what wand cores should really be, and the Ollivanders would not stand for it.
Any wizard worth their salt knew that what Ollivander's lacked in product variety, they made up in quality. They had centuries of examples to back up their claim. Nothing else would do. And that, as they say, was that.
Boxes upon boxes, stacked precariously up to the ceiling, filled the shabby old shelves. The cases were long and thin, just big enough to cushion their mighty contents inside. Thin pieces of parchment, scribbled with barely intelligible writing, were glued on the short sides of the long shapes.
The store owner's daughter hung from the steep ladder, one foot in the air and a hand reaching up into the upper right corner. Her blonde hair, once held by a loose bun, framed her face in loose strands. Sharp pale cheekbones caught the light of the candles, teeth flashing as she worried her lower lip.
Restless pale eyes jumped from box to box, hands fluttering in their wake. She huffed out a breath of air, just barely managing to get rid of the strands teasing her eyes. Her free hand flicked in a frustrating manner, and with a mumble and a groan, the ladder beneath her slid towards the far end.
Hanging just barely from the tips of her fingers, shuffling through dusty boxes filled with wands, Gadea Rowan Ollivander –"Just call me Rowan,"- felt right at home.
Which surprised no one, least of all her father. Garrick Ollivander had stumbled upon his daughter's sleeping form, surrounded by stacks of his wands, more times than she'd ever care to admit.
Rowan's hand stopped on top of a box. It was one of the newer ones, not quite worn by time just yet. Redwood and Unicorn Hair, ten inches, somewhat bendy. She glanced back towards the front of the store, zeroing in on the boy: just turned eleven, shuffling in place with nervous energy – and pushed back the box into the shelf. That wasn't the one.
Rowan let out yet another frustrating breath. She didn't know why she was having so much trouble with the wands today. There was an edgy energy in the shop, and she couldn't figure out if it was the wands or if it was all in her head. She just couldn't shake the feeling that something was coming – there was change in the air. And she didn't like it one bit.
She took one last look at the boy, determined to choose the wand she knew he deserved. She closed her eyes and let her mind drift.
Next thing she knew, her hand flickered towards the left, and the ever-handy (old and in dire need of oiling) ladder slid in the same direction. Her hand drifted over the boxes. Unicorn hair, she was sure of that. The wood, however…
Larch, hazel, spruce, sycamore, poplar, maple-
She paused, hand drifting back a box.
Poplar and Unicorn hair, eleven inches, slightly bendy.
Ah, this was the one.
She scrambled down the stairs, barely looking as she shuffled past stacks of wands. The box opened easily, and with a care Rowan rarely showed anything else, she held the wand in her hands as she presented it to the boy.
The boy stared down at the wand, eyes big as saucers.
His father, shooting Rowan an amused look, placed a hand on his boy's shoulder.
"Go on, Jer," he said. "Give it a go."
Clumsy hands picked up the wand.
It was instantaneous, as it always was. Jerome's robes fluttered, pushed by a breeze that left everything else untouched. Warm magic filled the air, and Rowan couldn't help the smile. Nothing would ever compare to the feeling of a well-cared wand choosing its new master.
"'If you seek integrity, search first among the poplars,'" Rowan said, smiling down at the awe-struck boy. "Or so my great-grandfather used to say. It's a good wand, Jerome. It'll take care of you."
A smile split the boy's face. "Thank you, Miss Ollivander."
"You're welcome. Have fun at Hogwarts, yeah? And say hello to McGonagall for me."
"Sure!"
Jerome's father paid for the wand, and with one last enthusiastic smile, boy and father left the shop on their way to purchase a new set of first-year robes. Rowan watched them go fondly – she was watching the start of a new adventure.
"The wands are feeling restless," said a new voice, promptly interrupting Rowan's contented thoughts.
Garrick Ollivander, the shop's owner and proud father of two, slowly made his way down the stairs. His hand held unto the bannister – a recent habit. He was getting old, and it annoyed him quite a bit.
Rowan was leaning on the counter beside the cash register, arms braced upon the warm wood as she watched the world walk by. Witches and wizards from all over the world ambled their way down the cobbled stones of Diagon Alley, and Rowan watched with interest as the hordes of kids ran outside, undoubtedly excited for the start of a new school year.
She didn't turn to look at her father, but at his words, a shiver of apprehension ran down her spine. At least it wasn't just her, she thought. He'd felt it too.
Garrick stopped a few steps from reaching the ground floor and took a moment to look at his daughter.
Ollivander's had started as a family business, and it had been so for a great number of years. Wandmaking was a lot more difficult to learn than most thought, including, of course, the twits managing that little (illegal) kiosk down in Knockturn Alley. Wandmaking required a certain knack; a knack that Ollivanders had in excess. It could only be taught to a certain extent, the rest, well, it was all skill.
A skill Rowan had in spades.
Rowan might very well be the best wandmaker the Ollivanders had seen as of yet. She didn't know it still. And, Garrick thought, she wouldn't believe it if he told her. She'd have to discover it for herself.
He'd known it from the first time he'd brought the toddler to the shop. She'd shuffled to the very back of the room, still stumbling over her own two feet, pulling Garrick along. She'd made him carry her, and then reached for her very own wand.
She'd barely known how to walk. Garrick still wondered if she'd even known what wands were at that point. But she'd known which one was hers the moment she stepped into the shop. No hesitation, no questions. He'd never seen anything like it.
Hornbeam and Dragon Heartstring, eleven inches, pliable.
That it was hornbeam was, at least for Garrick, utterly fascinating. Hornbeam wands tended to choose witches and wizards with a single, pure passion. For that particular wand to have chosen Rowan at such a young age… he wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse, but Rowan's fate had sealed from the moment she'd waddled into the shop.
He knew the feeling. Hornbeam ran in the family.
It was one of the main reasons the thought of retiring had become more occasional than not. Rowan had become an exceptional, grown woman. She loved the shop as much as he did. And perhaps it was time for her to take over. These days she did most of the work anyway. His bones weren't as they'd once been, and they tended to creak almost as much as the stairs did, as his son liked to tease.
It had been a surprise when the knack had skipped his first-born. Geralt loved wandmaking – he had, after all, grown up in the shop as well. But it wasn't his one true passion. That was all Quidditch. A first, for an Ollivander. It amused Arlene, his wife, to no end.
Geralt had been recruited by the Falmouth Falcons only last year. He was good, he'd boasted at the last family dinner that he'd make first team in no time. And then he'd proceeded to announce his plans to marry that girl of his.
Garrick had never heard his wife squeal that way before.
They were all happy for him, of course. But he'd also noticed how quiet Rowan had become after.
Arlene had assured him that all Rowan needed was a nice distraction. A boyfriend maybe. Garrick had insisted that that wasn't it. But when his wife had rolled her eyes and eventually pretended to agree with him, he'd known she was probably right.
He just preferred not to think about it.
Rowan took after her mother and thank Merlin she did. Garrick knew he was an ugly old bastard, but his wife was almost as beautiful as the day they met. Even though time had taken its toll, the lines of her face just made her look prettier when she smiled. However, Garrick found himself hoping that his daughter had more sense than Arlene. After all, his wife had married an ugly old bastard. And that just wouldn't do for his daughter.
The magic in the shop shivered, and Garrick frowned. Rowan's shoulders hunched, and he knew she could feel it as well. It put him well on edge.
The last time the shop had reacted this way, it had been only moments before Harry Potter had walked into his shop.
So, it really shouldn't have surprised him when a trio of redheads waltzed into the room.
He really should retire, he thought. If he retired, he wouldn't have to deal with Weasleys. And that was as good a reason as any.
Rowan watched Molly and Arthur Weasley amble into the shop, and only exhaled in relief when she confirmed the twins weren't with them. Instead, a crabby looking Ron dragged his feet behind.
"You really didn't have to come," Ron mumbled. "Harry and-"
"Ron Weasley, this is your first proper wand. We're obviously coming with you." Molly chided. "Now, chin up, and say hello."
Ron rolled his eyes but did as mum had asked. "Hullo Mr. Ollivander. Hi Rowan."
Rowan smiled back. She didn't know Ron well. She'd met him briefly on her sixth year. It had been his first, and she'd bumped into him in the middle of an abandoned hallway. He'd been lost, mumbling something about a prank and his brothers, and she'd escorted him back to his dorm room.
What had stood out to her, other than his apparent friendship with The Boy Who Lived, had been his wand. Quite a disastrous relationship, and Rowan hadn't even seen him use it once. Those twelve inches of ash and unicorn hair had not been meant for Ron. She'd always wondered where he'd gotten it, though she knew it had most likely been a hand-me-down from one of his numerous brothers. That was the thing with unicorn hair, and even ash for that matter. They would obey their first master, and no one else. A horrible combination for a young wizard to contend with.
She was almost relieved that he was finally here for a new one.
"Hello Garrick," Arthur said, smiling at Rowan's father. "Long time no see."
Garrick's bushy eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "I thought your little girl would be the last of you."
Arthur laughed, and though Garrick didn't join him, Rowan knew he was amused. He pretended to be annoyed by the Weasleys, especially after that one incident with the twins. But Rowan knew his father thought the Weasleys were a good family, and he liked them very much.
"Ron's wand broke last semester. We thought we'd get him a new one."
Garrick frowned and directed his next words at the boy. "This is your first time getting a wand from me."
"It was my brother's old wand." Ron grumbled.
Garrick harrumphed before turning towards his daughter. "Could you-"
Rowan was already moving. "On it."
She knew Ron's energy by now, and she knew what to look for. She didn't even have to climb the ladder this time. The warm buzz of magic took her to one the first shelves, and she scanned the boxes with her hands, waiting for the eventual pull of magic.
"How's business?" She heard Arthur ask.
"It's been good, Arthur," rumbled the best wandmaker in Europe.
What came next, however, surprised her.
"Although," he father paused for a moment. "I have been having some trouble with some deliveries."
"Oh?" That was Molly.
Rowan didn't know what surprised her the most. That they'd have problems with deliveries (something she didn't know anything about) or that her father was confiding on anyone other than his wife.
"Our supplier for dragon heartstrings disappeared recently." Garrick continued. "I've had to change contractors. The last shipment, however, might as well have been cursed. Wherever these heartstrings came from…" he trailed off for a moment. "These dragons did not die naturally, that's for sure. I've a theory the market has been taken by poachers."
The pause that followed reminded Rowan that she was supposed to be looking for a certain wand. She continued her search but couldn't help but focus on the conversation at hand.
Molly cleared her throat. "You know, Charlie did mention something of the sort."
"He's a dragon keeper. In Romania." Arthur clarified.
And with those words, Rowan suddenly understood exactly why her father was confiding in the Weasleys. She'd forgotten about the dragon keeper. Not that it surprised her. After all, she'd long ago lost count of how many Weasleys there were. But Charlie had only been one year her senior, and they'd bumped occasionally. He'd left halfway through his sixth year, however, off to chase some dragons, or something of that sort. She hadn't heard anything else of him since.
Garrick, however, had remembered. And he thought he might as well get something out of the Weasley's visit.
"He did say something about dragons disappearing. They're all quite alarmed." Molly continued. "I'll send him an owl. Maybe it'll help."
"Thank you, Molly. I'd appreciate it." Garrick said. "How're you coming along, Rowan?"
Rowan had two wand cases in her hand. It could very well be either one of them. She brought them out to the counter, and motioned Ron over.
"Try them out."
Ron reached for the Willow first. "Wingardium Leviosa!" he said.
Three boxes, one from every direction, flew out at the same time, hitting Arthur on the head.
"Ron!" he said. "I really do hope you're doing better than that in school."
With a smile at Ron's sour face, Rowan handed him the fourteen-inch Ash wand, with a Unicorn hair core. This would be the one, she thought, feeling the air warm with magic and seeing Ron's hair pushed back by invisible wind.
"Wingardium Leviosa," Ron tried again, a lot less enthusiastically than before. But this time it worked, and the wand's empty boxy drifted up and away from the counter. Ron smiled. "I like this one," he said.
Rowan nodded. Ash tended to fit well with Gryffindors. It attracted all sorts of stubborn and courageous tendencies.
"Very well then," Arthur said as he paid Garrick. "We'll let you know if Charlie has anything to say on the matter. Thank you for your help, both of you."
"And say hello to Arlene!" Molly called out before departing. "I do miss her."
It was the right thing to say. Arlene would be forever Garrick's weak spot, and Rowan watched her dad smile almost fondly at the Weasley's backs as they took their leave.
"Well, that wasn't that bad," Garrick said, wryly.
"It's the twins, da." Rowan told him, grinning. "I'd tell you we should put up a sign, warn them off, but I suspect that'd be more effective than inviting them over for tea."
Garrick snorted. "That may very well be true. I'll be at the back."
At the workshop. Which reminded Rowan.
"You didn't tell me anything about the deliveries." She tried before her father wandered off.
He sighed, stopping in his tracks as he looked over. "I didn't think it'd be anything. But you're right, I should've told you. This shop will be yours soon."
He said the last part almost as an afterthought, but it sent a tingle of magic down Rowan's back. "Oh?"
Garrick sent her one last look, a slight smile creasing his weathered face, before he ducked through the door to the workshop.
Rowan couldn't help the excited laugh that left her throat. Ollivander's would be hers soon. And though not much would actually change -she already made and sold most wands, handled the money, and moved to the apartment on top of the shop right after graduation, - the very idea of it left her happier than she'd ever remembered being.
Ollivander's was, after all, the best place in the world, and she couldn't imagine a single thing that would ever entice her anywhere else.
The shop shuddered once more, magic rolling in waves as the wands shifted in place. Rowan brushed it off, too delighted at that moment to care too much.
She didn't know it yet, but change was definitely coming. And it was about to whisk her away.