Prologue

Ollivander was, even for a wizard, rather eccentric. He knew, since he was neither deaf, nor dumb or blind. He saw the stares of his customers, heard their whispers, but also the grudging respect, that atleast some of them gave him. The profession of the Wandmaker was not an easy one, otherwise their would be more than a dozen per country. Ollivander knew that he was one of the best and, like anyone would, liked it. He had spent decades perfecting his craft, the magic radiated by the substances he handled, had given him a life long enough to do so, but also robbed his hair, skin and even his eyes of all colour.

At least that's how he saw it, it could just be that decades spent inside the same house without many windows, rarely having to dodge the intrusive rays of the sun, had turned him pale. That was just a theory of a bunch of pureblood first years though, so it probably couldn't be taken seriously, especially considering the fact that they had no explanation for his eye colour. They probably thought that he always looked like this, he never bothered to correct anyone, 'they can believe what they want, because I know the truth.', was something that he liked to think to himself whenever the obnoxious brats were wildly, an more importantly loudly, discussing his eccentrics, preferring to do so directly in front of his shop.

Olivander spent most of his time in the backroom, which was just as big as the one and only room he admitted customers into, experimenting with different combinations and multiple cores, or blends of more than two woods, all with the goal of making a wand so powerful, that it would be able to match or even surpass the elder wand. Sadly all his attempts resulted in failure and him having to re-apply the anti-explosion wards on the room, them being depleted by the explosion, that happened when a core and a wood were not compatible, that being amplified by the many different cores Ollivander tried to use simultaneously.

Ollivanders house had multiple rooms. The cellar, where he stored his supplies, the shop, where he stored some wands and made business in and the second floor, where he lived, all alone. He liked his little sanctuary and the quiet solace it brought and never even thought about sharing it with someone else.

That should change one fateful Friday though. Friday the 13th.