Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.
Thanks again to my beta reader, Bunnyhops, and to my alpha reader(?)/cheerleader Shinigamioni. You are both a great deal of help.
"What do you mean, you are Ollivander?"
The near-frantic bellow was heard from the from the wand shop all the way to the used book boutique next to the shop's former location. The owls next door, having only just calmed enough to retake their perches, startled and took flight again. Crookshanks, having wandered in to investigate the commotion, laid flat his ears and hissed.
"I am Zeno Ollivander," the man repeated, one eyebrow raised in confusion at the girl's strange lack of recognition.
The twins both had skeptical expressions on their faces.
"Prove it," they challenged.
"Prove to us-" Fred started, holding his wand.
"-that you are who you say you are," George finished.
"Fred and George Weasley: Alder and dragon heart-string, 11 ¾ inches, and hawthorn and unicorn hair, 12 inches, respectively. Fourth and fifth children of Arthur Weasley and Molly Weasley neé Prewitt, in turn possessing wands of rowan and phoenix tail feather and willow and unicorn hair. Younger brothers of Bill, Charlie, and Percy-"
"Enough!" Hermione exclaimed, cutting the man off. "That knowledge proves nothing. You could have learned their provenance almost anywhere if you had anything to do with the last war."
The white haired man sighed.
"Hermione Jean Granger. Vine wood and dragon heart-string, 11 ½ inches. You were very difficult to match. We tried thirty-seven different wands before you were accepted. Your wand created a slew of yellow and gold sparks and nearly unseated Professor McGonagall from the chair she had conjured in the front of the shop."
Hermione's eyes slowly widened as she heard details that she had never relayed to anyone.
"You have been using the wand of the late Bellatrix Black for three years, capturing it after your original wand was snapped-and, if I may add, it does not suit you, despite your ability to use it.
"You have been my apprentice for two and a half years, beginning your training shortly after my wife passed from this world," he continued. "You created your first usable wand a year ago—three years before any other apprentice would have even thought of attempting it—and this morning, we were working with exotic wood and core materials, at your suggestion, to attempt to specialize a wands' capabilities."
George and Fred looked to Hermione for confirmation. Her shocked expression and sputtered words told them everything they needed to know.
"How-? What-?"
Crookshanks, now bored with the humans talking, firmly rubbed his head on his mistress's knee in an attempt to gain her attention. Other than a few distracted scratches down his spine, he failed entirely. Feeling rather affronted by the lack of attention his "slave" was affording him, he moved on.
"If I may now ask, what is this all about?" the man, now confirmed to be the old wand-maker, questioned as he watched the fluffy orange cat sniff his foot, rub on his leg, and then make his way to Fred.
"Well, sir," George said, extending his arm to help Ollivander to his feet, "you are going to need to look in a mirror. I don't think that you will believe us otherwise."
She couldn't explain it. No matter which way she turned it in her mind, Hermione could not, for the life of her, figure out what had happened.
I finished carving the grip of the Palm wand and I opened the shaft to insert the wand core. I inserted the core and closed it. The most it should have done was spark.
A little bit of investigation had found that the new wand had been reacting to the presence of another wand; removing it to a different area in the shop made it stop fizzing and smoking. No, the latter, much larger explosion was caused by a different wand entirely, one that her mentor had finished that morning.
She hadn't seen Thestral hair and Lignum Vitae in combination before, but even with the addition of a secondary, or even a tertiary wood—a very common practice in the Americas, which was the reason she had suggested it—her research had shown that the effects should not have been violent. In fact, the Canarywood inlays would have helped stabilize the Lignum Vitae and the Birch. There must have been an outside factor that affected the joining of the materials. Why else would it make the workshop explode?
Hermione stared at the troublesome wand, now laying, quite docile, on the worktable. She poked it. It rolled.
Then there was the matter of Mr. Ollivander. How could that kind of spell "damage" (for lack of a better word) have occurred in the first place? She had seen potions that produced that same effect for a couple of hours, but never a spell, and NEVER for more than a set length of time. They permanent ones tended have some nasty little side effects, the very mildest being the loss of memories gained after the age the drinker reverted to (understandable for true anti-aging), and they would usually leave a certain magical "residue" that someone who knew what to look for could sense. Needless to say, those versions were made illegal.
This situation, however, was almost entirely different. It had been about six hours since the accident, and still there was no sign of Mr. Ollivander returning to normal. In fact, the effect seemed to be entirely stable, with none of the gradual aging normally present when the longer acting anti-aging potions would begin to wear off.
And he still had his memories.
A sudden squawk to her left startled her out of her thoughts. She looked up to find a large red and gold bird perched on the back of the chair next to her.
She smiled. "Hello, Fawkes."
Chapter End Notes:
First, I know it has been a very long time since I updated, and that my chapter is rather short. Between life and school, my time and inspiration is rather low and slow. I hope this doesn't continue to be the case in the future (and also that I can get some inspiration when I'm not supposed to be writing a paper…).
Second, I am aware that Pottermore has revealed Mr. Ollivander's given name to be Garrick. I have no intention of changing my story to fit what could now be considered canon. I started this story before his name was known, and I like the name I chose. In all honesty, I think the name Garrick is a little unpleasant.
Thanks for reading, and I hope to update again soon.
