Chapter VI : The Infusion

Once again I'm late on the deadline, but please bear with me. These last weeks have been nothing short of busy.

To the anonymous reviewer: Yes, Dumbledore will 100% be seen and interacted with. To be quite honest, I'm unsure of how to include Grindelwald. If you have any helpful ideas…? C:

It had been a week since the boys arrived at the Hawkins Estate. Oliver had not awoken for a day after his aciurgy, and was under the effect of fatigue for a time longer. He had very little energy and could not do more than to sit up and stare out of the window, which now was fogged and riddled with the misty drops of a summer thunderstorm. He had always loved the rain, but his malaise seemed to heighten at this point.

Mrs. Hawkins said Doctor Abbott was to visit him again this week. The man was kind, as he found, but he wasn't sure he trusted him. Oliver did not anticipate his return but wished that his leg would heal in a speedy way. He hated being so immobile and helpless; it was not in his nature to assume aid from another.

This day, though, he felt more with vivace, though that was an overstatement. His boredom had grown and he felt he had to do something with his hands lest he rip out chunks of his own hair. He scooted to the end of the bed and retrieved his violin case. He was fortunate, for if fate had gone against his will, his instrument could have easily been marred in the process of fleeing to England. He took his instrument and put it upon his shoulder, just feeling it and how it fit perfectly onto his body. He wasn't sure he could pick up his arms yet enough to play even a note. Whenever he held the thing he felt ecstasy in him, and any emotion he harbored was transformed immediately into passion that he would then insert into his playing. This was his escape route, his wonderful mode of creation that he could manipulate and make all his own. This was how he showed his love.

He took his bow and tightened the hairs with the screw at the end of the stick. Gingerly, he drew the bow across the second string and heard how out of tune it was- flat, he noted. He was not surprised, with how much jostling around it had received. He drew the note again and at the same time turned the peg that held the string in place until it matched with what it should have sounded like first. He did the same with the other strings, measuring their frequency with the string that had been tuned correctly. After he was done he only held a 'C3' stagnant, just listening to its purity. It wasn't really beautiful, but he couldn't bring himself to play just yet.

After some time he finally sat up and played a simple melody called Liebesleid. It was gentle enough for him to play without much mental and physical exertion and was equally beautiful, however somber. Though soon he grew pained and put his violin back in its case. He then sat again by the window, silent and brooding into the gloomy day.

Then the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs started. Oliver glanced towards the door as they grew less distant and it opened, revealing Doctor Abbott, alone. "'Morning. How are you, lad?" he asked.

"Fine- you are here for another appointment?" he said. He knew this man was a doctor and only intended to help him, but he could handle his own misgivings.

Doctor Abbott pulled over another chair, sat down, and opened his briefcase. "Yes. You have not tried to walk on it, I hope?"

"I haven't."

"Good. I have some rather exciting news for you: another doctor in the wizarding world has found a breakthrough in wound healing potions, specifically for those injured extensively on the battlefield. It is still being tested, I'm afraid, but I have managed to convince him to let me have a single sample. Now, I got it for just this one purpose- you are an interesting patient. This is just pretense, and you do not have comply, but if I were to give to you this potion, would you take it willingly?" The doctor pulled out a small phial from his bag. A dark blue liquid sloshed around on the inside, and small particles danced throughout. "I will warn you, though, its properties are not entirely known." This vaguely brought back memories of the tests Mengele conducted on him- he couldn't do it.

"No, I can't, I will not subject myself to experimentations again," he said, looking away. The doctor seemed confused, for he sounded like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

"Oliver," he finally said, "This could help your progress considerably- we won't know how far that will be but we can find out only if you take this medicine."

He furrowed his eyebrows. Eventually he said, "You say you don't know to what extent I will be healed, but could it be said that, potentially, it could heal me completely?"

Abbott hesitantly nodded. "… Potentially, yes."

He sighed, "Fine." He was taking a great risk with himself. "Are you sure it will not do anything… unnatural to me in the process?"

"Fairly certain, yes, actually, quite certain." Abbott held out the bottle to Oliver. "Take it now. The effects may take some time to present themselves, though."

He took it and gently swirled the mucky, blue contents. If this doctor had underlying malevolence then he was hiding it well, however eager he was; he figured he had nothing to lose, anyway, since he was about as useful to the world as a piece of rotten fruit. He uncorked the bottle and downed the entire thing with a cringe. The taste wasn't bad, but very strong and bitter to the tongue that it almost burned. He wiped his mouth.

"I will come by on Wednesday, three day's time. Until then, be as well as you can be." Abbott then gathered his things and promptly left. Oliver took a glass of water which was on his night stand and drank the entire cup, still feeling thirsty afterwards. He felt no different than he had minutes before, but he was being hasty; he of all people knew patience well. He retained his place by the windowsill and watched the day turn over in dolor.

Three rather exceptional things happened on the third day after Oliver had taken the potion.

First- his leg started to feel peculiar. It started with a low throb, which was hardly unusual. It was more unusual, actually, that it was a low throb and not a much more piercing pain. Though it throbbed, and did this for some minutes before a stretching, a convulsion which was impossible to hinder started to wrap its way around Oliver's leg. He was tense, shaking, sweating. He wasn't sure what else to do so he gripped it tightly, trying to ease what he thought was a cramp. However, it progressed, and did not stop until a sound which is made when a belt is slapped over itself by a father to warn a naughty child of impending punishment whapped through the room. Then Oliver gasped, looking down at what the potion had done- he assumed it had been that which had made the situation thus.

In the place of the wound, once he removed the bandages, was raw, inflamed flesh. It still hurt badly, but was tolerable compared to what the wound had been previously. Could this be? Was there a bounty to reap from this risk? He gingerly lifted himself up, supporting his body with the back of the chair by his bed. He tested his weight on it; lightly at first, and then, once established that weight could be distributed onto it, he stood fully. His knee buckled with effort, but he raised himself up before falling and took a step, shaky though it was. He nearly laughed. It would take more time, but soon he would be walking just as well as Hugo. He would have a good pair of legs again.

He was so excited that he thought he might go downstairs to surprise everybody. He had also been confined to his bedroom for over a week, so his body would be glad to be released of the drab surroundings. He limped to his door and clung to the railing on his way down the stairs. He tried to be as quiet as possible; he could hear the others eating breakfast down in the dining room.

When he was visible enough to the table, Hugo looked up, and his eyes seemed to grow twice as wide than they normally should have been. "Oliver!" he said, still chewing the food that was in his mouth and swallowing. "Why are you out of bed? You need to rest."

"No, look- I can walk!" he said, coming down the stairs faster now and taking a break at the foot of them. "The doctor gave me a potion."

"Just like that, it didn't do anything more?" Mrs. Hawkins speculated, rising to get a better look at the boy. She, nor the others had really spoken to Oliver much since he arrived.

"No," he said, suddenly becoming sober and more like himself. "At least not yet. I took a great risk, I think, but so far nothing bad has happened. That's the thing that worries me, if some kind of adverse effect were to happen."

"Just let us know if anything happens, hmm?" Mrs. Hawkins said. Oliver nodded.

"Do you want to go outside? It's not rainy today," Hugo suddenly asked. The other nodded.

"Yes, I've been looking forward to that, let's go."

It was a breezy, sunny day in London. They played tag in the yard. At first, Hugo was reluctant to let his friend run, but Oliver coaxed him, saying he probably needed it in order to make any more progress at all. It was slightly difficult, and not without any small amount of discomfort, but he was able to run, though always he lost the game.

Later the boys started on a walk to the city, where they desired to explore a bit, and perhaps find a wizarding venue they had heard Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins discussing about earlier. They failed to let their new caretakers know, though, that they were making this journey to the heart of London, and neither a thought or a worry of it crossed their naive minds. "I heard them say there was an ice cream shop there," Hugo said excitedly. "I cannot wait to have some, it's been so long."

"Ice cream? What's that?" Oliver asked. Throughout his younger life, before utter tragedy befell him, his family was very poor and lived off of pea soup and bread. They gathered little more if they were lucky.

Hugo was breathtaken. "You haven't had it? It's like… frozen milk, but comes in many flavors."

He scoffed, "It doesn't sound that appetizing."

"Really, it is. It's sweet and can be like chocolate or vanilla or nuts or fruit. You'll like it, I'm sure."

Then they took a break for Oliver to rest. Though he could walk (or hobble, rather), he was still weak and not unsusceptible to pain. This would probably subside with time, but for now he couldn't overexert himself, even if he said to Hugo that he needed no break. The latter never complied.

They set off again. The clouds were gathering in an overcast conjoining. As they went, the sky seemed to grow in darkness and shadows appeared to lengthen. Oliver knew it wasn't that late in the day, though- it was not yet even noon. He looked over to Hugo; he sensed that something was wrong, as well.

Then, a mysterious figure appeared in front of them down the road, so far that they could not see much more than a dark shape with no features. Then the figure, who looked to be in the form of a man, started to walk forward. The boys had long since halted in their tracks.

"Aye, boys! Why do you go alone?" the man cried. Oliver and Hugo were frozen in the middle of the road. They couldn't think of anything to do other than to reply or be silent; they chose the latter. "What are your names?" The man had a rather strangely forced voice, and lurked forward still.

"That is none of your business. Why do you ask?" Oliver said.

"But that is none of your business! It seems we are all nosey, here." The man finally came to them. He was devilish-looking, very tall, bore a black trench coat, and had his eyes hidden under a hat. He seemed to ponder the two boys. "Just tell me what you call yourselves, that is all I need."

Hugo scoffed next to Oliver. "Go away. We will not tell you."

The man sported a smirk. "I see, you are careful with your names. That can either be very smart or very stupid." Suddenly at the end of his words, the man's voice turned to venom, and he walked away, past them. Oliver and Hugo were befuddled as the man left, and didn't go until they knew he was gone. When they resumed their trek, the shadows seemed to recede and sky seemed to open up and was cloudy and dark no more.

By midday they came to the city. It was beautiful with its cobblestone streets and brick buildings. It reminded Oliver much of how the nicer parts of Dresden used to be. Muggle contraptions which held four people inside their bellies ran along the roads on wheels. Muggles themselves rushed past, with suitcases and other effects in hand. The great clock tower loomed overhead. The boys gawked at everything for an age before they actually found the street which housed the portal to the place which they came to know as Diagon Alley.

By this time Oliver did not feel quite well. He did not want to worry Hugo, but soon he came to a point where he thought his head might burst and his gut might do the same. Particularly the sides of his head throbbed. He strove to ignore these symptoms, but knew that it was probably what he dreaded so much three days ago- the other effects of Abbott's potion.

Second- Suddenly, as they entered a place called The Leaky Cauldron, Oliver felt as if he had been punched and that his ears had exploded. A loud pop sounded, but it was apparent that nobody else heard it. The feeling was similar to the pressure change he experienced while in flight on the thestrals to England, but on a much larger and more uncomfortable scale. He was fearful for a moment that blood might have been dripping out of his ears, but luckily he found none.

During this episode he had to lean against a wall, but otherwise hid his surprise quite well. Hugo was alarmed, of course, even by this seemingly small act. "What's wrong?" he said quickly, coming over to his friend.

"Nothing, I'm fine-" he slurred, rubbing his ears. Something was… off. Hugo's voice sounded slightly farther away but he was right there in front of him.

"Are you sure…?" the other said, not quite believing this gag.

"Really, I am." As if in mild defiance, he went on through the pub, assuming the other would follow or catch up; he was correct. A man, while they looked for the way to the place they were seeking, came up to them from behind the counter.

"Aye, boys, you know where you're going?" he drawled over excessively, swirling a mug of something in his hand; Oliver didn't want to know what. This man was ragged but looked to be some kind of worker, perhaps.

Stopping, Hugo answered. "Er- yes, we do, but we don't know how to get there, exactly."

"My, aren't you a smart one! What'cha lookin' for?"

"A place called Diagon Alley, we heard it was somewhere around here," Oliver said.

"Aye, it is. Say, if you want me to tell you how to get to Diagon Alley, you's give me a tip-off- tell me who you are and I'll show you to the portal. It's only fair, since you might need me help once and again. I'm Jerry, Jerry Laiyr." He held out his hand for either of the boys to shake.

Neither of them took Jerry's hand. "Um… it's okay, we can find someone else to help us with less trouble," Oliver said delicately, though Jerry looked like he had been slapped in the face. Hugo hid a snicker. Before the little man behind the counter could say anything more, the boys were off, and someone from the kitchen yelled something out to Jerry about getting back there and serving the house soup. He went with a groan.

After some time searching for the portal by themselves, the boys were ready to give up. But a man with a long auburn and gray beard and half-moon spectacles caught their attention.

"You're overthinking it, I believe. The portal is actually not in here, though it is here," said the man. "I'm Albus Dumbledore."

"You don't want our names, Mr. Dumbledore? Everyone we meet wants them. But we don't tell because they are bad," Hugo explained in his limited vocabulary. Albus Dumbledore was not vexed.

"I understand, there are rather strange characters around here, nowadays. I won't ask your names," he said, addressing both of them. "Because I already know both of them. I am the Deputy Headmaster at Hogwarts, a school for magic."

Oliver scoffed with disbelief. A magic school, so convenient to them? It could not be true. "How do you already know our names?" he asked.

"We have a book of all of the children in the United Kingdom, and yours were added quite recently. You two also happen to be the age that a child would normally enter Hogwarts for the first time as a student, so your names were put on letters. I have them here, actually," he said, pulling out two letters from his coat pocket. He held them out to the boys, and each tentatively took the one with their name on the front. Oliver's read thus- the third occurrence of the day:

To Mr. Oliver Alberich Faust

Down the hall, third room on the right,

13, Buttonhole Lane,

Mill Hill,

London

Dear Mr. Faust,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins September 1. We await your owl by no later by July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Deputy Headmaster

"As you can see, the latest date for you to send your owls was passed just after you initially arrived in London, but that's no matter. You can decide right here, if you desire to." Professor Dumbledore crossed his legs and interlocked his hands on his lap, ready to wait for a long while.

Oliver and Hugo looked at each other; could they do this? A magical education for them was one of the most valuable things they could have, but how would Hugo's grandparents like it? He supposed they had to take some kind of risk, even if they, for no rational reason, did not want them to attend Hogwarts. "Ich will ja sagen," Oliver asked his friend. "Was sagst du?"

"Ich werde zustimmen… aber wenn wir in Schwierigkeiten geraten, es ist deine Schuld." Oliver nodded, both of them smirking.

"We'll go," he said, folding his letter back up.

"What's it like, the magic school?" Hugo asked.

The professor gave a small grin. "It is just as a school should be, with classes that teach you your most basic and important skills as wizards. You'll be sorted into houses, and your housemates will act as your family to each other. But I digress, you will be told that before the start of term feast," he said, standing. "Why not find the way to Diagon Alley now? You must get your supplies somehow, seeing as term starts in little more than two weeks."

As Dumbledore said these words, they grew fainter, yet again, by another increment, fading as if through a tunnel. Oliver forced himself not to clasp his ears and draw attention to himself. A fear manifested itself in his mind, that, if whatever force allowed it, he might lose his hearing altogether. But he was going too far, he reasoned; it did seem to be getting progressively worse at a fast rate, yes, but perhaps when they got back to the Hawkins Estate, Doctor Abbott would be there. He was supposed to have come today, anyway. Yes, he would certainly be able to fix it, he reasoned, giving his mind something to cling onto so he wouldn't lose it. If he were to truly go deaf… Oliver didn't know what he might do then.

The professor led them outside to a small, brick-walled courtyard behind the pub. He took out a long, elegant wand from his sleeve and tapped some bricks before they all started to tumble away to form a gate. That gate led to a street lined with venues and stalls, hoarded with witches and wizards and goblins and elves, all mingling and buying from the vendors. Owls flew to and fro in the sky and sometimes sparks of various colors or the dash of a flame would erupt from a part of the crowd somewhere. It was unlike anything the boys had ever seen before. When they gawked then, it was as if their eyes wanted to fly out of their sockets compared to when they first arrived in muggle London. Professor Dumbledore went through the gate and the boys followed.

"Here you have your owl emporium, your shops for books and knicknacks and candies and all manners of products to fill your potion needs. But if you are to buy all of your effects you must have the money for it, and you will find that just up the road at Gringott's Bank. Our keeper of the keys kept these safe for you, since your vaults were transferred. Oh, and I nearly forgot, your train tickets. I have those, as well," he said, tugging out of his pockets two rather intricate keys and a pair of tickets in golden and mulberry. It was rather difficult to hear the old man clearly by this point, due to the lack of sound coming through Oliver's ears and the fact that the crowds were bustling all around them; he got the gist of it, though, and took his key and ticket. "Though, now that I see the time," Dumbledore said, glancing at a pocketwatch. "I won't be able to go with you any farther, I'm afraid. There is a meeting I must attend to at the Ministry of Magic. I hope you will find everything well, boys. Goodbye!"

With a wave, Professor Dumbledore disapparated from their sight; it nearly caught them by surprise since they hadn't seen it done since they were smaller. They were suddenly alone, alone in a vast sea of strangers that could potentially be malicious. They were not easily trusting of others if any hint of suspicion was implicated.

Hugo and Oliver went down the street to where Dumbledore indicated Gringott's to be. The white marble building loomed up at them, disjointed and uneven in its brickwork, however sturdy it was. Once inside, passing two doorways and goblin sentries, the boys entered the main hall. The ceiling was vast and painted with intricate designs.

Hugo kept a slow pace with his friend. As they made their way down the hall and to the counter where the head goblin sat, he watched the other goblins sorting, cutting, polishing, and appraising gemstones and ingots. They all had rather ugly grimaces on their faces, accentuating their long, pointy noses and beady eyes. The goblins of Gringott's Bank did not seem like very friendly folk.

"Hello?" Hugo said, reaching the head goblin's counter. "We are here to get money."

"Get money? Well I hope you don't intend on stealing any, since anyone who tries to dies a horrible death," the goblin said, leaning over the counter to see the children better. This one had a rather morbid sense of humor, Hugo noted. "Do you have your keys?"

Hugo gulped. "We do."

The goblin smirked, "Very well, hand them over, please." Hugo and Oliver did so, having to reach up with their toes in order to slide them onto the counter. The goblin inspected them briefly with a spectacle and then gave them back. "Everything seems in order. Arge will show you to your vaults." At that moment another goblin appeared, this time from a back hallway. He ushered the boys to follow him, and they did.

After being brought down a tunnel and entering into a damp, dimly lit chamber, a cart pulled up on the tracks and they sat down inside. The goblin Arge did not steer as the cart zoomed off through many tunnels and passageways. Deep they dove into the unhewn rock, rushing past a great underground lake and gorgeous caverns gleaming with unmined gems and crystals. But, as soon as they had started, all of the wondrous and mystical sights were ended as the cart slowed and they exited; the first stop.

Arge came up to Oliver. "Key, please." The blond, who looked uneasy still (much to Hugo's worriment), handed the goblin his key. With a simple turn and motion of the magical tumbler, the door was open. Inside the small-ish chamber was a small-ish pile of wizarding money and some gems. It looked very nice, but wasn't worth much in the real world. Taking what he could carry in a pouch and his pockets, Hugo watched as his friend gathered a part of his measly fortune.

They went again into the cart, and traveled farther down this time, making for a slightly longer ride. They stopped at a more grand sight; the vault's doors were of a strange material, glowing, but full of shadow, and covered with metal beads to act as a sort of armor, perhaps. Again, Arge asked for the key, Hugo's key. The goblin took it and unlocked the door, but it would only open after he laid his hand on upon the door and pushed with all of his might. What was seen in that vault was very vast compared to Oliver's. It was larger, for one, and contained much, much more treasure inside. Hugo took up a pouch as well and stuffed it with as much money as would be allowed. This was the inheritance given to him from his parents. He felt slightly bad that he had more money than Oliver, though, and he could feel his ears growing hot as he stuffed coins into his bag.

Hugo and Oliver then rushed towards the surface of the earth in their cart with Arge the goblin at the head. The wind ran through their hair and past their ears, stinging their eyes with the prick of a crisp, prime power. For whatever reason, Hugo looked to Oliver while they were still rushing along in the cart. What he saw made him nearly stop breathing- Oliver was holding his ears and looked as if he was pained. With some effort, while force tugged against him, he reached out and put his hand on Oliver's shoulder. The other looked up, alarmed, and immediately resumed what would be considered an inconspicuous state, though obviously embarrassed.

The ride ended. The boys went back outside and exited Gringott's.

"What happened, when we were going back up? Your ears?" Hugo asked in fragments, trying to formulate anything that might sound like a coherent sentence. Oliver shrugged.

"It was nothing-" he said, but stopped himself, sighing. "It was something. I think it's the potion that the doctor gave me. He said that it would heal me but might have some other effects; I think this is one of them. My ears, my hearing… it isn't working properly and it's only getting worse." Oliver dragged a hand through his windswept hair. "I figured when we get back to your grandparents' house we could get the doctor to look at it. I can barely hear what you're saying, but it is enough. I think, though, it will be worse later." Hugo took on a look of worry; it was commonplace for him, recently, to bear that expression.

"When did it start?" he asked as they walked to one of the shops.

"When we first arrived at the Leaky Cauldron and I had to stop, that was when it really started."

Hugo thought for a moment. "Then you might be… not able to hear later?"

Oliver nodded.

"What if he can't fix it?" That question rang in his ears. Literally, in fact, he couldn't actually hear it clearly enough to respond.

"I- what did you say? Say it louder," he pressed, leaning closer to the other.

"I said, what if he can't fix it?"

"Oh…" Oliver lowered his head. His own voice was only a series of blurbs and fuzzy murmurings. "I don't know." Hugo sighed.

"Let's just hurry up and get our things quickly so we can go home."

"What?"

"LET'S HURRY UP SO WE CAN GO HOME!" Hugo shouted at the other.

And so the boys went to each shop which had the supplies which they were to procure. Out of all of the smaller ones, the bookshop was both of the boys' favorite. It was not horribly noisy and had cozy chairs to read in. However, they could not bother with the chairs for they would be dawdling and not making haste to return back home. So they got their books (Hugo got two extra for himself and Oliver with his abundance of gold, consisting of books called The Classification and Analyzation of Magical Sea-Creatures and Folk by Newt Scamander and Violin Playing as I Teach It by Leopold Auer) and left the store to continue their spree. Soon they had not only their books, but potions ingredients, cauldrons, and robes.

Next they came to a shop called Eeylops Owl Emporium. As guessed, owls were in abundance, but so were toads and cats and a small manor of other creatures. Oliver went his own way in the shop and came to a place where cats were kept in cages on the floor and walls. For reason that Oliver could speculate, he came to a cage with a large red cat in it. He reached his hand out for it to smell-

BITE!

He quickly drew his hand back before the cat's teeth could nip his fingers. He went over to a different cage.

This one held a particular cat. She was smaller, white-ish, had a fluffy tail, and had big, almost violet eyes. He did the same with this cat and let her sniff his hand, like most cats are accustomed to doing. She did not bite, and afterward only looked up at him with wide eyes.

Some time later, Oliver brought the cat he had chosen to the counter to buy her. Hugo did the same, but had a handsome Boreal owl instead. Soon they were off again, this time to the wand shop.

"I named mine Picc, short for Piccolo. What about yours?" The owl warbled.

Oliver didn't really understand but did the best he could and pointed to his cat. "Yes… that's a cat. What did you name your cat?"

"Y, dsa' cat. Wh na y'cat?"

"Um…" he hesitated.

Hugo sighed. "What did you name your cat?"

That was better. "Ulfa, her name is Ulfa."

"That is nice," Hugo muttered, holding the door open for him to the wand shop Ollivander's. Hugo had his wand already, but Oliver didn't have one that worked. The wand he had stolen from the officer back in Poland didn't agree with him any more now than then.

"Hello!" greeted a young, lanky man. "I'm Mr. Ollivander. You boys need wands?"

"Only me," Oliver said. This man spoke well and articulated his words. He made his way to the middle of the room, where the young man addressed the boy.

Mr. Ollivander nodded. "Alright, I'll let the tape do its thing," he said, walking away to the back to search for a suitable wand. As he did this, a tape measurer flew from inside a drawer in the desk by the wall and whizzed around Oliver, making him twist in awkward directions as it took measurements all over his body of the most odd sort.

Even as the tape did this, Mr. Ollivander asked him various questions. He asked about his height, his dominant hand, if he preferred the moon or the stars, his choice in draperies, etc. Then, the tape went away with a flick of the wand master's hand, and he came back to Oliver with some selections for him to try out.

"Here, try this one. Apple and unicorn hair, it makes for a generous wand." Mr. Ollivander gave the wand to Oliver to try. At first nothing happened, but as he prepared himself to give it a flick, the man plucked the wand from his grasp.

"No, that one's not right," he muttered, and handed Oliver one wand after the other, taking each back within a moment. This man was either a genius or a little bonkers.

Finally, though, Mr. Ollivander gave Oliver another wand. "I'm hopeful about this one, I think. Blackthorn and phoenix feather. Powerful for dueling, but it makes for a stubborn match." Oliver took it, and, like the other wands, felt nothing. But Mr. Ollivander didn't take the wand from him, he watched.

Oliver focused hard on the wand. If the man in front of him was talking, he couldn't hear even a murmur because he was so engrossed in getting something from this one wand. All of a sudden he flicked it at the ground, and out burst a great, fiery spark. It did not set the wooden flooring on fire, but did leave quite a nasty black mark. He was shocked for a moment, staring at what he had just done. It was his first time using a wand, after all, and it was a mesmerizing feeling, when one wielded magic for the first time.

"Splendid!" Mr. Ollivander cried, immune to the damage done upon his shop. Oliver paid him the seven galleons expected for the treasure and walked out feeling quite accomplished.

"What does 'splendid' mean, Oliver?" Hugo asked, making sure to speak directly into his ear. He didn't know that it made no difference now and was nearly impossible to hear his voice clearly. If he hadn't said it so close up Oliver wouldn't have heard a noise at all.

"It means… something is very good. That it is wonderful."

Hugo thought for a moment. "Splendid," he said, trying out the words on his lips. "The day is very splendid, I think. The clouds are white and the sky is clear and blue." They walked down Diagon Alley and to where the Leaky Cauldron sat.

"Yes, I think it is." Oliver looked up at the crisp sky and breathed in two lungfuls of cool air and let them out forcefully. "Let's go home soon, after we get ice cream. They'll be waiting for us."