The next few months of school flew by for Maggie. Classes at Hogwarts, previously a joy for her, seemed suddenly dull and childish. She found herself relying more and more on her enchanted noiseless typewriter. Professors would dismiss classes that she hadn't heard a word of, and she'd be relieved to find that her typewriter, at least, had been taking careful notes.

When Maggie finished the last exam of her Sixth Year, it was all she could bear not to run out onto the Hogwarts grounds, past the school's borders and twirl on the spot to Apparate directly into the sunlit room in Ollivander's and begin her first lesson with Mr Coakley.

But Maggie's boyfriend was unhappy enough with her decision not to take the Hogwarts Express back to King's Cross with him.

'Come on, Maggie. One last time, let's ride the train,' Robbie said, trying to convince her the fifth time that day.

'I'll take it back with you after our Seventh Year,' Maggie coaxed. 'That will be our one last time. For now, I've got to be at Ollivander's this afternoon. I told them ages ago that I'd Apparate from Hogwarts on my last day.'

'You're far too important for me now,' Robbie said, sighing playfully. 'I s'pose I shouldn't hold you back with my childish train rides.'

It wasn't surprising that Robbie was making one last attempt to wheedle her onto the train. Maggie was certainly dragging her feet a bit, holding hands with him as they stood in a large queue of students who were awaiting carriages that would take them to Hogsmeade Station.

'You're going to miss a good show, you know,' Robbie said, a sly smile spreading over his face. 'Now that Potter and Black have left Hogwarts, they've passed the torch on to Brunner and me and a few others. We'll be mooning the Oxford students when we pass through!'

Maggie snorted. 'Ooh, what a shame that I'll miss that. You know they can't see you, right? Muggles can't see the Hogwarts Express at all, let alone the people inside it.'

'Well yes, that's the point, isn't it?' Robbie said. 'Those wankers are puttering about, reading philosophy and talking about a bunch of Greek muggles from two thousand years ago, and unbeknownst to them while they're contemplating the meaning of life, a bunch of wizard arses are flying by their noses.'

Maggie laughed. She had to admit, she was starting to regret that she'd told Mr Ollivander she wanted to start her lessons the very first day of her summer holiday. She lingered with Robbie far longer than she planned to, until they reached the front of the queue and a carriage rolled up. Maggie warily eyed the Thestral that she knew Robbie couldn't see as he threw his trunk into the carriage.

'I'll see you in a few days,' Maggie said, smiling.

'Owl me and tell me how it went today,' Robbie said, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her. 'Hopefully you'll learn a few hexes to use on Ollivander Junior, eh?'

She smiled. Robbie, like Flitwick, had taken to calling Todd a git, along with a few other choice names that Maggie guessed that Flitwick probably would not use. He boarded the carriage and gave her a wink as the carriage slowly pulled him from her. Maggie sighed sadly. She dragged her trunk the few paces needed to get past the Hogwarts gates and turned on the spot.

Maggie's trunk was, as usual, extremely heavy, and she yelped as she accidentally dropped it on her foot in the pitch-black maintenance cupboard that she'd Apparated into. It fell over sideways, knocking over a tremendous amount of mops, brooms, buckets, a hoover and a half-dozen bottles of cleaning supplies. Maggie winced at the noise and the pain.

She opened the cupboard door carefully to find a woman about to go into a flat, holding a toddler in her arms, staring, open-mouthed and flabbergasted, as Maggie — clad in black robes and lugging an enormous trunk behind her — tumbled out into the hallway with the grubby carpet that she knew so well.

''ow long 'ave you been in there for?' the mum demanded, looking like she was wondering whether she ought to get away from this weirdo she was suddenly face-to-face with.

Maggie laughed nervously. 'I, er, I needed... er... this,' she said, grabbing a bottle of bleach from the floor. Maggie heard a tremendous snort down the hall and turned to see Simon, clad in his navy blue mechanic's jumpsuit, his arms crossed as he smirked at her predicament.

The woman seemed even more unnerved by Maggie's lame excuse, and she turned the key to her flat and swooped inside with her baby. Maggie heard her frantically turning the locks on the other side.

'You could've just Evaporated directly into the flat, you know,' Simon said.

'I didn't want to startle you,' Maggie said, grinning as she walked toward him, and she wrapped him in a warm hug as she reached him.

'Well, I was about to enjoy a nice, quiet lunch break by meself, but I s'pose I'll 'ave to entertain you for a while now instead,' Simon grumbled. Maggie smiled at this lie as he opened the door to their London flat, waving her through first as he took her trunk and dragged it through the door.

The barn owl that Simon kept to stay in touch with Maggie hooted happily as they came inside. The fact that Simon's grumblings about expecting to eat alone was a fib was further confirmed for Maggie as she saw that Simon, who rarely drank tea around this time of day, had the kettle on for her. Simon started making sandwiches for the both of them while Maggie pulled mugs and teabags out of the cupboard.

'Now, I can't stay too long,' Maggie said. 'I've got to be at Ollivander's really soon, but I wanted to come see you first.'

'Ooooooooh!' Simon said mockingly. 'Pardon me, madam, for taking you away from your posh little job. I forgot that servants are best seen and not 'eard, I'll be out of your 'air in a minute.'

'Which is it, Simon?' Maggie teased. 'Are you annoyed that I'm back and taking up space in the flat now, or are you annoyed that I'm not giving you as much attention as you'd like?'

Simon chose not to answer this, putting things back into the fridge with a raised eyebrow.

'So, how iz ze German?'

Maggie sighed, exasperated. 'For the last time, Simon, Robbie's not German. His name is Robbie bloody Ellerby!'

'Well, he lives in Germany, don't he? You spent the Easter 'olidays wiv 'im there.'

'Yeah, that's where his family lives. But they're not German either.'

'Right. Making feather dusters in the Black Forest.'

'Broomsticks. His dad co-owns a broomstick company,' Maggie said, smiling and rolling her eyes. Simon knew this. He also knew the word 'Apparated,' though he seemed to take pleasure in pretending to be willfully ignorant of these things.

'So does that little twat, Tom or Tuck Oliver —'

'Todd Ollivander.'

'— Todd Oliver, fink that you've bin going out wiv the German for a year just so you could see some brooms?'

'I dunno what he thinks,' Maggie said, suddenly a bit sour. She was regretting telling as many people as she had about what Todd had said to her, though she could hardly have kept it from Simon. She spent the night after her disastrous interview crying at the flat. 'I haven't spoken to him in a year.'

'Well that'll be delightful, won't it, working wiv 'im.'

'I won't really need to work with him. Not for years, at least.' Maggie shrugged. 'I think I can go most of this summer without seeing him. Let's change the subject, shall we?'

Simon shrugged as he ate, leaning against the kitchen counter. ''ave you brought that little gramophone back wiv you? There's a brilliantgroup called The Salvadors. I 'eard a DJ play them back in a club ages ago, and I can't find any of their records.' He smiled. 'I'd love to 'ear them again.'

Less than an hour later, Maggie's boots hit the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley with a satisfactory thud, and the witches and wizards flowing around her adjusted their steps, unfazed by the sudden appearance of a human being out of thin air. As she strode toward Ollivander's, looking up at the shop's sign that declared it had been in this trade 'since 382 B.C.,' she remembered again why she'd wanted to start at Ollivander's the very first possible day. It felt like volts of electricity were flowing through her veins. She couldn't have wiped the grin off her face if she'd wanted to; it was a totally involuntary response.

Maggie practically skipped forward as she went to push open the door, and as she rushed into the shop she was hit with a tremendous wave of water that dumped itself over her head and made its way into her nose and mouth. She sputtered and gasped as Mr Garrick Ollivander and Mr Coakley rushed toward her, drying her off with swift waves of their wands.

So much for not seeing Todd, who had jumped as she'd suddenly come through the door. He was standing behind the counter, using a quill to write in a huge, leather-bound ledger book. Her noisy entrance into the shop seemed to have alarmed him slightly, and he stared at her for a moment as she coughed, her curls dripping around her face. He reddened slightly as he returned to whatever he was writing, ignoring her.

'Sorry about that, hen,' Mr Coakley said, chuckling a bit. 'Thief's Doonfall. Probably best for our customers if we put up a wee warning sign, eh Ollivander?'

'That's not a terrible idea, no,' Mr Ollivander said mildly.

Maggie coughed a couple more times. 'Why the precautions?' she said.

Mr Ollivander and Mr Coakley exchanged a look.

'Is it because of me?' she asked weakly. She noticed Todd inching slowly toward the wand shelves. Soon after he disappeared among them, Maggie thought she heard a soft pop.

'In a way, yes,' Mr Ollivander said lightly. 'But it's good for all of us. We should've put up security measures like this ages ago.'

'I might not have this attractive thing —' Mr Coakley said, gesturing to his burn mark, '— if we'd put up a Thief's Doonfall sooner.'

'Let's get you into some green apprentice robes, shall we?' Mr Ollivander said, smiling. 'As soon as you sent us your measurements, we had Madam Malkin make a pair for you. It's something of an Ollivander's tradition — apprentices in green, wandsmiths in black, Beast Hunters in scarlet, and Gatherers in violet. A bit ridiculous of us, perhaps, but it's one of the few things from the old days that I just can't seem to part with. I believe my son has gone to grab the robes we have for you?' There was silence from the shelves. 'Todd?'

'Ah, Garrick, if, er —' Mr Coakley seemed to be exerting a tremendous amount of willpower to keep from laughing '— if I'm no' mistaken, I believe the boy Apparated.'

'Apparated? What?' Mr Ollivander said, baffled, as he went to the shelves to look for him. 'Why on earth would he do that? He knows I need him here at the counter today.'

'Couldnae tell you,' Mr Coakley said, shrugging and feigning ignorance as he fought back a smirk. Maggie felt the heat rising in her face slightly.

'Well.' Mr Ollivander's still confused voice came from within the wand shelves, and he emerged holding a pair of emerald green robes. 'Here they are, then. You can change into them in a room down the back.'

'We'll be holdin' lessons in the same room where your interview was held last time, hen,' Mr Coakley said, gesturing for her to walk ahead of him. He showed her to a room where she could change.

Once she was alone inside the room, Maggie nervously pulled off her Hogwarts robes and quickly pulled the green robes over her head. They were a lovely material, light and flowing, unlike any robes she'd ever worn before. She knew Coakley was waiting for her outside and she didn't want to dawdle, but she stopped as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

'I'm a wandsmith's apprentice,' she murmured, a shaky smile of pure joy playing on her face as she looked at the nervous girl donning emerald green robes.

Once Maggie was inside the sunlit room, Mr Coakley took a seat on one side of a square table where a small, thin box sat, and he gestured for Maggie to sit across from him.

He opened the box, which held a single wand inside.

'Mr Ollivander said this wand would be perfect for our purposes the day,' he said, handling it delicately. 'It was made in a way that we donnae condone here at Ollivander's.' He pressed it against his palm with only his thumb and drew out his own wand. Carefully, he pointed his wand at the tip, and, dragging it across what Maggie assumed was a reject wand, cut it open. Maggie leaned forward, fascinated to see a shimmering purple substance that looked like melted glass swirling slowly inside the wood.

'I'd like tae hear your thoughts,' Mr Coakley said, his eyes searching her. 'Tell us what you see.' Holding it at both ends, he passed her the dissected wand, and, hesitating at first, she took it.

She held it as Mr Coakley had, with an open palm. It was an awe-inspiring sight, beholding the inside of an item that was the key to casting spells for every witch and wizard on Earth. She had carried one on her person for six years, and yet she was completely ignorant of what its contents looked like. There was a dark, damp item at the core, and she examined it closely.

'This is a phoenix feather,' she said, and Mr Coakley nodded, pleased. 'That's what I have inside my wand. I always pictured the quill end of the feather at the tip of the wand, but this has the quill at the base,' she said, tilting her head to the side. 'Is it always like that?'

'Aye,' he said. 'Phoenix feather is a powerful object through and through, but its strongest bit is the quill, so we put that bit just about two inches before the base o' the wand, where your thumb typically goes,' he said, pointing.

Two inches above the base. Maggie examined that area closely. The purple substance seemed to be attracted to that section, flowing to that particular part of the wand, where it swirled and bubbled more rapidly than any other area.

'Is the part where your thumb goes the heart of the wand?'

'Aye. The core o' the core. Very good.'

'I have no idea what this purple stuff could possibly be, other than the fact that it's obviously extremely important to the magic here. Whenever you see purple from some charm or spell, it often signifies that the magic is incredibly powerful.'

'It's called thauma. It's produced as the result of a lengthy incantation, it usually takes about 20 minutes tae recite, plus the breath and blood of the wandsmith.'

'Wizard's blood?' she said, taken aback.

'Aye.'

'You can't be serious! Isn't that a sign of Dark magic?'

'A commonly held misconception,' Coakley said, holding up a finger. 'Blood is required for intense enchantments of creation, and yes, sometimes wizards use blood tae create something Dark. But we use that intense force for something great,' he said, pulling out his wand and looking at it curiously. 'Magic is inside us. To impart that magic to an object, we must, in one way or another, share a bit of ourselves with it.'

Maggie watched, struck by the grandness of wandlore, as Coakley conjured a cloud of slowly swirling golden smoke and walked Maggie through the mechanics of how a wand interacts with the wizard's mind and hand and how the spell exudes.