Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling
A cool tingle raced through Harry, beginning with the fingertips on his wand hand and rushing inward till it encompassed his whole body. While mildly pleasant at first, the tingle increased to a buzzing that was almost painful. Heat replaced the coolness, and he began to burn.
Every bit of him was catalogued by an impartial, uncaring force – every thought, feeling, experience, and motivation he'd ever had. Every doubt and fear, every action. His knees began to shake, and after what seemed an eternity, gave out.
He bowed his head, certain that the growing heat in his chest where his heart had been meant he'd burn from the inside out. Some experimental wand!
A hand briefly touched him, but pulled back sharply as if scorched.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the heat of judgment turned into peace, acceptance, and then welcome. He basked in the relief. No pain. The moment stretched out for an eternity. Abruptly, Harry came back to himself, expecting to see a circle of concerned faces around him.
Instead, only Ollivander peered anxiously at him. "The wand bonded with you. That's highly unusual. In fact, it's unheard of in most generations."
"Bonded?" That one word took all of his strength.
"As you know, most wands develop an affinity to their masters. They often perform poorly for another even when legitimately won in a duel."
Harry nodded. While he hadn't known this, it made sense. No wizard ever borrowed a wand. Ron never had borrowed one during second year when he'd resorted to spell-o-taping his broken wand.
Hands clasped tightly behind his back, Ollivander continued. "Every now and again, a wand of such power will be created that a near sentience is achieved. An almost-soul, crafted of pure magic, and connected to the world's reservoir of pure magic." He cast his eyes round about their small clearing, as if hoping for an interruption.
Harry followed his gaze. Hermione and her parents sat close together near their tent, deep in conversation. Ginny carefully watched Molly demonstrate how to reduce and raise the fire by wand. Arthur, Fred, George, and Ron were missing.
Ollivander inhaled deeply, drawing Harry's attention back to himself. "No hard facts tell us what can happen next. Legend describes both a judging and an imprinting. If the wizard or witch fits well with the wand, the wand will imprint the characteristics of that person onto itself."
Harry looked at the long, light colored wand in his hand. His fingers itched to drop it, but he somehow couldn't. Instead, his hand clenched ever more tightly around the wand. Questions laced with fear ran through his mind. "Can it possess me? Like an imperius?"
Understanding replaced the concern in Ollivander's eyes. "No, Harry. The wand now has your personality traits, but almost is the most important word here. An almost-soul and an almost-sentience isn't an actual soul or sentience. The wand can't make decisions or carry out actions. But it can amplify your choices and actions that involve the wand." He paused here, eyebrows drawn together, eyes squinting with concentration. "The bonding and personality imprint is key to that, I suspect. Your actions that reflect the personality traits now imprinted on the wand will be magnified.
"Oh," Harry replied, a part of his mind wincing at that intelligent response.
Ollivander lowered himself to the damp forest floor, mindless of the morning dew soaking through his dark robe. Minutes passed as Harry struggled to take in yet another change. He should be grateful for what sounded like an immensely powerful wand. But the scrutiny, judgment and pain he'd felt from this innocent-looking piece of wood troubled him.
Soft footsteps whispered toward him. "Everything all right, Harry?" Hermione asked.
Gratitude welled up in him. If anyone could figure out what had just happened, it would be Hermione. He opened his mouth to reply, but Ollivander spoke first.
"I'm afraid that an experimental wand chose Harry. Bonded, rather." Regret tinged his tone and deepened his voice.
Hermione first looked at Harry and then Ollivander, eyes widening with surprise and then suspicion. "What kind of experimental wand?"
Ollivander sighed as if he'd been hoping Hermione wouldn't ask that very question. "Recently I tried my hand at recreating the Elder Wand." He paused to see if she understood. "I couldn't allow it to fall into nefarious hands."
Harry shuddered at the thought of this powerful wand imprinted with Voldemort's personality. What would Voldemort be capable of with a wand that amplified his negative traits instead of dampening them?
Hermione's gasp interrupted his thoughts. "The Elder Wand? But that's a fairy tale!"
"Ah, but many fairy tales are based on real events, are they not?" Ollivander replied.
"But...but..." Hermione's power of speech deserted her. She was clearly running fairy tales through her mind, searching for a grain of truth in them. Ollivander took some mercy on her.
"Some years ago I was able to examine a wand I believed to be the Elder Wand. I wished to make a masterpiece.' He shrugged, gazing off into the distance. "The Elder Wand is made of elder wood fifteen inches long with thestral tail hair as its core. Somewhat snappy. I found it quite difficult to find elder wood with just the right tension in it." He smiled fondly at the wand in Harry's hand.
Hermione asked a last question. "But legend has it that only one who has conquered death may make an elder wand. Only the Peverell brothers did so!" While Harry's wand was unusual, Hermione wasn't quite ready to believe a child's storybook come to life.
"You raise the key, question." Ollivander tilted his head toward Hermione in acknowledgment, a rather difficult feat as Hermione was standing, hands on her hips, in front of the two sitting wizards.
"Sit down," Ollivander patted the bracken-covered ground. "My neck's not as young as it use to be."
Just his neck? Harry wondered exactly how old the wandmaker was.
Hermione looked around before she gracefully folded herself down onto the forest floor. "An excellent idea."
Ollivander smiled gently before continuing. "As you may have surmised, I'm a bit older than I look."
Harry and Hermione gazed expectantly at him.
"I'm at a crossroads here, Harry." He stopped again, rubbing a hand over his face and he appeared for a moment every one of his unknown number of years. "What I'm about to tell you I have told no one, not even Albus Dumbledore."
Hermione leaned forward. "Sir, we understand that we don't need to know everything."
"Ah, yes." Ollivander peered at her through his spectacles. "Normally I would never consider confiding in a pair of teenagers, no matter how worthy they might be." He absently turned over the empty wand box in his hands. "Something deep inside tells me this choice is pivotal."
"Pivotal for what?" Harry asked, foreboding growing. Perhaps he didn't want to know this secret after all.
Tension puckered Ollivander's brow. With perplexity threading through his voice, he said, "Pivotal for something big. Something dark. Something secret. I can't tell you better than that. And yet, over the years, I've learned to pay attention to that voice inside me. It's generally right."
"Generally." Hermione repeated.
"Yes, generally. You see my dilemma. I can't tell you more than this. All I can see is darkness for the world – terrible darkness."
Harry didn't want to know this from a source far more reliable than Trelawny. Was there no hope?
Echoing his thoughts, a pale Hermione asked, "But surely there's hope? Isn't there always hope?" Her pallor shone like a loud beacon.
Instinctively, Harry again took stock of the camp with its busy inhabitants. No, he didn't want this to get out.
"That's the question." Ollivander stopped abruptly and lowered his voice. "If I share with you the story of my origin, I see a small glimmer of light in that darkness. Why, I don't know." Decision thus made, Ollivander's shoulders straightened and he began his story.
To Be Continued…
A/N Sorry this chapter's a little shorter. It was a natural break. Otherwise the chapter would have been way too long.