Chapter Fourteen
Magical Malady
Hidden beneath his black, hooded cloak, Severus read the freshly-painted gold lettering of a shop he had not visited since he was eleven years old.
Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
The premises had been refurbished since Death Eaters had kidnapped its proprietor; for perhaps the first time since the wand-maker's shop had opened, the woodwork was beautifully painted in black and gold, and the windows were so clean that they sparkled.
A solitary wand displayed in the window on a plump, vibrant purple cushion reminded Severus of the first time he'd peered through the once-murky windowpane, and he smiled sadly at the memory.
Brown leaves swirled in circles by Severus's feet as he opened the door, and a bell tinkled, announcing his presence to an otherwise empty shop. The space remained tiny: a spindly wooden chair and the counter area lay only two paces away. Severus remembered that the wand-maker's emporium had felt small to him as a young wizard jingling his mother's Galleons in his pocket, but now the shop front seemed so miniscule that he wondered just how far into the back of the building Ollivander's shelving stretched.
Severus lowered the hood of his cloak when the sound of shuffling footsteps announced the arrival of the proprietor, and he peered into the pale blue eyes of the celebrated wand-maker, marvelling at the older man's healthy complexion.
"Mr Ollivander, you're looking well."
The wand-maker assessed Severus with an astute expression and took a long moment to reply. "I feel well, Mr Snape. I was lucky enough to have recuperated by the seaside for a few months, and then the lovely Miss Lovegood helped me restore this place to its former glory. Shame I can't persuade her to become a wand-maker... Quite the flair, that young woman has."
"Miss Lovegood is talented, but lacks the necessary focus for your profession."
"Indeed. But you didn't come here to discuss your former students, I gather? I must say I'm surprised to see you."
"I'm surprised to be here, Mr Ollivander."
"Are you in the market for a new wand?"
"No." Severus let the word linger in the air whilst he steeled himself. Reticently, he plucked his wand from his sleeve and placed it upon the counter.
"May I?" Ollivander asked, and upon Severus's nod, he immediately slipped the wand into his grasp and ran his fingers along its length. "Ebony. Thirteen-and-one-quarter inches. Phoenix-feather core. Firm." For a moment, the wand-maker held the wand against his cheek, appearing to listen carefully. He then quirked an eyebrow and placed the wand down upon the counter. "I remember selling this wand to you at age eleven, and I also recall a pretty red-headed witch standing by your side when the wand chose you."
Severus flinched, and his cheeks reddened.
"How little did I appreciate how important the two of you would become in the fate of the wizarding world." Ollivander pinched his lips together, before continuing, "A witch and wizard of immeasurable talent... You would have made a formidable pairing, no doubt about it."
"My private life might be public knowledge, but I'm not here to discuss the past, Mr Ollivander."
The older man tipped his head to one side. "Indeed not. What can I do for you, Mr Snape?"
"The wand's allegiance?" Severus asked brusquely.
"Remains yours," Ollivander answered evenly.
Severus struggled to hide his disappointment. "I hoped that would explain it," he muttered to himself.
"Explain what?"
"Is there anything unusual about this wand? Anything which might cause it to fail?"
Ollivander's eyes narrowed, but then he picked up the wand for a closer examination, scrutinising the dark wooden surface by the light of the window. His expression flickered with several emotions: eagerness, surprise, admiration and... covetousness. He seemed thrilled to be holding the wand which had killed Dumbledore.
"This wand has created new spells and performed powerful and extraordinary magic." Ollivander's voice sounded scratchy and hoarse as he continued, "You've harnessed the phoenix-feather core to your benefit; you intuitively understand its innate personality. Few wizards ever have the time and patience to work with these sorts of temperamental wands..."
Severus listened to Ollivander's words, noticing the answer to his question had been evaded.
Perhaps Ollivander sensed his impatience, for he quickly brandished the wand and cast three perfect smoke circles from its tip. The wand-maker smiled. "Pristine condition. You've obviously taken a great deal of care with this wand."
"It performs satisfactorily?"
"More than satisfactory. Your wand is well-seasoned. A powerful wand for a powerful wizard... And yet you seem... unsatisfied?"
"I'd hoped for another answer, that is all."
"Ah," Ollivander replied, sensing the end of the conversation and offering the wand to its chosen wizard.
"Thank you for your assistance, Mr Ollivander. I assume my visit will remain... confidential?"
"Naturally," the wand-maker said, holding open the door. "Good day, Severus Snape."
Inclement weather settled in for the month of November, forcing Severus to work indoors in his potions laboratory, or at his living room table, writing his second manuscript. Ever since the Ministry of Magic had granted his wish for a direct Floo connection from Lapwing Row to Tess's Hogwarts quarters, he'd felt tempted to pay her a surprise visit. However, he'd also become insecure about his magical abilities after his meeting with Ollivander and didn't want to get stranded in an unfamiliar fireplace at the other end of the country with no way to return home.
As the woeful grey, rainy weather further drained his spirits, the muddy bog of his back garden caused further irritation. He would often stare out of the window, willing the murky clouds to dissipate so that he might return to his gardening hobby.
"Would Master like Fogle to go outside again tonight to Vanish the rest of the leaves?" the house-elf offered helpfully one afternoon.
Severus looked away from the dreary window, shifted his position on the sofa, and caught sight of his wand lying on the coffee table. In the wet November weeks, Severus had performed magic without any difficulty, leaving him to mull over several possible explanations for the intermittency of his magical abilities. However, he had yet to form a satisfactory conclusion.
"That won't be necessary," Severus replied, realising he'd not informed the elf of his visit to Ollivander. "My magic seems to have returned."
Fogle glanced at the ebony wand. "Master's wand is not faulty?"
"No."
"Does Master know why his wand didn't work?"
"You ask a lot of questions, elf," Severus replied caustically.
Suddenly fraught, Fogle ran towards the fire and placed his hand in the flames.
The smell of burning flesh prompted Severus to leap from his seat and drag the elf away from the hearth, shouting, "In Merlin's name, Fogle! Are you mad?"
Tears formed in the elf's large, orb-like eyes. "Fogle displeased his master. Fogle deserves to be punished!"
"Wait there," Severus commanded in tones to brook no argument.
He then opened the French doors and squelched into the garden, rain soaking his clothes almost instantaneously. His wet hands slipped as he unlocked the door to the outhouse, and soon he was darting back into the house clutching a bottle of potion, which he applied to Fogle's burnt fingers. The essence of dittany hissed when it made contact with the elf's skin.
"Don't ever do that again, do you hear me?" he ordered.
Fogle bit his bottom lip and nodded without enthusiasm.
Feeling uncomfortably soggy in his rain-soaked clothes, Severus picked up his wand and charmed his robes dry. He noticed the elf watching him with keen interest.
"Master's wand works when he is indoors," Fogle commented.
The following seconds seemed to pass very slowly as Severus recalled the first time his magic failed him: trying to cast a Cushioning Charm during the first night Tess stayed at the house. They had been outdoors, underneath the stars.
Each subsequent failure had been outdoors, or in the outhouse. Severus mulled over this insight for a moment, and then decided to reopen the French doors and step outside into the fading light of the dreary autumnal afternoon. He flicked his wand and successfully cast a Shield Charm around him, keeping himself dry. Turning on his heel, he marched back into the house and sank down on the sofa, hunching his shoulders.
"It was a good theory," he muttered to himself.
"Master's magic seems to fail him after he's been gardening," the elf continued, undeterred.
Severus looked up, holding Fogle's coppery gaze. "Not always," he elucidated. "The first failure was months ago, sitting outside after eating dinner with Tess. On your first night here, as it so happens."
Fogle shook his head fearfully, "No, Master, it wasn't Fogle's fault! Fogle didn't steal your magic!"
"Don't be ridiculous," Severus snapped, more harshly than he intended. "Elves can't steal magic," he added.
The house-elf seemed visibly relieved. "Then why did Master's magic stop working on Fogle's first night here?"
Severus had mused over this very same question time and time again, but now Fogle gave him chance to scrutinise the events of the evening with fresh eyes. Tess had arrived from Hogwarts, and they'd made love on the new four-poster bed... Severus had charmed the ivy, and afterwards he'd magically warmed their dinner. Later, Tess presented her two housewarming gifts: Fogle took to work in the kitchen whilst Severus had intended to plant the specimen of Lovage outside in his back garden... And so he'd taken off his Tiger's Eye ring before they'd gone outdoors, as had become his habit prior to gardening...
The silver band housing the golden-brown gemstone currently resided in its usual place on his little finger. Presciently, Severus slipped off the ring and placed it on the coffee table in front of the house-elf.
"Fogle saw this ring shining in the darkness on his first night here." The house-elf picked up the ring reverently. "Fogle wonders if this is important."
"Anything is possible," Severus murmured, raising his wand and attempting to cast an Aguamenti Charm on an empty goblet. No jet of water issued from the wand, and the goblet remained dry. No magical activity at all.
Fogle frowned at the conundrum, and then picked up the ring and offered it to his master. Severus placed the former anti-Horcrux onto his little finger and repeated the charm. Immediately, water filled the goblet to the brim. The house-elf squeaked with delight.
"Master's magic works when he wears his ring!" he sang, happy to have solved the mystery.
But for Severus, the mystery of his magical malady had only deepened.