Epilogue:
A New Wand
Retirement, Mr. Ollivander decided, was very nice.
He had all the time in the world now for his books, his correspondences (he had a lovely epistle from Miss Lovegood, in Siberia now), and his thinking. His desk bore numerous photographs from over the years – and there were so many years.
Benedicte grinned to the school portraits of his oldest friends, who waved back in outdated formality. In a more recent photograph, Calliope and Linus were receiving the Order of Merlin, third class. Another, taken the next day, showed Mark accepting one of the first medals ever cast in the Order of Galahad, the medal to honor Muggles who had performed mighty services to wizardkind. There was Hector's first official portrait as the owner and manager of Ollivander's Shop; weddings, visits, travels, all memories preciously kept. There were newer faces, too, and new names: Janet and Cecily, Emerson and Grace, and Garrick and Asha.
That reminded him of today's visit, and a very important one it was, too.
He wheeled away from his desk and checked to make sure that the visitor's foyer was cleanly swept and perfectly organized, every inch. Yes, it was all acceptable.
And not at all thanks to him. He smiled as he took a place by the window, where he could watch the southern side of Diagon Alley without being seen from outside.
Hector must have swept out, with his usual attention to detail. After the war, Hector had met two orphans who, surprisingly, each had a strong aptitude for wandmaking. A bachelor could not adopt children, but Hector took them on as "apprentices." At the start, Garrick and Asha (the former of whom was still at Hogwarts) had seemed to live in perpetual awe of old Mr. Ollivander. Now they followed Hector's lead and called him "Uncle" with warmth and respect.
Yes, Mr. Ollivander thought, retirement was extremely nice.
He continued to watch.
And to wait.
He began to check his pocketwatch. Was he mistaken about the day? Or the time? He was prone to such moments – prone to forgetting, to nightmares, prone to hours of nothing but reminiscences, if only to tally up his memories and be sure that they were all still intact. Had he forgotten again? He was about to call Hector and ask when he saw them.
Calliope led the way, her sights fixed on the storefront. Clinging to one hand, a little self-consciously, was her firstborn daughter. Mark trailed slightly, staring in never-ending wonder at the sights of Diagon Alley, with another little girl perched on his shoulders.
Calliope pushed the door open. Somewhere in the depths of the shop a bell tinkled.
"Hello, Uncle," Calliope said, smiling at him.
"Good morning, my dear," Mr. Ollivander wheeled himself out of the corner to greet them properly. "And good morning, Mark – Cecily. And a very happy birthday to you, Janet Tinuviel."
Janet, the oldest of the Ollivander children, stepped forward and lightly kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Uncle."
Cecily greeted him the same way (although she merely kissed the air above his skin) as Hector appeared, quite silently, from behind the towering shelves. A minute later, Asha appeared as well, with much less stealth. The shop was filled with lively chatter, greetings, and shared plans to meet Linus and Amity and their family later on, and yes, kids do grow up so fast, and where will Asha go on her Tour of Asia?
But Mr. Ollivander saw a moment of quiet. Janet, tall for her ten years, tugged on her mother's hand again. Calliope turned to her daughter, and bent a little to see eye to eye. "What is it, love?"
Mr. Ollivander saw that his grand-niece's hands were still scarred, her fingers a little crooked, from the Second War. But his great-grand-niece's hand's were unblemished and white and fluttered anxiously.
"I'm scared, Mum. I'm – I'm nervous. I –" Janet looked down. "I'm nervous about growing up."
The chatter in the background started to quiet a bit. Calliope's voice was soft but clear. "I know. But, one, it can't be helped, and two, you're already starting to grow up. This is just the next step on you becoming… your best possible self. And you know—" she smiled, "I'll be with you every step of the way."A stray lock of hair stuck out in front of Janet's ear; Calliope tucked it back. "Feel better?"
Janet nodded. Now the level of noise had reached the near-reverent silence custom to the shop. Hector and Asha were ready to be wand-sellers. Mark laid a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "You ready, little Tinuviel?"
Janet looked up at him. "Yeah. Ready."
Mr. Ollivander watched Mark's face, looking for some confusion, some loss, as his firstborn took her first real step into a world of which he could not be a part. But all that Mr. Ollivander saw was pride, and delight, and just a tinge of melancholy. "Well! Let's get right to it, then."
"Yes, let's." Mr. Ollivander wheeled forward. Hector said nothing. Mr. Ollivander had known he would say nothing, had heard him telling Calliope over Floo, "He doesn't have much time left. If you want him to give Janet her wand, do it soon."
Mr. Ollivander knew he didn't have much time left. But he had just enough time, here, and now.
"Let's see." He looked closely at her. She had her mother's height and hair, but her father's expressive mouth. Something in her posture reminded him of Calliope, her great-grandmother, but the way she clasped her hands seemed inscrutably American to him. And…
"Janet Tinuviel," he said slowly, relishing the odd, entirely un-Ollivander-like middle name.
"It means nightingale," she mumbled, like he didn't know that, didn't know that nightingales flew in the names Tinuviel and Philomel. She looked him in the eye. Her eyes were grey, Ollivander silver, with a ring of gold around the pupil. He smiled. This girl was capable of great things. And she needed a wand to match that.
"Your wand hand is your right, correct? I don't need the measuring tape, thank you, Hector." He'd heard his grand-nephew already unraveling the crinkly silver tape. "In Aisle Six, Crescent section, you'll find a collection of boxes from different departments grouped in a foursquare configuration, would one of you be so kind as to—"
Hector and Asha were already off, and returned in a moment, each balancing an armload of boxes.
"As you can see, I've taken the liberty of selecting a few wands ahead of time that I think might favor you…"
"A few?" Mark repeated incredulously.
"Did you expect me to be anything less than thorough?"
"Retirement must be nice," Janet remarked to herself.
Mr. Ollivander fixed her with a glare. Then he winked almost imperceptibly. "To begin, then, how about dogwood and unicorn hair? Ten and three quarter inches, surprisingly swishy. Go on."
Janet tried the dogwood, but knew quickly that it was no match. Nor was the hornbeam, nor the oak, nor the rowan. At some point, she put aside the wand in her hand (laurel and dragon heartstring) – and said, "Uncle, may I?"
"Of course." He wheeled back to allow her full access to the desk, where a half-dozen wands lay yet to be tested. Janet read the labels on their boxes – their symbols and code quite clear to her – and inspected the wands themselves closely. (Her sister began to fidget noisily).
One wand she took up and held to the light, studying the carvings.
"Is this—" she said tentatively, "Hazel and… phoenix feather?"
Mr. Ollivander nodded. "Just shy of ten inches. Pliable. A wand that should be quick to learn anything, and adapt."
Janet glanced at her parents, who nodded encouragingly to her (while Cecily began to moan, "Just try it already!") Then, she gave the wand a few test swishes, then waved it over her head and brought it down.
The tip of the wand erupted with silver and gold sparks. Her smile was luminous. "I did it, I did it, I did it!" She hopped up and down in glee, and then ran to hug her parents. "Oh my gosh oh my gosh I did it!"
Hector and Asha and Cecily all clapped loudly. So did Mr. Ollivander, who added, "That was one of the first wands that I ever made. It's been waiting a long time. I'm glad it chose you."
Janet squeezed his hand and kissed his withered cheek again. "Thank you, Uncle, thank you so much."
Calliope took the handles of his wheelchair and began to push him to the sunlit street outside. "Yes – thank you."
Two photographs were taken to commemorate Janet's new wand: one, a digital photograph (very much an oddity in the family archives), and the other, a moving, magical image.
Both showed the storefront of Ollivander's, Makers of Fine Wands since 362 B.C., on a fine morning in late May. There were two figures: old Servaas Ollivander, in his finely wrought chair, with a look in his pale eyes saying that he saw much more than the street and the photographers, both Muggle and magic. And the girl beside him was black-haired and silver-eyed, like but not quite like many other generations before her. She held out her hazel wand with a little pride and a little apprehension, and much joy.
And so they saved a little moment, before life continued and changed. And together with the many other photographs placed on tables and walls, in albums and wallets, it helped to make a weave of memory. There was a magic there. It wasn't a magic with spells or potions or even a name, but a power that was present and true and bright, for always.
The End
ooooo
Yes. This is the end.
It's been five years since I began this fanfiction. It was my first major writing project, a story that grew in the telling. With it I hoped to accomplish so much in the Harry Potter fandom – not least, to return to the world of fanfiction something of what it gave to me.
What started out as my baby, my literary treasure, my pride, I now see as peppered with flaws, and riddled throughout. I feel like I should issue an elaborate, Renaissance-style apology for my work – but I won't. If my writing and my writing process were both flawed, so be it. This was an immense learning curve experience. I learned so much, and the mistakes are a part of the learning. I have time to develop my craft and learn more and more as I keep writing. Any regrets I have for this work are for having let down my readers, to whom I owe an immense debt of gratitude. Thank you, I thank every single one of you, for reading, and for reviewing.
If my story brought some delight and thrills to you, then I'm happy. If I prompted people to think about Muggles in the Potter verse in a new way, and to never look at Mr. Ollivander, or the Obliviators, the same way again, then I'll be content. If this story has inspired new ideas, for Harry Potter or any other works, I'll be over the moon.
Someday I plan to revive these characters, perhaps, in a new world and a new setting. In the meantime, I'll continue to write fanfiction of whatever fandom strikes my fancy, and post it here.
As the Ollivander motto says, "It buds afresh." Keep on reading, I will keep on writing, and I'll strive to please you every day.