This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Word Count: 668
Title: Blown Away
Note:
Warnings: Fear, angst
Beta:
Quidditch League:
[Team]: Pride Of Portree
[Position] Seeker
[Theme]: Procrastination Thread: Mystery box 4:
[Prompts]: [character] Ollivander
Hogwarts
Assignment 6: Divination: Aeromancy: Task #1 - Austromancy (wind) : Write about being blown away (literally or figuratively)
Yearly:
Prompt 561 [Food] Peppermints
366: [61] Craft
Olivander was walking around the house, making sure to check under the counters for dust. Dust didn't go well with wand making, and he wasn't about to let bad housekeeping get the better of him and his craft. He paused, going to the bowl of peppermints, and it made a pleasurable popping sound as he placed it into his mouth. He was whistling as he grabbed the broom, making sure to sweep the entire shop. It was still a couple of hours before Olivander's wand shop was meant to be open for business, and he was planning on being able to see his reflection in the wood flooring before the clock on the wall struck eight AM.
After making sure all the dust was swept up, he propped the broomstick against the wall, going into the kitchenette area at the back and setting the kettle on to boil, dropping his favourite tea leaves in to infuse in the tea. He set out his favourite plain white teacup, dropping in a teaspoon of sugar, and leaving the strainer out by the teakettle.
He sighs, hearing the banging of the one cupboard he hadn't had the courage to face. He knew what it meant, and he sure didn't feel like he was up to dealing with something as pesky as a Boggart. So, he deliberately tried to ignore the noise, hoping it would quiet down, at least that way he could pretend it wasn't there. When the kettle whistled, he poured his cup of tea, sitting down at the small round yellow table, and making sure to wipe it down after he was done.
Finally, he knew it was time to face his fears, and he sighed, packing his teacup in the basin, before going into the room. He was holding his wand in his hand. This is it. He pulled himself up straighter and walked towards the cupboard with a determined air. The cupboard in question was black, with charcoal grey lining on the doors, as well as a golden doorknob. Olivander had used it to keep spare wand cores for a long time, but as business was slow, he hadn't needed the extra storage, and it went empty. He didn't expect it to become a home to one of the biggest pests, in his mind, that could seek solace in his beautiful workshop.
He knew that no matter what, this needed to come to an end. Now was the time. He slowly edged towards the cupboard and whispered the Alohomora so quietly it was almost unheard over the rattling. As soon as the door swung open, the vicious wind blew in a gust, threatening to knock Olivander from his feet, and before he could use the charm to disarm the little beast, he was knocked back into the closed door behind him. He had never been so thankful for closed doors, he knew the wind couldn't blow him away, not in here, he needed to get a hold of himself. It wasn't long after that he managed to realise it wasn't real, it was happening inside his head, and muttered the spell, thinking of a large clown. He managed to chuckle once he forced the Boggart into the other shape, and it stumbled back, then Olivander let out a hearty laugh, and the creature was disarmed and weakened, he pulled a bag over the clown's head, and felt it shifting again.
He heard the clock chime seven, and considering everything, he found himself quite satisfied with the amount of cleaning work he got done. It was almost time to open for business, he had just enough time to pop out to Burgin and Burke's to hand the Boggart over. He knew the man seemed to enjoy getting his hands on these creatures, he wasn't quite sure what he did with them, but frankly, one less Boggart was one less to worry about in his mind. He handed over the bag, and smiled to himself, a job well done.