Chapter 2 – Wand and Walkman
The cart ride back to the lobby was significantly shorter than the trip to the vault, and Scott guessed it was because Torvuk was so shell-shocked after the run-in with the sphinx. He had sincerely promised – as Scott had grabbed handfuls of bronze knuts, silver sickles, and golden Galleons – that he would touch up on his riddling skills. At present, the bulging bag of coins was jingling around inside his mother's handbag as the cart rattled up to the passageway just off the lobby.
They departed, Scott giving his farewells to the small man. His mother had every appearance of wanting to exit the bank as quick as possible, and so he allowed her to lead him outside. Neither of them spoke as they strode down the street, which had become significantly busier since they had entered the bank. If he had to guess, Scott would have guessed it was approaching lunch-time. Certainly, his stomach seemed to concur, as it gave a low, hungry grumble.
He wondered if his mother was preparing to scold him, and had just about resigned himself to missing out on buying his Hogwarts gear today when they suddenly stopped outside 'Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour'. Somewhat confused, he followed inside. The interior of the ice-creamery was garishly coloured, and the strong scent of dairy and sugar floated on the air. Scott's mother made a beeline for the man leaning against the transparent counter.
"Afternoon, Florean."
"Adams! And a young Carter! What might your name be?"
The man was about middle-aged, and looked quite genial.
"Scott. Pleased to meet you, sir," he replied politely.
Florean chuckled. "Sir! I went to school with your parents, kiddo, you can call me Florean. I have to say, you look mighty like the two of them."
Scott wasn't entirely sure how to respond to this, so he settled for a smile. He still didn't know what was happening, but he hadn't been punished yet, so he was perfectly content to stand in this shop talking to strangers.
"I'll take a double scoop strawberry and mint chocolate, and a three scoop peanut butter and chocolate, please Florean."
"Always the same, aren't you, Bev?" he said, winking good-naturedly.
His mother rolled her eyes as the man busied himself scooping up the dairy product. Now Scott was extraordinarily confused, as she'd selected his favourite mixture of ice cream. His mother was pulling out a handful of Sickles to pay, when Florean waved her attempt away.
"You don't pay here."
"Oh don't be so ridiculous."
"I'm serious, Adams, it's on the house."
"Don't know how you expect to stay in business, you stupid man."
"Ah well," he said, shrugging. "I suppose you'll be able to say I told you so when I end up on the street."
The good-natured ribbing between the two reminded Scott somewhat of him and his sister, which was unusual to watch, as his mother had been an only child. It was perhaps even stranger to hear his mother referred to by her maiden name by someone he'd never met before.
Once they'd taken their ice creams, Florean said, "Have a pleasant rest of the day, you two. Give Nate my regards, and Scott; feel free to drop by for a complementary ice cream or two any time!"
"Bye sir, er, Florean!" Scott called as they stepped out of the parlour.
The two of them sat at a table outside the store, facing each other. They licked their ice creams silently for a while before his mother looked him straight in the eye.
"Before I say anything, I want you to know that I'm not angry at you."
Scott blinked. He thought he'd put more than a few toes over the line with the stunt in the vaults, and had expected something different to the serious but calm look on his mother's face.
"However," she continued (ah, there it was), "I also want to make it clear that you shouldn't have done what you did. It was beyond risky, and I can't bear to think about what might have happened if... Well..."
"But nothing did happen, Mum," he dared to interrupt. "It was fine, I managed to answer all her questions."
"That was the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. What you showed down there, well, let me just say that may be the proudest I've ever been of you before," her voice caught slightly. "Even more than when you said 'Mumma' as your first words."
Scott suddenly felt a warmth spread throughout his body that the freezing confectionery he was eating couldn't stifle. He looked away, highly embarrassed, though distinctly pleased.
They finished their ice creams in relative silence after that, and then attempted to decipher the Hogwarts equipment list through the blotchy mathematical scribbles Scott had left on the parchment whilst calculating the sphinx's puzzle.
"Well, I'm not sure what 'One winter n over two by n plus one' is, but I'm sure it's very important for your schoolwork," his mother said archly.
"Not as important as 'fifty by one-oh-one by Emeric Switch', surely?"
They eventually set off for Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, where Scott was instructed to stand on a footstool to be measured and fitted for his school uniform. Standing on the footstool beside him was a tall boy with dark hair and a very pale face. The boy didn't look at him.
"Hi. You already at Hogwarts?" Scott said, as a squat witch pinned up the robes she had slipped over his head.
The boy glanced at him, then away. "No, I start next week."
Scott grinned easily at him. "Same. You know much about the school?"
"Bits."
Scott wasn't one to be deterred by a lack of conversational abilities when it came to one of the few people he knew would be in his year. "Your parents around?"
"Yes."
Scott glanced over in his mum's direction to see if the boy had any guardians to speak of, and sure enough he saw a slightly portly man deep in discussion with his mother. He guessed the man was the boy's father only because there were no other people in the shop, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to make the connection at all. There didn't seem to be much of a resemblance between the man and his son, either physically or in general demeanour.
"That's you done, dear," the witch attending to the pale boy said kindly, and he stepped off the stool and made his way over to his father.
"See you at school!" Scott called after him.
When Scott's uniform was purchased, the mother and son duo made their way to Flourish and Blotts to purchase the extensive booklist-mandated tomes.
"Making friends with Haworth's son, dear? That's good to see."
"Haworth?"
"Edgar Haworth, he runs a shop up in Hogsmeade."
"His son wasn't too chatty."
His mother thought on that for a moment. "No, I suppose he wouldn't be," she said mysteriously.
"Why?"
"Not really my business to go telling tall tales about boys in your year, love. Maybe you could ask him at school?"
Judging from the extremely one-sided conversation they'd just had, Scott estimated the success chance of such a discussion to be somewhere below zero.
Flourish and Blotts, like all bookstores, was something of a source of excitement for Scott. His mother refused to buy him another Gilderoy Lockhart book ("You've enough of them to make a bookshelf already.") and found the idea of purchasing 'Troll Hunts: A History of Sheer Dumb Luck' abhorrent ("What on Earth could be interesting about dead trolls?"), but Scott was mostly content with the seven new books they'd bought ("You've already got 'A History of Magic'").
Next they picked up a cauldron (sadly not gem encrusted gold), a set of glass phials, a potion-kit, a telescope set, and brass scales ("Might come in handy if I ever get into thieving."). They also stopped for a proper lunch – something healthier and more fulfilling than ice-cream. Finally, all that was left to buy was Scott's very own wand. They made their way back up the street to a small and shabby store. Gold letters over the door named the shop as 'Olivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C'.
As they stepped inside, a bell tinkled somewhere off in the distance, beyond the stacks of thousands of narrow boxes that gave the already narrow shop an even more claustrophobic feel. His mother sat on a spindly old chair as they waited to be served. As he looked around, the hair on Scott's arms stood on end. It was as though some ancient magic filled every corner of the room; from the well-aged knot-laden wood furniture, the dark, shadowy corners and corridors between shelves, to the layers of dust that glowed golden in the rays of light streaming in through the shuttered windows; it was everything he could have dreamed of.
His eyes latched onto an elderly man who seemingly glided out between two shelves of wands, and he knew that this must be Ollivander. The thin man was gazing at the two of them with eyes that glowed like silver orbs, refracting light like the dust that coated his store.
"Good afternoon," Ollivander breathed softly.
Awed, Scott could tell at once that the man was a genius simply by his eccentric demeanour. The unblinking owl eyes that seemed to pierce his very soul belied a man who was not all there, and yet far more 'there' than anyone you would ever meet.
"Hello, sir," he replied, a quiver of reverence infecting his tone.
"Scott Carter. Yes, I did wonder when I'd be seeing you cross the threshold. And, of course, Madam Carter." He focused his pale eyes on Scott's mother. "Ash, Phoenix feather, nine and a half inches, pliable. Good for duelling, in moderation."
His mother nodded somewhat awkwardly.
Ollivander approached Scott swiftly, a measuring tape in hand. "Now, Mr. Carter, which is your wand hand?"
Scott held out his right arm, not wishing to say anything in case he broke the man out of his element. He wanted to hear everything the odd old man had to say.
"Now, every single Ollivander wand contains a core of powerful magical essence, sourced directly from magical creatures. I use phoenix feathers, unicorn hairs, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two phoenixes, unicorns, or dragons are the same. And of course, you are unlikely to obtain such good results with the wand of another witch or wizard."
Just about every aspect of Scott's body was being measured by the tape, which floated about on its own. Satisfied by the tape measure's findings, Ollivander called it off and moved over to the shelves, taking down boxes. He returned with one, a wand sitting in its narrow confines. "Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."
Feeling excited, Scott took the wand from the box, but before he could even wave it through the air, Ollivander had snatched it back, muttering. "Never mind, worth a try. That wand seems to dislike just about everyone."
Suddenly, Scott could no longer help himself. "It dislikes them? So, does that mean wands think? Feel?"
Ollivander smiled, and acquiesced to the question. "In a manner of speaking, yes. Some wands are particularly more aware than others. A wand must feel if it is to choose a wizard to whom it bonds."
He was flitting between shelves again, pulling down yet more boxes. "Cypress and unicorn hair. Eleven and a quarter inches. Firm... Ah, certainly not... Perhaps this: maple and phoenix feather, fourteen inches. Springy. Not quite." He pulled the wand from his hand and returned to the shelves.
Scott's mother was looking faintly amused at the repeated wand-snatchings as her son stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. Ollivander bustled back, a single box gripped in his bony, spotted hands.
"I do hate to see it go. I hold somewhat of a deep affection for this specimen, but if the glove fits..." He proffered the box toward Scott, where a pale wand rested. "Hornbeam and dragon heartstring. Twelve inches. Supple."
Scott's hand came down and clamped around the wand. He raised it, and as he did he felt a most unusual sensation. It was like energy surged through him, down his fingers, his arm, and into his very being. He acted on instinct and waved the wand. A shower of gold and bronze sparks flew from the wand tip, dissipating before touching the floor. Ollivander clapped his hands together, and smiled, though it seemed bittersweet.
"Yes, hornbeam. Used in my very own wand. No doubt it sees in you a pure vision, which some call obsession. Perhaps the most sentient of wand woods, and particularly fine-tuned."
Scott looked at the man eagerly, desperate to hear more.
"Hornbeam wands, of course, adapt to their owners faster than any other. They become so personalised, that they absorb your very ethics, your beliefs. Your principles become its principles. You will no doubt find that this wand listens to you better than any one person is ever wont to do."
"What about the core, sir? What significance does that have?"
Ollivander seemed quite eager to impart his wisdom to someone so receptive and so continued; "I recall the obtaining of the heartstring that lies within your new wand. The Black I harvested it from died tragically, you see. I was unfortunate enough to witness it. She left behind a large brood, I believe. But she was magnificent." He watched the wand held in Scott's hand, his eyes shining with reverence. "A dragon's heart holds great power, for it is the organ that pumps the ever-potent blood of the beasts. Dragon heartstrings give a wand raw power that can be as hard to tame as the creatures they came from."
Scott, it seemed, was not yet satisfied. "And then what about the wand length?"
"Okay, I think that's enough now, boys," his mother interrupted, a note of exasperation evident in her tone.
"Alas, your mother speaks the truth, Mr. Carter. Hurry along now, you wouldn't want to see her upset, I'm sure."
It was a clear dismissal, and Scott slunk from the store dejectedly after paying (twelve galleons) and saying his goodbyes.
"Why'd we have to leave?" he asked his mother as they made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron. Scott had already made the conscious decision to forgo an animal, citing the upkeep as being too time-consuming.
"Because if I hadn't stepped in when I did, you two would have been talking til the cows came home."
Once they had returned to the dingy pub, Scott turned, expecting to head over to the fireplace off to the side. He was confused, not for the first time that day, when his mother continued on to the door that led out to Muggle London.
"Er, what exactly are we doing?" he asked as he hastened to follow.
"I thought you ought to have something since you didn't want an animal. There's a music store next door, so I thought you'd want something from there?"
Pleasantly surprised, he nodded his agreement. As they opened the door to the non-magical city that lay beyond, Scott suddenly found himself colliding head-on with something – or someone.
"Ow, sorry!" Scott exclaimed as the person fell over. He reached down to help them up to see that they were a blond boy, but as he pulled him to his feet, he realised that he'd been wrong. He'd somehow mistaken this girl for a boy, though he could have sworn – wait, what?
Scott blinked rapidly as the girl he had thought a boy suddenly seemed to sprout up a few inches, and now looked resolutely male again. He (she?) shot a terrified look at Scott and darted away with his (her?) parents, who had stepped past while he'd been focused on their child. By the time Scott had managed to process what he'd just witnessed, his mother was dragging him by the hand from the pub and onto the street.
"He – she – they were a –"
"Come on, dear, it's rude to stare."
Scott continued to mull over the rarity that he'd just witnessed, contemplating many things as they stepped into the record store beside the Leaky Cauldron. Inside was a vast collection of vinyl records and cassette tapes. Posters and price numbers polluted the walls, and shelves held an assortment of CDs and their players. A speaker somewhere in the store played an Elton John song.
"I never dreamed I could cry so hard
That ain't like a man
I could fly like a bird somedays
Had a place where I could land."
"Afternoon," the man at the checkout called.
Scott and his mum echoed the man's greeting and began looking through the store's stock with interest. His mother pointed out several of her old favourite songs by bands whose members had long ago disbanded.
"That's not the way it's supposed to be
It ain't the spell that I was sold."
He idly nodded his head to the beat of the tune playing, while examining a twelve-inch record. A passion for music was something that he and his mother shared, though Scott had lately been try to experiment with different styles to find his exact taste. He didn't want to just listen to everything his mum did all the time.
Of course, he wouldn't have listened to Muggle music at all if it hadn't been for her hooking him on it years prior. She'd been pretty pleased when he'd taken drum lessons at school, though he thought his frequent usage of a kit at home might have soured that pride rather quickly.
"Scott, dear, could you come over here, please?"
He obeyed, walking over to where his mother was leaning over to look at a small box on a shelf.
"Yes?"
"Well, this is that new walker-man, right?"
"Walkman," he corrected, looking at the product. He'd seen it in a magazine before; the EX17.
"But giving into the nightime
Ain't no cure for the pain
You gotta wade into the water
You gotta learn to live again"
"Would you like it?" his mother asked.
"Seriously? I can have it? But it isn't my birthday, or –"
"Do you want the walkman or not?"
"Of course!"
His mum smiled. "Then it's settled. I'll get you a few cassettes to go with it, too."
When Beverly told Nathan about the day's events, she had privately hoped that he would be proud, and quite impressed in his son. She hadn't quite guessed that he'd be as overjoyed as he was now, though. He had pat Scott rigorously on the back and heaped more praise on him than she'd heard him give anyone in years.
"A Ravenclaw for sure!" he cried excitedly, quite forgetting his dinner going cold in front of him.
"Now, now, Nate. We don't know anything for certain yet."
He snorted derisively. "I don't know how you can still hope for Gryffindor after today, Bev."
"Maybe he'll be a Hufflepuff," Lindsay said teasingly.
"There's nothing wrong with Hufflepuff, sweetie," Beverly reminded her daughter. "Or Slytherin," she said, seeing her open her mouth again.
Scott had remained somewhat quiet throughout the discussion, and still looked a little awkward as his father turned back to him.
"You'll go on to do great things, son. I know it. I can already imagine." He grinned, "Maybe you can work in the Department with me, eh? Might even supplant me, put me back in the Hall of –"
"Yes?"
"Never you mind," he said, waving his fork at his son sternly.
Scott often went to great lengths to find out what his father worked on in the Department of Mysteries, but true to the name most attributed to those that worked there, Nathan Carter considered his work entirely unspeakable.
"You know, Bev, I've heard through the grapevine that Minister Bagnold's considering retirement."
It was a clear change of subject, but Scott must have guessed correctly that his father wouldn't let up tonight – regardless of his good mood – and acquiesced to continue eating quietly.
"Yes, I suppose the Department Heads would be finding out soon. The Daily Prophet hasn't heard yet, luckily, but Millicent said she simply doesn't know if she wants to continue the upkeep of the job, especially given her personal issues."
"Will Crouch be running for the position, do you think?"
"Barty?" she asked. "Well, he might give it a crack, but I reckon he can't hold out in his own Department. He'll be shunted into mine sooner or later, especially if Fudge gets the job. And won't that be fun?" she said with some dread. "Helping Barty Crouch organise parley with Cornelius Fudge and the Egyptian Ministry. But I hardly blame Millie, she's been a decade now."
Lindsay was picking at her lettuce with a glazed expression in her eyes, clearly bored senseless by the talk of politics.
"So what did you and Demelza get up to today, sweetie?"
By the time her daughter had finished describing in detail how she had terrorised Demelza Robins' cat and mother by riding around on broomsticks, an hour had passed. After she had tucked Lindsay into bed and kissed her goodnight ("But why can't I stay up like Scott?"), she poked her head into her son's room after warning him with a knock. He was lying on his bed with headphones on, with one of his Hogwarts books open in front of him.
"Scott?" she tried. "Scott!"
He nearly leapt out of his skin, apparently so engrossed that he had only just noticed her in his room. He pulled off his headphones, blaring music audible from their speakers.
"Yeah?"
"I had an idea. Could I have your walkman for a moment?"
He looked apprehensively at her. "What for?"
"I thought I'd charm it a little. I can think of a handy spell that might make it even better than it already is."
He considered for a moment, before saying, "Isn't that illegal?"
"If you're planning on using the Muggle artefact for something it wasn't designed for, it is. The charm I'm thinking of would just make it... better."
He handed the walkman over, its headphones still attached. "Well, if you think you know something cool for it."
Taking the walkman in one hand, she drew her wand out with her other. She waved it over the device, and muttered, "Mnemola." A silvery wisp flew from the tip of her wand and into the machine. "That should do it."
Scott took it back from her, examining it curiously. "What did you do to it?"
"Well, I used a Memorising Charm on it, which means that once it's read a tape, it should remember it forever. You won't need to take them out and put them back in repeatedly, now."
He seemed awed at her genius. "Wow, thanks, Mum!" He even went as far as getting up and hugging her tightly, which was a pleasant surprise, as Scott wasn't much of hugger.
"Now you won't have to carry all your tapes with you at Hogwarts."
"Er," he began.
"What is it?"
"Well, it's just that I can't bring the walkman with me anyway. Muggle technology can't really function at Hogwarts because it's so magically polluted. It might break it. I read about it in 'Hogwarts, A History'."
"Oh," Beverly said, quite disappointed. She'd been hoping that her son could use the walkman on his morning runs around the Hogwarts lake that he'd mentioned wanting to do. "Well, I'm sure you'll make good use of it over your holidays. You are planning on coming home this Christmas, right?"
"'Course," he said.
"Well, at least you'll have then. Should I say good night now?"
"Sure."
She kissed him goodnight and left, reminding him to be in bed by ten-thirty. On her way down the stairs from the hallway, she ran into Nathan coming the opposite way.
"Kids in bed?"
"More or less," she replied.
"I'm off for a quick shower, care to join me?" he drawled.
She quirked an eyebrow. "You have some nerve," she said, following him to the ensuite.