Unplottable Island

Chapter Three: A Visitor

Tim grabbed for the crab before it made its escape—no luck. "Laura?" he called, bundling the rest of the small collection of fish into a canvas. "Laura, it happened again."

Laura came out of the house. It seemed to Tim that Laura could be entirely too tidy. Nary a hair out of place nor a stain on her robe. Even now she was tidy; neatly sweeping around the puddles of water and the lumps that were sea urchins. "What was it this time?"

"I heard somebody—well, not with my ears, just kind of—oh, I dunno," he stammered, trying to find the appropriate word. "Sensed it. Somebody was crying."

Laura frowned. Tim knew what he'd said must be bad—she never showed much emotion around him. "Tim, did you know who it was?"

"No," he said, puzzled. These little bursts in his head had started when he was small—just sometimes he knew what someone had just done. Like once, about two years ago, he had had the worst burst ever—terror. It had happened while he was asleep, and he had woken up screaming his head off and his pajamas soaked through with cold sweat.

"Hmm." Was all Laura said, then she straightened. "Give me the fish, and eat all of what I cook. We'll be flying to see someone today."

Tim automatically handed her the fish, then asked "Both of us? To where? To see who? Why?"

"Questions later. Eat now." With a poke of her wand, she set the kerosene stove alight, with another wave the fish jumped out of their skins, dropped their guts in a neat pile, and flopped into a frying pan.

At Hogwarts…

Dumbledore was nearly done with his lunch when Professor Snape came racing into his office, whiter than usual. "Professor Dumbledore, she's here—Laura and the boy—I don't know what to do!"

Old as he was, it took Dumbledore about ten seconds to get outside. He raced out onto the front lawn, where a middle-aged woman stood holding a broomstick, and a teenaged boy next to her who was staring at Hogwarts with awe on his face. "Laura!" he called, dashing down the hill. She turned towards him, black hair slightly mussed by her flight. No longer was she the mischievous imp of a student that had attended Hogwarts fifteen years ago. She was thinner, with a silver streak in her black hair, and a worry line etched into her brow. Dumbledore embraced her. "I've missed you," he told her, feeling tears run down his cheeks.

"Me too," she replied huskily, then straightened and placed her hand on the boy's shoulder. "Professor Dumbledore, I believe you never met my nephew Timothy?"

Dumbledore smiled at the boy, who looked as though he wanted very much to disappear. "Yes, I have, though at the time you were very young. You look, if I may say so, very much like your father—but for your hair. That was your mother's."

Tim had never heard anyone besides Laura speak about his father and mother—and she didn't like to. Whenever he mentioned them, the worry line between her eyes deepened, and she was silent until the subject was changed. "You knew my father? And my mother?"

"Yes. Very well." A sad, misty veil passed over the old face, then Dumbledore smiled and said "Won't you come in?"

They followed him into the school, down the hallways, and up a revolving staircase into Dumbledore's private office. "Timothy, I need to speak to Laura privately. If you wouldn't mind, there's a man in the next room who would be obliged to fit you for a wand."

Tim walked into the next room rather apprehensively.

"Good morning," a soft voice murmured from behind his left ear. Tim jumped. "My name is Mr. Olivander, maker of fine wands."

Tim wasn't to sure what to say. "Uh—hullo." Mr. Olivander had a rather hypnotizing stare—large, creepy silver eyes. He didn't blink while he scrutinized Timothy from head to toe.

"You've been using you aunt's wand to work magic. Laura Potter. Twelve and three-quarter inches. Supple. Sugar maple, containing one hair of a unicorn." He whipped out a measuring tape and asked "Wand arm?"

Tim stuck his right hand out, thought, stuck out his left, then asked "What if it doesn't really matter?"

Mr. Olivander practically glowed. "Ambidextrous. Your mother was. A challenge, you will be." He sounded happy. "That will do."

The measuring tape crumpled to the floor. Timothy jumped again. He must look as though he had a tic, he though, and tried to stand still.

Mr. Olivander returned, carrying a large stack of narrow boxes. "Try these." The first box: "Ebony, ten inches, containing one dragon heart string" was a miserable failure. He couldn't even make it spark. Box two: "Willow, seven inches, inflexible, containing one phoenix feather" was a little better, but it wasn't good. Box three didn't work either, and so on it went up to box sixty-seven "Ash, eleven inches, containing one unicorn hair". By this time, Tim was getting very frustrated at his lack of ability to make anything happen. And number sixty-seven didn't work.

This didn't seem to be wearing on Mr. Olivander at all: on the contrary he looked more delighted than even at the appearance and rejection of each new wand. After another disappearance to return with another stack of boxes, he said "Seeing as nothing works yet, I think it's time to try new materials."

And so off they went. "Apple and Veela hair, fourteen inches, whippy" "Dogwood and dragon scales" "Red Maple, nine and a half inches, Unicorn hair" and so on for at least an hour. Now even Mr. Olivander was looking puzzled. "Can you do magic with Laura's wand?"

"Yes," Tim replied sullenly, wishing to be back home.

"Hmm... Twelve and three-quarter inches, sugar maple, containing one hair of a unicorn—ah! This might do." And from the many mounds of discarded boxes he pulled out a very old and crumbly-looking leather sleeve. "When He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at his greatest, many witches and wizards were killed. When they died, their wands are either buried with them or returned to me. I think this one will fit you nicely." He opened the case and pulled out a wand, which was rather battered and chipped in a few places, with little marks where it had been worn smooth by the grip of a hand. A few finger-prints showed against the glossy wood, and it reminded Tim of a favorite shirt or a worn-in pair of jeans. "Ten and a quarter inches long, made of willow, containing one hair from the tail of a unicorn. Swishy. Good for charms, though incantations are also nice. Try it."

Tim gripped it, swearing that if this one didn't work he was going to leave right away. A sort of tickling warmth spread through his fingertips, and with a rush of energy he brought it down over his head. A volley of mauve sparks shot like firecrackers into the air, skittering across the floor and setting Mr. Olivander's tape measure on fire. He extinguished it, then clapped. "Bravo! Wonderful, Timothy."

"Finally," Tim blurted, then hastily backtracked lest he offend Mr. Olivander. "I mean, it did take a very long time."

Mr. Olivander smiled. "Your mother would have been proud of you. That was her wand."

Tim stared at the wand he gripped in his fingers with a new light. "But I though you said that only dead witches and wizards had their wands sent to you—"

But the wand maker didn't hear. He had poked his head into the other room and called "We've found a wand."

"Finally," Laura mumbled. Tim looked a little closer at her. Her eyes were a little puffy and red.

"You've been crying," he accused her. "What"—then he was cut off by a little house-elf at the door squeaking "Monsieur Snuffles has arrived, sirs and miss!"

Timothy craned his neck to see this Monsieur Snuffles, but it turned out to be a large black dog, who entered in a rather apprehensive way. Mr. Olivander bowed himself out, insisting that he needed to relay his wands back to his shop. Laura cleared her throat. "Um—Tim, I think it might be good if you'd wander around a bit—yes, since after all you will be attending here in the fall."

Tim didn't want to leave. Things were being discussed behind his back, and he didn't like it. "Fine," he snapped, not caring that everyone was now staring at him like he was poisonous. "I'll leave." And he stalked out of the room, leaving behind his aunt, the dog, and Professor Dumbledore.