When Pigs Fly

Author: Lorry

hagrid7@mailbolt.com

Summary: An old friend with a secret comes to visit Madam Rosmerta in Hogsmeade, helping Harry with recurring predicament. (And finds her own personal hero along the way)

Disclaimer: Harry and his cohorts all belong to Warner Bros. and JK Rowling. Not to me. That being said, the offering below is by no means an attempt to profit from someone else's licensed characters. It is for entertainment purposes only.

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When Pigs Fly

By Lorry

Prologue:

"My dearest Elana, I can see no way around this. We are going to have to send the child away."

The words pierced the new mother to her very soul. She cast out desperate pleas like safety ropes, in the hope that one or two of them might catch her husband's heart and save her and her baby from a fate worse than death.

"We can't, Augustus. Please reconsider. I understand your concerns, but can we not.... wait? We could be wrong. Let us wait until she's 11, at least. If there is no letter from Hogwarts we'll know for sure. And then we can do what must be done. Please... Augustus?"

Augustus Ollivander could not hold his wife's gaze. He stared at the hardwood floor, the boards creaking loudly as he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. A tiny sigh escaped his lips as he attempted to say something, then changed his mind. His shoulders sagged more than a little. The stars had foretold it. Tea leaves had announced it to any who'd been deft enough to read them. Even the cards had proclaimed what the new father held to be true, but standing there, just moments after the midwives had placed little Ivy in her mother's arms, the staid and hard-nosed Augustus had begun to flounder.

"Just till she's 11," Elana repeated, tugging at her husband's sleeve. "If there's no letter... then we'll know."

"Alright, love," Augustus breathed, the tightness in his chest easing with the decision finally made. "We will wait until then." He bent and kissed his dear wife's forehead, still wet with the perspiration of her previous exertions. "But if you think it will be any easier to let her go after holding her for 11 years, I am afraid that you are wrong. Deathly afraid. Lord Voldemort is only getting stronger. A little thing like this would be defenseless before him. Our name, Elana..." This was where the argument got sticky. "We cannot forget the impact that something like this could have... We've been among the most upstanding wizarding families since before time was recorded. I cannot forget that."

"Oh, Augustus, I swear you won't regret this." Elana gave him a tired but triumphant smile. She watched with sadness as her husband walked away. She understood their differences. Things that were important to him had long ago lost their impact on her. Things like names and reputations. Especially in these last nine months as baby Ivy'd grown inside her. All that concerned Elana now was the tiny bundle fretting in her arms. She settled back against the pillows that propped her up in bed and prepared to nurse the baby. Their eyes locked for a long and tender moment. Brushing the tiny cheek with the ball of her thumb the new mother whispered into her baby's ear.

"Now how could anybody on this earth possibly believe that you're not magic?"

From a darkened corner of the room a shadow rose and padded to the bedside where mother and baby were getting acquainted.

"We get to keep her then?" A little girl's voice broke into the silence. She gazed down, wringing her hands in an attempt to keep from touching the infant, at least until she was invited.

"Yes, Rosie," Elana smiled. With her free hand she patted the empty spot beside her on the bed. "Come meet my brand new little Ivy. I've a feeling you're going to be great friends."

The dark haired girl rounded the foot of the bed and settled in beside Elana, shy fingers caressing wispy locks of the baby's chestnut hair.

"Hello, Ivy," she whispered. "Welcome to the world."

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Chapter One:

Home to Hogsmeade

Ivy Ollivander strode purposefully past the myriad of shop windows that fronted Diagon Alley, heels clacking on the uneven cobblestone street. She'd learned that she'd attract less attention this way; simply pretending she belonged, so, tucking her chin close to her chest, she walked on, pulling her burgundy cloak more tightly around her shoulders.

In truth, she hadn't been down these streets since her mother died, nearly 13 years ago. And if her father happened upon her now... Ivy wouldn't even allow her thoughts to wander that path. She'd come home for good this time, resolute that he wouldn't ship her off again. Now all she had to do was find a place to settle beyond his disapproving gaze.

"It's just not fair," Ivy whispered for the millionth time, in an accent that was more American than British. Though she'd been born not far from the very street she now traveled, she felt like a tourist, an outsider. Places and names that should have been familiar sounded foreign as she whispered them into the breeze. Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Eeylop's Owl Emporium. It didn't take a genius to understand that like Dorothy, she was not in Kansas anymore. She made her way down the street toward her great-grandfather's shop, the one place in Diagon Alley that had always served as a haven.

He was a wand-maker, of all things. The premier wand-maker of the present age. She realized unhappily that her whim to move back among magical people could mark his name forever, with the biggest, blackest mark of all wizard-dom; a squib in the family. The Ollivander family, no less. Wand-makers since 300 BC. Magical since before time began. All except Ivy, who for some reason had been born totally devoid of any trace of power, magical or otherwise.

She'd been separated from her family for years, simply for that reason. To say the tall, angular woman fostered bitterness toward that fact would have understated the obvious.

Her father had always held to the excuse that she'd be defenseless if Lord Voldemort, most heinous of all wizards, had ever chosen to attack the family. Ivy'd believed him at first. Believed him as totally as any loyal little girl believed her daddy. Until her mother died. And Ivy'd come home to find that a slip of a child named Harry Potter had ended Voldemort's reign. He wasn't a threat anymore, but still Augustus Ollivander made all the arrangements to send her away again. The big black "ONE WAY" stamp on her ticket had announced to everyone that nobody wanted her in Great Britain.

A sadness entered Ivy's soul on that long journey across the world. A sadness that shadowed everything she was. It haunted her eyes and her laughter. Only time in the wand shop with her great-grandfather could alleviate her melancholy. Only here did she feel accepted and unconditionally loved, for it was here she'd spent most of her first 11 years, toddling behind her mother as she'd learned the family business.

"Yes," Ivy thought as she pushed open the wand shop's door. "I can think of only one person who might help me." She stepped inside to the welcoming embrace of her great-grandfather, ready to begin phase one of her plan: a request to a very old friend.

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Dearest Madam Rosmerta,

Ivy's letter's opening phrase caused its author to bite her lip. She twiddled the quill over parchment, watching ink splatter and spread. How could she possibly pick the right words, when her whole future hung in the balance?

Just be honest, she told herself. Rose will understand.

Taking a deep breath, she started again, this time feeling a bit more confidence. A bony old hand patted her shoulder from behind, encouraging her to move on.

Dear Rosie,

How are you, Love?

I hope you're doing well. I know it's been a while since I've written, but I'm afraid I need your help. Now more than ever!

Remember when we used to plot back and forth about me coming home and hiding out with you? It seems so long ago. We were only children then, and everything seemed so possible! I know we're grown up now, but that scheme's never left the back of my mind. I'm coming home shortly, and I've decided it's for good this time. I'm thinking that perhaps in Hogsmeade I'd be safe.

Of course we'd have to keep my 'condition' secret, if only to spare Father. (And me when he finally finds me!) I know it's an awful imposition, and if you'd rather not get dragged into the middle of family business, I understand perfectly. You have always been and will forever remain my

Best friend forever,

Ivy O.

PS: please respond by this owl, it knows where I am.

"There," Ivy breathed, glancing at the old man reading over her shoulder. "Do you think that'll do, Grey-Grand?"

The elder Ollivander gave his great-granddaughter a tremulous smile, squeezing her shoulder as he stepped from behind her to look out the window of his shop.

"It's fine, Ivy," he said, watching as she tied the parchment to the leg of his great horned owl and sent him out the window. "You've done all that you can do. Now we must await a reply from Rosmerta. If she has misgivings..." the old man paused a moment, stroking his stubbly chin. Something just past the pillow-and-wand window display caught his attention, and his conversation with his great-granddaughter was forgotten for a heart beat. He really was too old to be playing games of hide-and-seek.

"Did you see him?" Ivy asked, standing to her feet. She slipped back into the wand shop's shadows warily. The dusty boxes of wands stacked to the ceiling were so like home to the girl that she had physically ached to see them again. Her hand traced lovingly down one row, then another.

"Grey-Grand?"

Mr. Ollivander turned at the sound of the name Ivy had given him in early childhood. Far before her little mouth could form around big words like 'Great-Grandfather'.

"No. Nothing," he assured her.

"Good," she responded, emerging from the shadows to kiss his leathery cheek. "Then I can stay for a while. You know how I love this place, Grey-Grand. I don't want to be sent away again."

"You're a grown woman now, Ivy. No one can force you to leave."

Ivy laughed. "Tell that to Father."

"Maybe I shall, child. He is still my grandson."

"Yes, and as a dutiful grandfather you will honor his wishes to keep the Ollivander family name safe from any blemish, won't you?" she chided. "I don't want a family feud over whether I stay or go. But I was brought up here. I can live among magical people. Somehow. I just have to learn how to hide my... erm... handicap."

Ivy's great-grandfather laughed aloud and folded her into his embrace. "I will echo the sentiment your mother used so many, many times, God rest her soul. You have a magic all your own, my Ivy. Different, perhaps. But there. Always there."

Ivy clung to the only champion left to her, breathing in the scent of musty wand boxes and newly-hewn wood and wondering for the millionth time if she could really pull this off.

"I do miss Mum," she whispered against her great-grandfather's blue satin robe. She pressed her cheek into the fabric as he tightened his grip, then held her at arm's length.

"We all do, Ivy. And if I could convince you that your father is trying, in his way, to protect you, I'd offer that argument again. But you've heard it all before. Suffice it to say that your visit today has given one old man great reason to get out of bed this morning."

Ivy laughed as he released her to straighten a stack of narrow wand boxes that rested on his front counter. "You have many reasons to get out of bed in the morning, I'd imagine. New wands to put together. New customers to please. And if Father comes to visit..."

" 'I haven't heard from dear sweet Ivy in ages', and 'Don't you think it's time you let that girl come home where she belongs?'"

"Exactly! Bravo. You are magnificent. And I love you." She turned to sit in a velvet-covered chair, only briefly allowing her hand to caress a long mahogany wand that lay within arm's reach.

"Go on," Mr. Ollivander sighed, as he served them both a steamy cup of tea. "Pick it up. But nothing's changed since last time you tried one."

The girl turned sea-green eyes upon her great-grandfather. Enormous eyes that asked the one question she no longer dared to voice.

"I don't know why, Ivy," the old man sighed. "Why magic chooses one and passes by another. Why in a family of wizards that predates history, fate would decide to throw in a..." he clamped his mouth shut before uttering the word he knew she hated above all others.

"You just have to believe what your mother told us," he continued. "You do have magic. A magic all your own."

"Well," Ivy started, "I want the kind of magic you have. The kind that fills the universe with hope. As long as there's magic, things will go on as they have for centuries. The stars will retain their peculiar orbits 'round a planet that can't live without them." She rose passionately to her feet, strands of chestnut hair loosening from the bun tightly twisted at the nape of her neck.

"I want to Accio that pillow. I want to Incendio the wood in that fireplace. I want to..."

"Enough, Granddaughter." Ollivander stopped her. "The entire human race is busy wanting things it cannot have. Do you think you are the first to ponder fate's decisions? Do you assume that the feeling of being on the outside looking in is an emotion belonging only to you?"

"Of course not," Ivy murmured, taking her seat. She usually chose to pout at this point in the conversation, but the scent wafting from the tea cup and the sunshine warming her shoulders through the window gave her the serenity to momentarily stop questioning the fates.

"I better go," she whispered, studying her cup for a lingering moment. How she wished she could just enjoy her time here, instead of ruining it in jealous contemplation.

"I'll be back this time tomorrow."

"I think you might want to stay a minute," her Grey-Grand replied, pointing to an enlarging form looming in the shop's side window.

"No!" Ivy beamed toward the owl as it landed amidst the wand boxes and parchments on the counter. "She couldn't have responded. It's too soon."

"You've forgotten the power of magic," Ollivander chided.

Ivy only threw him a grin, turning to relieve the owl of its parchment burden.

Ivy!

The letter began.

How could you possibly even stop to ask if I WANTED you to come to Hogsmeade? You have no idea how much I've missed you, then. I know by the owl that you must be in London somewhere, probably hiding out with that amazing great-grandfather of yours. Which means you could make Hogsmeade by tomorrow, earliest. I'm expecting you.

I'm keeping this short, in hopes I'll catch you quicker.

Your (most excited) friend,

Rosmerta

Ivy laughed in relief at her friend's cryptic letter.

"She wants me."

"You see, then, don't you? I told you all would work itself out in the end. Faith, my little Ivy. You only have to show a bit of faith."

Ivy threw her arms around her great-grandfather, her world suddenly alight with expectation.

"Go get your things ready," Ollivander continued. "And come to see me soon and tell me how things are going." He said this last as Ivy headed toward the door.

"I promise, Grey-Grand," she spoke as she stopped in the doorway. "I'll see you again, very soon."

With that, Ivy Ollivander strode quickly toward The Leaky Cauldron, the nearest porthole to the Muggle world where she was staying, intent to begin her new life back among magical people as soon as she could.