Chapter 2 Mr. Ollivander
He was falling. Long, terrifying licks of black flame danced over him, leaping towards his broom as he clutched his father's waist, biting his lip to keep from screaming. His fingers began to slip, and his cold and weak hands could hold no more....Then his father grabbed him and heaved back onto the broomstick. Coughing, they flew on, and the screeching filled his ears as they flew over the flames below, but he was still cold. A man on a broomstick was chasing them, flocked with wyverns at his back, shrieking and howling as they chased him. This was his fault. He should never have come. His father knocked a man off a broom, and leapt onto it, leaving his son on the other. They both began to charge.
Why were they chasing him? He was small, nothing. Insignificant. And he was falling, tumbling through the fire, burning him all over.
"Fizz! Fizz!" A voice called him back. He was shaking, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the blood where he had clawed at his skin. Who was calling him? He knew the voice, but couldn't register it.... "Romulus!" It was his uncle. No one else, just his uncle, face creased with worry at his nephew's shrieks that had awoken him. "Calm down, please, it's me. Your uncle. Remus." Fizz's breaths were shaky, and it took him awhile to calm down, but he finally did. His face stung, covered with scratches, and his uncle carefully washed his nephew's hands of his own blood- he had the same family tendency, sharp nails. That would be Lupin's fault, while werewolf was not hereditary, parts were passed between siblings. Like his brother, for instance, was always ill at the full moon, and poor Fizz had inherited the claw-like hands and feet and fangs for teeth, not to mention the howling when he yelled. "Here, take some chocolate...." Lupin broke off a piece and handed it to him. Fizz ate it gratefully, calming down more and more as time passed.
"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" Fizz asked nervously. Lupin laughed, almost anxiously, relieved to hear his nephew's voice and not howls emerging from his pale lips.
"Yes, you did, but its all-" He was interrupted before he could continue by a snarl that emerged from his lips and he lurched quite suddenly, then returned to normal. "Sorry about that; I just, er, transformed back to normal when I heard you scream. Are you all right? What was it?" Fizz shivered as the last gray fur disappeared from his uncle's anxious face.
"I'm fine now, much better. It was a...nightmare. Just a nightmare. About...." His voice drifted off, and he bit his lip. Nodding, he knew his uncle understood- he wasn't the only one who had nightmares, after all. The sun was casting a pale glow into the room, and Fizz clambered out of bed once his uncle had left the room and walked over to his mirror.
"You oughtn't to claw your face like that, sonny boy!" The mirror scolded in a high-pitched, gruff voice. Rolling his eyes, the boy plopped a towel over it, and wandered to the bathroom and washed the blood from his face, swearing as the soap mixed with his cuts. He jumped into the shower as soon as the water was warm enough, and sang loudly along with the radio to keep himself from feeling the hot water pounding on his face. Very quickly after that, feeling much better and back on earth, he ran back into his room in his bathrobe and changed into his robes. Old and worn, they were comfortable; they used to belong to his uncle, and were still too large for him by far, but he took no notice of his strange appearance as he placed his hair in a small ponytail and cursed himself for looking so much like a girl.
There was no avoiding it, it was true. He looked like a poor, tired, sick girl. Small and skinny, easily the runt of the family. Long, messy, browny-gold hair that looked a bit like leaves in the fall, and big, sad blue eyes, dark like the sea. Dark like his father's. Everyone said he looked a tremendous amount like his father, and he knew it was true- but surely his father wasn't so small, with such high cheekbones, with such pale skin. Yet there were some things he liked- the claw-like hands, the fangs for teeth, the fact that he was always at least slightly ill at the full moon. It made for interesting conversation, he reasoned, as he tried to squeeze his too-big feet into his old boots and his big hands into too-small gloves. Making a mental note to himself to get new ones, he stepped out to the kitchen, where his uncle and his mother were waiting for him.
He felt slightly ridiculous; he had scratches all over his face, a baggy and shabby robe, too small boots and gloves- he knew he must look like a fool. But it didn't matter, no one liked his family anyway. And those who did- well, they knew them already. It was no great secret they were poor. After hugging his mother goodbye, eating a bit of toast and promising to be good, they headed out the door to the neighbors, who had installed a portkey in the back yard that sent one directly to Diagon Alley. The fact that Fizz was terrified of fire made him quite a hater of Floo powder- the idea of stepping into a roaring fire was not appealing to him, not in the very least. The neighbors understood this, and being too old to go by Floo powder anyways, and too far away, had received permission from the Ministry to create a portkey. And since then, Fizz and his uncle used it whenever possible- it was much, much easier, and significantly less terrifying.
The sensation of using a portkey was peculiar, to say the least. Fizz felt as though he was drowning, being pulled through thick pudding by his stomach- until he landed, quite abruptly against a wall and next to a trash can. Calmly, his uncle tapped a certain brick- Fizz could never remember which it was- and the wall slit open, allowing them passage. He never could grow tired of watching magic- he had been raised in a Muggle-esque home, neat and homemade curtains over the windows, starched, at all times. Talking mirrors were as necessary as the strange electricity, as the strange way his mother talked into a plastic something, sausage shaped. To her friends. Lupin seemed quite at home in the magical world, but not the Muggle- for his mother, quite the opposite.
His father had used to call him the best of two worlds- the quiet, deadly power of the wizarding world and the common, logical sense of the Muggle. But Fizz looked distinctly like a wizard, which was why he was homeschooled. He knew his timetables, his letters and his numbers, more languages than he would ever need to know- his mother, a master linguist, had enjoyed teaching the strange new languages almost as much as she liked learning them. She would quiz him on vocabulary while they worked out in the garden, planting numerous herbs and a rose bush or two, and Lupin (And Fizz too, for that matter) was always amazed at how quickly he learnt the languages. A lot of them were second nature to him, and as he stepped into the Leaky Cauldron (A most popular inn and tavern amongst wizards and witches) he felt as though he might need all of them.
A few wizards waved at Lupin and shook hands vigorously with Fizz, while others stared, distrusting, and tried to ignore them as they continued through. He felt overwhelmed by the different types of people, like a stranger who shouldn't be there- and it was quite evident that many thought he shouldn't be there. The air was thick and warm, and Fizz sweated underneath his robes, wishing he had bigger boots to move his feet around in.
"You can go to Flourish and Blotts; I have a few things to pick up at the post office." When Fizz looked questioningly at him, Lupin explained. "It's a bookstore, down and to your left. You've your list, right?" He nodded. "Good. Buy what you need, and charge it to Remus Lupin's account. Understand?" Again, he nodded. Smiling, Lupin clapped him on the back and strode down the street, opposite of the way he had motioned to while explaining the bookstore's location. Fizz took a deep breath and began to stride, imitating the way his uncle walked, towards the bookstore with its large golden sign announcing its name in curly, ridiculously fancy lettering.
It smelled exactly the way a bookstore should- of pages, of parchment, of old smudged ink on faithful readers' hands. Light poured in through the shining windows, and a young man at the counter waved, quite cheerfully, to him as he looked around. Wall after wall was covered in books, new and old, some of which shook in their bindings and others that seemed to wink and whisper and point at him as he walked past. A History of Alchemy by Nicolas Flamel, Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart, (the old fraud, as his family liked to call him) and- he tripped, sent sprawling to the scarlet carpeting in a heap of ragged robes and limbs.
"Oh, sorry- are you all right?" A girl stood up, extending a hand to him as Fizz blushed a brilliant red. Of course- only he was thick enough to trip over a person.
"Yeah, don't worry about it. My fault, didn't look where I was going. You ok?" Fizz asked, standing up and brushing dust and lint off his robes. The girl nodded, thick orange hair bobbing in the torchlight, as she knelt and picked up her books. Waving at him, she left the store, and Fizz relaxed. What kind of idiot was he, to trip over a girl reading? But then again, why was she reading on the floor? He laughed to himself, not feeling quite as ridiculous as he had, and searched for his books. First was- he had to squint, as the writing was smudged- The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk, then A History of Magic, Magical Theory, A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, One thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, and the list went on and on. At least two of the books he knew he already- the potions one, and The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble.
Piling them into his arms, they swayed as he walked, trying to see past the power of books in his arms. The assistant took them from him as soon as he stumbled into view, and Fizz told him to charge all of the books to "Mr. Remus Lupin's account, please." He looked skeptical at first, then shrugged and charged the books. Balancing the books into a tower again, he slowly walked out of Flourish and Blotts, hoping that they wouldn't fall. The load was suddenly lightened, when the girl he had tripped over took some books off the top, and helped him carry them all. He smiled at her, and she laughed, shaking her head so that the tiny orange curls sprayed everywhere.
"What's so funny?" He demanded indignantly, pausing for a moment to glare at her.
"You, with that great tower of books your were carrying earlier!" She explained, trying her hardest not break out into laughter again. Her eyes were a glittering, cheerful green, and she was by far taller than Fizz- though, it was true- it didn't take much to be taller than him. "Have you gotten your wand, then?" She asked conversationally, and Fizz notices for the first time the slender stick in the pocket of her shirt.
"No. What kind is yours?" He asked, his fingers stealing her wand from her pocket. It was smooth and polished, with a soft bend to it, and purple satin ribbons were tied onto the end. Now, it was his turn to laugh, and she glared at him in a mock sort of anger.
"What? I like purple, so sue me!" She explained defensively, blowing purple dust she made come out of her wand into his face. He coughed, and she grinned, quite satisfied that she had gotten that spell right. "It's a willow wand, with the unicorn hair. Thirteen and a half inches. Same hair as my mother, I think." Nodding appreciatively, he handed her back the wand. After he left a message with the barkeeper at the Leaky Cauldron telling Lupin where he was, he headed (with the girl and her purple-ribboned wand) down the road to where Ollivanders stood. Images of wands were on the sign and the finest ones, some of pure gold ("Entirely impractical," She scolded,") were in the windows, winking in the sunlight. "What's your name, anyhow? I'm Trinity,"
"Fizz." His response was short, because Mr. Ollivander shot him a sharp look that silenced him, before he let them into the shop.
"Sorry about that, but that last family was particularly against your uncle, Romulus." Mr. Ollivander bowed them inside, and nodded in acknowledgement to Trinity, who smiled and waved cheerfully. "Kept going on and on about how foolish it was to let you in, that you would be a danger to society, and went on and on....Nearly drove me mad, I couldn't get them out of here quickly enough!" Fizz forced a smile onto his face, and Trinity gave him a funny look. Seeing his discomfort, Mr. Ollivander clapped his hands together and began to discuss wands. "Now, your family is infamous for being impossible to find wands for....If you'll hold on, I'll get a box I reserve for the most difficult customers. Excuse me," He said to Trinity, who was apparently blocking the entrance to the basement.
"What did he mean, people think you're a danger to society?" Trinity asked, as Fizz ignored the question and stared out the window. Seeing it was a touchy subject, Trinity let it drop (but did not stop wondering) and watched as Mr. Ollivander emerged carrying a huge box filled with wands.
"Wand arm, please." Fizz stuck out his right hand, as Mr. Ollivander measured it, muttering to himself. "11 inches, or thereabouts....All right, Mr. Lupin, let's try this one. Oak, dragon heartstring." Fizz took it in his hand, and it just lay there like a piece of dead wood. "Hmmm...." It went like that, on and on, until they reached the bottom of the box, with only wand left. "Well, this is the last one before we go to the usual wands....Not sure where it's from, very, very old. Its from a foreign maker....Eleven inches, rowan. One phoenix feather, supple. Good for transfiguration and defense against the dark arts. Though I doubt it will work...." He handed the wand to Fizz, who took it in his hands. The wood was pale and smooth, with lines of darker wood, as if it had been stained long ago, with ink. It was smooth to the touch, with pieces carved into it. A powerful wave of warmth rushed up his arm, and he nearly fell over. Sparks flew the tip, and something like the ghost of a phoenix rushed out, and with a screech, disappeared again. Fizz shook, and Mr. Ollivander and Trinity gave him quite a funny look.
"Well, that decides it. That's the one for you." He reasoned, stroking his gray beard thoughtfully, a bit nervously, even.
"How much?" Fizz asked, trying to act as though noting out of the ordinary had just happened as he pocketed his wand.
"Nothing, my boy, don't worry about it....Just promise me you shan't forget old Mr. Ollivander...." Trinity and Fizz nodded nervously, thanked him, and exited the shop quickly, leaving Mr. Ollivander to stroke his gray beard and think.
He was falling. Long, terrifying licks of black flame danced over him, leaping towards his broom as he clutched his father's waist, biting his lip to keep from screaming. His fingers began to slip, and his cold and weak hands could hold no more....Then his father grabbed him and heaved back onto the broomstick. Coughing, they flew on, and the screeching filled his ears as they flew over the flames below, but he was still cold. A man on a broomstick was chasing them, flocked with wyverns at his back, shrieking and howling as they chased him. This was his fault. He should never have come. His father knocked a man off a broom, and leapt onto it, leaving his son on the other. They both began to charge.
Why were they chasing him? He was small, nothing. Insignificant. And he was falling, tumbling through the fire, burning him all over.
"Fizz! Fizz!" A voice called him back. He was shaking, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the blood where he had clawed at his skin. Who was calling him? He knew the voice, but couldn't register it.... "Romulus!" It was his uncle. No one else, just his uncle, face creased with worry at his nephew's shrieks that had awoken him. "Calm down, please, it's me. Your uncle. Remus." Fizz's breaths were shaky, and it took him awhile to calm down, but he finally did. His face stung, covered with scratches, and his uncle carefully washed his nephew's hands of his own blood- he had the same family tendency, sharp nails. That would be Lupin's fault, while werewolf was not hereditary, parts were passed between siblings. Like his brother, for instance, was always ill at the full moon, and poor Fizz had inherited the claw-like hands and feet and fangs for teeth, not to mention the howling when he yelled. "Here, take some chocolate...." Lupin broke off a piece and handed it to him. Fizz ate it gratefully, calming down more and more as time passed.
"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" Fizz asked nervously. Lupin laughed, almost anxiously, relieved to hear his nephew's voice and not howls emerging from his pale lips.
"Yes, you did, but its all-" He was interrupted before he could continue by a snarl that emerged from his lips and he lurched quite suddenly, then returned to normal. "Sorry about that; I just, er, transformed back to normal when I heard you scream. Are you all right? What was it?" Fizz shivered as the last gray fur disappeared from his uncle's anxious face.
"I'm fine now, much better. It was a...nightmare. Just a nightmare. About...." His voice drifted off, and he bit his lip. Nodding, he knew his uncle understood- he wasn't the only one who had nightmares, after all. The sun was casting a pale glow into the room, and Fizz clambered out of bed once his uncle had left the room and walked over to his mirror.
"You oughtn't to claw your face like that, sonny boy!" The mirror scolded in a high-pitched, gruff voice. Rolling his eyes, the boy plopped a towel over it, and wandered to the bathroom and washed the blood from his face, swearing as the soap mixed with his cuts. He jumped into the shower as soon as the water was warm enough, and sang loudly along with the radio to keep himself from feeling the hot water pounding on his face. Very quickly after that, feeling much better and back on earth, he ran back into his room in his bathrobe and changed into his robes. Old and worn, they were comfortable; they used to belong to his uncle, and were still too large for him by far, but he took no notice of his strange appearance as he placed his hair in a small ponytail and cursed himself for looking so much like a girl.
There was no avoiding it, it was true. He looked like a poor, tired, sick girl. Small and skinny, easily the runt of the family. Long, messy, browny-gold hair that looked a bit like leaves in the fall, and big, sad blue eyes, dark like the sea. Dark like his father's. Everyone said he looked a tremendous amount like his father, and he knew it was true- but surely his father wasn't so small, with such high cheekbones, with such pale skin. Yet there were some things he liked- the claw-like hands, the fangs for teeth, the fact that he was always at least slightly ill at the full moon. It made for interesting conversation, he reasoned, as he tried to squeeze his too-big feet into his old boots and his big hands into too-small gloves. Making a mental note to himself to get new ones, he stepped out to the kitchen, where his uncle and his mother were waiting for him.
He felt slightly ridiculous; he had scratches all over his face, a baggy and shabby robe, too small boots and gloves- he knew he must look like a fool. But it didn't matter, no one liked his family anyway. And those who did- well, they knew them already. It was no great secret they were poor. After hugging his mother goodbye, eating a bit of toast and promising to be good, they headed out the door to the neighbors, who had installed a portkey in the back yard that sent one directly to Diagon Alley. The fact that Fizz was terrified of fire made him quite a hater of Floo powder- the idea of stepping into a roaring fire was not appealing to him, not in the very least. The neighbors understood this, and being too old to go by Floo powder anyways, and too far away, had received permission from the Ministry to create a portkey. And since then, Fizz and his uncle used it whenever possible- it was much, much easier, and significantly less terrifying.
The sensation of using a portkey was peculiar, to say the least. Fizz felt as though he was drowning, being pulled through thick pudding by his stomach- until he landed, quite abruptly against a wall and next to a trash can. Calmly, his uncle tapped a certain brick- Fizz could never remember which it was- and the wall slit open, allowing them passage. He never could grow tired of watching magic- he had been raised in a Muggle-esque home, neat and homemade curtains over the windows, starched, at all times. Talking mirrors were as necessary as the strange electricity, as the strange way his mother talked into a plastic something, sausage shaped. To her friends. Lupin seemed quite at home in the magical world, but not the Muggle- for his mother, quite the opposite.
His father had used to call him the best of two worlds- the quiet, deadly power of the wizarding world and the common, logical sense of the Muggle. But Fizz looked distinctly like a wizard, which was why he was homeschooled. He knew his timetables, his letters and his numbers, more languages than he would ever need to know- his mother, a master linguist, had enjoyed teaching the strange new languages almost as much as she liked learning them. She would quiz him on vocabulary while they worked out in the garden, planting numerous herbs and a rose bush or two, and Lupin (And Fizz too, for that matter) was always amazed at how quickly he learnt the languages. A lot of them were second nature to him, and as he stepped into the Leaky Cauldron (A most popular inn and tavern amongst wizards and witches) he felt as though he might need all of them.
A few wizards waved at Lupin and shook hands vigorously with Fizz, while others stared, distrusting, and tried to ignore them as they continued through. He felt overwhelmed by the different types of people, like a stranger who shouldn't be there- and it was quite evident that many thought he shouldn't be there. The air was thick and warm, and Fizz sweated underneath his robes, wishing he had bigger boots to move his feet around in.
"You can go to Flourish and Blotts; I have a few things to pick up at the post office." When Fizz looked questioningly at him, Lupin explained. "It's a bookstore, down and to your left. You've your list, right?" He nodded. "Good. Buy what you need, and charge it to Remus Lupin's account. Understand?" Again, he nodded. Smiling, Lupin clapped him on the back and strode down the street, opposite of the way he had motioned to while explaining the bookstore's location. Fizz took a deep breath and began to stride, imitating the way his uncle walked, towards the bookstore with its large golden sign announcing its name in curly, ridiculously fancy lettering.
It smelled exactly the way a bookstore should- of pages, of parchment, of old smudged ink on faithful readers' hands. Light poured in through the shining windows, and a young man at the counter waved, quite cheerfully, to him as he looked around. Wall after wall was covered in books, new and old, some of which shook in their bindings and others that seemed to wink and whisper and point at him as he walked past. A History of Alchemy by Nicolas Flamel, Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart, (the old fraud, as his family liked to call him) and- he tripped, sent sprawling to the scarlet carpeting in a heap of ragged robes and limbs.
"Oh, sorry- are you all right?" A girl stood up, extending a hand to him as Fizz blushed a brilliant red. Of course- only he was thick enough to trip over a person.
"Yeah, don't worry about it. My fault, didn't look where I was going. You ok?" Fizz asked, standing up and brushing dust and lint off his robes. The girl nodded, thick orange hair bobbing in the torchlight, as she knelt and picked up her books. Waving at him, she left the store, and Fizz relaxed. What kind of idiot was he, to trip over a girl reading? But then again, why was she reading on the floor? He laughed to himself, not feeling quite as ridiculous as he had, and searched for his books. First was- he had to squint, as the writing was smudged- The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk, then A History of Magic, Magical Theory, A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, One thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, and the list went on and on. At least two of the books he knew he already- the potions one, and The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble.
Piling them into his arms, they swayed as he walked, trying to see past the power of books in his arms. The assistant took them from him as soon as he stumbled into view, and Fizz told him to charge all of the books to "Mr. Remus Lupin's account, please." He looked skeptical at first, then shrugged and charged the books. Balancing the books into a tower again, he slowly walked out of Flourish and Blotts, hoping that they wouldn't fall. The load was suddenly lightened, when the girl he had tripped over took some books off the top, and helped him carry them all. He smiled at her, and she laughed, shaking her head so that the tiny orange curls sprayed everywhere.
"What's so funny?" He demanded indignantly, pausing for a moment to glare at her.
"You, with that great tower of books your were carrying earlier!" She explained, trying her hardest not break out into laughter again. Her eyes were a glittering, cheerful green, and she was by far taller than Fizz- though, it was true- it didn't take much to be taller than him. "Have you gotten your wand, then?" She asked conversationally, and Fizz notices for the first time the slender stick in the pocket of her shirt.
"No. What kind is yours?" He asked, his fingers stealing her wand from her pocket. It was smooth and polished, with a soft bend to it, and purple satin ribbons were tied onto the end. Now, it was his turn to laugh, and she glared at him in a mock sort of anger.
"What? I like purple, so sue me!" She explained defensively, blowing purple dust she made come out of her wand into his face. He coughed, and she grinned, quite satisfied that she had gotten that spell right. "It's a willow wand, with the unicorn hair. Thirteen and a half inches. Same hair as my mother, I think." Nodding appreciatively, he handed her back the wand. After he left a message with the barkeeper at the Leaky Cauldron telling Lupin where he was, he headed (with the girl and her purple-ribboned wand) down the road to where Ollivanders stood. Images of wands were on the sign and the finest ones, some of pure gold ("Entirely impractical," She scolded,") were in the windows, winking in the sunlight. "What's your name, anyhow? I'm Trinity,"
"Fizz." His response was short, because Mr. Ollivander shot him a sharp look that silenced him, before he let them into the shop.
"Sorry about that, but that last family was particularly against your uncle, Romulus." Mr. Ollivander bowed them inside, and nodded in acknowledgement to Trinity, who smiled and waved cheerfully. "Kept going on and on about how foolish it was to let you in, that you would be a danger to society, and went on and on....Nearly drove me mad, I couldn't get them out of here quickly enough!" Fizz forced a smile onto his face, and Trinity gave him a funny look. Seeing his discomfort, Mr. Ollivander clapped his hands together and began to discuss wands. "Now, your family is infamous for being impossible to find wands for....If you'll hold on, I'll get a box I reserve for the most difficult customers. Excuse me," He said to Trinity, who was apparently blocking the entrance to the basement.
"What did he mean, people think you're a danger to society?" Trinity asked, as Fizz ignored the question and stared out the window. Seeing it was a touchy subject, Trinity let it drop (but did not stop wondering) and watched as Mr. Ollivander emerged carrying a huge box filled with wands.
"Wand arm, please." Fizz stuck out his right hand, as Mr. Ollivander measured it, muttering to himself. "11 inches, or thereabouts....All right, Mr. Lupin, let's try this one. Oak, dragon heartstring." Fizz took it in his hand, and it just lay there like a piece of dead wood. "Hmmm...." It went like that, on and on, until they reached the bottom of the box, with only wand left. "Well, this is the last one before we go to the usual wands....Not sure where it's from, very, very old. Its from a foreign maker....Eleven inches, rowan. One phoenix feather, supple. Good for transfiguration and defense against the dark arts. Though I doubt it will work...." He handed the wand to Fizz, who took it in his hands. The wood was pale and smooth, with lines of darker wood, as if it had been stained long ago, with ink. It was smooth to the touch, with pieces carved into it. A powerful wave of warmth rushed up his arm, and he nearly fell over. Sparks flew the tip, and something like the ghost of a phoenix rushed out, and with a screech, disappeared again. Fizz shook, and Mr. Ollivander and Trinity gave him quite a funny look.
"Well, that decides it. That's the one for you." He reasoned, stroking his gray beard thoughtfully, a bit nervously, even.
"How much?" Fizz asked, trying to act as though noting out of the ordinary had just happened as he pocketed his wand.
"Nothing, my boy, don't worry about it....Just promise me you shan't forget old Mr. Ollivander...." Trinity and Fizz nodded nervously, thanked him, and exited the shop quickly, leaving Mr. Ollivander to stroke his gray beard and think.