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Work in Progress. If you like this story, check out my other stories on the Fanfiction Net, Twisting the Hellmouth, and Fonts of Wisdom websites.
I'm British, so's my spelling. Live with it.
Neither Dawn nor Ollivander drew a weapon, but Harry was sure that both were poised for action. There was a long silence. Harry noticed Kennedy watching, and wondered if she would help Dawn if a fight began.
Eventually Dawn said "Well?"
Ollivander asked "Are you here for my head?"
"No. I try to stay out of the Game."
"Good. I have no desire to take yours." He held his hands, palms outward, to show that they were empty, and Dawn followed suit. Harry relaxed a little.
Dawn shrugged. "Was there something else?"
"My card." He handed her a card reading 'Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC', with an address in Diagon Alley.
"382 BC?" asked Dawn, with raised eyebrows.
"I'm not that old, Miss Summers. Not quite. I took over the family business in 720 AD, and moved our headquarters to Diagon Alley shortly after the Norman invasion of Britain."
Dawn found an Angel Investigations card, handed it to him, and said "I'm not really in need of a wand."
"I wasn't offering to sell you one, although I would be happy to do so. Would you and Mister Potter be interested in joining me for lunch? At my expense?"
"Okay, I guess," said Dawn. "We were about to eat anyway."
They went into the tent, which inside looked like the dining hall of a 1920s luxury liner, and joined him at an empty table. Kennedy came in a few seconds later, found another table, and pretended to study the menu.
"The butterbeer is poor," said Ollivander, "but they have some reasonable wine and excellent coffee. Is it my imagination, or were we just followed in here?"
"You're very observant," said Dawn. "Yes, she's with us. Somebody's trying to kill Harry, we're trying to keep him out of trouble."
"Again? How tiresome for you."
"I get used to it," joked Harry. "One of these years someone won't be trying to kill me, and I'll probably die of shock."
"Just so. Are you ready to order?"
"I think I'll have a sirloin steak," said Harry, "well done, with a green salad and baked potato, sour cream on the potato. Oh, and a sparkling mineral water." A plate and a tall glass of mineral water appeared on the table in front of him, accompanied by cutlery, relishes, and condiments.
"I'll have the chicken Caesar salad, with a roll and butter and coffee," said Dawn, and moved her hands back as the food materialised.
"And I'll have mushroom soup, garlic bread, and a half bottle of red wine," said Ollivander.
"What's this about?" asked Dawn.
"Your safety," Ollivander said in a low voice.
"Go on."
"First, I must ask you both to promise not to discuss this with anyone else. Mister Potter, this especially applies to you, since I am to an extent placing my own life in your hands."
"Merlin! Okay, I promise."
Ollivander slowly blinked silvery eyes and sipped his soup, then said "I make it my business to know of immortals in the wizarding world. With the exception of various users of the Philosopher's Stone, who suffer all of the disadvantages of immortality and few of its advantages, there has only been one other in several hundred years; an extremely dangerous Japanese sorcerer who fortunately lost his head a few years ago. I had no idea that you existed, yet here you are. You are an extraordinary rarity."
"I'm not exactly a witch," Dawn said uncomfortably, aware that she was dressed as one.
"You could be. You have the power."
"Isn't it a little late for that? Shouldn't I have started training when I was a kid?"
"Didn't you?"
"Oh, I've done minor things, mostly summoning and protection spells, I've been on the receiving end of spells a few times, and I've been around witches and worked in a magic shop, but I've never had formal training."
"Nevertheless you are learning. And as an immortal you have time to learn."
"If it happens I'll probably go wandless like Willow... Professor Rosenberg, I've mostly worked with her. I don't think I'll be a customer any time soon."
"If I may ask.. you have taken heads?"
"I already said, I try to stay out of the Game. I.. I've taken one. First time I killed a man rather than a monster. He didn't give me much choice." Harry studied her face and saw disgust.
"And fought how many others?"
"Three."
"What happened to the others?" asked Harry.
"The first was really stupid. He tried to cheat and attacked me without warning, and did it in front of Willow." Ollivander nodded in comprehension. "I held him off long enough for her to turn him into a gerbil, he's in a petting zoo in Cleveland. The second tried to fight me in a deconsecrated graveyard while I was working. I injured her, she ran, and a vampire smelled the blood and took her. She was eventually staked by Faith. The third attacked me at a dimensional hot spot, near as we can figure it he killed me but got sucked into the world without shrimp before he could take my head. He's probably still trying to figure out why his credit cards don't work and he can't get a seafood cocktail."
"That's a curious chapter of incidents," said Ollivander. "Why the world without shrimp, incidentally?"
"It's a long story. As for the rest, I hang out with Slayers and work part-time for a supernatural detective agency, I tend to go where weird things happen."
"You were killed..." said Harry. "Sorry, it just seems so strange to hear you say that. Even after I've seen it happen."
"So far I've been pretty lucky; just a few seconds of pain, then I wake up as good as new, Try talking to my sister some time, ask her to tell you what it's like to be dead and in heaven for three months, wake in a coffin, and have to dig your way out with your bare hands. Then duck fast."
"Oh dear," said Ollivander. "how very unpleasant."
"Mister Ollivander, what is this about?"
"You are immortal. Unfortunately there are many wizards who wish to attain that state, and some are less than scrupulous about the means they use to do so. There are ways for such wretches to benefit from the death of a true immortal."
"From the Quickening?"
"Exactly. It is possible to absorb the energy of a Quickening magically, and gain a few years from it."
"Damn. I hadn't realised."
"The magical power of the victim is also transferred, so immortal wizards and witches are uniquely valuable in this practice."
"Did Voldemort..?" began Harry.
"Fortunately he appears not to have learned of it. There's a small flaw in the wands I sell; spells cast to detect the presence of an immortal don't seem to work very well when they are used, unless the magician already knows that he is using the wand on an immortal. And I sell most of the wands used in Britain, including that of the late Voldemort."
"Merlin! You cunning old fox!"
"Unfortunately there are other wand makers, none of them having my particular... ah... bias. I supply less than a quarter of those sold in the United States, for example. To protect myself from others, I use a minor concealment spell. I would strongly suggest that you ask Professor Rosenberg to help you create a charm containing such a spell and in future use it whenever you have any contact with the wizarding world. Or become sufficiently powerful to make the prospect of attacking you unattractive."
"How much danger am I in?" asked Dawn.
"A little more than you may have realised, but not so much that you should hide yourself away. Most in the wizarding world know little of immortals or the Quickening, and have no idea that such spells exist. Those who do know are mostly sensible to the moral objections; they have no desire to become murderers. Of those who may have the desire, few have the skills needed to take a head. It must be done... ah... naturally, not by magical means. But such a wizard might use magic to render a victim defenseless before striking the final blow."
"So what you're saying is that as well as normal headhunters, I need to watch out for an occasional wizard with a sword. Any idea how many might be around?"
"None whatsoever. However, it is many years since I have encountered one. Their stolen immortality can be sensed, incidentally, and I haven't felt such a presence here. Again, Professor Rosenberg should be able to help you develop your own senses."
"Thanks. That's useful to know. If there's ever anything I can do for you..."
"My pleasure, Miss Summers. The best thing you can do for me is live a long and happy life, and occasionally call in at my shop to tell me of your exploits. I suspect that your adventures will become the stuff of legend, like your sister, and it would be nice to hear of them from the source. Sometimes one feels a little lonely..."
"Deal. Okay, but I've got some useful contacts. If there's ever anything I can do for you please let me know."
"Very well, I'll bear it in mind."
Furio Giunta liked the Los Angeles climate, which reminded him of home, but he was beginning to think that he was doing business with morons. "Perche mi dite che non potete trovarli?" he snarled down his cellphone: what do you mean, you can't find him?
The voice from the other end was apologetic; nobody knew where the Potter kid had gone. The police had arrived within a few minutes of the shooting and hadn't found bodies, so it looked like he and the girl that was with him had got him away. There was some blood, so he might be injured. Unfortunately nobody knew who the girl was, so he could be anywhere.
"Ragazza? Che ragazza?" asked Furio: Girl? What girl?
As he listened to the answer he became sure of his diagnosis. What sort of moron tries a hit with an innocent bystander in the line of fire, and does it so badly that nobody gets killed?
Eventually he snarled "Trovilo ma non faccia niente": Find him, but don't do anything. He'd have to take matters into his own hands.
About an hour later the phone rang again, and a stranger said "Signore Giunta?"
"Si?"
"Sono Angelo. Non lo conoscete. Conosco dove trovare il ragazzo. Dove possiamo venire a contatto di?" : I'm Angelo. You don't know me. I know where to find the boy. Where can we meet?
As he arranged a rendezvous he began to think that he might finally be dealing with someone who knew what he was doing.
TBC
