Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I know I don't need to emphasize this, but everything in the Harry Potter world belongs to her and I am merely borrowing a lot of these elements for my story. Also some of the ideas for the remaining horcruxes are derived from Sherbert Lemon's brilliant essay "Seeing the Forest", which can be accessed through the pumpkin pie army section of Now enjoy.
Harry Potter and The Lost Wand
by Ridman
Chapter 1 Tom's Twofold Dilemma
The only sound that could be heard in The Leaky Cauldron was the glass clinking against the counter-top as a bald old man seemed to be smothering it with a cloth. Tom's bar, The Leaky Cauldron, was desolate save for a few chairs and tables huddled closely in their little groups.
Tom didn't think much of this apparent lack of custom. Rather, he'd accepted the fact that the times were of a darker sort, now that Voldemort, the most powerful dark wizard that had ever existed, had returned to full power and Dumbledore... He still could not believe that that wizard, the only one Voldemort had ever feared, was now lying six feet under. Tom had been in that most sorrowful funeral not a fortnight before.
Ever since the funeral, custom at The Leaky Cauldron decreased far more than when Voldemort had first returned to power just two years ago. A more sensible man would have closed shop at the first sign of trouble. But Tom could not and would not close The Leaky Cauldron for any reason other than his death. What would happen to the countless wizards who could not apparate to Diagon Alley? Tom had always been proud that it had been his shop that bridged the muggle world to the only wizard shopping alley in London; He was not willing to give that title up, no matter the price.
And so when the Prime Minister walked in on this day, Tom was ready with his answer, even before the Minister opened his mouth. He was a hardy looking man who had yellowish eyes and a mane of hair framing his face. Tom thought he walked like a proud, yet injured, animal. Tom fixed his face into a toothless grin as Rufus Scrimgeour approached the counter.
"Good day, Tom. Glad to see you're er,-," Rufus said delicately as he looked around at the empty bar. "-still doing business."
Tom's grin vanished as quickly as it had materialised.
"Scrimgeour, I know why you're here and the answer's no." said Tom with a look that suggested he had just tasted an exceedingly sour lemondrop.
Rufus stared politely through Tom, with his wire-rimmed spectacles.
"Your bar's a prime target for Death Eater activity… Do you really think You-Know-Who won't want to control the doorway to Diagon Alley," Rufus paused, for effect.
"The doorway to the only source of magical supplies, and- not to mention- center for the storage for Wizarding currency! Gringotts," He continued, eyeing Tom to see if his words had driven his point to the barkeep.
"Now that Dumbledore's dead, and it is unfortunate, for his loss-," Rufus gave an obviously insincere look of sorrow. "-Diagon Alley is not the same safe place it once was."
"He might be dead, but I ain't budging- not now and not ever!" Tom was now purple with rage. What was the Minister thinking? Tom recalled hearing about Dumbledore's first encounter with the Minister. Was this the new face of the Ministry? He did not feel as comfortable with this Minister as the last one, of that he was sure.
"If Diagon Alley will not cease to operate, then we need you to be our eyes and ears to whatever passes through the-," Rufus was abruptly cut off by the bald barkeep.
"To what purpose, Scrimgeour? To arrest innocent people like Stan? I knew Dumbledore'd had the right of things!." Tom's voice rose with every syllable.
"Diagon'll stay open as long as there are wizards that need its services! Now get out! Get out and never darken this tavern's doorstep again!" He shouted the last word so that spittle flew in random directions. What would Dumbledore think of this?
Rufus Scrimgeour turned, and loped his way to the door, pausing just before it.
"I will come back in three days. Your answer changes-," Rufus Scrimgeour's voice rang crisp and clear to Tom's ears. "-or it'll be Azkaban for you. You can't deny me, Tom. I'm the Ministry."
"GET OUT!" Tom yelled and a glass smashed into the wall.
Scrimgeour walked out into the busy street of Charing Cross and apparated, leaving only Tom with his troubled thoughts and a very empty tavern.
Without the slightest bit of warning, the door flew open once again, and –something- stumbled into The Leaky Cauldron, jogging Tom from his thoughts. He looked at where it should be, but saw nothing. Before he could raise his wand, the thing on the floor muttered a few words and a man in a hooded cloak materialized in its place. He rose from floor, revealing to the entire tavern a pair of moon-like eyes. Tom felt like he was staring straight at a ghost.
"Hephaestus Ollivander!" Tom was taken aback.
"Where have you been? And what's that in your hand?" He motioned to a chain that was dangling lopsidedly on Ollivander's wrist. As he reached the bar, Tom could see more clearly that Ollivander's eyes were not as bright as they once were. Instead what met him was merely a shadow of the man he once knew to be the best wandmaker in all of Britain. Dark circles encircled this man's eyes, and his cheeks sagged with the most intense expression of urgency.
"You look terrible, man. Have a firewhiskey on the house." Tom started to bend to reach a bottle of his best Ogden's Firewhiskey, but Ollivander grabbed his hand.
"I've been in hiding- here, Tom,-," Ollivander thrust his fist in Tom's hand. Tom felt his hand weighing down from what he suspected was the chain's weight. But at a closer inspection, he saw that an object was at the end of the chains. Tom found –
"A key." Said Ollivander, his eyes wandering over Tom's face.
"You need to get this to whoever is capable, Tom," he continued, "I have seen the darkest magic performed once in my youth, and this key leads to its result. I have tried time and again to destroy it, yet to no avail."
"Dumbledore suspected it, that I had hidden one of those horrible items. He would not stop visiting me and asking me about it." Ollivander pressed on breathlessly. "When I heard that Dumbledore had died, I went out of hiding, to retrieve and perhaps try to destroy that- that object of evil- only to find them at its hiding place.
"Them?" asked Tom out of curiosity. "Have a seat, man."
"Death Eaters." Ollivander replied. "I could tell by the masks they wore."
"I realized they had followed me and had gone ahead to the object's hiding place." Ollivander fixed Tom with a serious look when Tom looked questioningly.
"The only reason I'm still alive is because of that key." Ollivander said, as if in reply to Tom.
"I don't know if I've been tailed from then on. I took the utmost care to ensure I wasn't followed." Ollivander paused.
"They say Harry Potter is the Chosen One." Ollivander continued casually, as if they hadn't been talking about Death Eaters and evil objects just a second ago. Tom knew from experience, that that had meant to be a question.
"There have been rumors, plenty of rumors" Tom started. "People are talking about some prophecy. Considering what that boy's been through, I'd believe them. You have met the boy haven't you?"
Tom thought he could see Ollivander struggling with something in his mind, as his eyes appeared to be staring at empty space. He thought this rather gave the already strange man an unusual look. The old man was muttering to himself, and Tom wasn't sure Ollivander was right in the head.
Ollivander rose from his chair, seemingly making up his mind. He trudged to the tavern's back door, while muttering under his breath. Tom could only make out "His wand" from Ollivander's mutterings.
"Wait! Where are you going?" Tom asked suddenly, brandishing his newly-acquired key. "and who am I supposed to give this to?"
Ollivander turned and gave Tom a wry smile.
"You know who to give it to, old chap."
With that, he disappeared into the back door, and seemingly into Diagon Alley.
Tom stood staring at the door where Ollivander had left, his thoughts too caught up in pondering what the key might hide. So occupied was Tom, that he ceased to care about the lack of customers, Scrimgeour's politics or even cold, lonely prison cells in Azkaban.