DISCLAIMER: The characters aren't mine. I'm borrowing them from the esteemed Joss Whedon and J.K. Rawling.
SPOILERS/BACKGROUND: Everything from BtVS Season 1 to Season 6, AtS Seasons 1 to 3, and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
THANKS to all reviewers!
"unknown reviewer," I will eventually return to Origins if I have the time; I'm doing some reworking of how ambitious I want to make it; I think I might have undertaken too much and I'm looking for a way to bring it back down into more manageable proportions. This one will get more serious, though, I promise.
ShadowElfBard … "god," not "goddess," thank you very much. ;-)
DragonKatGal, you continue to rock, and thanks for the defense on the gender issue. ;-)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: In case you didn't catch the 'shipper abbreviations at the beginning, Willow is not gay in this fic, she's bi, whatever the ultimate verdict from the series and its fans might have been.
Reviews always welcome!
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CHAPTER 3:
THE WAND CHOOSES THE WIELDER
There was no one at the desk, or elsewhere in sight, as Buffy and Willow entered Ollivander's. The shop was dimly lit, and consisted of nothing but rows and rows of shelves stacked floor to ceiling with long, thin boxes, almost like shoeboxes, only thinner.
"Uh … is there a bell to ring for service anywhere?" Buffy wondered quietly.
"Doesn't look much like I expected a wand shop to look like," Willow admitted.
"And what exactly did you expect a wand shop to look like?"
"Good point. Just, not much like the other shops."
"Yeah, I mean, not even any cute boys in this one."
Buffy made a face at Willow.
"I guess I am a little past my prime," a voice said from above them.
Buffy and Willow jerked and turned their eyes upward together. There was a balcony around the second level, and an old man had just come into view along it.
"Half a moment!" he said, moving over to a stepladder that led down to the ground floor. Within moments, he was behind the counter. "Well, well, newcomers, I do believe? It's been quite some time since anyone your age was coming here for a first wand, but I don't remember seeing you before."
"We're from America," Willow told him.
"And so you are," Ollivander said with a smile, noting their accents. "Quite a ways you've come for my humble shop. Going to Hogwarts, I presume?"
"Seems so," Willow confirmed.
"Well then, never too late to start, then, is it? Let's see what we can get for you." He pulled a small box from behind the counter and handed it to Buffy. "Start with that one," he said. "Nine inches, holly, dragon's heartstring."
Buffy reached into the box and lifted out the wand. It didn't really feel like anything special in her hands. She'd had much more of a reaction from holding her new broom.
"Well, give it a wave," Ollivander said after a moment.
Buffy looked at Willow and shrugged. "Not at me," Willow said pointedly.
Buffy grinned. She hadn't thought of that. Tempting as it was, she picked an empty spot on the ceiling and waved the wand at it.
There was a popping sound, but nothing happened to the ceiling. Ollivander merely shrugged, however, and motioned for her to put the wand back in the box. The next wand he gave her set off a small explosion at its tip, burning Buffy's hand. Ollivander apologized profusely and put the wand away. The next one slipped out of Buffy's hand as though it were made of grease. Ollivander didn't even have her try it.
Seven wands later, Ollivander was throwing up his hands in dismay. "I'm really off my game today," he said. "It's hasn't taken me more than five tries since 1965."
"I'm not trying to be difficult," Buffy apologized, feeling that she had to be doing something wrong somehow.
"No, no, it's certainly not your fault, I should be a pro at this by now." He paused thoughtfully. Then, a moment later, he turned and gave a quizzical look at her. "What did you say your name was again?"
"My name?" Buffy was puzzled. She hadn't given her name, actually, but she saw no reason not to. "Buffy. Buffy Summers."
"Aha!" Ollivander's eyes suddenly lit up. "Of course, I might have known. I think I have one for you." With that, he pulled his own wand out of his belt, pointed it at the floor behind the counter, and chanted, "Alohamora."
A hatch sprang up in the floor, revealing a long, flat storage space underneath it. Ollivander picked a box from within it that was far more ornate than any he had handed Buffy thus far. "Try that one," he said, with a secretive smile on his face.
Buffy could tell there was something different about this one the moment she lifted the lid off the box. She picked it up, and a surge of power ran through her, and there was a rushing sound as though a stiff wind were blowing through the room. The wand glowed with a warm golden light as soon as she touched it, like dim sunlight. It was a lot like the broom … it felt natural, like it was familiar to her somehow.
"Definitely," Ollivander said, a satisfied expression on his face. "Miss Summers, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that your wand is no ordinary wand. Ten inches. Oak. Nothing really unusual there, though it's rare for oak to choose women, but it's the core that makes the real difference. Almost every wand I sell has either a phoenix feather, a dragon's heartstring, or unicorn's tail at its core. Your wand, however, has more than just a phoenix feather. This phoenix feather was soaked for three days in holy water imported all the way from Sunnydale before it was implanted into this wand."
"A little piece of home."
"Quite right, quite right. Oak and phoenix feather make quite a fighter's wand to begin with. I do hope you stay out of trouble at school."
"Oh boy, school hasn't even started yet and I'm already getting warnings."
Ollivander smiled. "And now, Miss Rosenberg, let's see what we can do for you."
"Aren't you about to close?"
"Nonsense, nonsense, you were here well before close, we'll stay until we find you a wand. Hopefully my touch will be back."
But Ollivander's touch was not back, and indeed, it seemed to have abandoned him even more completely than it had before. The store was supposed to close at five, but six o'clock came and went, then seven, then eight, then nine. Willow's arm was tired from waving around so many wands, many of which clearly wanted nothing to do with her, and Ollivander's shop was beginning to look like a small war zone from a dozen or so wands that had quite violently expressed their intention not to work with her.
"You know, it's getting late, maybe we should go, we can come back tomorrow," Buffy offered.
"No!" Ollivander retorted, with surprising vehemence. "I've never failed to find someone a wand and I'm not going to start with you!"
"It's not failing, it's just … delaying," Buffy offered.
"Come now, come now, we'll find it, just a few more."
But a few more, then several more, then a lot more came and went, and still no wand seemed to find Willow an attractive soul mate. Eventually, even Willow, who had been trying to accept everything as meekly as possible, gave in. "You know, maybe I'm just not meant to use a wand. I've been doing fine for five years now without wands."
"A natural, eh?" Ollivander said with a shrug. "It's still better with a wand. You'll have more control and be able to focus your power more strongly. Plus, it's just a mark of character," he said, ending rather stuffily. He was plainly rattled at having not found Willow a wand. It was almost ten o'clock.
"What is it exactly I'm supposed to feel?"
"Will, it was like meeting someone you've known but not seen for a while, or a long-lost relative. It feels like a familiar presence nearby."
"I felt that earlier today," Willow admitted absentmindedly. "Down in Gringott's."
"Hmm. OK. Somehow I doubt they have wands down there, though."
"Of course not," said Ollivander. "Our shop put every other wand seller in Diagon Alley out of business centuries ago." There was a strange look in his eyes as he said that, however, as though he had remembered something in mid-sentence. Whatever it was, however, he dismissed it a moment later.
"Mr. Ollivander, I'm sure that you're very good at what you do, but I really don't think we're getting anywhere with this."
Ollivander's shoulders slumped. "I think you're right," he admitted. "Gracious, I never thought this day would come. Well, there's only one person who knows more about wands than me, so I'll write to Dumbledore immediately. Do stop by tomorrow."
"Sure thing," Buffy promised, as she paid for her wand and followed Willow out the door.
"Well that was disappointing," Willow admitted.
"It's OK, we're in no rush," Buffy pointed out. "Let's grab dinner and pack it in early. I'm beat. Feel like I've been patrolling all night. I can only imagine how you're feeling."
"Like I'm about to fall asleep right here," Willow admitted. "Come on. First place with a room, we're taking."
That turned out to be not far away, a small bed and breakfast just off the main street of Diagon Alley called the Horse and Lion; there was only a single-bed room available, but they weren't about to go running around trying to find a better place. The smell of butterbeer was tempting, but the two girls were both exhausted from spending so many hours at Ollivander's, and they both went straight up to bed.
For a few hours, anyway.
A knock on their door brought them both awake in the middle of the night. It was almost three in the morning.
"Man, I thought everyone went to bed earlier in England," Willow groaned as she pulled on her slippers, smoothed out her nightshift, and answered the door.
It was Dumbledore.
"Good morning, Miss Rosenberg," he greeted her politely.
"Morning? Dumbledore, it's three a.m., don't you ever sleep?"
"Of course not," Dumbledore answered with that familiar twinkle in his eye. "But that's a different story. I came as soon as I heard."
"It's only been a few hours. We've barely gotten to sleep."
"Well, I hear about things quickly."
Buffy was awake by this time, too. "I guess I'm usually up this late," she admitted, "but why am I up this late tonight?"
"Actually, I was just coming for Willow. There is something I may have for her."
"Really? What is it?"
"It's in Gringott's, actually. Mr. Ollivander informs me that you felt the sense that one should get when one finds one's first wand when you were down in the vaults earlier today."
"I … did, actually, sort of, though I don't really know how that is supposed to feel."
"Well, there's only one way to find out," Dumbledore finished peremptorily. "Would you accompany me?"
"Is there some reason I'm not coming?" Buffy asked.
"There is," Dumbledore admitted. "If Willow would like to tell you about it when she gets back, that of course will be her choice."
"Let Buffy come. Please. I'm not hiding anything from her."
Dumbledore smiled. "I rather thought you might say that. But I did at least have to give you the option."
Willow shrugged. "Whatever. Give us a moment to get dressed."
Dumbledore shrugged in return. "Actually, I'm afraid I don't have much time here." He waved his wand. "Apparelate," he whispered. Both Buffy and Willow were clothed in the clothes they had worn earlier that day, only miraculously free of any stains or wrinkles. They didn't get a chance to make any comments about it, however, as Dumbledore was already leaving.
"Won't the bank be closed?" Buffy asked as she caught up with him.
"Certainly," Dumbledore admitted. "But I have a kind of special access."
"We aren't breaking in, are we?"
"Of course not."
"Just checking."
Dumbledore led them out of the Horse and Lion, up Diagon Alley, and through the alley in the rear of Gringott's. Dumbledore stopped against a blank wall and drew the outline of a door on it, then pushed. A door opened exactly as if his drawing the outline of it had created it. He led them inside. A small elevator took them quickly down into the upper tunnels, and it did not take long for Dumbledore to find an unused cart and set them off along the rails. He seemed to know his way through the tunnels as well as any Gringott's goblin.
"This is your vault, yes?" Dumbledore asked outside vault 664.
"Yeah, that's the one," Buffy answered.
"Can you feel it?" Dumbledore asked Willow.
"No, it was only in the foyer."
"Let's go one more," Dumbledore said. He moved over to vault 665.
"I feel it again!" Willow said again. Her eyes narrowed. "But it's not from straight ahead. It's like it's coming from the wall."
"That, Miss Rosenberg, can by explained by the very simple explanation that you are indeed correct."
"Excuse me?"
"Let's go almost one more," Dumbledore said again. He moved on and stopped midway between vaults 665 and 666.
"Um … what's going on?" Buffy asked.
Dumbledore smiled. "I have a secret vault here. Vault 665½." He raised his wand, and called out, "Lapisa aperiri."
The stone wall where Dumbledore had been pointing grew hazy and indistinct, and melted away like a mirage. Dumbledore got out of the car and stepped into the tiny opening where the slab had vanished, barely three feet across. There was a massive silver door behind it.
Dumbledore placed his hand on the door. "It's me," he said casually.
The silver door swung inward, revealing a chamber that was much larger than the vault Willow and Buffy had visited earlier; indeed, it was much too large to be squeezed in between two actual vaults. It was nearly half the size of a football field. It was not piled with gold, however. It was lined with crates and shelves packed with items of all descriptions, as well as several larger items that were big enough to stand freely on the floor, though many were covered with cloth, as if to keep them from being looked at; the nearest such was a large three-paned floor-length mirror, right next to the entrance.
Dumbledore went immediately to one of the shelves in the middle of the room, and took down a small, thin box that could have been right at home at Ollivander's, except that the wood was pitch black and looked almost as though it had been burned in places. A design of a serpent, of an even darker black than the box, if that were possible, spiraled down the lid. Dumbledore handed it to Willow, who realized that the feeling in her mind had been growing stronger.
"Try this one," he said, handing the box to her.
Willow took the box and opened it. A wand lay within, as she had expected. The moment she saw it, the feeling within her crescendoed to a fever pitch, and she knew that this was the wand Ollivander couldn't find for her in his shop before she even picked it up. She closed her fingers around the handle.
An aura of baleful green energy erupted around her, pulsating and undulating with her breathing, which suddenly became much heavier. Voices spiraled across her consciousness, some human, some somehow less so, almost serpentine, yet all somehow comprehensible, accompanied by a faint music with dark, predatory overtones. The aura around her began to crackle, and livid swirls of electricity and fire began to swirl around the fringes of it like a corona, particularly around her head, so that it looked to Buffy as though Willow were wearing a crown of twisting, interlocking serpents of lightning and flame. She took a nervous step back.
The images began to fade, and the aura and energy began to retreat, some of it going into the wand, more of it seeming to settle into Willow's flesh. Moments later, it was all gone. Willow's breathing was still coming heavily, however.
"What … was … that?" she asked.
"I think we've found your wand," Dumbledore said simply.
"But this is …"
"As I believe Mr. Ollivander would say here: thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Basilisk's fang core."
"Dangerous," Willow breathed. Buffy didn't know what Willow was talking about but trusted her friend's judgment on almost all things magical.
Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed. Most of the items you see in this room have lain here undisturbed for sixteen years. You see, I took most of these items from different strongholds of Voldemort's after his defeat sixteen years ago. He forged that wand you are holding himself only weeks before he fell to young Harry. Wizards seldom change wands, and it takes some time to learn to use a new wand after any length of time with an old one. He was still learning to use it, and it had not yet become his principal weapon, but there is no doubt that had he done so, it would have been among the most deadly artifacts in history."
Willow looked horrorstruck. "I don't want this," she gasped hoarsely.
"Ah, but it is not entirely your decision to make. As Ollivander has no doubt told you, the wand chooses the wielder as much as the wielder the wand. Besides, if I truly believed you wanted to wield it, I wouldn't be giving it to you."
"Why wasn't something like that destroyed?" Buffy asked.
Dumbledore shrugged. "Certainly many wished to do so. Many of Voldemort's possessions were. However, unlike many in our world, I have never believed that Voldemort was dead, and I always harbored the fear that one day he would rise again."
"You kept these things to study them," Buffy surmised.
Dumbledore nodded. "Good or evil, nothing reveals who and what we truly are more than the work of our own hands. In this room may lie more of the works of Lord Voldemort's craft than even he has at the moment, so recently returned to power is he."
"So keep it, study it, but don't give it to me!" Willow cried. "This is the kind of thing I'm supposed to be getting away from."
"No," Dumbledore answered, and with surprising firmness. "If you were supposed to be getting away from it, I would have suggested taking you to Siberia. That is the kind of thing that you are supposed to be learning to control. And … Willow, trust me when I say this, as I have trusted you so far … you can learn to control it."
Willow didn't say anything for a long minute. Eventually, Buffy reached out and put a hand on her friend's arm. Willow's shoulders sagged. This was going to be even harder than most punishments she could have dreamed of for herself only days earlier.
Dumbledore smiled, seeing in her posture that she had accepted what he was saying. He wasn't entirely sure he believed it himself, but she did, and that was the important thing at the moment.
"One more thing," Dumbledore said. "It might not be a good idea to mention anything about either that wand or this vault from now on."
"Of course," Willow agreed. Buffy nodded her assent a moment later. She certainly had no intention of telling anyone about this.
"Good. Now, do get some sleep; you won't want to miss the train the train in the morning." With that, he led them back to the car and back to the surface.
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COMING SOON: Chapter 4, "The Hogwarts Express." Buffy and Willow run into a certain tousle-haired young wizard on their way to catch the train from platform 9¾. Wackiness ensues.
SNEAK PREVIEW:
"Oh, no, come on," the boy said, pulling her after him. Willow needed no urging, running forward as fast as her legs could carry her, but in her sixteen-year-old bookworm's body, that was not as fast as needed. The train chugged past the end of the platform only seconds ahead of the running pair.
The boy muttered a curse, then turned to her, scowling at the people behind her who were giving them sympathetic but helpless expressions. "Do you trust me?" he asked earnestly.
"I … think so …" Willow answered.