Chapter 47: Gina White

At six in the morning, light was just making its first appearance through a gray drizzle that soaked London. Muggle commuter ferries toiled grimly along a sullen Thames and even the posh flats fronting on the river looked downright dismal in the rain.

Hermione hadn't really meant to be left behind at the Death Eater launch point, but she managed to salvage the situation by hitching a ride on Amexia Brandt. Then it'd simply been a matter of figuring out how to sneak out of Brandt's flat and then enduring a soaking-wet flight across town to catch Malfoy when he arrived at Ollivander's for the private fitting he'd claimed to have scheduled for 6:30 AM.

Unfortunately, an idea she'd had that Amexia Brandt might also make a good passkey to Death Eater raids turned out to be bankrupt. The first thing Brandt did upon arriving home was to flop down on her bed and say, "God, at least it's all over for another week." And Hermione remembered Arthur saying that only Malfoy went on all the raids. Brandt might work for some of them, but she'd definitely be second best.

Freida and Georgia were nagging at Hermione's fears. Malfoy had told St. James that he had no intention of punishing them, because he needed Hermione's goodwill too much. But somehow Hermione couldn't quite believe it. They had done something awful. Any parent would want revenge and want it badly. Most people would have taken it to the Wizengamot at the very least. And now that she'd seen who and what Malfoy really was, she wouldn't put anything at all past him.

During the brief hours Hermione had lost Malfoy, he'd clearly gotten a lot done – a lot more than those few hours should have allowed.

As he walked up Diagon Alley toward Ollivander's shop he was looking good, the best Hermione had seen him in fact. For the first time since she'd taken on the Batwing assignment, she was seeing him in his 'public' mode. This meant he'd had time to effect a full grooming routine, complete with all the little illusory spells whose quantity had astonished Benkmann so. Sharply dressed and striding swiftly down Diagon Alley with his head held high, he no longer seemed the harrassed businessman, or Nesbitt's cringing victim, or a menacing Death Eater. He was a Malfoy, an important personage in the Wizarding World simply by virtue of his wealth and breeding. News recordings could catch him now and there'd be nothing to see that wouldn't aid his reputation in a positive way.

He also appeared considerably rested compared to when she'd last seen him, even down to his posture and stride, things that were difficult to disguise cosmetically. He must have had a chance to catch several hours of sleep at some point. There's no way he could have done that without thoroughly abusing the Time Turner, but Hermione was hardly in a position to say anything about that. She had, after all, explicitly recommended he use one for getting more sleep. What had she been thinking!

But mostly she was worried about her twin girls. She was torn between sticking to Malfoy every waking moment or breaking away to go to Hogwarts to check on Georgia and Freida instead. After all, if he'd had time to do all that, he'd had time to go to Hogwarts too. Hadn't he?

Ollivander met Malfoy at the door of his shop and looked both ways before unlocking it just long enough to let him slip inside.

Like Malfoy, Ollivander had gotten entangled with the Death Eaters early on in the war. He too had resurfaced after it was over, and there was no clear proof as to exactly where he had been and exactly what he'd done, though many people assumed he'd been taken unwillingly and was entirely innocent. It was funny, Hermione thought, how people decided one thing or another based on nothing at all.

Ollivander's private showroom was located behind an unobtrusive door leading from the main shop. Hermione had never been inside before, as she and Ron hadn't been able to afford Ollivander's wands for their children at all much less having private fittings. At least they'd gotten brand new wands, though. Better a properly-chosen lesser wand than a secondhand or ill-fitted one; Hermione had learned that much by watching Ron and their friend Neville struggle with unchosen wands in school.

The fitting-room itself was tiny but well-appointed, with plush pickle-green couches and elaborate wallpaper in tones of ochre and gold. A lantern hung from the ceiling for illumination, and a Persian rug spread in front of a cosily crackling hearth completed the scene.

But as Hermione zoomed into the fitting room ahead of Malfoy and Ollivander, she barely noticed its accoutrements, for sitting there on the couch was none other than Gina White, the unfortunate Batwing employee whose wand Malfoy had commandeered. As far as Hermione knew, that wand was still in the hands of Special Ops, who were surely intending to use it as part of their case to get an apparition restraint on him.

White looked like she felt she had made a serious mistake and wasn't sure how to back out of it. When she saw that Ollivander was bringing Malfoy with him, she jumped up in a hurry, wringing her hands.

It didn't take genius to see what was going on here. Malfoy had obviously arranged for this meeting and it could only be for the purpose of buying White a new wand. Why else would it be happening at Ollivander's? And an Ollivander's wand was too extravagant a gift to be bestowed upon a meaningless employee even by Malfoy. No, she was being coerced. Hermione could see it in the witch's face, her posture. Malfoy would replace her wand, and then she would have to do exactly as he wanted when she went to court for Special Ops. She'd have no other choice.

Hermione knew that besides having an astonishing memory for details, Ollivander also kept careful notes on who bought which wand and who was related to whom. That way, when the new crop of eleven-year-olds came in for their first wands each year, he could be prepared with a host of little bits of knowledge about their parents and even had some guess about what might suit them wand-wise.

That he had nothing to say about Gina White suggested that nobody in White's family had ever been inside Ollivander's before.

"And what sort of wand have you used in the past?" he asked her.

"Oak please sir," she said timidly. "Clear finish."

Ollivander smiled. "They're all black in color, my dear. But never fear, we'll find one quite suited to you. Allow me a minute to select a few for you to try."

He turned and disappeared through a curtain leading into the rear of the shop, leaving Gina White alone with Malfoy.

It was instinctive. People, even witches and wizards, tended to like and trust those who were good-looking. Even when they knew better, they couldn't help but wish they could.

And Hermione had to admit that from anybody else's point of view, Malfoy did better than clean up well. In fact, he was downright handsome if you went for the pureblood wizard look, which of course many witches did. For her part, Hermione was acutely aware of just how many generations of inbreeding it took to achieve the look to the extent that he possessed it. Just the thought of it made her cringe. That she was a little bit attracted, due no doubt to the multiple glamors he'd placed on himself, only made it worse. That and her newfound discoveries regarding his Death Eater activities combined to make her feel rather unpleasantly queasy.

Of course he had to know the effect he was having on White. A person didn't put that kind of effort into magically enhancing their own looks without a specific effect in mind.

White kept trying to glance at him when she was hoping he wouldn't notice. She seemed unbearably fascinated despite her fear. Hermione suspected the awe was core-deep, and a result of her upbringing. White hadn't thought twice before handing Malfoy her wand back in Batwing's lobby, as if obedience to her "betters" had come built-in.

The most special wands, the ones that had turned out the best and were the most valuable, were specially packaged in invidual boxes. They had little bits of colored crepe paper wrapped around them, and ribbons holding the boxes closed. These were lovingly stored for years, even decades, protected by climate control spells, as they waited for an appropriate witch or wizard to come along.

The rest, the common wands, made up the bulk of the sales and were not given such lavish attention. These were the sort that Ollivander brought out to show Gina White first. They were carried on a dark red laquered tray lined with black velvet. About twenty wands were pressed into invididual slots in the velvet, awaiting Gina White's perusal.

Hermione could tell just by watching her reaction that Gina White had never even touched a nice wand. She let out little gasps when she touched each handle and felt its effect upon her magic, and one near the end made her emit a startled squeak. She stared at that one with a new respect. Ollivander smiled and gently detached it from the slot to hand it to her to try.

"Go on, give it a wave," he suggested.

Gina White waved it cautiously, and Hermione's fly-bristles prickled as magic swelled in the room. It wasn't that dramatic a reaction, though. The wand was usable, but not much of a match.

"It won't be one of these," said Malfoy.

"This is all I have for ordinary oak wands at the moment," said Ollivander. "Perhaps another wood, then? Or we might investigate the special wands… the price is higher, of course."

He was saying this for Gina White's benefit. Malfoy would already know.

Malfoy's expression was cynical. His voice was cool, determined.

"Price is no object," he said.

Hermione knew what that meant – it meant that Gina White had better hold back her secret or else. She was trading her life for a wand, on the promise of her own ability to resist Nesbitt's pressure. There was no wand in Ollivander's worth that much.

White started to put the wand back on the tray, but Malfoy's hand darted out to stop hers. It was his left hand, the damaged one. She could have pulled away easily, but either she didn't know or didn't dare.

"Let me see it," he said. Her fingers, seeming dark and too-coarse compared to his, slank away as he took the wand from her hand. He held the wand pressed between his palms, not trying to use it but to sense the resonance of its reaction to her. After a moment, he passed it back to Ollivander. "It shouldn't be oak at all, I think."

"I quite agree," said Ollivander. "Willow, perhaps, or birch."

"I like oak," said Gina White defensively.

"Red willow, I think," said Ollivander. "And unicorn tail hair. I have two or three saved away. Shall we try them?"

"But I've never…" began Gina White, but she sounded as if she didn't expect anyone to listen to her.

Malfoy drummed his fingers restlessly on the couch-arm as Ollivander disappeared behind the curtain leading to the shop's work and storage areas.

"Look… I think I should go," said Gina White.

The drumming stopped and Malfoy's pale eyes flicked to Gina White's face, cruel and unforgiving.

"Well, you won't," he said flatly.

"I know you'd rather I stayed, but this is… this is wrong. I can't do this."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed further. "Perhaps you don't quite understand your situation," he suggested.

"Oh, no… Mr. Nesbitt explained it very thoroughly," said White, looking pale.

"Then you know I can't allow you to testify against me in a court of law," he said.

"But you don't have any choice," said White nervously. "And I don't have any choice. I –"

"The choices," interrupted Malfoy, "are whether we do this cleanly, or whether you are determined to make a mess of things."

"I don't want to do it at all," exclaimed Gina White. "It's wrong! I signed an agreement –"

"Don't think I can't gain your cooperation whether you cooperate or not," said Malfoy. "My resources are beyond your comprehension."

Gina White blanched. "I – I don't understand what you're –"

"I don't suppose they were planning on asking you to demonstrate your Apparation signature in the courtroom for the experts, were they?" inquired Malfoy. "I understand you're not very good at it. It'd be terribly unfortunate if there was an… accident, wouldn't it?"

White's eyes widened. "Omigod! You couldn't just –"

"You shouldn't assume anything about what I'm capable of. It's not wise."

"But they'll know it was your fault!"

"With your Apparition record? I highly doubt it."

Hermione had noticed Ollivander lurking just on the other side of the curtain, listening in. Now he chose to make his move, coming out of the curtain again bearing three slender wand boxes each tied with a delicate bow.

"I think you shall find these much more suited," he said, smiling at Gina White. He pretended as if he'd heard none of it. Hermione supposed pretending ignorance was simply something one learned in Death Eaters, like freezing to help Muggle repellant wards, or killing people no matter how unbearable the act.

Ollivander unwrapped one of the new wands and presented it to Gina White to try giving it a swish. This time, Hermione's fly-bristles tingled as the ambient magic in the room swelled suddenly in response, the wand cleanly channeling the magic.

"Omigod," said Gina White again, staring at the wand. Hermione wondered if it was the first properly-chosen wand the witch had ever held.

"Red willow and unicorn tail hair," said Ollivander. "Nine inches, nicely flexible."

"This is… incredible," said Gina White.

"When your daughter turns eleven, there'll be one for her too," said Malfoy. "For your silence."

Gina White's eyes darted up to his, startled. Hermione figured White hadn't thought beyond her own personal danger before this. Malfoy's tone had been mild enough, and the offer was generous on the surface of it, but now the entire picture became clear. The daughter was vulnerable. Off at boarding-school alone, unguarded.

The witch's hands whitened around the wand and her face turned bleak, and Hermione felt profoundly sorry for her.

"But what am I supposed to tell them?" Gina White whispered. "I signed a contract –"

"Those Auror witness-contracts are a sham," said Malfoy dismissively. "They were gutted by Auror Affairs years ago. You've nothing to fear on that score."

"But Mr. Nesbitt will –"

"Let me handle Rudeo Nesbitt," said Malfoy.

"You can protect me from him?" said Gina White.

"Better than you can protect yourself from him, I should think," said Malfoy, which Hermione thought was no answer at all. Not really.

"And this wand is mine?" said Gina White cautiously. "Mine forever?"

"It's yours," said Malfoy. "For your silence. I want your vow as a witch."

Gina White wouldn't be able to back out of a vow like that. If she did, there would be serious magical consequences quite independent of anything Malfoy might do to her.

"I – I swear," she said. "I swear I'll remain silent. Just don't harm my daughter."

"You might try the other two," suggested Ollivander. "One of the others might be a closer match."

"I think I'd better just take this one and go," said Gina White, looking rather sickly despite the edge of determination in her voice.

Ollivander inclined his head graciously. "Then go with it in good health, my dear," said the old wand maker. "Mr. Malfoy and I shall make all the arrangements."

Family and survival, Malfoy had said. That's what it ultimately came down to.

A decent wand was more than just a bribe. It would change Gina White's entire life. She'd be a better witch and a better teacher to her child with a wand like this. She'd be able to lead a more upscale lifestyle based on the same income. She'd be able to push her own magical knowledge, if she wanted to, learning things she'd never been able to learn before with an unchosen wand.

And as awful though this coercion was, it could have been so much worse. They could, for example, have arranged for Gina White to receive a flawed wand that would explode and kill her the first time it was used for a serious spell. Or she could have met some more unnewsworthy and anonymous and untraceable end, overdosed on a faulty headache-potion or run down accidentally-on-purpose by an out of control Muggle car.

At least this way she'd still have her life, her daughter, and her job. At least she'd still have that.

"And now, for the other...?" said Ollivander, once Gina White had been seen safely out and the shop's door locked once again.

"A temporary spare," said Malfoy. "For myself, for a week or two only, I hope."

"I've heard a good deal about your primary," said Ollivander. "Chinese Fireball nose-feeler and zitan-wood. Very unusual. A quest wand, was it?"

A quest wand was special in that the materials used to build it had individually chosen the wizard beforehand. The end result was a wand that was an extraordinary match to its user, sometimed even magically bonded to them. If correctly made, a quest wand was the most valuable thing any witch or wizard could own, and very nearly irreplaceable.

Malfoy's pale eyes were full of reluctance and suspicion. Hermione was reminded of when she'd asked him if he was a regular at Segal's Roost.

"Yes," he said slowly, looking as if he expected an immediate rebuttal.

"Really! You slew a Chinese Fireball singlehandedly?"

"Not… exactly," said Malfoy.

Ollivander seemed disappointed, but not surprised. "And the zitanwood? You did not seek it out on foot in the jungles of the East?"

"I already had a zitan chaise-lounge in the East sitting-room. I had the artisans cut a piece from a discreet location, where it would not be missed."

"Ah, took it from under the cushioning then? Where no one would have to know? Very clever, very clever. Impossible to come by, new zitan."

"Mm," said Malfoy.

There was a pause.

"Might I examine it?" asked Ollivander.

Malfoy coughed uncomfortably. "It was confiscated by the Aurors on Wednesday and I have yet to get it back."

"Pity it wasn't a true quest wand," said Ollivander, "or it would have returned to you on its own."

Malfoy's eyes turned toward the door, as if he were considering fleeing the conversation which obviously was't a pleasant one for him. Ollivander seemed to sense his preparation to bolt and moved slightly to intercept.

"Still," he said, "a wand like that only comes along once in a great while… I should like to examine it some day, if you are able to get it back."

"Oh, I'll get it back," said Malfoy grimly. "One way or another."

"Of course you will," smiled Ollivander. "There's never a wand quite as good as one's primary, is there? No matter how many substitutes pass through one's hands. We're all the same in that respect."

Malfoy looked as if he didn't want that to be true, but of course it was. Hermione had never seen him actually use the zitanwood wand, because it had been seized by the Aurors shortly after she started watching him. But if that was his primary wand, it was the one he'd be most comfortable with and have the best results with. Especially if he'd gone to some effort to allow the materials to choose him before it was built.

"I have a couple of ideas already in mind," continued Ollivander. "Among the special collection. Dragon heartstring, I presume?"

"Of course," said Malfoy. Ollivander smiled, and then disappeared into the back.

Hermione knew that because a dragon had to be slain to gather heartstrings for wand cores, many people believed those wands lacked the power of the ones whose cores had been donated willingly by a sentient creature like a phoenix or unicorn. But because of the unpleasantness associated with the core taken by force, dragon heartstring wands resonated cleanly with the Dark Arts where other wands would resist. Of course, any wand would work for the Dark Arts, just as any wand could be used for good; witness the nearly identical wands that had chosen Harry Potter and Voldemort. But try to tell a purist that!

"I suppose you've had to answer a lot of questions about Nix Johnson's Wizarding Radio interview the other day," Ollivander remarked, as he reappeared with several boxes in hand. He opened one of them and slid the wand out to offer it to Malfoy.

"Yes," said Malfoy, accepting the wand and pretending to examine the woodgrain of its shaft. Hermione could tell that he was back on the defensive again. She could see it in the renewed tension in his shoulders, his breaths coming slightly harder.

"The… 'Explatteratus' curse particularly," probed Ollivander.

Malfoy smiled at that, but it was a pained sort of half-smile. He placed the wand deliberately back into its box and pressed it down into the paper cushioning.

"Whatever you've heard," he said, "there's no such curse as the Explatteratus. By any name."

"If it's not a curse, what is it?" asked Ollivander slyly.

Malfoy accepted the next wand from Ollivander's hand. "It was an accident," he said, not meeting Ollivander's eyes until he had taken the time to wave the wand experimentally a few more times than was probably really necessary. Then he looked up with a queer expression that wasn't quite a warning, but wasn't quite friendly either. "Accidents do happen on occasion," he said.

"That they do," said Ollivander, sounding as if he for one was assuming the euphemistic rather than the genuine translation of "accident" in that particular case. And who could blame him, after what he'd just overheard from behind his back room curtain?

Olivander accepted that wand back. He picked up the next and then paused, his fingers running thoughtfully down the black shaft.

"The Fireball… was it slain?"

Malfoy reached for the wand in Ollivander's hand.

"Since you ask, no, it wasn't." He ran his hands down the wand and then gripped its handle, readjusting his hold several times and taking great care in how it lay in his palm.

"Defeated in battle then, and the whisker demanded of it as payment for sparing its life?" Ollivander suggested.

"No," said Malfoy. He held the wand flat against his chest and pressed it there with his other hand, closing his eyes briefly.

"Imperius," guessed Ollivander. "It gave the feeler willingly, under Imperius." He seemed at once admiring and horrified. Such a core would theoretically give a wand both the power of a willing core, and the Dark affinity of an ill-gotten one.

Malfoy's pale eyes turned upward to meet Ollivander's again, and in that moment Hermione felt an awful chill. It was there again, that look she'd seen at Ernie's café: the empty and soulless eyes of a monster, without even the frenzy brought on by the Death Eaters' potions. Dead.

"Pure speculation," said Malfoy, his voice sounding too-normal by comparison to his expression. He handed the wand back to Ollivander. "Not this one either."

"Ah, but very close to the mark, wasn't I?" said the old man. He placed the wand back in its box and fingered the boxes, reading the labels in order to select another. "The Imperius, and the dragon."

Malfoy sneered. "It's none of your business, really, is it? Let me try one of your son's. I think it shall be a Wanmaker today."

"Ah, but Parker hasn't had much success with dragon heartstring," said Ollivander. "Not yet."

"Even so."

Ollivander disappeared momentarily, then returned with a slotted tray containing a selection of identical-looking black wands.

Malfoy tried the wands one by one and Hermione could tell none of them responded to him at all. They were terrible matches. Malfoy frowned sourly as he handed the last one back.

"Disappointing, isn't it?" said Ollivander sadly. "Such a promising lad, my Parker, but he really hasn't the touch with the Dragon Heartstrings at all."

"Let me see the other Wanmakers," said Malfoy. "With the other cores. What are they, unicorn tail-hair?"

"Mostly," said Ollivander, "and one or two Phoenix Feather. There are a few experimental ones as well, banshee hair and unicorn hoof fiber and the like, but none of those are particularly impressive. Certainly not up to your standards."

Malfoy sniffed. "I'll be the judge of that."

This time, when the old wand-maker returned with the tray of remaining Wanmaker wands, Malfoy didn't even pretend to try the wands out. Instead he closed his eyes briefly, his fingertips touching the handles of the wands lying on the tray, then stopped somewhere near the middle. He picked up that wand and gripped it tightly, gave it a couple of waves.

"This is the one," he said with conviction.

Hermione knew Malfoy had simply recognized it as the wand he'd used earlier. The peculiar logic of time travel meant that if it was the same wand, he must have bought it here and now.

"Phoenix-feather," said Ollivander softly. "Ah, curious."

"Phoenix-feather," repeated Malfoy sourly. "The wand core of the righteous. Whoever thought I'd own one?"

"Well, there are also some –" Ollivander started to say, reaching for the wand, but Malfoy held it back out of reach, fending the shopkeeper off with his other hand.

"I was only going to say," said Ollivander. "I have several more of my own dragon-heartstring wands halfway built. They're from a dragon none of these others are. Perhaps one of those –"

"Perhaps another day," said Malfoy firmly.

"Very well then, said Ollivander, and he disappeared behind the curtain with the leftover wands.

After their business was concluded, they returned to the front of the shop, and Ollivander unlatched the front door in order to let Malfoy out.

Then he paused.

"One more thing," said Ollivander, a peculiar note in his voice. "They say you cast a multi-generational accursing on someone last month. Is it true?"

Malfoy's expression took on a wary look.

"And if I did?"

"I was just curious. Did you use the zitan and nose-feeler wand?"

Malfoy turned to face Ollivander more fully, crossing his arms.

"I don't have to tell you that."

"No, of course not," said Ollivander soothingly. "I was only curious."

Malfoy's breath snorted out. "Well, what if I did?"

"A wand core gotten by Imperius is no tool for that kind of curse. None at all."

Hermione knew that multi-generational accursings were not considered Unforgivable because they could not be used against an innocent, only against one who had done a great wrong to the caster. This was a very old form of magic. Untrained hedge-wizards and herb-witches in the most primitive parts of the British Isles had used these curses for centuries out of pure Wild Magic, as had the tiny magical beings of house and moor.

This is not to say that a trained wizard couldn't do a hundred times as much damage with a Multi-generational Curse. A traditional wizard from one of the oldest families, Malfoy almost certainly had detailed knowledge of how to cast these powerful curses, and the number of generations his family had been in existance would give him tremendous leverage. This was because the number of generations such a curse lasted depended not only on the seriousness of the crime, but also how many uninterrupted magical generations were in the caster's direct ancestry versus the victim's. There weren't many types of magic where being pureblooded was an actual practical advantage, but that was one of them. When Malfoy had told St. James he could have Georgia and Freida's progeny wearing the heads and tails of donkeys until the dawning of the Age of Capricorn, he might not have been exaggerating.

Suddenly his willingness to accept the Phoenix Feather core wand seemed a lot more ominous. For there was no act of magic more righteous than a Multigenerational Accursing.

Evidently Ollivander had been thinking along the somewhat similar lines.

"Planning to do it again, are you?" said Ollivander, glancing down at the package containing the wand, now tucked under Malfoy's arm. "Perhaps more effectively, this time?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed.

"I was quite effective enough the first time around, thank you," he said stiffly.

"Really?" said Ollivander softly. "And with a Dark wand like that."

"I turned the man into an umbrella stand," said Malfoy. "It hardly matters whether the curse lasts five generations or fifty, since he can no longer reproduce."

"I was referring to the Weasley children who attacked your son," said Ollivander.
"Everybody knows there's nothing more important to a Malfoy than family. You will get your revenge…?"

Today, thought Hermione in a rush of worry. At Hogsmeade. It would be so easy. The twins had harmed his son critically. They deserved his revenge. All they needed to do was to stumble across his path and he could do it. No wizarding court in the world would convict someone for casting a Multigenerational Accursing because the victim was always guilty in proportion to the severity of the punishment.

Malfoy's stiff manner was beginning to degenerate into open hostility. "What do you think?" he snapped.

"Oh I think nothing of it either way," smiled Ollivander. "But… others… are starting to wonder."

"Others," sneered Malfoy, "need to mind their own business."

And he turned and shoved his way out of the shop before Ollivander could say anything further.

God help me, he'd told St. James, I can't afford to offend Hermione Weasley now. Not even for my son.

Maybe it was really true.