Disclaimer: I own nothing. I write for my own amusement and the validation of your reviews.

Chapter 1

Curiouser and Curiouser

A long black cloak billowed solemnly in the chilly wind. A young woman, short and rather plump, patted at her mousy brown hair and tucked a few stray wisps under her pointed hat. She paused for a moment, craning her neck to see beyond the tops of the chimneys and take in the darkening sky.

It was already late afternoon, and the few people out on the street were rushing to be done with their tasks before the rain. She was no different, and her business in the alley was not something that could wait for more favorable weather. She sighed and rubbed her arms briskly, picking up her pace as she approached her destination. Her eyes were focused intently on the shops, but if one looked close they betrayed the veiled insecurity she was desperately trying to hide.

She came to a sudden stop outside a worn-out storefront. She peered up at it for a long moment, gathering her courage, and observed the faded lettering that heralded the name of the shop.

Ollivanders.

With a determined expression, she stepped over the threshold. The bell jingled as the door closed behind her.

It was dark on the inside. Dust gathered on nearly every surface- and there were quite a few surfaces to cover. Mismatching shelving and tables were littered with haphazard stacks of slender boxes. Dim candles were flickering pathetically in the corners of the messy room, doing a poor job of chasing away the gloom. On top of that, it was incredibly quiet compared to the outside alley, complete with a musty scent she normally associated with old books and… mothballs?

"Ah, Miss Umbridge." She looked up quickly, eyes fixing on the lean old man emerging from the shadows. His wizened face was unreadable in the low lighting, though his pale eyes glimmered. "I was not expecting to see you again."

The tone of his voice was light, and his steps silent as he drifted towards her. Suddenly she wasn't quite so certain that this was a good idea.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked.

"My wand-" She managed. Her voice felt… strangled… by the bizarre atmosphere. It was quite uncomfortable, and she was seriously considering making a hasty retreat.

"Eight inches exactly, quite short," he mused, "Birch, with a dragon heartstring core. Extremely stiff. What seems to be the problem?"

He sounded pleasant enough, but his eyes were brutally piercing. She tried to keep her breathing nice and even. Ollivander, she knew, could read people quite easily- and what he had read from Dolores Umbridge all those years ago was anyone's guess.

"It doesn't work for me anymore." She admitted, pulling it out of her sleeve. Ollivander's brow rose almost imperceptibly.

"Indeed?" He gestured with his hand. She obliged and lifted her wand.

"Lumos."

There was no reaction. No flicker of light, not even a spark. The wand was simply a dead bit of wood. Totally useless.

The old man plucked it from her hand with an air of authority.

"Curious." He rolled the wand between his fingers, trading it from hand to hand. He looked up at her, something inscrutable in his gaze.

She shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, unable to hold eye contact for long. He was quite… disconcerting, even more so now than in Umbridge's memories. And that said quite a bit.

"You may recall, Miss Umbridge, that it is the wand that chooses the wizard. It is not often that a wand fully rejects its handler." He commented, beginning to pace around her. He stopped suddenly, rather close to her face, and pointed at her with her own wand. She took a hasty step backward.

"What did you do to cause it to reject you?"

"…You could say that I had a change of heart." She replied cautiously. "Beyond that, it's really not any of your business. Can't I just get a new one? I've got the galleons."

The corners of his mouth twitched.

"Yes, I imagine you do." Ollivander hummed. He did not respond to her question, instead striding away from her and starting to pull wand boxes off the shelves. He looked through them carefully, taking his time, though he seemed to be collecting his thoughts more than actually looking at the wands. Finally, he stepped back and met her gaze. Silently he extended a wand to her, and she took it hesitantly.

It didn't work well. Not at all.

Not the first, nor the second, nor the fifth, twelfth, sixteenth…

Her hands were shaking. What if there was no match? What if she was somehow incapable? She knew she could do magic. She'd accidentally set herself on fire a week ago when the memories had started flooding in. She'd been terrified. And she NEEDED a wand. Her job at the ministry was already under pressure because of her recent personality changes. They'd chalked it up to a good vacation, but they knew something was wrong. She'd worked so hard to keep up the ruse of Dolores Umbridge, but without a wand… without help… what would she do if it all fell through?

Ollivander took a step back, exhaling sharply. "Well, Miss Umbridge, you have exceeded my expectations. Perhaps…hm…" He went silent, then bent slowly to pick up one of the wand boxes that had fallen from the shelf in the pandemonium. He looked at it skeptically, his gaze fluttering between her and the box for several seconds.

Finally, he handed her the box. "This is an... unlikely… match, but perhaps you should try it."

She took it from him, and slowly opened the box.

Inside was a light-colored wand that looked very rough and unfinished. It was tapered to a fine point at the top and rounded on the bottom. It honestly looked like it would give her splinters. Gingerly, she pulled it out of the box and nestled the handle in her palm.

Well, no splinters at least. It was smooth to the touch.

Without much hope, she gave it a small flick.

Golden sparkles flowed from the top of the wand, shimmering like a waterfall of honey and fading to nothing on the floor. She felt a surge of warmth flow through her arm and trace all the way to her heart.

They both stared incredulously at the wand in her hand, but for totally different reasons.

"Applewood and Phoenix feather, 12 ½ inches…" Ollivander sounded like he was asking how that could possibly be, rather than stating a fact. "Most unusual. Quite opposite from your last, and a picky core. Curious."

The woman was just as confused, if not more so. The other wands had felt… cold. Lifeless in her hands. Or far too hot, and volatile. This one felt like it was humming beneath her fingers, singing with life. It was an odd experience, even disregarding the magic itself.

Mr. Ollivander paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. His silvery eyelashes fluttered over his half-lidded gaze. "I'd like to expect great things from this change of heart, Miss… Umbridge." He met her eyes, and she found she could not look away.

"A second chance such as this... does not often present itself."

She stared at him, the gears in her mind stuttering to a halt.

Did he know?

How would he know?

He held her gaze for a long moment, then turned away. "You may keep your new wand. I'll hold onto the old one. You won't be needing it anymore."

He disappeared into the back once more, and the woman - who was very much NOT Dolores Umbridge- was left alone standing in the middle of his shop.