Chapter Nine: A Wandmaker's Dilemma
Albus slowed slightly as he approached his parents, aunt, and uncle. His Dad looked livid and was glaring pointedly at Hermione, though as his cousins drew closer, the rigid features relaxed into something more pleasant. His mum wore a peculiar expression as well and abruptly stood and clapped her hands, "Well, it's high time we get little Rosie and Al their wands, how does that sound?" At Rosie's squeal of delight, all four adults leaped from the table rather too eagerly.
Garrick Ollivander had wandered into his shop about a year after his imprisonment, turning the closed sign hanging in the boarded door around. This seemed to do nothing for business, so he swept the inside free of glass and debris and had new windows installed. People were ecstatic of the wandmaker's grand return and filled the tiny shop from open until close. Eleven year olds were barely the bulk of the customers; over a year of Voldemort's reign had denied hundreds of muggleborn witches and wizards of obtaining a proper wand and hundreds more had lost theirs during the trials led by Dolores Umbridge. It wasn't long before one could see the bare shelves of the shop, shiny spaces where dust had never been able to settle before now, increasing in frequency as the stock was depleted at a regular pace.
Ollivander was old. And his imprisonment and torture had surely sent him a decade further toward his last years. A wand carefully crafted by his hands, precisely endowed to an volatile, but promising young witch had been used on him and others to inflict a pain never meant to be emitted from its core. And there was a whole lot of them; horrible wizards with his wands. He was jumpy too, and no longer patient enough to coax out signs of magic from chosen trees. The idea of making new wands was impossible; he would close permanently once the last wand was sold.
His shelves had but five unsold cases when a tall man with distinctive blonde-white hair had entered his shop. Of course Ollivander had seen this boy standing beside his torturers, and he could see now that Draco Malfoy remembered his stay in equal clarity. The man nodded his head and, not receiving one in turn, produced a short black wand of hawthorn wood, purposefully split in two. A request came from the man as to whether the wand was repairable. Ollivander shook his head. Then perhaps the man could purchase one of his remaining wands? The Malfoy wasn't picky about compatibility, he just needed a wand for basic transport and spells required for his job.
"I'm sorry, but I cannot sell you these wands in good faith."
"But perhaps one will choose me, " Draco nodded pleadingly at the small stack of boxes, "It's worth it to me to at least try."
"I don't believe any of these wands will choose you."
The man had stiffened, his eyes dangerously glinting in the darkened shop. "If you believe that I wanted this wand to be broken, you're quite mistaken. It has done nothing but formidable magic and the idea that it can't be mended is as saddening for me as I believe it is for you."
"Seeing your wand in this state has actually made me quite happy." The words had left Ollivander's mouth before he could think of the consequences. Revenge from a Malfoy was not something he could face again. Ollivander made to speak once more, but Draco put his hands up to stop him.
"I understand. Thank you for your time."
Ollivander could detect no malice in the man's statement and watched as the figure slumped once outside of the shop. Seven years had passed between the boy he'd seen at the Malfoy Manor and the man who had just walked in. The wandmaker tried to remember how seven years could change a young person; it had been a long time since he would be able to know.
About a week after the incident, another man entered the shop with an armful of wands and a winning smile. " Zheng Ming He, "he introduced himself to the impassive Ollivander, plopping the sticks on the front counter. The young man wanted to enter into business together. Ollivander picked up a wand and delicately spun the wood through his fingers. He tapped it, letting out sparks, then abruptly tossed the wand aside and grabbed another. He did this to each wand, pausing momentarily at a few to ask what core was used. Zheng would reply with various obscure materials. Ollivander perked slightly, was this man a traveler?
"Oh yes, personally the best part of the process in my opinion." He had answered enthusiastically.
"You could open your own shop-these wands are passable. Better than Hunklemader's down the road."
"I don't think they're anywhere near great."
"They aren't"
The two struck a deal. Zheng was free to gather his wide variety of materials (although quite different than he was used to, Ollivander found the items to be of high quality) and Ollivander would resume fashioning the wands, with lessons given to the younger wizard.
It was Zheng that greeted the Potters and Weasleys outside of renovated shop. New gold lettering had been molded into the exterior and the walls glowed welcomingly in new mossy tile. But with the amount of wands the old wandmaker could produce, it was inevitable that the inner room kept a familiar stale smell of dust and wood shavings.
Rose and Albus wove through a few families that appropriately filled the floor and craned their necks over the countertop to see where the endless shelving might end. Ollivander was ascended halfway on a ladder spanning the storage height and sensed the eyes looking at him. He squinted and leaned towards the children, teetering dangerously. After a pause, he swung the ladder about two shelves down and began pulling out an array of boxes, sending them careening to the counter with a swish of his own wand. He made his way to counter with the last box in hand.
"Who's first." He eyed the freckled face and ginger hair before gazing up at the two adults also bearing the same features,"Yew and phoenix feather and, ah, Chestnut and dragon heartstring. How does it treat you?"
Ginny and Ron instinctively gripped their wands at their mention. Ron still used the wand he had won from Peter Pettigrew- his third, "Its worked well for me I suppose."
Ollivander grunted in acknowledgement and returned attention to Rose. Sliding out a case from the bottom of his pile, he placed a slender wand in her hand and stepped back. Rose gripped the base and looked at Ollivander, not especially sure what to expect. Suddenly, sparks began pouring out from the tip of wand. "Ah perhaps we have a match already..." but the stream had progressed into a pressurized spurt and small glowing fractures began to crawl away from the tip. Ollivander snatched the stick away and examined the instrument. "Very interesting." He gave another to Rose, who held it gingerly. Again, sparks began to emit, but this time the spout remained steady and the wand calm in her grip. "Rowan with Phoenix feather, 12 inches, swishy- will be easy to spell cast once you gain its loyalty." Rose smiled with relief.
Albus gulped as the ancient man now squinted at him. He looked at Harry stating, "Another one I see," turning to James, "Alder with scales of grindylow- Easy? Manageable?"
James happily produced his wand, swishing it once, "I like it a lot, its quite good once I've gotten a spell."
"Ah, good," Ollivander actually smiled approvingly in Zheng's direction, "It's his combination, I thought they might be rather insubordinate, but most are happy with the core."
"And now you," Ollivander placed a wand in Albus' tiny hands, but even before any magic could erupt, the wandmaker snatched it away again. He repeated this three more times as Albus sank lower in his shoes. He didn't dare look at either Rose or James. The pile of boxes disappeared and Ollivander returned to the looming shelves lining the back hallway. Albus felt the embers of his ears and was sure they were glowing red.
"Its okay Al, it took a long time to find my wand as well." A low voice whispered sympathetically. Albus turned to Harry, who placed his hand on his son's head, "Ollivander is a very particular wandmaker that's all, I assure you that no other wandmaker will give you a wand of better fit."
The man had returned with two boxes. "Try this one first." he extracted a sandy-colored stick and held it out. Albus took the wand and clapped his other hand around the base as it began to almost squirm in his hands. A healthy flow of sparks was emitting, but the entire grip felt slippery. "Ah, just as I thought." Ollivander had already taken the other wand out, shorter, with a single notch near the tip. Albus brightened as the wand fell perfectly in his grip and sparks flew from the edge in increasing intensity before politely fizzling out. "A good fit! Yes it does make sense now. Eight inches, unyielding, might be hard to master but with practice it will do you well in transfiguration, willow and, quite interestingly, fang of... a basilisk."
"Oh wow!" gasped Lily and James, and the latter added, "There is no way you are cool enough for that wand..."
But Albus was focused on his father, who had also uttered a, "What?" at the core's identity. Harry wore an animated expression that Albus couldn't say was truly positive or negative.
"Ah, another of my apprentice's finds. Quite a good use of the nasty skeleton in that school."
"They are from Salazar Slytherin's monster?" Harry looked at the wand peacefully nestled in his son's hands, "Is that a safe source of magic?"
Ollivander stood affronted,"Do you think I haven't asked that question myself? No, they're a well-known stable source of power, of course the way one must obtain them makes them rarer," Ollivander gestured to the boxes behind him, " But given this special opportunity, I've fashioned dozens and given quite a few away. Quite truthfully, they couldn't be in a safer form sequestered away in one of these..."
Ollivander held the wand's box open to Albus, who placed it back. His Dad still looked peculiar, but not angry, the same expression he'd worn at the zoo. The wandmaker completed the purchases and Zheng cheerfully showed them out from the shop. His Dad had sidled nearer to Al as they exited and Al had the strong feeling that Harry wanted him to asked the question that had been caught on the tip of his tongue all day. But the incident in the wandmaker's shop had swallowed any boldness Al needed to speak his concerns out loud. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear his father's answer; the truth seemed to be revealing itself slowly in these little moments anyway.
The time was nearing the early hours of evening and Hermione informed the others that a large dinner prepared by Grandma Molly Weasley was well underway. Sure enough, as the families returned to the Burrow a savoury flavor coated the interior, making everyone from Ron to Lily drool in anticipation. As strict as she'd been a mother, Molly Weasley was equally permissive as a grandmother. Scooping up Lily as she ran inside, she let the children sit in the living room while scowling at Ron's unshaved 5 o'clock shadow.
As they waited for supper to finish, Rose retrieved Teng and let it acquaint itself to Ibn. James had even managed to coddle the still forlorn Pigwidgeon into a somewhat pleasant mood as Bidi calmly watched (apparently finding no competition in the elderly bird). Albus realized he had picked a rather funny pet as Ibn circled the rug between the cousins, wagging his tail in exaggeration at the laughs emitted from them. He had settled on Lily's knee when Harry and Molly entered with steaming bowls of meat and onion stew. Albus sank into a large cushioned chair with his bowl and Lily joined him, smiling as Ibn followed her loyally. " Oh I see" quipped Albus, "picking favorites already," and held out a small morsel of chicken. Ibn abandoned his sister immediately and settled on the arm of the chair, expectant for more.
Presently James had been trying to convince Hugo that if he swallowed a Balloon BonBon whole, he would be able to fly for at least a half hour. The youngest Weasley was dubious, though he had laid out his various treats from George. With the soup gurgling gently in the pit of his stomach, Albus slouched even lower in the seat. He blinked heavily as Rose situated herself in front of her brother, frantically trying to dissuade Hugo of James' suggestions. From the kitchen, the chatter of the adults gradually lowered as their heads leaned closer and closer together in somber conversation. Albus saw his dad turn his face towards James and himself just before drifting into sleep.