Drucilla sat in front of Ollivander's shop, disconsolate. She was tucked into the corner made by the picture window, looking up, expecting at any moment to see a hand replacing the basilisk wand on the cushion. She had been so excited this morning, so happy, and now everything had gone wrong. There were a couple of light, misty drops of rain which landed at her feet, and she felt as if tears would soon join them. Before she could indulge, she saw a tall man about her mother's age, maybe a little older, running up to the shop.

He skidded to a stop, peering through the window, then looked down at Drucy. He blinked in surprise. "Is everything ok in there?" he asked. "People saw some kind of bright flash, and there was some sort of shouting… I've only just gotten away to check…"

Drucy blinked back, looking at this curious fellow. He was wearing a top hat lopsided on his head, a bright purple hat that clashed horribly with his orange-red hair and his brilliantly green cloak. She looked back up at his freckled face and realized that, perhaps, she'd heard enough to guess who he was. "Did you come from 'Weasley Wizard Wheezes'?" she asked with interest. The place had looked and sounded interesting enough, but she somehow doubted that her mother would ever let her set foot in it. There was just something about the look in her eyes when she mentioned it that gave Drucy the feeling that it was one of "those places" where "polite families" did not go.

"Yeah," he replied. When she did not rise, he squatted down to her level, smiling. "We keep an eye on old Ollivander, especially since he was kidnapped several years ago. Everything's alright, then?"

"It was just me," Drucy told him, starting to feel the lump in her throat again. "I picked up the wrong wand, and it went off, and I guess I wasn't supposed to…"

"Now, now," the man said gently, smiling. "If it went off, then you're doing something right. So what's the hullaballoo about? Wand backfires aren't that big a deal, especially in that shop."

"They say the wand picks the wizard," Drucy said wryly, "but I think it picked the wrong one. I wasn't supposed to be touching things, and then I picked it up and talked to it…"

"What's your name, honey?" the Weasely Wizard asked her kindly.

"Drucilla Bulstrode."

He nodded gravely. "Millicent Bulstrode's girl, eh? You haven't had an easy time of it, have you?" Drucy didn't respond, because she wasn't sure what to say. She suddenly wasn't entirely sure if he was talking about her parents or everyone else. She felt mildly affronted. "My parents are wonderful," she retorted staunchly. "I don't know what people seem to have against them, but my mom is strong and tough, and my dad is just sweet and kind."

"My apologies," he said easily. "I would like to have you smiling instead of frowning, my dear. Let me think…" He went through a theatrical patting of his robes before sweeping off his hat and offering her a small device. "This one, I think, will work for you."

Drucy was no longer looking at the device. When he took off his hat, his untidy hair partly fell over a gap on the side of his head. "You're George Weasley," she said in surprise.

At first, Drucy silently berated herself for her lack of tact. She could hear her mother's voice in her head already. George, though, didn't seem bothered. "How did you guess? My signature clothing style? My effervescent personality? I know! The missing ear." He chuckled. "Not a problem, my dear, it is a rather stunning fashion statement." Then his face became shadowed for just a moment, as if remembering something sad. Drucy didn't want to embarrass herself again by asking the wrong thing, so she turned her attention to the little device, pressing the rather prominent button at the base. The device hummed quietly and started producing beautiful little spark showers of all colors, shaping themselves into butterflies as they fluttered further away from the base. It was one of the prettiest things young Drucy had ever seen, and she looked back up at George in astonishment.

"Don't thank me," he told her in mild amusement. "My wife designs the girlie stuff. Oh, and if you should ever happen by our shop…" He reached towards her ear and appeared to draw a small piece of paper out of it. She took it and realized that it was a coupon. "We have a second location in Hogsmeade," he told her with a wink, "and we will still be there when you reach third year, if you haven't managed to sneak out by then." With a swirl of his cloak, he straightened up and turned to go. "Oh," he told her over his shoulder, "keep the Butterfly Maker. It should last for about two months. When it dies, if you would be so kind as to write to me and let me know? I would appreciate it."

"Thank you…" Drucy finally remembered her manners, and he tipped his hat to her once more before striding away.

As the soft rain began to fall in earnest, Drucy no longer felt like crying along with it. She kept herself snuggled up against the shop wall, protected by the overhang of the roof, and watched glittery butterflies work their way out of the base one by one. She began to wonder what her mother was doing inside that shop now. She wiggled up for a moment to peek through the window. Mr. Ollivander was speaking quietly to her mother, with an earnest face, and her mother was nodding slowly from time to time. Relieved that her mother at least did not look angry, she settled down again just in time to see her sister approaching. "What on earth are you doing out here?" Esme asked. She now held an umbrella, warding off the misty rain.

"Where did you come from?" Drucy asked in astonishment, looking down the direction from which her sister had been approaching. "Were you… you weren't… were you in Knockturn Alley?" she asked in horror.

"Keep your voice down!" Esme murmured, shaking her head slightly. Then she sighed. "No, I wasn't in Knockturn Alley, what do you take me for?" At that, Drucy looked back at Esme unbelieving. The two sisters had been together for so long, she knew immediately when Esme was… lying. They looked at each other for a moment, then Esme cleared her throat. "Anyways. Why are you out here instead of getting your wand? And what's that?" she asked, pointing to the Butterfly Maker.

"I think I chose the wrong wand, or the wrong wand chose me, or something, and everyone got upset, and…" Drucy poured out the whole story. By the time she was finished, Esme was sitting beside her, holding the base for the Butterfly Maker and looking entirely sympathetic.

"I think you'll find it isn't as bad as it looks," Esme told her encouragingly. "Mom has to know that it wasn't your fault. Besides, it probably isn't even a bad thing. The wand has to know what it's doing. Mr. Ollivander won't lead her wrong, and he knows more about wandlore than anybody alive. If he doesn't think it's safe for you to use, he'll never sell it to you. And you really lucked out with this, what did he call it? Butterfly Maker? I've never seen one before. I don't think they sell them in the shop. You just might be testing his product for him. Hey, why don't I take you to see his shop? I'll ask Mom, and-"

But at that point, their mother exited the store. She had a rather strange look on her face, one that Drucy had never seen before, so she had no idea what it meant. Esme quickly handed the Butterly Maker back, pressing its button again to turn it off, and Drucy stowed it in her robes, not sure whether her mother would approve of it.

"Topsy," her mother said, and the family house-elf appeared. "Topsy, take these packages, and bring another umbrella for me and one for Drucy."

"Yes, Mistress," the elf said politely, and vanished with the packages. A moment later, she reappeared with the umbrellas and then vanished once more. Millicent Bulstrode, meanwhile, smiled at her girls. "Come on, let's finish with a treat. It's a little cold for ice cream, but you'll still enjoy it, right?"

As Drucy started to follow her mother away from the shop, she paused in horror. "Oh no! I forgot to give him extra for-"

"I did it," her mother said, the strange look returning to her face. "I gave him ten Galleons for your little friend. It'll buy any wand in the shop. …Almost any wand."

Drucy said nothing more, because she had felt it herself when her mother had handed the packages over to the house-elf… something like a warmth, almost like a personality…

Her mother had purchased the basilisk wand.