A lesson to remember: part 2

1891

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Ollivander ran the knife slowly, carefully, over the rough wooden length in his hand. It was a piece of oak that had just started the exciting journey from stick to wand.

According to his calculations – taking in the proper stand of the moon, the length of time the wood had been soaked in the bowl of purifying solution, the time it had been harvested, the amount of ants that had crawled across it, all those things – this wand would be best matched with a dragon heartstring. The core still needed to be prepared, but there was plenty of time. You couldn't hurry wandmaking. Ollivander finished about one wand a week, and that was only thanks to his centuries of experience.

He let his senses flow into the wood, carefully making contact with its spirit. He became aware that the wand was too long: he followed his instincts as a wandmaker and chipped at the tip until the wand was a neat sixteen inches. Sturdy, yet bendy. And dragon heartstring. Yes.

Ollivander just put the wood into the sparkling water to soak a second time when his sensitive ears detected a muffled sound in front of his shop.

He went to the shop, closing the door of his workroom behind him. The shop was empty, of course: he couldn't work on a wand if he was disturbed by customers all day. The sound he was hearing came from the other side of his front door, and it sounded suspiciously like someone was crying.

He unlocked the door and was greeted by the sight of a young boy that hurriedly wiped the tears away with his sleeve. Ollivander recognized him as Albus Dumbledore, whom he'd had a pleasant conversation with only a few days ago.

At Ollivander's surprised look the boy seemed startled.

"I shouldn't have come," he mumbled, shaking his head even as fresh tears wetted his cheeks. "It's just that I needed to talk to someone and I hate it so much, I hate them, and now mum wants to move again and I don't know where -"

Ollivander stepped aside to let the distraught boy in. "Mr. Dumbledore, please come inside. I'll put some tea on – it'll help you calm down."

The boy followed his lead and soon he sat on the couch in Ollivander's small sitting room. Albus was staring blankly at the cup of tea in his hand. He'd already taken a sip, which Ollivander was grateful for: the vampire had laced the tea with a very light Calming Potion, since it was obvious young Dumbledore could use it.

Ollivander sipped his own tea, that was pinker than Dumbledore's and was laced with something else entirely.

"Are you feeling better now?" He asked softly. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Albus took a large gulp of tea and nodded. His hands were still shaking, Calming Potion or not: something serious must have happened, then.

"It's about m-my si-sister," he answered. "She's very hurt." The potion had kicked in: his voice didn't shake as much anymore.

"She was just taking a walk when three Muggle boys attacked her, and Father saw them, and now he's going to Azkaban and Ariana is hurt and no-one cares about what the Muggles did, they deserved it but Ariana and Father didn't! I hate them!"

So much for the Calming Potion: the dose wasn't strong enough to contain this kind of anger. This would become a difficult conversation.

In bits and pieces Ollivander coaxed the whole story out of Albus: in which way Ariana had been hurt, when it had all happened, what his father had done to the boys to deserve Azkaban.

When he eventually stopped talking, his voice scratchy from use, Ollivander poured him another cup of tea, deep in thought.

"Do you know why the Ministry is so lenient for the Muggles?"

Albus sneered, which gave his normally sweet face an ugly look. "Because Muggles are stupid and can't defend themselves against magic. Ariana couldn't defend herself either, but they don't care about that."

"That's a popular misconception. The Ministry is lenient for Muggles because we are afraid they will defend themselves."

"I'm sorry sir, but I find that hard to believe."

"Have you heard of the Witch Hunts? The burnings?"

Albus shrugged. "I've read that no one really got hurt, thanks to the flame-freezing charm."

"Was it a Ministry approved book?"

The question seemed so odd that Albus actually paused. His quick mind leapt to a conclusion. "You mean it's not true? There were people who got burned?"

Ollivander nodded, his face grim. "You need a wand and a free arm to use the Freezing Charm, after all. When the Muggles noticed their witches weren't burning to death, they made sure to bind their victim tighter to the stake the next time." He sipped his tea, his eyes hooded. "A lot of falsely accused Muggles were burned too."

Albus looked horrified. "And the Ministry keeps this secret? Why?"

"How do you think the Wizarding World would react? They would urge for revenge, they would hate everything Muggle. That wouldn't only be a problem for the Muggleborns and Halfbloods, who are innocent of all this, but eventually their vengeance actions would reveal the existence of magic to the Muggles and they would retaliate."

"But of course we would win, right? They don't stand a chance against magic."

Ollivander raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't bet on that. There is strenght in numbers, and there are many more Muggles than there are Magic users in the world. Besides, they are inventive. They might find a way. That is why the Ministry fears them so."

Albus shook his head. "It's still not fair."

"Few things are," Ollivander quietly agreed.

In the thoughful silence that fell, they drank their tea.

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