Connections.
It was August when it happened. (I think, it's hard to tell the date from inside of a dark, yet strangely comfortable box) The day had started out like any other, if not a tad on the slow side. After all, most young wizards and witches already had their wands, and there is really not much that can be done in repair department for those who are dumb enough to actually break their wands. It kills me the way some of us are treated, would you drop or sit on your pet? No. But your wand? Might as well put a cushion on 'em and call it a chair!
Anyway, back on topic, by noon there had only been three customers, from the back I listened as Ollivander gave them the spiel, told them not to worry when the wand they were waving shot some air, or knocked over a table, I'd heard it all before; kid comes in, Old man plays with them for a bit by pulling out the trick wands and a couple of old timers like me, then voila, he picks the 'perfect' one then Wand and kid live happily ever after. Yada yada yada...
I was just about to start my twelve O'clock ritual of listing to the ever constant Ollivander humming a variety of songs that seemed as old as the man himself, then all of a sudden it seemed as if there had been a shift in the air. I know I like to joke about the whole 'connection' part of it all, (And I'd slap myself for this if I could, trust me.) But there may be a little, itty-bitty grain of truth to what the old man has to say, and I mean a 'so small you need the world strongest magnifier to see it grain', but an actual grain none the less. And here was living proof. He hadn't even opened the door yet, but I could feel him, the snot nose brat that was currently my key out of here.
The connection... how to describe it, I've only felt it twice before, (neither had been as strong as this though) it was as if the phoenix core inside of me had just caught fire and was trying to pull itself back together, just to burn back up again. And I both loved and hated the bugger for it. On one hand, this meant my freedom was more or less guaranteed, on the other, it meant I was about to be bound to some brat for the remainder of his life, and considering how old some wizards live to be, that might be longer than I can handle. Yeah, a wand with commitment issues, I'm just the kind of thing to give to a kid.
"Ah." I heard Ollivander say as the small bell by his desk alerted him to the customer that had arrived. The next thing I knew, He was grabbing box and placing me on a shelf in the front room, the shelf, the one he always grabs that last wand from, the wand that young Witches and Wizards always take home. Oh goody... Its times like this that I wonder if the man can sense the connections, or if he just knows, like some sort of 'wand whisperer'... Then of course I tell myself to stop being stupid and decide that maybe he's just a mad old man who happens to have unnaturally good luck when it comes to wand and wizard pair ups.
"Good afternoon," I heard him say, followed by a crunching sound, and a small "Hello." That had to have come from the kid. Doesn't really sound like much... Then again, judging people is how I got stuck in the back room. Well, judging and tormenting... Maybe I should just be given to a goblin, those guys live to judge people! And if memory serves, they keep a tormented dragon underneath that bank of theirs, I've always wanted to meet a dragon.
"Ah yes. Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter."
Harry Potter? Really? Okay, so back to judging, I mean really, what kind of a name is that? I know I said I wouldn't be picky, but come on, can the lucky wizard who gets me have a more powerful- or at least less goofy sounding- name than 'Harry Potter'? That, boys and girls, is the kind of name that gets you labeled as a weirdo. I think... Actually, forget it. What do I know? I've been stuck in a box for fifty years.
I listened to the old man ramble on about the brat's parents and what wands they had (willow and mahogany), what each wand was good for (Charms and self-pompousness, long story, me and mahogany do not mix). Then- "It's really the wand who chooses the wizard, of course." And bingo was his name'O! Every time, the same words, he must have said so much that it comes as easy as breathing for him. Heh, I bet they'll engrave it on his tombstone or something... 'Here lies Garrick G. Ollivander, his wand chose him.'
"-Sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?" Oh look at that, he was still talking. Huh, I hadn't realized there was a third person in the room, part giant by the feel of him. Funny, I'm normally more observant than that... It seemed like the he was talking to them forever, (Not that I can blame him, if I had a mouth, I don't think I'd ever shut up) until finally-"Let me see."
Ah, this is where he pulls out that devil of a tape measure, the bloody thing has caused more accidents in this place than any trick wand or clumsy wizard ever has.
"-You will never get such good results with another Wizards wand."
I wonder if he says it to them for their benefit or his own. After all, I doubt this kid really cares about the inner working of wands. Seriously, right now it would be soooo easy if the old man were to just skip all of this, hand the kid my box, take his money and let me out of here!
But no, Garrick Ollivander can never let things be easy, so I stayed patiently in my box, and waited. As he gave the boy wand after wand after wand, barely even letting the boy hold them for more than two seconds before snatching it up and handing him another one. it went on this way for so long I wondered if he had simply forgotten about me, or maybe this was his way of paying me back for all the grief that I've caused him. (The Father of the temporally blinded kid had been, shall we say- less than thrilled with the old man...)
Or maybe not-
With each newly failed wand the smile that had been tugging at the old man's face seemed to grow wider and wider, it was like he was trying every single alternative he could- just so he wouldn't be wrong! So he would know for sure! Haha! This is it! No more days spent in total darkness, no more mentally counting every freaking wand in this place (4762!) And no more listing to the shrill squawking that is Ollivander's singing!
"Tricky customer, eh? -Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match- I wonder now-"
He pulled my box down and gingerly lifted me out.
"-Unusual combination-holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
The moment Ollivander handed me over, I could feel all of the power that was inside of the boy. Sure, he's no Nicolas Flamel, but still, more powerful than you'd expect from someone with a name like 'Harry Potter'.
He raised the hand that held me and swiftly brought it down, and maybe just maybe; it was the best feeling I've ever had. And perhaps, I might have decided to show off a teensy bit, with a flashy red and gold light show of my own. But hey, can you blame me? I've waited fifty years for this.