Garrick could see the lights flashing in front of him as the lift descended two short storeys before stopping abruptly. He took an unsteady step to prevent himself from falling into the gentleman beside him.
"Department of Magical Law Enforcement, sirs," announced the face in the wall. "Is there anything else you require today?"
"No, thank you," said the other wizard as Garrick followed him out of the lift and down a maze of corridors to a large, open room divided into many cubicles. A sign on one of them read 'Auror Office'. The wizard led Garrick down the side and into an office.
"Right in here, Mr Ollivander. Auror Moody will be with you shortly."
"Yes, thank you," he said to the young wizard who'd just closed the door behind him. Garrick sat gingerly in a chair on the public side of a desk in what appeared to be a messy office, filled top to bottom with an assortment of 'Wanted' posters, Dark Detectors, maps, and newspaper clippings. Yet, somehow, there was an order to it – things stacked in such a way that any form of tampering would be immediately evident, Dark Detectors placed so that they covered every inch of the tiny office, unnerving posters designed to put a person on edge.
He could not help but jump a little as the door to the office creaked open, revealing a young man aged and scarred beyond his years. He was only a year older than Germaine, Garrick remembered as he rose to shake the man's hand.
"Alastor Moody, Ash and Phoenix feather, how's it working for you, dear boy?"
Moody produced a wand a little over a foot long from a holster at his belt. He held it up, the pale wood reflecting the light gently over its shining surface.
"Saved my life a coupla times, it did. Your work's good."
"Good, good – you were a tricky one to match there, boy…very, very tricky…but I suppose you haven't summoned me here to merely discuss your wand."
Moody gave a little grunt as he picked his way through the room to seat himself behind his desk. Garrick noticed that he walked with a slight limp – perhaps a relic of the Donalbaine case last month.
"Mr Ollivander, we need you to identify two wands found at the scene of a triple homicide last night."
"Only two?"
"Only two. The third was…under-age."
Garrick shuddered a bit. Who could murder a child?
"We have the address of the crime scene; we just need confirmation of the victims' identity."
Garrick swallowed his fear, sitting up as straight as he had always been taught to.
"Very well, may I see them?"
The scars on Moody's face slackened even more as he reached under his desk and pulled out two wands. He kept his hand over them until the last possible second.
And then the wands became knives. And the knives were on fire. He could feel the stab wounds puncture his body before they even came, and somewhere way off in the distance, he could hear a woman cackling…
There was something creepy about Mr Ollivander's eyes.
Ginny Weasley had thought the same thing for the past month, but continued to pursue the same ideas as she moved about the house in a kind of stupor – packing up her family's things as they prepared to move back to the Burrow. There was something dead behind the icy grey she remembered from the first time she'd met him. She was only two years old – it was Charlie's turn for a wand. Something behind Mr Ollivander's eyes saw right down deep into the darkest recesses of your soul, though they appeared to see nothing at all. She wondered if he was an Occlumens – surely that would explain it wouldn't it?
"Mr Ollivander?" she entreated gently, drawing the old man out of his trance with a strong twitch.
"Mmn…hmn…yes?"
"Your son's here."
The midwife had said almost the same thing forty-six years ago.
"Congratulations, Mr Ollivander. You have a son."
The sense of pure joy was foreign to him, animal even. The only thing close would be his wedding day, yet even that seemed ordinary compared to this. A new life – a life he'd helped create. A child…
But the joy faded to neutrality; neutrality to fear; fear to pure, raw terror. And somewhere off in the background he could hear a woman cackling…
Germaine could not help but stare. Merlin, he looks so thin, he thought in astonishment, but his Ravenclaw sensibility took over, explaining the logic behind his father's lengthened hair and vaguely skeletal appearance. There was just something so…unfamiliar and lost about the man. Germaine approached him with caution, almost afraid to speak above a whisper.
"Pop? Pop, it's me, Gerry."
Garrick said nothing, but slowly raised his head to look his son in the eye.
"Gerry?" he said softly.
"Yeah, it's me. I brought Bess, too."
"But – your kids…"
"We split them up after you and Vera were kidnapped. They're safe."
Garrick's face transformed suddenly, taking on a hard ferocity that Germaine had never seen before in his life. It frightened him a little – the sudden burst of clarity.
"Gwenny! Where is she? Is she alright?"
"Settle down, Pop," Germaine said, taking hold of his father by the shoulders. He wasn't sure how to continue: the topic of Guinevere hadn't come up in any of the scenarios he'd envisioned over the past few hours. Should he lie? Hell, Germaine didn't even know exactly what was happening on that front.
"Ver-Vera's still missing, Pop," he conceded, patting his father's hand gently. "But Kingsley's got Aurors looking for her right now – they'll find her soon."
At least half of it was true.
"And – the shop?"
Germaine wasn't sure how to answer that one either.
"The shop stood for two years, Pop – you cast your spells good. But when Harry Potter and them escaped Gringotts with the dragon, they took half of Diagon Alley with them, including the shop."
"What did we lose?"
"Everything."
"Everything?"
"Everything, Pop. The place is gone."
Garrick looked positively devastated; the deadened look in his eyes becoming deader, if that was even possible.
"Well, then," he said, trying to keep some strength in his voice, "We'll have to rebuild, won't we?"
Germaine locked eyes with Elizabeth, shooting her a look that said you've got to be kidding me.
"Do you really think we can?"
"Of course, you two and the kids need a place to live, and from what the Weasley boys have told me, the world needs saving from the likes of Jimmy Kiddell."
"You've got to be crazy, Pop. Bess and I still have our jobs at St Mungo's, and the kids aren't old enough to help–"
"Boy, our family has stood their ground for the past twenty-four-hundred years, and I'll be damned if it ends with me! We've had to rebuild before, and we can do it again!
"Now," he continued, his demeanour changing in the blink of an eye. "How much is left? You say everything is gone…"
"Well," began Germaine, reaching into the inside pocket of his robe. "I saved two things…"
Garrick noticed a certain 'look' cross Moody's face as he pulled his hand off of the first wand, sliding the second beneath the desk. Gingerly, Garrick picked it up, though he was nearly certain of the owner.
"Apple…Dragon heartstring…thirteen inches…this belonged–"
He cut himself off, nearly dropping the wand back onto the desk.
"To – to Jacob Carmichael…"
He wanted to double-check, but he knew the result would be the same. He couldn't believe it – no, it wasn't true. His little girl was a widow. Unless…
No, that wasn't possible.
Garrick handed the wand back to Moody.
"May I see the second?"
Moody's expression darkened as he handed the second wand to Garrick.
The wand reached up of its own accord, striking a burning spell at his heart. And he could hear a faint delirious cackle…
Germaine handed a pair of wands to Garrick. He took them in silence, examining both of them in disbelief.
"I found yours the morning after."
Germaine was right…it was his… Garrick placed it delicately on a side table, picking up the second as one would hold a baby bird.
"Sing, Willow, willow, willow..."
Garrick must have heard her sing that phrase a thousand times, but he never tired of it. Her voice was thin, but the melody came simple and pure – perfect for Desdemona.
"Do you think I'm good enough, Daddy?" she asked, staring up at him with her big green eyes. "Do you think I'll get it?"
Garrick smiled, a whole new kind of warmth spreading to his face as he took his daughter in his arms.
"Of course, Giulie…they'll love you…"
A burning fire, and a maniacal laugh…
Garrick rolled the short length of willow between his fingertips, nursing the memory of the little girl who once held it.
"Daddy, when do I get my wand?"
"Well," said Garrick, making a little note in his register. "Gerry got his when he was ten…so…why not today?"
"Really?"
Garrick couldn't help but smile as he saw the wonder in her eyes.
"Of course, Giulie – come on!"
She knew her wand on sight – not even trying any others before she found the willow, encasing a delicate unicorn hair core…
Alastor Moody removed his hand from the second wand, and Garrick felt a little piece of him die as he stared at the short length of willow in disbelief. It couldn't be – not Giulietta! She was so young, so vibrant – she couldn't be… No, there must have been some mistake! This is all wrong: a nightmare, even! Yes, that was it: it was a nightmare! Now if he could only wake up…
But he knew, without even picking it up that it was her wand. He wiped back the first tears from his silver eyes.
"Giu-Giulietta Carmichael…"
His voice was shaking. Moody reached across the table and put a hand on Garrick's shoulder.
"I am so, so sorry, Mr Ollivander. They died bravely, and justice will be done."
Garrick could no longer fight it – the tears were coming in waves. Waves of salt water that turned in to little rivers of acid burning down his face. And peals of dark, mad laughter rang in his ears…
"I took it with me when we closed up the shop. I – I couldn't leave it."
Garrick was silent for a moment. He placed Giulietta's wand on the table beside his, lining up the handles, highlighting the four-and-a-half inch difference between them.
"You…you did the right thing, Gerry," he whispered, the misty look returning to his eyes as quickly as it had faded before. "All we can do now is re-build - and she'll go back to the window, remember? Giulie always loved that."
Germaine swallowed and looked down at the floor. Speaking of Giulietta always filled him with an intense, stabbing guilt – though he did not know why.
The world is messed up like this sometimes.