Chapter Four: The Wand Chooses the Wizard
Neville Longbottom resisted the urge to find a handy wall to slam his head against; it was surely more productive than arguing with the stubborn, honorable Squib in front of him. Instead, the wizard raked his hands through his hair and tried, yet again, to explain the situation to the other man. "You're looking at Azkaban, Wordy, Azkaban. And not just for a few days or months…if Malfoy gets his way, it's a life sentence."
Still tired, but not falling over in exhaustion anymore, Wordy crossed his arms. "I'm not going to lie to them, Neville. I am a Squib and nothing I say or do will change that fact." His gray eyes hardened. "If I start lying now, I'll never be able to look my daughters in the eye again. Or Shelley. And I'm not going to lie when I didn't do anything wrong."
Neville bit back a frustrated snarl and stalked away and back, his guest watching him warily. "They'll throw you in Azkaban; it won't matter that it wasn't illegal for you to take the Headship, all they'll see is a Squib 'stealing' an old British family and their seat on the Wizengamot."
"Claire will get the family Headship anyway, so why the big fuss?" Wordy questioned.
A nod acknowledged Wordy's point. "It's rare for females to take up the Headship, but not unheard of. It's possible Malfoy's forgotten that your daughter would be first in line after you, but I doubt that; Malfoy's too careful and detail oriented to forget a detail like that. But that's neither here nor there…you were asking why Malfoy's throwing his big tantrum."
Wordy nodded, his gaze intent.
"Your daughter is years away from her majority," Neville explained, "years that Malfoy can use, if he can get the proxy back. If he can get you out of the way, there's even a little known law that he could, in theory, use in an attempt to take your eldest daughter away from her mother as the future Head of the family."
Wordy growled, his fists bunching at the thought. "I won't let him have my family."
"And your best chance of that is to go along with this," Neville argued, all but throwing his hands up in frustration. "Look, I get it; I don't like lying either, but I don't see much other choice if we want to keep you out of Azkaban and your family out of Malfoy's greedy paws."
A muscle in the constable's jaw worked as he considered his options, but he didn't respond.
Neville sighed to himself. "Will you at least try to get a wand? I'm not saying you have to go all the way, but at least we can see if it will even work?" He knew he was begging, but he didn't care all that much…they'd lost one of their two days letting Wordy sleep and the man still looked beat. Harry had, for a miracle, actually found Fawkes and another phoenix who'd refused to be shooed off, but today he'd been called for an urgent meeting at Gringotts, leaving Neville to talk the constable in front of him into going to Ollivanders.
"Okay." Wordy looked like he was eating glass as he said the word, but he didn't back down once the acceptance was out. "When do we leave?"
As if Neville was going to wait. "Now."
They entered the shop, which was much the same as when Neville had gotten his second wand; narrow and shabby, though the windows and their lettering was new, a relic of the kidnapping Garrick Ollivander had suffered during the Second War and the damage his shop had taken when the Death Eaters snatched him. The wand lying on the faded purple pillow in the window hadn't changed, just as there was still a sole, spindly chair in one corner and the narrow boxes of wands were stacked up to the ceiling of the small store.
Wordy glanced around the store, his curiosity plain to see and his black Mugglish armor allowing him to blend into the small shop's dim background a bit. He'd point blank refused to wear wizarding robes, the set of his shoulders and his narrowed eyes warning Neville to drop the subject…or else. The tension in the man hadn't abated and Neville hadn't had the courage to ask about the Squib's teammates; they had enough issues to deal with at the moment, plus Neville suspected the topic would get him another death glare or three.
"Neville Longbottom. Cherry, with unicorn hair, thirteen inches." The man who spoke those words appeared from the back of the shop, his eyes sweeping over his two customers. White hair extended in all directions, giving him a look reminiscent of a mad scientist and, as he moved closer, the two men could see his pale silver eyes regarding them. He stood a head shorter than Wordy and was slightly bent as he walked.
"Mr. Ollivander," Neville returned, a smile crossing his face. "Still scaring the customers by listing off their wands? How are you today?"
"Much as I always am, Mr. Longbottom," the old wandmaker returned. His gaze shifted to Wordy. "I have never sold you a wand before," he remarked, "Or I would remember you."
Neville's expression turned grim. "No, you haven't sold my friend here a wand. He's from Canada," the wandmaker looked intrigued by that, "and he's a Squib."
"And yet you are here," Ollivander observed thoughtfully. His attention turned to Wordy. "Squibs such as yourself do not have the magic required to use a wand." He spread his hands in clear apology, then looked back to Neville. "Surely you knew this already, Mr. Longbottom."
A brief sigh. "I did," Neville agreed, "But that's in the case of traditional Squibs, Mr. Ollivander. What about a Squib with a stunted magical core?"
The wandmaker's gaze sharpened and he studied both of them for some moments. "A Squib, regardless of how they came to be, does not need a wand, Mr. Longbottom. It matters not if the cause is damage to the Squib's magical core or a general lack of magical ability. Nor do I believe any of my wands would be willing to accept someone who cannot use them to their full ability. The wand does, you must remember, choose the wizard."
Neville noticed Wordy's reaction out of the corner of his eye; the other man sighed just a little and started to back towards the door, obviously hoping for a graceful exit. In truth, Neville was just as disappointed; Ollivander could have at least tried to match Wordy with a wand.
"By the by, what is your surname, sir?" Ollivander asked suddenly, as though a thought had just come to mind.
Wordy halted, startled by the question. "Wordsworth," he replied, cocking his head to the side in a silent 'Why?'.
Ollivander's expression turned considering. "A moment, if I may," he requested, before vanishing back into his back room. The two men traded looks, uncertain, but willing to wait for the elder gentleman. Neville took an instant to wonder at the change of heart, but dismissed it as unimportant…at least they were getting somewhere now.
After a minute or two, the wandmaker returned, carrying a thin, narrow box. "While it is true that most wands will refuse to work with anyone other than a wizard," Ollivander began, "Some wands can be more…obliging, if you will. I can make no promises, but this may be such a one." He opened the box, revealing a rich red hued wand, with a elegantly 'woven' handle and several ringed ridges along the wand's length. "Redwood, with unicorn hair, eleven and one-eighth inches, rather flexible." The wandmaker lifted the wand from the box, turning it in his hands and offering it to Wordy.
Wordy eyed the wand, surprised that it looked a bit…familiar. He hesitated, then reached forward and took the wand. A warmth surged through the wand, almost greeting him as if it was an old friend, rather than an inanimate piece of wood and sparks flew from the wand's tip, gold and blue. Wordy sucked in a breath, feeling as if he'd just gotten punched in the stomach.
"Well, it appears that the wand will work," Ollivander observed, taking the wand back and returning it to its box. "That will be seven Galleons."
Neville pulled seven golden coins from his belt purse, placing them on the counter and giving Wordy a Look when the constable made to protest Neville paying for the wand. The other man subsided, though it was clear that Neville's victory was temporary at best.
Ollivander wrapped up the box and gave it to Wordy, bowing both men out of his shop. As they left, he turned, his eyes falling on a figure watching from the back room. The old wandmaker inclined his head to the figure, receiving an approving nod in return.
Harry was still stunned as he returned to Longbottom Manor; the strategy he'd been told to use…the arrangements that had already been made…and the incredible risk it all represented. He was numb as he walked into the room he and Neville had commandeered for their planning and plotting.
"Harry? Something wrong?" Neville asked as soon as he got a good look at his old friend.
Harry sat down in the closest chair and looked up. "The meeting today, it was with the Calvin Family Account Manager."
"Silnok?" Wordy asked, looking surprised. "He's putting his hand in?"
A nod, though Harry still looked as if he'd been clocked. "The Calvin Family is invoking their proxy for the Wizengamot session." He met the eyes of the other two men. "I've been instructed to arrange for a Canadian Auror to bring in Rita Skeeter for trial before the Wizengamot can demand that you take the oath. Between her trial and the two phoenixes, Silnok hopes that the Wizengamot will drop their demands for the oath."
"That's not likely," Neville mumbled. "But that sounds more or less about what we were planning anyway, so why do you look like that?"
The messy raven haired head shook. "If that doesn't work, Silnok's ordered me to invoke the Myrrdin Code as the Ancient and Noble House of Calvin's proxy."
Neville's jaw dropped in horror. "The Myrrdin Code? Is he insane?"
Wordy looked between the two wizards in confusion. "What? What's the Myrrdin Code?"
Neville swallowed hard. "The Myrrdin Code consists of all the laws regarding magic and its use during the time of King Arthur. It's never been officially repealed, so it can be invoked, but it's seen by both sides as old and outdated. If the Calvin family invokes it, they destroy most of their political power in one fell swoop; the Dark families will see it as clinging to the shards of a past that hasn't existed since the beginning of the Statute of Secrecy and the Light families will see it as wanting to return to the days of Morgana Le Fay and her ilk."
"Then why use it?" Wordy questioned.
"Because," Harry replied heavily, "Under the Myrrdin Code, you're considered magical, even though you can't use your magic. And discriminating against a fellow magical is against the Code." He left out the other requirement Silnok had made of him should things go that far.
"The Wizengamot would be forced to accept you as magical," Neville breathed. "Malfoy's attempt to seize the proxy would be stopped in its tracks."
Harry nodded agreement, though he still looked unhappy. Wordy looked between the two men. "So, it would work, but the Calvin family would lose all the respect and influence it has right now?"
"Essentially, yes," Harry admitted softly. "And you're not allowed to turn it down, Wordy. Silnok said Heir Calvin was insistent on this course and that Heir Calvin told him that his family's political power was nothing next to a man's life."
Wordy swallowed, looking both awed and touched. "Sounds like him," he whispered. The constable shook his head, resigned even as he protested, "But that's his family's future on the line…"
"Artorius would have done it," Harry countered, shaking his own head. "In a heartbeat, if it meant doing the right thing." A wistful, fond smile crossed the wizard's face. "He would have loved to have met you…a blood Lestrange who turned his back on the family name and reputation."
"It's not like I knew I was doing that," Wordy pointed out.
The smile on Harry's face spread. "I know, but he still would have loved it; his Mum was a Lestrange." The wizard sighed and glanced up. "Nev, did you find robes for tomorrow?"
"No robes," Wordy cut in. "I'm not ashamed of my background and I don't care if they are." The constable's jaw set. "I'm wearing my armor."
"Your armor makes you look like a Muggle," Harry argued.
"Gee, what a surprise…that's kinda the point, isn't it?" Wordy countered, sarcasm reeking from his voice. He softened, but only a little. "Look, I get it; you two want to give me the best chance you can, but the armor is not negotiable."
"Why?" Neville inquired, cocking his head to the side.
Wordy's expression closed off. "Just how it is, Neville. You guys can either let me keep the armor or I don't go at all."
Well, that changed the equation. As neither wizard was willing to face the next day without their star attraction/witness/defendant, the two decided, with a glance between them, to back down. Neville studied the armor a few seconds more and frowned to himself. "Wordy? Could I at least have the house-elves clean the armor?"
The constable blinked and glanced down at his armor, frowning himself at how grimy it was getting. "You promise you won't make it disappear?"
"My word of honor," Neville reassured the other man.
A short nod. "Okay, then; I'll go take it off and you can send it off to get cleaned."
Harry waited until Wordy was gone, then arched a brow.
"I gave my word, Harry," Neville chided. "Besides, I don't think he's just being stubborn for the fun of it. Best to let him have his way on this one." He looked at Harry sharply. "What are you leaving out?"
The war hero's shoulders slumped. "Make sure he brings that wand you got, Neville. And we'd better hope this works, 'cause we are officially in 'all or nothing' territory."
Neville shuddered. All or nothing…sounded about par for the course at this point.
Author note: The end of another week. While it hasn't been easy, thankfully, the banking issues have been cleared up, freeing me to focus on the next set of 'I just moved' problems (oh, and work problems too). I'm looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow and I'd best wrap this up, post, and go to work.
Happy Friday and Happy Reading, and have a great weekend all!
