Hey, I'm sacrificing quantity and frequency for quality, so chapters won't be as often or long but hopefully will be better.
Would LOVE reviews...
Last Chapter: Harry, the list says pewter.
"No, 'Arry. It says pewter on the list."
Hagrid agrees with me. Come on, Harry.
Chapter 6: Wands
After dragging Harry away from the gold cauldron, they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for the twins, Harry examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop). Isabel inspected a package deal that included newt eyes, frog toes, wool of bat, and dog tongues.
Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Harry's list.
"Righ'. I think tha's eveythin'. Jus' wands, now. We got to go to Ollivanders for tha'. They make the bes' wands and you'll wan' the bes'."
This is the thing I was most looking forward to.
Same.
As they entered Ollivanders, Makers of Fine Wands Since 382. BC, there was a crash, and gold sparks flew everywhere. Isabel jumped.
"Hagrid, what was that?" Hagrid was looking around, puzzled.
"Dunno…"
Most of the floor space of Ollivanders was taken up by shelves, high rickety things that looked like they were about to fall over. Out of the shelves suddenly zoomed a small box. It stopped in front of Isabel, and hovered in front of her. She backed away slowly.
"The wand inside the box has chosen you." A pale old man appeared from behind another shelf. "It must be a cherry wand, they habitually do peculiar things. I have heard of them reacting to their future partner as soon as that partner enters close proximity, but I've never seen it happen before. Well? Open it."
Isabel opened the box and drew out a light-coloured wand. It felt pleasantly silkily smooth. The old man gasped. "Ah...That wand. Nine and a half inches, cherry, dragon heartstring, swishy. There is a prophecy about that wand, Miss Potter. The prophecy states that the one who bears it will help bring down the Darkest of all wizards…..cherry… particularly rare, and cherry wands with dragon heartstrings…. almost unheard of…" The old man mumbled on, softly enough that Isabel could not hear him.
"I'm sorry?" she said.
He's rather…eccentric, isn't he?
It's like he forgets people are with him.
And starts talking to himself.
"Oh! Sorry. I was thinking that your wand is interesting. Cherry is peculiar, subtle and powerful. It also cannot be used for Dark Arts. Ever. The wand will not allow it. Dragon heartstring is powerful and temperamental. The two together are a famous combination-doubly powerful. But, of course, only able to be used for good. The length is just long enough that your character is not lacking, and indicates, in word, elegant spells. And the swishiness, well, that says wonderful things about you. This is a good wand, Miss Potter. And, of course, you are foretold to destroy a horrific wizard with it."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand." Isabel was bewildered.
"The wand chooses the wizard, Miss Potter. Or witch, of course. But it matches itself to its partner-to you. This wand knew you were right for it. Now, here's a pamphlet on wand care, and this is cleaning oil. Please take good care of your wand. Seven Galleons." A little surprised at the sudden change of topic, Isabel dug out seven galleons.
#*~*#
"Now, a chair for you." The man went back into the shelves and returned with a chair for Isabel, who, Harry noticed, seemed to be in a slight daze. "Did I introduce myself? I'm Ollivander. Ah, you. Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy. I didn't notice you there. How…nice….to see you again. Hagrid, wasn't it?"
"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.
Isabel was delighted. Did he just know Hagrid's wand type, but not his name?
Looks like it. Harry grinned at her.
"Good wand, yours. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.
Expelled? Huh.
"Er — yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.
"But you don't use them?" said Mr. Ollivander sharply.
"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.
"Good, good. Well, that's fine and dandy." said Mr. Ollivander, smiling. "Well, now — Mr. Potter. Let me see. We'll find your wand the traditional way." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"
"Er — well, I'm right-handed," said Harry.
"Miss Potter? Would you give me a hand? Please measure your brother's arm while I look for wands. Hmm…"
Isabel got up and crossed to Harry. She seemed reluctant to let go of her wand.
Hold out your arm. That's it. She measured Harry from shoulder to finger and called the measurement to Ollivander.
"Very good! Now, Miss Potter, wrist to elbow."
On Ollivander's instructions, Isabel measured shoulder to floor, knee to longest toe, width of fingers and round Harry's head.
Iz, you alright?
Yeah. It's just…as soon as I touched my wand, it was like it was part of me, or something. It didn't feel right to leave it.
Ollivander returned with an armful of boxes. He nodded at Isabel. "Thank you, dear."
"Now, Mr. Potter." He puffed up his thin chest, and recited with an air of boredom, like he was explaining to a two-month old how to spell their name (an ultimately useless and time-wasting endeavor), "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. But it's not just the core that affects your wand. Length, flexibility and the wood used all make your wand unique. For instance, your mother's wand was a ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work, whereas your father's, his was eleven inches. Mahogany, pliable, good for transfiguration. Already very different, even before you add in the cores. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand. Though you may get passable results with your sister's wand. Because you are twins, you know." He added the last bit as a kind of aside, but he looked fascinated by what he was saying.
Isabel understood him in a flash. Mr. Ollivander was a scholar. He liked studying wands, and wand-lore. He probably owned this shop for research purposes (like what he was saying now about Harry being able to use her wand, and the incident with Isabel's wand coming to her on its own) and for bills. Poor Mr. Ollivander.
She shared this with Harry.
You're right, Iz! And the way he mumbles to himself like before-
-He's getting lost in his train of thought!
Yes.
Both twins felt better. They liked to understand people-what made them tick. To psycho-analyze, though as they were eleven they didn't know that word. When they had figured out that Aunt Petunia would do anything for Dudley, was lazy and liked to think of herself as a lady, their lives had improved. They had continued, emboldened by success, and decided that Uncle Vernon was scared of seeming different, and liked to be superior.
Dudley was lazy and greedy, and liked to show his father that they were the same-on the same side, and so Dudley would dob you in for things. Isabel suspected his willingness to prove himself to his father stemmed from fear that if he didn't, Uncle Vernon would turn on him.
They had applied this technique on teachers, kids at school, Mrs Figg, Aunt Marge and many of Aunt Petunia's friends. It was very useful.
Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Isabel had sat. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down more boxes, muttering something how he hadn't factored in the "twin element when coupled with Harry's finger width".
"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beech-wood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."
Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once. Isabel made a desperate attempt to smother her giggle at his look of horror.
"It's all wrong! What about…"He hovered over the boxes and peered at the labels, written in a spidery hand. "Perhaps. Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try —"
Harry tried — but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.
"No, no — here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."
Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for, and he wished his wand was like Isabel's, that it would simply come to him, like a dog to its owner. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become. Meanwhile, Hagrid had pulled out his newspaper and Isabel was inspecting her "Wand Care For Idiots" pamphlet.
"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere — I wonder, now…..yes, why not…unusual combination…. holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid and Isabel whooped and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well … how curious … how very curious …"
Well done, Harry!
Thanks.
Ollivander gently took Harry's wand and put it back into its box.
Harry felt wrong. He understood Isabel's "it was a part of me". All his instincts ye wrapping it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious … curious …"
"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"
Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother — why, its brother gave you that scar."
Harry swallowed.
"Voldemort? Voldemort's wand?" Isabel's eyes went wide and paled.
"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember. … I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter. … After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great." Harry shivered. He paid for his wand, and Mr. Ollivander closed the door behind them with a bang as they exited his shop.
May be a while til the next one, and I possibly maybe might go through and edit some old chapters. Will keep you posted if I do.