Chapter Eight
Emma was certain she had been inside the wandmaker's shop before. She didn't exactly remember it, but there was a certain familiarity about the long, wooden counter and the rows of boxes piled high on sagging shelves. When Ollivander himself appeared behind the counter she realised that she must have been mistaken; there was nothing familiar about the ascetic looking wizard in his muted robes, his fading hair shot through with grey. He had rather unnervingly pale eyes that lingered on her face before flicking to Severus where he stood just behind her.
"Mr Snape," he nodded. "Twelve and a quarter inches, mahogany, inflexible as I recall. My compliments to you. And who is your charming friend?"
Emma's heart sank down towards her toes. She hadn't realised just how much she had been depending on Severus' description of the strange wizard's uncanny ability to remember all those who purchased his wares.
"My name's Emma Jones, Mr Ollivander," she introduced herself as truthfully as she could. "I was hoping you might be able to help me with some questions about a wand."
He fixed her with a very direct stare. "I should certainly hope so, my dear. That is, after all, my livelihood."
Emma instantly worried that she might have offended him. "Oh, yes, of course," she agreed. "I have a wand here and I was wondering if you could tell me if it is one that you recognised. Or, if not, if you might know who had made it . . ."
He held out his hand and she retrieved her wand from her pocket, handing it over with a sense of trepidation. So much depended on what he might be able to tell her. She held her breath.
He turned the wand over with his nimble fingers, then held it to examine it the sickly light coming through the dusty windows. He seemed to weigh it carefully in each hand, and then, to her dismay, sniffed it lightly.
Severus straightened beside her. They both waited silently for the bizarre examination to come to a close.
Ollivander took his tape measure out of his shirt pocket and scribbled a few measurements down in a little notebook from the same place. He then placed the wand on a set of scales to the side of the counter and noted that down, too. He looked up so suddenly that Emma had to prevent herself from taking a step backwards.
"Miss Jones, do you think I might trouble you to cast a spell with this wand? A simple Lumos perhaps?"
Glancing at Severus, she took the wand and lit the tip. The old man nodded and made another note.
"Maybe a slightly more detailed spell? Something more complex? Here." He placed his measuring tape on the desk, and Emma paused briefly before her mind supplied the odd information that tape to tapeworm was a N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration spell. Deciding to ponder over that unlikely piece of information at a later time, she frowned in distaste as she flicked her wand. The tape uncoiled slowly as it began to change shape. The thing on the counter squirmed slightly; its white, glistening head twitching slightly as it searched for food. Emma shuddered and changed it back.
"Interesting," came the reply as yet more notes were scribbled in the little dog-eared notebook. "If I may?" Ollivander took the wand again and placed it reverently on his side of the counter.
"Doubtless, you are aware of the old adage that the wand chooses the wizard, Miss Jones?" he began. "Now, not all wands are chosen straight away. Some of the wands in this shop were crafted over one hundred years ago and gifted to me by my father when I took over the business. I've worked here for seventy-four years and have fashioned thousands of wands in my time. Not all will sell during my lifetime." His eyes fixed on hers. "Yet I remember every single one."
"Do you know why I tell you this, Miss Jones? You see, it is my wish to impress upon you that your faith is not unfounded. You came here hoping that I might remember if I had been the one to make this wand. Well, I remember every single wand I have ever made and I remember every single wand I have ever sold. Do you see?"
Emma nodded silently. The gaze of his pale eyes was intense and uncomfortable, and she was grateful when his picked up his eyepiece and returned his scrutiny to her wand.
"Yes," he murmured, his voice dropping an notch as his turned her wand over slowly to catch what little light filtered through the dusty shop. "Every wand I have ever made, including this one. Oh, yes." Emma flinched as his focus flicked suddenly back towards her, her heart racing at this simple admission. "Vinewood and Dragon heartstring. Able certainly, perhaps a little precocious. Good for rather complex charm work. Yes, I remember making this wand, very clearly. But selling it? No."
"She didn't steal it, if that is what you mean," Severus growled suddenly. Emma started, she had all but forgotten he was there.
"Well of course she didn't," the wandmaker replied dismissively. "It would take an exceptionally stupid or daring person to return here and question me after taking a wand and, forgive me, Miss, you seem like neither. Clever, I don't doubt. Maybe even relentless in your pursuit of truth, and probably brave enough when you need to be. But not reckless. No, never that."
"I wouldn't know." Emma admitted faintly, now thoroughly confused as to what, precisely, the old man was trying to impart to her. She could feel tears starting to prickle in the corners of her eyes, but was at a loss as to why.
"Ah, and therein lies the rub. You came here hoping I could tell you to whom this wand belongs, correct?"
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
"Yet, given its complete compatibility with your magic we must conclude that it is yours, is that also correct?"
"Yes."
"And from this I must infer that you do not know the name of the witch who owns this wand because you do not know who you are?"
Now crying in earnest, Emma could only nod. Severus took a step closer to the counter but Ollivander waved him away.
"This grows more fascinating yet, I'm afraid. You see, I remember every single wand I have ever made and this particular wand very clearly indeed. Indeed, I only finished it yesterday."
"But that's impossible," interrupted Severus. "She's had it for at least four days already!"
The wandmaker slid the wand over to Emma as he replied. "Judging by the wear, she's had it a lot longer than that. Quite impossible of course, but there it is."
"So, Miss Jones, who doesn't know who she is, are you simply not of this time or are you not of this place?"
-x-
Severus followed Emma closely as she stormed back down the busy street to the Leaky Cauldron. He'd been rather taken aback when she had burst into tears in the dusty little shop and had worried that she might dissolve into full blown hysterics upon hearing what Ollivander had to say about her wand. To his amazement, she had simply pocketed her wand and thanked the wizard calmly before exiting the shop. Watching her retreating figure, he realised that now she seemed more angry than anything else.
He remembered his father's favourite words of caution, the ones he used to justify every argument he ever had with his wife. "Never try to understand how a woman thinks, boy. Especially not if that woman is as unnatural as your mother. You'll only make yourself out to be a fool."
For the first time in his life, he wondered if his father might actually be on to something.
-x-
He trailed her, easily keeping up with her angry stride, as she stormed down the busy Alley and through the back yard of the pub. By the time he had located her within the gloomy interior of the Leaky Cauldron, she was already perched on a bar stool, speaking briskly with the landlord.
"I'd like a whisky, please. And not a Firewhisky either, a whisky whisky. And a pot of tea for two. And some sandwiches."
She knocked the whisky back in three short gulps, then led him to a little table in a dark alcove before pouring their tea in a far more ladylike fashion as they waited for the sandwiches.
She seemed composed.
Well, she seemed like she was bubbling away furiously just beneath the surface, but there was no further sign of tears, for which Severus was eternally grateful. He sipped his tea quietly, sensing that it was perhaps best wait until she was ready to talk.
They were half way through the sandwiches before the dam burst.
"Insufferable man," she suddenly hissed, placing her sandwich back on her plate with considerable force. "He knew the wand the moment it was out of my pocket. Why the theatrics?"
Severus watched her warily over his teacup. She picked up the sandwich again, then paused with it half way to her mouth to gesture with it instead. "'Judging by the wear she's had it a good deal longer than that' – couldn't he just have told me roughly how old the wand was? At least that would have given us some idea of how old I am."
She finished the sandwich in annoyed silence, chewing ferociously. After the second pot of tea, however, she had calmed down considerably.
"At least we know a little more about your wand," Severus finally ventured, hoping to placate her.
Emma sighed and leant back in her chair. "A little," she admitted. "Though really it raised way more questions than it answered. Before this I was just a lost witch with no memory. What am I now?"
"He couldn't have known that," he pointed out. "This is bigger than just wand lore."
"And what did he mean, not of this place? Like I'm from some sort of parallel universe? I mean, please." She huffed in annoyance. "The idea that I'm lost in time is bad enough without suggesting I'm from an alternate reality."
"Could you be from the future, then?"
It was the question he had been dying to ask since Emma had stormed from the shop. He hadn't wanted to be the first to raise it. Asking the question out loud made it so much more real, absurd as it was.
"Maybe," came the faltering reply. "It would explain why I couldn't remember anything, I suppose, if none of those things had happened yet. Unless I chose to lose my memories because I knew how harmful it can be to try and alter past events. Although why I'd go back in time, knowing I'd have no idea why I was there, just seems beyond me." She placed her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands. "This all seems beyond me," she admitted, quietly.
She didn't cry again, just sat there looking tired and defeated. Feeling unable to help, Severus simply sat watching her in silence. Eventually, their cups were cleared away and he glanced up at the clock over the bar.
"Let's go back home," he suggested. "It's nearly time for my tea, and my parents will get suspicious if I don't turn up for food. When I'm done, we'll go for a walk and clear our minds. See if we can't figure something out."
This seemed like the least helpful assurance he could offer, but Emma nodded and sat up, the darkness clearing from her eyes.
"That would be good."
He led the way back out to the untidy little yard and held out his hand. She took it in silence and pulled him closer until she was able to wrap her arms around his waist, her head resting lightly on his chest before the crushing dark of Apparition pulled them away.