Not Worth it
Chapter 6
The Wand Shop
Merope's next dream took on a lonely, gloomy turn. Nearly a month went by with no word from Tom. She never went out of the house. Not even to see the doctor. She didn't want to explain why her husband was not with her. She wrote him every day
Merope spent most her time pacing in the front room, looking at the door and hoping Tom would walk through it. It was getting hard for her to move with her growing stomach. She was seven months pregnant now. Wasn't Tom going to come back to see his child be born? She groaned and sat in Tom's favorite chair. After sitting for a few minutes, there was a knock on the door.
"Tom!" she exclaimed. "Tom, you've come back!"
She hurried to the door and opened it. Instead of her estranged husband standing before her was the anxious looking landlord. She frowned in disappointment.
"Mrs. Riddle, we haven't received your husband's check," the landlord said.
"He's on a trip," Merope said hesitantly.
"Yes you said that," the landlord said. "But the situation stands, you are already behind on rent. I've been lenient so far because of your…condition…but if you don't give me the rent money by the end of this week then I'm afraid you'll have to leave."
"What?" Merope gasped. "You can't!"
"I'm sorry," the landlord told her. "Please pay your rent or find a new place to stay."
The landlord turned and walked away. Her nosy neighbor across the way was peeking at Merope with her door partly open. When she noticed Merope looking at her, she grinned and shut the door. Merope sighed and stepped back into her apartment. She leaned against the door and slid against it as the tears formed in her eyes. She had never felt so much emotion in her entire life than she had at that moment. Sadness. Grief. Anger. Frustration. Confusion. Misery. How did this happen? After eighteen years of the abuse she received from Marvolo and Morfin, she just desperately wanted a change. She wanted one kind word, one smile, one gentle touch and she wanted it from Tom Riddle. Once he gave it to her, she just wanted more. She continued to give him the potion until it was used up. Not even magic could help her now. It was like the magic left her when he did. Disgusted with herself, she broke her wand in half and threw it away.
Merope had gone too far and she had no one to blame but herself. One dose was enough, but to continue slipping it into his food and drink for an entire year? She might as well have given him poison. She was given a chance when Marvolo and Morfin were taken to prison and she ruined it, all for false love. There was also the chance that she refused to be with him after being with the tramp's daughter. Merope hadn't just ruined her life. She ruined Tom's too.
A pain in her abdomen reminded her that she had forgotten someone. Of course. The fetus inside her; its life was ruined before it even started. Its mother was an inbred pauper and its father a prestigious snob. It was not created out of deep devotion and love, like children should be. Instead it was created out of desperation and falsehood. Its parents did not truly love each other. It was going to be born without a father. There was no point in denying it. What was going Merope going to say to the child when it got old enough to ask questions? Could she really admit that the father left because of a mistake she had made? What would the child do? What if it was a girl, born to look like Merope? Could she explain that using a love potion wasn't the best way to get a boy's attention? What if it was a boy, born to look like Tom? Who would teach him to be a man? She didn't have strong male role models herself.
Merope shook her head. No she couldn't bear to tell the child why it grew up without a father. The child would be better off not knowing her either. She did not have good parents. She knew nothing about raising a child. Could she find a job, pay the rent and rear a child all on her own? No, it was impossible. She had only two options: end her sorry life and in the process, the fetus. The other was to leave the child to be raised by strangers. How was she to know that anyone would take such a child in? If it looked anything like her, no one would want to raise it either.
Merope thought of suicide many times. She could never think of a way that was suitable. Stabbing herself seemed too scary. She hated the sight of blood. There were too many poisons to choose from. Also once she was dead, who would be the poor soul that would find her corpse? The landlord? What if he was accused of killing her for not paying the rent? She didn't want to ruin anymore lives. Did she really want someone to find an ugly dead pregnant girl left at home, or in the street?
A part of her still hoped that maybe, just maybe, Tom would return get the child. Maybe that was what he was waiting for. Yes, the child would be better off in his care. As long as the child looked nothing like her, he'd come for it. There was still that possibility. Certainly he was just a little curious about his child? There was just three months of pregnancy left to go. She could make it, couldn't she?
Whether she could make it through the pregnancy or not, there was a real pressing matter. She had to find money and fast. Was there anything in this place worth selling? She went to the landlord's office and told him he could have anything of value in the apartment as payment. The only things she had left was the clothes on her back, a few days worth of food and dishes and her rocking chair. It was barely enough to pay the rent she was behind on.
About a month later, she decided to pawn her wedding ring. Not only did she need the money, but the ring was just another reminder of her biggest mistake. She walked into a pawnshop and the clerk was already assisting someone. She dawdled about, playing with the ring on her finger. What if this ring was cursed? If a man bought this ring and gave it to his bride, would their marriage fall apart too?
"Madam, can I help you?"
Merope didn't notice that the other customer was done. Whether the ring was cursed or not, she needed the money. She could only hope this ring would not bring bad luck to the new couple as it did for her and Tom.
Merope slowly went up to the counter, eyes on her ring. Her lip trembling, she took off her ring and placed it down. "I—I need to sell my ring," she said.
"Did your husband lose his job?"
Merope didn't reply.
"He didn't leave you a widow, did he?" the clerk asked. "Poor dear."
Merope shook her head. "How much?"
Merope received seven hundred pounds for the ring, along with the clerk's condolences. When she returned to the apartment with the money, the landlord was showing her apartment to a young, beautiful couple with a young baby.
"Mrs. Riddle," he said in surprise. Merope stood in the doorway, confused.
"We'll move in as soon as the apartment is ready," the man said, shaking hands with the landlord.
"It can be ready by the end of the week," the landlord promised him and the couple walked out.
The landlord turned to Merope. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Riddle, but they needed a place and this was the only apartment available."
"I don't understand," said Merope. "I still live here."
"I'm afraid you don't, not anymore," said the landlord.
"I have rent!" she held a fistful of fifty pound notes in her hand.
He shook his head. "I don't know what you did to get that money."
"I sold my wedding ring!" Merope said.
"You've let me take nearly all of your possessions last month as rent," he said. "Now you've sold your ring. What will you do next? You don't have a job."
"I'll find something," Merope insisted. "Let me stay, just one more month until I have my baby."
"They already have a baby," the landlord told her.
"Where can I go?" Merope inquired.
"I recommend a hotel," the landlord replied.
Merope sighed. She knew she was fighting a losing battle. She turned around and left.
Living in a cheap hotel was better than living in the old cottage back in Little Hangleton, but she missed her home with Tom. She knew he was no longer there, but she was losing more and more things that reminded her of him.
In the week of Christmas, she had one last valuable: Slytherin's locket. Taking it to a muggle was not a wise idea. The unsuspecting muggle might die. She decided to take it to Knockturn Alley. She didn't like that place. It was so different compared to Diagon Alley. Diagon Alley didn't have a Slytherin air about it. Nobody would want to buy a Slythern artifact. Knockturn Alley dealt with the dark arts and there was no doubt that Slytherin was a dark wizard himself. Merope walked through the snowy street until she got to Borgin and Burkes.
She walked in and a the door made low wail. She gasped in surprise and nearly tripped. She stood still for a while so she could get room. There were many dusty and old thigns on the shelves. She approached the counter, where a middle aged man stood with a large grin. His brown hair was in danger of covering his eyes.
"Welcome to Borgin and Burkes," he said. "I'm Caractacus Burke."
She nodded in greeting.
"What kind of deal can I make for you today?" Burke said.
"I'd like to sell my locket," Merope said, taking it off. As she did so, she felt as if ten pounds had been lifted off her shoulders. She slid it to him. "I need the money badly. I'm about to have a baby."
Though it was obvious she was pregnant, Burke looked at her as if he couldn't believe it. Instead of mentioning her pregnancy, he acted all business. He took out a monocle to examine the locket.
"Looks like a normal locket to me," he said. "The chain might be real gold."
"It belonged to Slytherin," said Merope.
His hands flinched slightly and he glanced up at her. "Girl, you're not the first person to put an "S" on something and claim it belonged to Slytherin."
"It's been in my family for generations," Merope insisted. "My father said it belongs to Slytherin."
"I'll need a week to fully examine it," Burke told her. "To see if it really is Slytherin's, and if it holds any powers."
Merope bit her lip. She didn't have a week. She had already got two days without food. "I can't wait that long. Any tests that you can do right now?"
"Let's see if this is made out of real gold."
"That won't take long, will it?"
"No, it's simple," he said. He scratched the chain and locket then placed in a bowl to test it. "Merlin's beard. It is real gold. Though I can't tell if it's goblin made. I'd have to get a goblin to examine it."
"How much can you give me now?" Merope said hopefully.
"Ten galleons," Burke said after a pause.
"I'll take it," Merope told him. Ten galleons seemed like enough to get her through the week.
Burke grinned. "You've got yourself a deal."
Merope was wandering London looking for a place to eat. She had only two pounds to her name. Her hunger pains were getting worse by the minute. Then when liquid came down her leg she realized it wasn't hunger she was feeling, but the pains of labor. She wobbled down the street, gritting her teeth. She remembered where the London Orphanage was. She was so relieved when she made it. She almost tripped up the stairs and as she was about to knock on the door, it opened.
"Get in!" said a woman, just a few years older than she was.
She helped Merope inside and she shouted to others to get a bed ready. They laid her down on a bed and propped her feet up in stirrups.
"The baby will be here soon," said a man that looked like a doctor.
The pain was unbearable. They told her to push and she had no idea what they were talking about. She felt like her insides were coming out and her bones were breaking. Somehow the baby came out.
"It's a boy," said the doctor.
"I hope he looks like his papa," Merope murmured.
The doctor held up the infant. He did not have the face of a Gaunt. Merope was relieved. The doctor handed her son to a nurse to clean.
"We're almost done, dear," said the doctor. "Now you need to push out the afterbirth."
"Afterbirth?" said Merope.
"Yes, the placenta, we can't let it stay in there."
Merope didn't want to push anymore, but somehow she did. When the infant was cleaned, the nurse came over to Merope.
"Would you like to hold your son?"
Merope shook her head and looked away. She had done her part in bringing him in the world. There was nothing more she could do.
"Do you have a name for the child?"
Merope paused for a minute. A name? She had never thought of it before. Did she and Tom come up with any names? She couldn't remember. After Tom left, she was just taking things day by day. Her mind felt foggy from the pain and exhaustion. She didn't know many boy names. Then it dawned on her. What two men had the most influence in her life? Her father and husband.
"Yes, I have a name," said Merope, turning back to the nurse and using her elbows to prop herself up. "Call him Tom, after his father, and Marvolo, after mine."
"Tom Marvolo?" the nurse looked confused. "And his surname?
"Riddle," said Merope. "Tom Marvolo Riddle."
Merope lay back down and sighed. It was over. Her strength was waning and she knew she was not long for this world. It didn't matter to her. She was prepared to die. She no longer felt cold. Merope closed her eyes one last time. She felt her body become lighter and lighter, and then she was floating above her body. The doctor checked her pulse, shook his head at the nurses and then covered her body with a sheet.
The dream faded and Merope woke up in her cottage in Little Hangleton. She put her hand on her stomach, almost expecting to feel a bump. The dream had felt so real. She was surprised she hadn't woken up earlier due to the pain. She sat up against the bed board, allowing what she had just dreamed about to sink in. She saw every detail of what her life would be like after Tom left. She felt the humiliation and guilt so strongly. Was that really what she had to look forward to? Merope shook her head. The dream was over now.
She saw her mother's wand on the bedside table and remembered Emily's suggestion about getting a new wand. While she was at it, she might as well get supplies for her potion lab. After eating a small breakfast and bidding goodbye to her pet snake, Merope took of to Diagon Alley.
When she got to Ollivander's a woman with light blond hair welcomed her at the counter.
"Goon morning," she said. "Looking for a wand?"
"Yes," said Merope, setting her mother's wand on the counter. "This was my mothers, but it doesn't seem to work for me."
"No problem. We'll find a wand that will work for you." Mrs. Ollivander examined the wand. "Ah, looks like the wood is hemlock. Quite common. Ten and a half inches. And the core," she bent down, placing monocle in her eye. She gasped and stood straight up. "Runespoor fang! Who made this wand?"
Merope shrugged. "I don't know."
"The wand looks like its two centuries old," Mrs. Ollivander said.
"It's possible," said Merope. "Must've belonged to my grandmother, and her mother before her."
Mrs. Ollivander took out a tape measure. "Wand arm?"
Merope held out her right hand and she measured her arm. Then she grabbed a quill and starting wring notes. "Tell me about yourself."
"Sorry?"
"It will help me find the wand right for you," she said. "My husband likes handing wands out randomly, but I take a moment to get to know the customer first. Certain cores and woods go well with certain people."
Merope nodded in understanding.
"Can you picture yourself dueling others?" Mrs. Ollivander asked.
"Oh, no!" Merope shook her head. She lost far too many duels with Marvolo. "I want to use useful spells. I don't plan on hurting anyone."
"So you're not interested in the dark arts?"
"Of course not!" Merope said.
"Good to know," said Mrs. Ollivander with a smile. "Just find it odd that the core from your wand comes from an animal prized from dark wizards."
"There may have been dark wizards in my family but I'm not like that. I want to just see what I am good at."
"Well, don't worry. We often don't carry cores from dark animals," said Mrs. Olivander. "What about defense against the Dark Arts?"
Merope thought about it. She didn't want to confront the Dark Arts. She knew she'd never do good as a what were they called—aurors? However, if she ever had to live with her brother and father again, she'd like to know how to defend herself from their nasty curses.
"Yes, if I needed to," Merope admitted.
"Like working with animals?"
"Yes, as long as they're not dangerous."
"Like the outdoors?"
"Very much," said Merope. "I like collecting herbs and making potions."
"Interested in underwater casting?"
Merope looked confused.
"Some cores help with underwater casting," Mrs. Ollivander explained. "It might be helpful if you want to find underwater herbs."
Merope shrugged. "I suppose. I'm not too bothered."
"Divination?"
"I didn't think there were any divination spells," Merope admitted.
"Not many," Mrs. Ollivander explained, "there are spells that help the seer in divination."
"All right."
"Interested in transfiguration?
Merope remembered watching Emily perform transfiguration spells. They looked complicated, but something she might want to try. She nodded.
"Charms?"
Merope nodded again.
So you'd like a wand that will help you draw out your inner talents?" Mrs. Olivander asked, raising her head the parchment.
"Yes, do you have any?"
"I'm sure we can find something." Mrs Ollivander said. "All right, core wise you'd be suited for aventurine powder, Fairy hair or wing, and the hair of a merperson. Aventurine powder is associated with balance and brings good fortune, so is a good all around wand. Now for fairy wing or hair is the most powerful wand for charms, and it's an average wand for transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Also associated with Divination. Hair of a merperson does have the reputation of being quite temperamental, but if it you can get it to work, it's excellent for herbology, potions and underwater casting.
"As for woods, apple is good for care of magical creatures and herbology. Unfortunately apple wands are rare. Birch, Beech, Cherry, Elm and Pine are good wands, and quite common. Birch isn't a very powerful wand, but it is great for protective spells. Beech is quite strong, neutral and reliable, though it is weak for underwater casting. Cherry is has a positive outlook for the caster and quite easy to use. Elm is sturdy, adds stability to spells. Lastly, pine is good for learning spells, and only is particularly powerful when used for casting under water. A wand between nine and ten inches seems right for you, something swishy and whippy."
Merope felt a little bit of excitement stir up inside her. At least they were getting somewhere.
"Just give a moment to see what I can find," Mrs. Ollivander said, stepping away. She returned after about ten minutes with a dozen boxes in her arms.
"Let's start off with underwater wands," Mrs. Ollivander said. "This is pine and the hair of a merperson. Let's give it a try."
Merope waved her wand and nothing happened. Mrs. Ollivander took it from her and handed her another one. "Merperson hair and elm."
Again, nothing. Merope shook her head. "I'm sorry, I can't."
"We have plenty of more wands," Mrs. Olivander said. "Don't worry. I think we'll stick with aventurine powder and fairy wing wands."
Mrs. Ollivander studied the selection of wands on the counter. "Hmm, let's see, aventurine and Cherry, maybe?"
Again and again, over and over, there were hardly no results with any of the wands. With the last wand, Merope dropped it and collapsed in the chair, bursting in tears.
"It's no use!" she cried. "I can't do magic with any wand!"
"Don't fret, dear," Mrs. Ollivander said, conjuring a handkerchief. "This happens many times. My husband likes to experiment with many cores, you see. There is just too much for us to choose from. We'll find you a wand yet."
"What if you can't?" Merope demanded. "What if none of your wands work for me?"
"Then we'll just make one," said man's voice.
"Gervaise," Mrs. Ollivander said as she turned around. Her husband Gervaise stood by the wall of boxes. His hands and clothes were covered in sawdust, hairs and powder from extensive wand-making and studying. His hair was light brown and he wore small spectacles.
"None of the wands we've used seem to be working," Mrs. Ollivander said as she approached her husband. "I keep telling you that these cores don't work!"
"Moira, dear I'm getting quite close to finding exceptional wand cores," Gervaise said. "There are cores for everybody, troll whiskers for example-,"
"Troll whiskers, you can't be serious!" Moira exclaimed. "We have twenty different cores, six different wand lengths and flexibilities, a hundred woods—we have to make it easier to match the wands with the customers!"
"I know dear, I know," Gervaise told his wife. "There are just so many different magical creatures and substances to use as cores. It'll take some time."
"Wand making has been in your blood for centuries," his wife argued. "How can it take this long to get it right?"
"Wand making is quite a mystery, my dear," he said gently. He turned his eyes to Merope. "Now then, let's see what we can do to get you your wand. What wands have we tried so far?"
"Every nine-to-ten inch apple, birch, beech, cherry, elm and pine with aventurine powder, fairy hair or wing and merperson hair cores," Moira reported. "If we had more apple wands, maybe…"
"You know apple wands are rare, sacred to druids you see," Gervaise said gently as he looked at the mess of wands on the counter. "And besides, Hogwarts has just started so we're low on wands." He cocked his head and picked up Merope's wand. "What about this hemlock wand?"
"I brought that in," Merope explained. "It's been in my family for a long time."
"It looks quite old," Moira added. "The core is Runespoor fang. It can't be one of ours."
Gervaise swallowed and turned to the two women. "I'm afraid you are wrong, dear. This is an Ollivander wand."
"What?" Moira gasped. "No one in your family made wands with Runespoor fangs before. They're too rare."
"This was made by Geraint in the thirteenth century," he confirmed.
"I remember reading about him," said Moira. "He considered it an honor to match a wizard with a cypress wand because that wizard would die heroically."
"Yes, that's true," Gervaise said with a smile. "He was a very accomplished wand-maker. It was common that most wizards would ask him to make custom wands for their families, such as this wand." He looked at Merope. "You must be a Gaunt?"
Merope nodded. "Yes, I'm Merope Gaunt. Marvolo is my father. I have a brother, Morfin."
"I see, my ancestor Geraint made not just this wand, but five others containing a Runespoor fang for your ancestor, Aeson Gaunt."
"Wait, he made six of those?" Moira demanded. "Whatever for?"
"If I remember right," said Gervaise, "they were gifts for his sons and their brides. Geraint kept a record about most of them, but I think for this particular case, he left a memory behind. He wanted us to know about these wands. To this day, I'm not entirely sure. It was so long ago. I thought it was so we knew his wand-making style."
"Memory?" Merope said. "I don't understand."
"He stored the memory of Aeson's request and the forging of the six wands," Gervaise explained. "That was around the time of the invention of the pensive. It was easy to preserve than ink and paper. Every so often we look at the memories together."
"Oh yes, we have quite a collection of memories, don't we?" Moira said, suddenly remembering. "I've seen the ones of your great-grand father's work. He was sure fond of using Hickory."
"Do you still have this memory?" Merope inquired. "May I…see it?"
"I haven't seen it either," Moira told him. "You don't mind if we close for an hour?"
"Very well," said Gervaise flicked his wand at the door and it locked. The sign said "closed until two o'clock." He turned to his wife and Merope. "Follow me, mind the stairs."
He led them upstairs, where they lived. There were shelves of sorts of animal parts and wand-making materials. On a table was a large basin with runes. Merope gazed at it.
"Never seen a pensieve before?" Moira inquired and Merope shook her head. As Gerbaise looked for the right memory, Moira explained how pensieve worked and what the runes meant. Merope thought it was fascinating.
"All right, here we go," said Gervaise, approaching with a vial of memory. He poured it into the basin. He turned to Merope. "You should go in first."
"How?"
"Just lean into the basin," Moira explained. "The pensieve will do the rest."
Merope did as she was told. The memory pulled her inside. She was no longer in the wand-maker's shop, but now she stood in the middle of a swamp, with streams going every which way. She was followed by Moira and Gervaise. There was another man taking good care not to get his feet stuck.
"That must be Geraint," Gervaise said. "Let's go."
The three followed Geraint until he reached a wall with a gate. On the side was a houseelf that was dozing in a chair.
"Excuse me," said Geraint.
The house elf woke up and when he realized he had been sleeping he began applogizing profusely and bowing his face to the earth. "I mean not to fall asleep. Please do not tell my master!"
Geraint was taken aback. "All right, all right," he said. "My name is Geraint Ollivander. Your master wanted to see me."
"He did, he did," the house elf answered. He snapped his fingers and the gate opened. "Come, come, my master has been waiting."
Gerait thanked the elf and followed him down a path that led to a grand house. There was a large garden beside it. The grounds were gorgeous. Merope could not believe it. This was where her family lived?
The elf knocked on the door and a female house elf answered.
"Geraint here to see Master," said the male elf.
The female elf nodded solemnly and led the wand-maker inside the house. The design was exquisite. A grand staircase and fancy furniture. She took him to the drawing room where Aeson Gaunt sat behind a desk. Unlike the other Gaunts that Merope knew, this man wasn't dressed in rags and he had finer features.
"Geraint! You got my message, good," he said. He stood up to shake hands with him. "I trust you made it all right?"
"Yes, thank you, Aeson."
Aeson Gaunt glared at his house elf. "Why are you just standing there? Get to work!"
"I hate the way some wizards treat their house elves," Moira remarked, watching the poor elf scamper away.
"You said you wanted some customized wands?" Geraint said.
"I did," Aeson confirmed, approaching a table with different wines. "Six in total. Three for my sons and three for their brides. They are to wed their cousins next month
"Congratulations. What sort of wands would you like? The same wood and core?"
"Oh no, no," Aeson shook his head and chuckled. He gave Geraint and he accepted. . "No these wands won't be like the ones they had when they started Hogwarts. They have matured since then. No longer beginners. They are men now. I'll be supplying the wood and cores."
Geraint took a sip of wine and the two men sat down to continue discussing the wands. Merope walked around the room, amazed at its grandeur. Moira and Gervaise stood closer to Geraint, eager to learn more wand-making secrets.
"I know which core I wish to use," Aeson pulled a box from his desk. "You can supply these in each wand."
Geraint leaned forward as Aeson lifted up the lid. When he saw three vibrant orange snake heads lying within, he jumped, spilling his drink all over him.
"Merlin's beard!" he exclaimed.
"Oh they're dead, not to worry," Aeson said with a slight chuckle. "We had a Runespoor and the dreamer and planner bit off the critic's head. I decided to cut off the rest of the heads as well. A Runespoor without all three heads is useless to me."
"Why is Geraint here?" Moira inquired, turning to her husband. "If this man here had a Runespoor they must be dark wizards! He should have refused him."
"Shh," Gervaise shushed. He noticed Merop looking at them. She walked over to the box of Runespoor heads, looking forlorn.
"He killed the others," Merope whispered.
"My sons are like the heads of the parselmouth," said Aeson. "My oldest is a planner. He always knows what he needs to do and where to get it. Very ambitious. The second is quite a dreamer. Oh he has ideas of all these things he wants to do, but does he do them? No. The youngest is the critic. Always complaining about his brothers and himself. Never happy. It's a wonder the older two haven't done away with him as well!" Aeson laughed loudly. "Their soon-to-be wives are no different. Just like the heads of a Runespoor."
"You wish to give the fangs of the Runespoor to the counterparts for your sons and their brides?" Geraint said.
"Precisely!" Aeson raised his glass. "Planner for planner, dreamer for dreamer and critic for critic. My sons shall have the right fang while their wives with have the left."
"I've never used Runespoor fangs as wand cores before," Geraint admitted. "I can't promise how the wands will turn out."
"I'm sure you can manage," Aeson said. "You have a month. Should be plenty of time."
"What do you want to use as wood?" Geraint inquired.
"I'm glad you asked that," Aeson said, closing the box and getting up. "Come outside with me. I want to use the wood from the trees on my property, but I'm not sure which to use."
He showed him the grounds. It was full of many different plants, some magical and some mundane.
"I know that trees have meaning," said Aeson. "But I don't know them. I thought you could explain that to me."
"Dagwood, willows, birch, hemlock, hornbeam," Geraint said, pointing at each type of tree. "All these trees thrive in wetlands. Dogwood is common both masculine and feminine energy. It's a strong, rigid wood, have a bit of a violent edge and associated with wishes, secrets, loyalty and protection. Birch has a feminine energy and involved with patience, organization, leadership skills, diligence, loyalty and the calming of emotion. Willows are also feminine. It Enhances healing magic, both reliable and powerful. Strong for divination. Hemlock is commonly used as wand wood," Geraint explained. "Feminine energy, fast reactions and spell casting. Great for potions. The Hornbeam is masculine, also known as Musclewood or Ironwood because of its strength. It is rigid and hard to master, though it can be really powerful. That is one reason why Hornbeam wands are so rare."
"I see, I see," said Aeson. "Well, I would prefer masculine woods for my sons, feminine for their wives. Willow won't be necessary since my sons and their wives do not study it. I don't need women to be leaders. Work with the Dagwood, hemlock and hornbeam. I'll send you home with samples and you make me the six finest wands you can. You will be well compensated, I assure you."
"I'll do my best," said Geraint.
"Garden elf!" the elf that was minding the gate hurried forward. "Yes, master!"
"Cut off a branch from the hemlock, Dagwood and hornbeam trees," he ordered the elf. "And escort Geraint home. Be quick about it!"
"Yes master!" the elf replied and he complied.
"There's no need to have your elf carry the wood," said Geraint.
"Nonsense, hard labor is what they are good for," Aeson said. "I'll see you in about a month."
Geraint returned home with the box of parselmouth heads and wood smples. He offered some food to the house elf, which he refused and quickly disappeared. The memory shifted to show Geraint, looking tired and sitting next to the box that once had the parselmouth heads with six wands inside.
Gervaise groaned in disappointment. "He didn't leave the memory of him making them? I wanted to see how they would work!"
"I don't think he wanted us to know, Gervaise," Moira told him.
"You descendants or aspiring wand-makers that may be watching this memory right now," Geraint stated, surprising the three of them. Geraint was looking straight ahead, unsure of where the onlookers would be standing. "You should know that Runespoor fangs are dangerous to use as wand cores. I could not get it to work with the hornbeam. Not a good match. Hornbeam is too rigid.
Because the Runespoor's connection to the dark arts, there is no doubt these wands cast strong curses and spells related to the dark arts. Though they may perform powerful, flashy spells, they may scatter with some bad results. No doubt it will be difficult to control.
For the boys, I used the Dagwood. I just hope that they don't turn violent with these wands in my lifetime. I used hemlock for the women. If they don't have strong personalities, these wands should prove useful for them. I decided to make the sizes for each Runespoor head the same. For the planners I used ten inches, as this number is related to discipline, movement and organization. The dreamers I used eleven inches, this number is associated with the visionary. Because the number twelve represents perfectionism, I use this length for the critics."
"My mother's wand has a planner's fang," Merope said. "She was a planner."
"Mr. Gaunt expects his posterity to pass these wands down to the first son and daughter of each family. I admit; I fear what kind of deeds these wands will be used for. Be warned. That is all I can say. It is time for me to deliver these. I hope I never have to make a Runespoor wand again."
The memory closed and Merope returned to the Ollivander's attic with them. Merope sat down in a chair. She saw the beginning of the downfall of her family. The tradition of the family marrying their cousins. The dwindling of their fortune and their violence. There was no doubt her father had the wand of a critic.
"I should return this wand to you," Gervaise handed the hemlock wand back to her.
"I wanted to trade it for my new wand," said Merope. "You take it."
Gervaise shook his head. "I really think you should find the other wands and return them to the first owners, if you can. Wands should remain with their owners."
"I have no idea where they are," said Merope.
"I'll search Geraint's other memories," said Gervaise. "I'll only charge half price for your wand. If you find something you'd like me to forge your wand with, bring it by. In the meantime, I'll work on what I can. Moira, could you show her out?"
"Of course," said Moira, "this way, Merope."
Merope followed Moira down to the shop and Moira handed her the parchment she used to decipher her wand cores and woods.
"This will help. Do you live near a forest?"
"Yes, I do," Merope replied.
"I recommend you take a walk many walks in that forest, sit and ponder under the trees," Moira then handed her a pamphlet containing pictures and brief descriptions of trees, followed with pamphlets of magical creatures and magical stones.. "This will also help. I don't think finding a wood that may suit you will be a problem, but a core. I think we'll need to use something we've never used before. I don't think powdered stones would be as useful as something from an animal. The wood is living and so I think the core has to come from a living thing as well. Don't worry Merope, we'll find you a wand yet."
"Thank you," said Merope. Moira unlocked the door for her and changed the closed sign to open.
Unable to get her wand, Merope went to the apothecary to get her potion supplies. She bought two cauldrons, a scale, measuring equipment and mess of different ingredients and bottles. Merope returned home, slightly disappointed that she didn't get her new wand. However, she somehow expected this. How could a squib like her find a wand? No wand in the world would be a match. At least she still had her potion making. As soon as got home, she set up her potion lab. She opened up her mother's potion book to the first page and started making the potion. Once she made all the potions in the book in her mother's book, she'd move onto the next potion book. She was going to make a new potion every day, using one cauldron for every day potions and the other for more complicated potions. As her skill got stronger, she'd get another cauldron for juts poisons. She didn't want to risk any cross contamination. Of course, Merope never planned to use the poisons, but if she couldn't cast one single spell, sure was at least going to make every potion known to man. Then if she were to die giving birth to the world's worst wizard, at least she knew she had accomplished something.
TO BE CONTINUED