A/N: I am aware this is short, but I hope it's a satisfying conclusion. Okay, now for some shameless self advertising.
Check out my other stories: read Evil is as Evil Does if you like a coherent!mildly-delusional!Voldemort who really just wants Quirrell to understand that teaching and dark-lording are equally important jobs, and that you should definitely, never ever give less than 100% effort.
The bell tinkled as the door opened and a woman and a boy walked in. The woman had fiery red hair and brilliant emerald eyes. The boy, who was clearly her son, had those same flashing eyes, but had black hair instead of red. He looked around nervously.
"Ms. Evans! Or is it Mrs. Potter now?" Ollivander slowly made his way around the pile of wands and Tom's latest project.
"It's Potter," she placed a proud hand on her son, "And this is my son, Harry Potter."
"Why yes, Harry Potter. You have your mother's eyes, you know."
A smile made its way onto Harry's face. He was a tall, healthy child with a fair amount of mischief on his eyes. Tom knew he wouldn't try anything in the wand shop, though. Ollivander commanded a lot of respect.
"Thank you sir."
The show commenced, Ollivander at his most dramatic, watching wands break windows and destroy various parts of his shop. He danced around, pulling long boxes of wands from his shelves and feeling their wood and core. Tom looked on in faint amusement. He knew the general wizarding populace felt Ollivander to be mysterious and ancient, but they had no real idea of what lay behind his carefully constructed demeanor. Ollivander was a wandmaker, but it was for different reasons than people expected.
About 30 years ago . . .
Learning to be a wandmaker was frustrating, Tom reflected. He could barely believe that's what he left behind his old life for. Neither could his followers. It took a few well-applied memory charms to make them settle down and stop casting the dark mark every couple days. The country was abuzz with questions as to why and how this up-and-coming dark lord of Magical Britain disappeared. Most rumors pointed to Dumbledore as his vanquisher. Tom snickered whenever he heard that one. Dumbledore was far too weak and troubled to go after him personally. Whatever Dumbledore was in his prime, he wasn't now.
Choosing to learn with Ollivander was a tough decision. In the beginning, Tom's rage was a volcano, liable to explode at any given time. On one memorable occasion, his accidental magic blew out all the windows in the shop. Tom was only there because his fear of death was so great, and hated Ollivander for forcing him to choose between ruling Magical Britain and becoming immortal. Sometimes, Tom regretted staying. Occasionally, he fantasized about killing the old man in his sleep. He never followed through, though. In a strange way, Ollivander was the only person in the world who actually knew him. In return, Tom cared for Ollivander in way he'd never cared for anyone but himself before.
"Help me prepare these woods, child," called Ollivander from the back room.
Tom gave an aggravated sigh, but it was a fond sigh. He hurried to the back room, ready to assist Ollivander in the arduous task of cleansing and purifying the woods.
Ollivander was a wandmaker because he cared deeply about everything and everyone. His kindness to the forest and his love for magical creatures allowed him to use their wood and feathers without repercussion. He was devoted to the earth, and the earth cherished him in return. It gifted him with the ability to understand the tree-song and listen to bird-speak.
Ollivander cared about Tom. He cared enough to stop him from travelling along the dark path he was travelling on before Ollivander intervened.
Tom was learning to care too. He was, after all, a wandmaker.