Chapter three

Interulde: Albus, Lucius and Ollivander

Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, regarded the letter in his hands with bemused curiosity. It would be quite an amusing situation were it not for the complete bewilderment that drowned out all other emotions.

The letter was addressed to him, as the headmaster which was a delightful break from all the missives he got requiring his help in more political matters, and went on to cheerfully tell him how he now had an addition to his staff. An eleven-year old addition who, according to the words written on the parchment, was to fill the position of Alchemy professor starting come term. Alchemy, a course that had not been offered at Hogwarts for over five decades.

It was signed by M. I. Serly & P. E. Nurious, notorious attorneys in the more affluent circles. They were renowned for either winning their cases or causing their opponents to vanish. They were like sharks, usually handling cases that would net them and their clients mountains of gold. He had dealt with them from some distance in the past, so he knew a bit, but Lord Goudsmid van Zevenwoude-Oosterberg was someone Albus had never heard of before. It was probably a relative of the mentioned boy-professor, he reasoned, or some family-friend or overall good Samaritan.

Not that it mattered, of course, it was presumptuous to think that some centuries-old vow could make him give an eleven-year-old tenure. He cracked a grin and threw the letter in the air, letting it dissolve into colourful sparkles with a wave of his wand.

"A Nimbus two-thousand, you have good taste." Lucius Malfoy commented, regarding the man standing in line in front of him. He was dressed a bit like a muggle, he supposed, he could have been mistaken for one were it not for the broomstick in his hands.

"Ah, yes." the man shrugged with one shoulder. "My daughter recently bullied me and my wife into buying her a Grenian and it's such a chore getting dear Willoughby back in from the pasture when he decides not to be a nice horse and get in his bloody stable himself. So we've been recommended buying one of these little things, it should keep up with the blasted beast and spare my girl hours of standing in the mud and crying while her horse flies circles around her."

A few things from the man's words immediately made Lucius stand up straighter and smirk just a bit more aristocratically. The man had to be magical to have a daughter with a Grenian, and rich as well to buy not only a Grenian but also to 'buy one of those little things', the little things in question being the newest, top-of-the-line brooms that cost quite a tidy sum of galleons. So the man had to be pureblood, maybe not Sacred Twenty-Eight but rich and pure, which was all that mattered in most cases.

"Lucius Malfoy," he stuck out his hand and laid the charm on thick.

The man smiled and they shook hands. "John Granger."

Both names were bland and unfamiliar, but Potter and Black were quite boring names as well and yet they belonged to what had once been the most prominent families of all. With that in mind he made sure to look as dignified as ever and not let his disappointment show.

"Charmed. Pray tell, are you new to the community? Small as it is we tend to know one-another and I've never seen you before." Lucius smiled guilelessly.

John Granger scratched the back of his head with a bit of an awkward tilt to his lips. "I suppose it shows, doesn't it? But yes, we've only recently moved and we're still a bit busy getting our things in order here. It is quite a change."

Ah, mystery solved. They had just moved here from the continent, which, admittedly, would be quite a change. The backwards way they went about things across the Channel was truly incomprehensible. The only good thing they had was their more progressive view of the less cuddly kinds of magic.

He kept the victorious grin that threatened to emerge at bay and instead kept his kind mask on. "If you ever have a need of a helping hand or a bit of advice I beg you, please don't hesitate to ask. I have acquaintances who went through the same change and they later said that the help was vital in getting them back on their feet. Some of the differences in culture and, of course, the political climate are quite vast."

The look on his newest pawn's face said more than words ever could, he had fallen for his honeyed words without as much as a token struggle if his grateful expression was anything to go by.

"Oh Lord, yes please. We've just moved into this massive estate that my wife and I know almost nothing about and my daughter keeps popping out of every corner with some new obscure way to remove one's spleen and how to make it rain on Thursdays with only pickled brains and monkey tails and I fear I'm going crazy. My wife isn't helping much because she's off bullying the workmen into getting her kitchen in order and trying to find a way for our car to work on the property without the electronics frying themselves."

Cars, he thought distastefully, they had to be one of these progressive continental wizards with an unhealthy fascination with muggle 'technology'. He'd train that out of him, once the poor chap had a good look at how proper pureblood society was run here he'd be getting rid of his electronics faster than one could cast the vanishing spell themselves.

So Lucius smiled kindly and nodded in faux-understanding while his victim talked about too big houses, annoying flying horses and suddenly inheriting millions, who suddenly inherits millions?

Garrick Ollivander prided himself on his ability to match young witches and wizards to wands that would suit them the most, no matter the consequences. He had handed young Tom Riddle the wand that would turn him great. Evil, but great nevertheless. Had he given him one of inferior suitability the world would have been a different place. But he hadn't and the world was as it was. For him life went on as it did. Crafting wood and turning them into the greatest magical tools known to wizardingkind. The smile on the children's faces when they found their match was magical, it was the reason he went about his job with such steadfast diligence.

Young Lord Goudsmid van Zevenwoude-Oosterberg, as his parents had gleefully informed him their son was to be called, was a tad bit more difficult. He had tried elm, which always went well with proud, aristocratic people. He tried cedar after, the wood being known for often choosing people whose ambitions would carry them far. When both hornbeam and black walnut failed to get good matches Garrick only grew more enthusiastic.

"A challenge, are you? No worries lad, I've never had to turn away a customer before. Here we go, yew and unicorn hair, twelve inches. It should be-"

The windows exploded before he could as much as utter the remainder of his sentence. He clapped in his hands, grinning broadly. This boy was a marvel, a true marvel.

"No no no, no yew at all. I fear it's a tad bit too heroic for you, let's go with cherry and try the unicorn hair again-"

His windows exploded quite a few times more. He also had his counter set on fire, all the boxes with wands stacked on the shelves clattering to the floor and (which he decided was the most memorable) witnessed a wand actually fleeing from the boy's grip, levitating itself back into its box.

"Let's deviate a bit from the more common cores, I think you might just be the kind of person who could pull off a wand with the toenail of a troll that recently walked through vampire remains."

The boy's parents protested vehemently to that idea, as did the young lord himself, which Garrick thought was a true shame. The last person who ended up with such a wand had become the youngest duelling champion of the world and had eventually successfully crafter a philosopher's stone with which he was currently enjoying his near-endless life with his wife.

It took another two hours to get little Lord Goudsmid van Zevenwoude-Oosterberg fitted with a wand that would have him. In the end he left the shop carrying a ridiculously rigid, eleven-inch spruce wand with a core made of a few feathers from a cockatrice. He watched the boy go with a thoughtful gaze. The last known person to wield a cockatrice wand had been .. well .. it did him little good to think of what the future might hold for the child. Cockatrice wand or not, it was the combination with spruce he had to worry about.

Garrick rubbed his chin, staring sightlessly at the alley through his storefront. He dearly hoped the boy would not end up causing the kind of chaos he feared he could, if so he should perhaps retire a few years early and find himself some faraway island to hide out at.

Cockatrice, he shook his head mournfully. Nothing good ever came from a cockatrice wand.

Needless to say, Lucius has things all wrong. Mr. Granger is and forever will be a muggle.