"Olivander's, huh?"
Ronald Weasley was draped across a leather couch in the Grimmauld Place study late one evening, tossing a quaffle in the air to himself. Harry's best friend was a common fixture in that seat. Ron certainly earned enough through the joke shop to keep his own flat, but he found the comforts and the food at Grimmauld to be an incredible benefit of his friendship with Harry. Harry didn't mind the company in the slightest, so they continued their roommate status that they had formed in the Gryffindor dormitories. Grimmauld was large enough that they could each have their own space, avoid stepping on each other's toes, and still enjoy meeting up at the end of the day to unwind.
"Yeah. Did you even realize that Olivander had retired? Evidently his nephew has been running the shop for the last few years. I guess the wand-making business is a family one."
"I would have never guessed that that old coot had any family," Ron opined. "Last time we saw him was, what, Malfoy's dungeon?"
"Right in one. I never had a good impression of him. It always felt like fire and brimstone when he was around 'Terrible things! Yes! But. Great!" Harry often mocked that dialogue exchange in his mind. It was one of his first tastes of the wizarding world, and between Hagrid and Olivander, what a wild introduction it was.
Ron snorted. "When are you gonna go see this guy?"
"I have some time before classes start, so I figure either tomorrow or Friday morning."
This sentiment was met with a roll of Ron's eyes.
"I know how much you love going to Diagon. Bloody Harry Potter mania out there."
It was true. Six years had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts and Harry was still hounded in public. Between adoring fans and the advances of amorous women (and the occasional man), he had to be careful with his public appearances. He often used concealment charms to hide himself just to avoid scrutiny. Sure, the weight of the name Harry Potter could work in his favor, but he didn't want people fawning over him and doing him favors. That was never his style.
Harry grinned. "We all know how much Ron Weasley still loves all that limelight. Did I see the Daily Prophet's gossip column mentioning that you and Katie were out at that new restaurant in Diagon last week? Couldn't have been an easy table to get, hmm?"
"Being part of the 'Golden Trio' should benefit me in some way, Harry. Might as well use it to my advantage." Ron threw the quaffle at Harry. After the battle and departure of one third of the trio, Ron had found himself in a tough place. He dutifully followed Harry to the auror program but bowed out quickly. Working with George, he had been able to get his mind right. He found himself happy and able to move on from the past, looking forward to the future.
Few would guess that that future would involve Katie Bell. Katie was around the shop quite a bit, checking in on George and lending a hand where possible. Late nights stocking shelves together led to dates and an eventual relationship for Ron and Katie. Harry couldn't help but think he had found a perfect match in a woman who loved quidditch even more than Ron did.
"It's not like you go malnourished," Harry jabbed with a grin. His friend had added a few kilos since dropping the auror regimen. "Might as well get the best food that you can."
"And that I do, Harry. That I most definitely do. Speaking of, are you still planning on coming to the Burrow Friday night? Mum's putting together quite the spread for Ginny's quarterly return."
Harry rarely turned down an invitation to the Burrow. Molly's culinary skills were a national treasure, as far as he was concerned. Plus, the possibility of some alone time with Ginny wouldn't hurt. It had been awhile since he was last with a woman and the arrangement he had with Ginny was beneficial for the both of them.
"I'll be there. You know I wouldn't miss it." Harry yawned. "That's it for me, mate. I'm knackered."
"Fine, fine," the red-head said dismissively. "I have a few more hours in me, so I'll see you tomorrow."
"Is that what it is?" Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Or is it that a certain young lady will be visiting you once I go to bed?"
Ron stuttered sheepishly.
"Ron, you can tell Katie she doesn't have to resort to sneaking in here. Besides, she's moving in here when I go back to Hogwarts. She's always welcome. Mi casa, su casa," Harry offered.
"We appreciate it, really, Harry. I'll definitely remind her but I think she likes the skulking about. Gets her in the mood, I'd wager. Now get outta here so I can get some," Ron said, waggling his eyebrows.
Harry pulled a disgusted face, popped up from his seat, and sprinted from the room. He needed no further encouragement. He bounded the stairs two at a time, laughing, and thanking the gods for silencing charms. Soon enough, he would be in the halls of Hogwarts and not even having to remotely consider Ron's romantic trysts. He knew, though, that he was leaving Grimmauld place in good hands with Ron and Katie looking after it during the school year.
Getting ready for bed, Harry turned to the window in his room to close his curtain. He stared out, admiring the golden stars that blanketed the inky black sky. There wasn't much more he could ask for in life. His life and heart were full of friends and love. He had the Weasleys and Teddy to count as his family. There was, though, the slightest twitch of jealousy over Ron's relationship.
Sure, he had plenty of opportunities to date. But he felt like Goldilocks, with nothing seeming to fit. This one was too starstruck, this one too money hungry, this one too vapid and uninteresting. He yearned for someone to build a life with and could only hope that that person would present themselves sooner rather than later. He was growing tired of having only the random Ginny Weasley sighting in his bed.
Closing the window curtains, he turned with a sigh. He laid himself in bed and closed his eyes. He didn't know what the future held but was excited about the direction his life was taking. Harry drifted to sleep knowing that the coming days would be full of change and intrigue and that made him content.
Friday morning found Harry venturing to Diagon Alley. He dressed himself in plain robes and donned a concealment charm that made him look like, what could only be described as, a thinner version of his cousin Dudley. He made his way, head down, through the familiar surroundings of the Leaky Cauldron and tapped the bricks to enter the shopping district. He was careful not to catch the eye of anyone and focused on the path ahead.
Harry was still enchanted by Diagon Alley, all these years later. After the war, the wizarding community worked tirelessly to bring the shine back to the alley. Today, it was bustling with wizards and witches, young and old. Kids were shopping for their needed Hogwarts supplies and parents were doling out the funds to make them happy. He couldn't help but take in the scene as he hurried to his destination.
Harry passed by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The chaos in the store was astounding. Kids were running around, laughing and showing off the newest, fun products they had found. He could see George, Ron, Katie, and their staff working to contain the chaos but not to much avail. The scene excited him even more to get started with his teaching duties. He made a mental note to go over the latest joke inventory with George and Ron. Couldn't hurt to have some advance notice ahead of the school year.
He made his way through the crowds unmolested. His disguise was doing the trick. Eventually, he found himself in front of his intended destination, Olivander's. He was surprised, to say the least, when Aberforth had told him to contact the wand shop for help with commissioning a painting. Evidently, the Olivander family had been involved in magical art for quite some time. Harry had owled after the conversation at the Hog's Head and was met with a quick response on a parchment with a letterhead noting the new proprietor, X. Olivander. Harry readied himself and pulled the door open.
Taking in the space, Harry found himself surprised. Sure, he was young and in awe of everything when he had first visited the shop. Looking back, though, he was shocked that he hadn't taken in the full scene. There were shelves and shelves of wands in boxes lining the room, of course. But in every space that wasn't occupied by a wall or wand box, there were small works of art, beacons of bright and lively color amongst the dark hues of the wooden shelves and boxes. He saw portraits and landscapes, paintings of magical objects and creatures. Most of the paintings were no larger than a traditional sheet of paper and utilized paints, charcoals, inks and plenty of other mediums. He was speechless and so absorbed that he failed to register a person approaching him.
"Good afternoon, sir. Are you in need of a new wand?"
Harry turned to the speaker and was surprised. Gone was the aged wandmaker and in his stead was a young man, likely only a few years older than himself. The man's long black hair was tied back at the base of his neck and he was dressed simply, in a white oxford shirt and a pair of black pants and black boots, surprising for a proprietor in Diagon Alley. Most favored traditional wizarding robes. Harry wasn't expecting the previous wandmaker, but the person before him was certainly a surprise. Even Harry couldn't deny the man's attractiveness.
"Oh no," Harry replied. "I'm here to discuss commissioning a portrait."
"Ah, unfortunately we require some advance notice for that kind of work and I have another prospective client coming in today. Can I schedule a meeting for you for later this month?"
Harry then realized that he had forgotten to remove his concealment charm.
"Sorry, sorry," Harry apologized. He took his wand out from his robes and removed the disguise. "This is better."
The shopkeeper didn't seem phased by Harry's change. Instead, Harry saw him look to his forehead for confirmation, the usual confirmation that someone was truly speaking with the Boy-Who-Lived.
"Ah, Mr. Potter. A pleasure to meet you. I must admit, you did have me guessing there. As I've often seen your picture in the paper, I knew what the person I was expecting looked like and that concealment certainly wasn't him. I'm Xavier Olivander, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Harry noticed a tinge of a French accent. "Not a problem at all. As you might imagine, people tend to raise a bit of a fuss when I venture out into the wizarding public. I try to keep it lowkey."
"I certainly understand. Your name does carry some weight and I was excited to finally meet you. My uncle spoke very highly of you. He told me of your great deeds and how you rescued him during the war. Though I grew up in France, word of your victory certainly made for a happy day in Marseille."
Harry couldn't help but blush. He was still shite at taking compliments and praise.
"Well, your uncle was helpful to me, so, uh, let's call that even, ok?" Harry nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "He helped me plenty when I needed it. When did he step down from the shop?" He was desperate for a subject change.
"It has been a year and a half, or so," Xavier replied. "He was tired and ready for the next great adventure. He is now almost certainly sunning himself on the beaches of southern France." Xavier smiled. "Now how can I be of service?"
"I'm looking to have a magical portrait made," Harry asserted. "Is that something the Olivander shop has always done?"
"No, no," Xavier said. "We certainly do not do the art in house. While some may say that wand making is an art, we are not so gifted with painting. For years, my family has created the artisan wands that magical artists use. Painting these masterpieces needs more than your average kolinsky brush, Harry."
"Kolinsky?"
"Oh, a type of weasel. No, let me show you." Xavier led Harry to a row of wand boxes, opening one. Inside was what, at first glance, looked like a normal Olivander wand. "We use the traditional woods for the wand and magical elements for the core, yes. But it is the end that matters."
Harry looked at the end of the wand and was surprised to see it end with what looked like a traditional painter's brush.
"We use only the finest, most supple magical materials for our brush elements. The magical nature makes them pliable, expandable, and capable of transferring the artists' intent to the canvas. You'd be surprised how well the hair of a werewolf works for painting," Xavier added with a smile. "The process is not dissimilar from how wands choose their witch or wizard. These wands, though capable of doing basic spells and charms, would not do for powerful spell casting. So artists usually choose to keep a personal wand as well as their brush wand. We have been supplying the artists with these wands for hundreds of years and have developed a relationship with many of the finest in England. We act as a sort of gallery for them. We hang their example paintings and help to mediate the contracts between artist and commissioner. We currently work with four English artists and over 25 artists from around the world. Take a look and see if one of the examples fits what you were thinking of for the portrait." Xavier motioned with his hand to the paintings hung throughout the room, leaving Harry to deal with a customer who had entered the store.
Harry was overwhelmed. There were paintings of all types and styles. He wandered the room, taking in as many as he could. Most were done in what could only be described as a classical style. They looked like the paintings that hung in Hogwarts and the museums that he had visited around London on his days off. They were perfectly fine but he couldn't imagine Remus or Tonks in that style.
He turned a corner and stopped. In front of him, was a grouping of paintings that were unlike any he had seen. They were modern, with bold, clean lines and color that popped off the canvas. He stepped closer to look. One painting showed a coastal scene, waves rising and falling and sunlight basking the shore in a golden hue. Another showed a man and a woman at a cafe, the street scene moving around them. He was drawn in and couldn't look away and poured over every detail, even noting the small "H" cartouche in the bottom right corner of each painting.
"Ah, quite the eye, I see." Xavier had found him. Harry turned to the shopkeeper and saw that he had a smile playing on his lips.
"These are amazing. Nothing in the shop is like them," Harry admired.
"This artist is a rising one. She is relatively new to the magical art world but studied under one of the foremost magical art masters. She is thorough and respectful, with an eye for color like I've never seen before."
Harry was sold. "This is who I want to do the portrait. It's only fitting of the subjects. One was a metamorphmagus and the color that I see here is truly befitting of her. Her husband, though, he was a little more browns, khakis and grays. I guess it was befitting of his time spent as a professor at Hogwarts. What do I need to do to start the process?"
"I will owl her today. I know that she is finishing another painting but that should be done within the week. I will see to her availability. In terms of pricing, that will depend on the time she needs, the size of the portrait, and of course my commission. Do you know what size painting you're interested in?"
Harry thought for a moment, thinking back to the portraits he had seen before. "Would 75 centimeters by 100 centimeters work?"
"I think it should," Xavier replied. "I will owl her today to see to her availability and discuss the pricing. I would hope to have a response for you by the end of the day."
"Perfect. Xavier, thank you so much for your help and showing me around the shop. This has been an amazing experience." Harry turned to leave, stopping short. "By the way, you didn't mention the name of the artist, just that it was a woman. What's her name?"
"Oh," Xavier hummed. "She is a mysterious one, this artist. She only corresponds and introduces herself as H."
"Please tell H that I hope that we can come to an agreement. I think she's perfect for my project and no fee is too great. She's exactly what I need." Harry shook Xavier's hand and turned to leave.
Opening the door, he stepped into Diagon Alley, an inspired man. Concealment and public spectacle be damned, he wanted to enjoy the alley. He strode up the walkways, taking in the sights and sounds, the colors and smells of the alley. He shook hands, autographed a few items that were thrust in front of him, and reveled in the energy. H's paintings made him feel something and he didn't want to let that go to waste.