04 April 1983
Ollivander's Wand Shop, Diagon Alley
"Just Ollivander's left now" Sirius heaved a sigh as he shoved his hands in his pockets; it was getting late in the day. "Only place to get your wand is at Ollivander's"
"Really?" Jean asked, turning to look up at the wizard as he stood, haloed by the afternoon sun.
"Best wandmaker in Britain" The shaggy-haired man nodded, "And—as my mother likes to say—'if you're going to be the best, you've got to have the best!"
A magic wand…! Finally! This was what Jean had been really looking forward to. Lady Nimuë had promised to show her the secrets of the modern-day wands only after she had received her wand in this time and not before. Her reasoning had been that she had not yet experienced the change that would come with the eldritch-enhanced ritual. Because the girl that came out of the other side would not be the same one who went in.
Still, Jean was practically chomping at the bit by this point, to receive a wand that was hand-picked to her and not some random stick that had been idling at the bottom of her beaded bag. Supposedly, back in the golden age of the Old Religion, your average made had used a staff—much like Merlin & Morgana—something which offered far more power than any tiny toothpick of a wand. They were still powerful of course, there was no denying that. But it was like comparing a pistol to a bazooka; one was clearly more powerful than the other.
When they came upon the wand shop, it was as narrow and shabby-looking as it had been way back when she had first stepped foot inside as Hermione. Peeling golden letters over the door denoted the store's title: Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands est. 382BC and upon the door itself, delicately was writ: Your wand awaits! In the front window, there sat a single wand languishing upon a faded but plump purple cushion, with its intricately-carved handle pointed outwards, towards the customer.
DING-A-LING!
The bell overhead tinkled in chorus with another that lay somewhere in the depths of the shop, as they stepped inside, announcing their arrival. It was a tiny place, but absolutely filled to the brim with all manner of things. The only empty space was the front of the store where a spindly wooden chair sat, pushed up against the wall for caregivers to wait whilst their children were fitted for their wands. It was no less magical entering the shop for a second time, but that might have been because Jean had the strangest sensation of having entered a library, hushed quiet though it was. And, well, everyone knew how well she did in libraries.
Swallowing her excitement, Jean spun in a circle as she tried to drink in everything at once. It was just the same as it had been before the war, with thousands of narrow boxes piled right up to the ceiling in cobbled together shelves of—what could only be described as—organised chaos. There was clearly a system there of some kind, but Jean would be damned before she knew what it was. A lone coat rack stood to the side, hidden by folds of weathered coats and a collection of portraits led the way into the workshop in the back; the brunette could only assume that they were the past generations of Ollivanders who stuck around to advise the younger generations on wandlore.
THUMP!
"…Merlin's blooming beard! Not again!" The grumbles came from the depths of the workshop, as the wandmaker fumbled with something they could not see. With the hairs on the back of her neck raising at the evident magic in the air, Jean waded through both the dust and the comfortable silence to ring the bell on the counter, for service. But no sooner had her fingers reached for the weathered bronze, did the handheld bell spring to life and ring of its own accord, surprising her.
DING-A-LING-A-LING!
"Ah, good afternoon, I'll be right with…" The wandmaker greeted as he peered around the shelf; the habitual words coming out before his brain could catch up with them. It was strange to see Garrick Ollivander standing before them, as whole and hearty as he had been before the war. He was old—though his hair was more peppery than ashen—and his wide pale eyes shone like twin moons through the gloom of the shop as a great pile of wand cases threatened to topple from his grip. "…Ah! It's you!"
"H-hello, sir" Jean greeted, awkwardly rocking back & forth on her feet.
Garrick blinked languidly as his gaze roved over the young witch, before he disappeared by the shelf once more. "Um, just a moment, please"
A moment later—after many more crashes & thumps echoed out of the workshop—the wandmaker was back. This close up, Jean noted how the quirky man's wand was tucked behind his ear like a particularly spindly pencil, instead of a holster or a pocket as most mages tended to favour. And upon his coat lapel there sat a brooch baring the Ollivander family crest: a cursive 'O' with a wand slashed through it.
Jean clasped her hands in front of her, expectantly waiting for the process to begin. It had been a long time since she had first gotten her first wand and part of her hoped that the second time would be just as magical. "I'm looking for—" She began.
"—For a new wand! Ah yes, it's about time" Garrick interjected, nodding agreeably. It wasn't a question.
"Yes, I—'about time?" She puzzled, unsure as to what the wandmaker was getting at. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you our mysterious muggleborn, are you not? Oh! What am I saying? Of course you are! Why Grandfather was just telling me of the newest witch in the Dagworth-Granger line!" He continued on with uncanny accuracy; something that had always baffled Jean. Part of her had always wondered if he was actually a seer under all of that wood polish.
"Um…" Jean balked, slightly taken aback at how quickly word had already spread of her lineage. Then again, portraits were always huge gossips.
Skirting around the bench, the wandmaker came to stand in front of Jean whilst Sirius plopped himself down into the singular spindly chair which threatened to give under his weight. "Garrick Ollivander's the name, but of course, you'll of heard of the Ollivanders, I'm sure. Finest wandmakers in the world!"
"Of…of course" She nodded agreeably as he beamed brightly, baring a gob full of slightly stained teeth.
Garrick moved closer to Jean and reached for her hand, pulling her into a steady two-handed handshake. He had yet to blink again. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms Granger, truly!"
"Me?" Jean puzzled, brows furrowed in confusion. Ollivander had always been an eccentric man, but the hero worship had always been reserved for Harry, not her. It was strange to suddenly be on the other end of it.
"Yes, yes, why I can recall the last wand that I sold to your family! It would've been to Constance Dagworth, I believe—"
"—The alchemist?" Sirius questioned.
"Mmhm" Garrick nodded before rattling off the information without askance. "She favoured a rowan wand, I believe. Eleven inches, unicorn hair and rather springy. Not particularly powerful, but reliable and excellent for arduous tasks. Well, I say your cousin favoured it, when really the wand chooses the mage"
The wandmaker then turned to the wizard tucked away, beyond Jean's shoulder, who had remained relatively quiet throughout the whole interaction except for when her cousin was mentioned. "Ah, but where are my manners?" Garrick smiled glibly, "Sirius Black! How nice to see you again! Yew, dragon heartstring, twelve & three quarter inches and pliable, wasn't it?"
"It was, sir, yes" Sirius dipped his head.
"Good wand that one, and its treated you well?"
"Er, yessir, it has"
"Good, good" Garrick nodded in thought, sparing Sirius a piercing look as if he were trying to divine any lies from the man. But Sirius said no more, so the wandmaker turned back to the expectant witch. "Well now, Ms Granger, let's find you the perfect wand now, shall we? Come here, let me see" He pulled out a long measuring tape that was engraved with silver markings, out of his pocket and turned towards her, expectantly. "Which is your wand arm?"
"My wand…arm?" Jean spared a put-upon confused expression towards Sirius. As far as she was aware, they thought she was just a muggleborn who had learnt from cast aside & hand-me-down books and had "stolen" the broken wand she'd arrived with.
"Which had do write with, kitten?" Sirius prompted, seeing her confusion. Which in turn, made him confused…and skeptical. According to the Potters, this witch was supposed to be a time traveller, so what kind of time travelling witch didn't know about wands? Unless…unless they didn't use wands in the future? Jean was quite adept with wandless magic.
"Uh…my right one?" She replied, holding the aforementioned hand aloft, though it sounded more like a question than an answer.
"Hold out your arm, keep still" Garrick prompted as he measured Jean from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and around her head. "That's it"
As he measured, the wandmaker explained. "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a magical substance, Ms Granger. We use a variety of cores, but the most common cores include unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are quite the same"
"Like fingerprints?" Jean replied, going cross-eyed as she watched the tape measure which danced between her nostrils.
"How so?" Garrick puzzled as he flittered about the shelves, taking down boxes at random and muttering to himself all the while.
"Fingerprints are unique to every person" She replied. "Muggle policemen use them to track down criminals"
"Quite right!" The wandmaker nodded enthusiastically, leaving Sirius to look quite interested in the idea. He was an auror afterall. "And of course, should anything untoward ever happened to your wand, you will never get such good results with another's mage's wand"
"Huh"
"That will do" The wandmaker told the measuring tape, which slithered over to the counter and collapsed into a heap next to the cash register. "Ah yes! Powerful core, ten and a half inches, beechwood…Mm, you might do. Here" Garrick proffered the wand to Jean from where he sat crouched upon the floor, "Give this one a try!"
Jean took the wand—an average thing that looked the wandmaker had just polished a twig—and brought it close. It had been a long time since she'd held a wand catered to herself—probably back during her school career—let alone an Ollivander wand. After his turmoil at the Malfoy Manor, the wandmaker hadn't really been too keen on creating wands after that; not to mention, the state of his shop once the Death Eaters had ransacked it. It was understandable, but still a pity.
"Well, go ahead! Swish!" Garrick prompted, catching Jean a little off-guard. Doing as she was told, Jean gave the beechwood wand a light flick, mindful of what her foray into Ancient Magicks might do to the wand. But she needn't have worried because all that came out was a small spark; one that spluttered and died out before it could form into anything. The wandmaker mused, eyes narrowing at the tool like it had offended him somehow. "Hmm, how odd"
"Maybe you need to give a bit more oomph?" Sirius called from the background, his lips twitching up at the corners as some innuendo swam around inside his brain. One that sounded suspiciously like Moony.
"Quite right!" Garrick nodded enthusiastically, "Once more! Come on! Really swish it!"
This time, Jean made a movement as if she were trying to flick a whip; casting her arm all the way back and then snapping it forward. Again, the wand backfired, only this time it was quite literally. Flying from her hand like an excitable pup on a leash, the wand flew up into the air as it spouted a series of miniature fireworks; not unlike those of the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes.
"Oh dear, oh my" Garrick blinked up at the show as Jean cowered beneath her arms.
Well, Jean mused, At least I didn't burn the shop down.
"Well, this isn't a good match at all, is it?" The wandmaker chuckled as he reached out with a practised hand and snatched the wand from the air, dispelling the fireworks before he tucked it away. "Er, um, we'll find you something. Not to worry!"
"Hm, no, not you…uh, ah!…Maybe…? No…" The wandmaker continued to mutter to himself as he skittered about the shop, this time disappearing up into the loft where one seemed to call. His heels clicked melodically on the stairs like animal nails on the floorboards as he hurried back down, another leather-brown box clutched tightly in his hands. "Perhaps…? Yes! This one might just do! Reed, thirteen & a half inches, dragon heartstring, quite whippy…Mm, yes, let's give this one a try!"
Jean tried—she really did—but she had hardly twitched the pistol-shaped wand before the unattended lunch on the counter exploded upwards and painted the walls, ceiling and furniture (including Sirius) in tomato soup. Quite frankly, it looked like someone had been murdered in there. Sheepishly, Jean spared a looked towards Sirius who sat wiping pureed tomato out of his eyes, quietly thankful that the liquid had been left long enough to cool and looking, for all the world, like a wet dog.
"Oh—! Oh my! Oh goodness! Looks like its back to the shelf, for you" Garrick exclaimed as he despaired over the loss of his lunch and the state of his shop. It was easy enough to clean up—just a simple Scourgify—and everything was relatively clean again, but there was this odour of tomato & herb that permeated in the air. Once again, the uncooperative wand returned to its case. "Hm, this is proving to be trickier than I had anticipated. How perplexing, um…where are you, you little blighter? Perhaps you…? No, no, maybe over here…? Ah! There you are!"
The third box that Garrick whipped out was blue in colour and weathered about the edges of the casing, there was a good layer of dust along the lid, as if it had not seen the light in a very long time. "I wonder…? Oh, it is an unusual combination; alder wood, phoenix tail feather, thirteen inches, nice & supple…? Yes, yes, I think this might be the one! Here! Take it!"
This time when she plucked out the spiral-shaped wand, Jean found it to be both warm in colour and feeling; a surge of some kind, one she could only assume to be magic, flowed through her and danced amongst her curls just her accidental magicks tended to do. When she swished this wand, 'twas neither fiery explosion nor soupy murder that appeared, but a rain of fresh green leaves that smelt suspiciously like mint, reminding her of her parents' dentistry dreams, fell over them. Considering what the scent meant to her, Jean wasn't too sure what exploding soup and fireworks translated from her character, or if she was reading too much into it.
Sirius celebrated in the corner, clapping in success as his nose wiggled at the fresh scents clogging up the shop. This one was far better than the tomato soup and a lot less messy too. "Well done, kitten!"
"Extraordinary! Another wand, another beginning of a bright and magical future!" Garrick readily agreed, chuckling in happiness. "Now, how did that feel?"
"Good, different" Jean replied, beaming as she turned to face the wandmaker. It had been a long time since she'd found a wand that responded to her so well; why the last one might've been…she couldn't recall, actually. "I sensed a sort…surge, of some kind"
"A match! Your connection seems to be particularly powerful!" He replied, "And, you know, the right wand will learn from you, just as you learn from it. And your bond between you & your wand should only grow stronger, so do not be surprised at your new wand's ability to perceive your intentions, particularly in a moment of need"
"That sounds wonderful, Mr Ollivander! I'm eager to try it out!"
"I would imagine so! Mages with an alder & phoenix wand have been known to leave their mark on the world!"
"Really?" Jean hummed as she handed the wand back to be wrapped & purchased.
"Oh yes indeed!" Garrick replied, placing the wand back into its box before he wrapped it in brow paper and twine string.
"Congratulations, kitten" Sirius clapped Jean on the shoulder, startling her at his sudden reappearance and making her jump.
"O-oh, thank you" She stammered, trying to ignore the embarrassed flush crawling across her cheeks.
"Curiouser and curiouser…" Garrick muttered to himself as he fluttered back around the counter, sweeping aside the empty container and moved to open the cash register. He seemed to be muttering to himself about nonsensical things again, but Jean had the strangest feeling that he was talking about her.
"Sorry" Jean piped up as she fished out her newly released coins, "But what's curious?"
Garrick paused, fixing Jean with a pale-eyed but stern stare. "…I remember every wand that I've ever sold, Ms Granger. Every. Single. Wand"
"So…?"
"It just so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather that resides in your wand, gave other feathers. It is very curious that you should be destined for this wand when its brother hunts your people"
Jean audibly swallowed as Sirius placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She knew that the wandmaker was referring to Voldemort—to Thomas Riddle Jr—and to all of the muggleborns just like herself. "R-really?"
"Yes, thirteen & a half inches, yew with a phoenix tail feather; tis curious indeed how these things happen. Remember the wand chooses the mage…I think we should expect great things from you Ms Granger, afterall, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has done great things—terrible, yes—but great"
Jean shivered beneath both the wandmaker's stare and Sirius' hand. She wasn't sure she quite liked was Garrick was insinuating, nor the looks she was getting from Sirius. The wand she had been given wasn't her original wand—that one seemed to be destined for Hermione—but she never in her wildest dreams would've of thought that she would be in possession of a phoenix tail feathered wand. That was Harry's ordeal, not hers. She'd never even beholden one before, save for the many, many times that the boy had left the thing idling about the house or forgotten in a pair of previously worn jeans.
It seemed wrong to be possession of this wand—to call it her own—but there was this sort of irony singing within her that new wand would contain the feather of the legendary fiery bird and the symbol of the very Order in which she had pledged a good majority of her (previous) life to. Plus, Ron had once joked that Hermione might have of been the most phoenixy of them all, but she always argued that she was too scared of heights for that. In any case, she paid the seven golden Galleons for her new wand and Garrick waved them from his shop with nary a blink. At the very least, Jean could be certain that one thing remained true: Irony was just as much of a bitch as Karma.
