28. Ollivander's

I told no one about it.

The day of the full moon arrived with shocking speed. At eleven o'clock I dressed in my warmest clothes, and also secured a pouch of galleons in my pocket. I wanted to stop by Diagon Alley for a new wand before going to Wiltshire. I would be mad to go into this without some form of protection.

I left the letters from the Ministry, Bill and Lucius folded in the top drawer of the desk. I would go down to London by broomstick. It would be a tiring journey, but I had no other way of travelling. I would be able to apparate back, once I had a wand again.

I had hoped to make it out to the broomshed without being noticed, but of course I encountered Severus on my way out of the castle. He looked exceptionally severe in his black robes, his eyes dark and suspicious.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

Though I knew he wouldn't use Legilimency on me, I felt my mind tense up at the prospect of lying to him. I had never been a good liar, and knew that he would know in an instant if I was untruthful. Unfortunately, there was no other option at this particular moment.

Keep it simple, amateur, I imagined Fred saying. His actual voice had been doing nothing but warn me since last night.

"Out to fly," I said.

Severus's face remained hard and impossible to decipher. He had probably noticed how many letters I had gotten in the past few days. It was unusual.

"How long will you be?" he asked.

"All day," I said. I hadn't technically lied so far. "I'll be back for dinner."

There was a strained pause. This brief conversation had taken on the colour of most of our recent interactions. A lack of understanding and trust from both sides, and me fighting the illogical yet perpetual sense that I had to defend myself.

Severus nodded his head, though he looked resistant.

"Be safe," he said, as I passed him.

I kept my back straight as I walked across the Quidditch pitch, knowing he was still watching me closely. My stomach dropped. It didn't feel right, deceiving him. But I didn't slow down or turn back.

Dinner would start at seven o'clock tonight. That certainly gave me enough time to get away. By the time Severus noticed I hadn't returned, I would already be in London.

The journey took me first over the tumultuous forests and tall hills of Scotland, and then down over the groomed fields and low woods of England. Luckily the clouds were still thick and dark, and a shielding rain was falling, so there was no need to fly too high as I went over the suburbs, approaching London.

I got a bit nervous as I drew nearer. I didn't want to be spotted by muggles, and had never landed by broomstick in Diagon Alley. I wasn't even sure that I would be able to, and landing in a muggle street outside the Leaky Cauldron would be downright idiotic.

I encountered no such barrier, however. The street seemed largely vacant at present, in the dismal weather. I still chose to touch down at the far end of the street, near Knockturn Alley, in order not to cause any disturbance.

I realised, as I dismounted and walked further into Diagon Alley, that I ran the risk of encountering George, or Hermione, or Ron. I didn't want to explain myself to any of them, so I went about my business quickly.

I was far more exhausted from the journey than I'd anticipated being. I spotted J. Pippin's Potions and thought it would be wise to purchase something to replenish my strength and alertness for what lay ahead. A common healing potion, or Invigoration Draught.

The clock in the shop read seven o'clock. The only other person inside was the witch at the register. She eyed me with owlish eyes as I nodded my head, and searched the shelves of vials.

I quickly found a small vial of Invigoration Draught, a dull rusty orange colour. Then a bright blue potion caught my eye from across the room. I recognised it at first sight. Draught of Peace.

Perfect, I thought.

Something to numb my mind. I decided to buy this as well. It would be nothing compared to Severus's potion, but at least it would help me to separate myself a bit from the low-rolling anxiety in my belly. I would slip away before the deed, under the guise of freshening up, and take it. Then the ordeal wouldn't be so painful.

You're mad, Willa, came Fred's voice, disapproving. On the journey from Hogwarts he had been unusually talkative.

"Shut up," I said, under my breath. "This is my decision."

I'd been holding back the majority of my fear so far. I should have been terrified, should have been hiding away in denial of what had to be done. But, surprisingly, I was quite calm. It wouldn't mean anything, I'd been telling myself. It was just one night, and then it would be over.

I also bought Dreamless Sleep, a dark purple potion, to use afterward.

The owlish witch at the register adopted a grim expression when she saw my selections. I guessed she had seen many witches buying these since the Law. Especially those who were unlucky with their matches.

"Good night," she said. After I went out the door, the OPEN/CLOSED sign flipped over to CLOSED.

I took the Invigoration Draught immediately, and put the other two vials into my pouch of galleons.

My next stop was Ollivander's, which was at the opposite end of the Alley. The familiar flaking gold writing stirred up a feeling of nostalgia in me–a feeling I had rarely felt lately. The windows of Ollivander's shop were dark, however, and I felt a wave of panic as I wondered if he would be there. People rarely bought wands at this time of year, and perhaps he was closed. There were no hours posted on the door. He very well could have been off in some distant forest harvesting unicorn hairs. The door was locked. I knocked on it, with some faint hope, and then looked in the window, cupping my hands to the glass around my face.

Relief filled my body like cool water as I saw movement in the back of the shop, and then spotted the wild-haired old wizard walking up the aisle.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Ollivander," I said, when he opened the door, his watery blue eyes looking at me. "Am I too late?"

Either he heard the hidden desperation in my voice, or was honestly so devoted to his craft that he would never turn a customer away, because he lowered his chin and smiled. "Of course not, Wilma Weasley. Please, come in."

I stepped over the threshold into the dusty smelling shop. Rows upon rows of shelves filled the space, and they contained stacks upon stacks of slender boxes, which all contained wands. I had to admit to being a bit overwhelmed. I'd expected it to be a breeze, coming in here, since I had done it once before already. But it was just as intimidating as the first time. I could sense the old power of the wands. It was as though they had all peeked an eye open from their long sleep, and begun to judge me.

My present mental state was obviously not the ideal one in which to attract a new wand. But the Invigoration Draught had settled my mind as well as my body, so I wasn't a complete nervous wreck. I trusted that the right one would come to me, especially with Ollivander as mediator.

"Let me see if I can recall correctly…" Ollivander was saying. "Twelve and a quarter inches, poplar wood, unicorn hair?"

I nodded my head, impressed by his memory. "Yes, sir."

He smiled triumphantly, but his expression turned dim a moment later. "Whatever happened to it? I assume something did, or you wouldn't be here. It was a very strong match, as I recall."

"It was broken," I confessed. Giving such news to such a deep lover of wands felt like a terrible confession indeed. "But it had also been giving me trouble from time to time in the months prior."

Ollivander nodded, his gaze lingering on me. "This is not uncommon with unicorn cores," he said. "They will often grow weak or die after a grief has been suffered."

Fred didn't say anything at that, but I felt his presence in my mind. It was a strange but increasingly familiar sensation.

Ollivander's tone shifted as he began to light the lamps around the shop. "I must say that I'm very happy to see you here now. The wands sometimes get confused in the busy season, with so many new witches and wizards coming in and out. But since you're the first I've had in two months or so, they should be well rested and prepared to make the proper choice."

A glittering smile came into his stubbled face. I could sense that he was looking forward to autumn, when he would finally see the new wave of Hogwarts students, after what must have been a long year of barely any customers. That explained the focused attention I sensed from the silent wands.

He turned away towards the seemingly endless shelves of narrow boxes, spreading out his arms. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" he shouted joyously. He paused, as though giving the right wand a chance to call back to him. It seemed that it did, for a moment later he muttered, "Ah, yes… there's a start," and headed forward into the centre aisle, reaching above his head to draw a long, narrow, pale blue box from the shelf.

Ollivander removed the wand from the box tenderly and held it out to me. But no sooner had my fingertips brushed the handle than he quickly snatched it back, shaking his head to himself. "Not quite right," he muttered, replacing it in the box and setting it down on the desk.

I sensed this would not be the only misjudgement, and I was correct. Again and again Ollivander travelled between me and the shelves, offering me wand after wand, and taking them back just seconds after I'd touched them.

I began to suspect that something might be awry. The old wizard looked rather strained–the number of discarded wand boxes on the desk was significant.

"Is there a problem?" I asked. I wondered if there was something I was meant to contribute, some deeper openness that was required of a second-time wand seeker, which I was failing at.

"Nothing wrong," he assured me. "But very, very tricky." His hands rested on his hips, and he shook his head to himself. I didn't know how much time had passed since I'd entered the shop, but I was beginning to worry. I couldn't arrive late to the Malfoy Manor. I decided not to ask for the time, though. Any impatience on my part could tamper with the process of attracting the right wand. I relaxed my mind, allowing my breath and blood to flow through my body.

It was then that a movement in the very rear of the shop turned both our heads.

From a very high and precarious shelf in the farthest and dustiest corner of the room, a thin, medium-sized grey box had slid out of its place, and begun to hover down the aisle, making its way steadily through the air in my direction.

Ollivander stood with his jaw loosened by the sight, as the box slowed, and then descended until it was hovering directly in front of my eyes. Waiting for me to take it.

"Well I never," murmured Ollivander. "Go on, dear."

I held out my palms in front of me, and the long thin box settled lightly onto them.

"Open it," Ollivander prompted.

The wand was dark, long and thin. The moment I gripped the handle, the room suddenly became a degree darker than before. A wind rushed down the street outside, and a peculiar frost grew in the glass panes of the windows. I remembered to breathe, and held the wand properly, feeling its weight in my hand. A tingling sensation overtook my whole arm. It was as though a direct line of tension had been formed between my very soul and the core of the wand. The wind intensified and then abated. The frost disappeared from the windows, and the lamps slowly regained their previous light. There was a kind of warmth in the room now, powerful and fleeting. The glow after the sun has gone down.

I had never felt such power, such potential, in my first wand. I was a bit scared of it, actually. But the wand was sure of itself in my hand, and I knew it would not betray me, or lead me astray.

"Very impressive," said Ollivander after a minute of silence. He seemed to be shivering slightly. His words were encouraging, but the concerned look in his eyes didn't escape me. He looked very worried, as though he had learned that some illness had befallen me.

I was still overwhelmed by the sensation of holding the wand in my hand. Long thin tendrils of its power had already woven their way around my veins, from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes. It was a slow and complete possession, more powerful than any other physical sensation, agonising or exhilarating. It sensed my pain, my love, my strength, and matched them all. The bond was formed.

"Twelve inches, Hawthorn wood, with a Phoenix core," Ollivander told me, his voice low and respectful. I knew he sensed the incredible power being exchanged between the wand and my body. "Extremely rare. This wand will be a challenge, but I do believe you're up to the task. It certainly thinks so."

With a slightly wary smile, Ollivander turned and flicked his own wand, sending the failed matches back to the shelves, where they put themselves away.

Discussing money at this moment seemed wrong, but I felt reassurance from the wand–it understood that business was business. "How much?" I asked Ollivander.

"Oh," he said, his eyes dubious. "I think that had better be up to you. A wand like this… You choose what to pay. What it's worth."

I nodded, my hand moving to my cloak for my pouch of galleons. But Ollivander touched me lightly on the wrist. "Think carefully," he said. "It's a perceptive one. The sum will matter."

I knew from the sincerity in his eyes that he was not simply trying to drain me of my money. It was important how much I deemed the wand to be worth. Important to show it respect, from the beginning.

I looked into my pouch, which contained all of the money I had to my name. Twelve galleons, four sickles, and a few knuts. I decided on all twelve galleons. Normally it would have been an outrageous sum. Molly had paid only five for my first wand. But given the circumstances, I found it appropriate. I was entrusting my safety, body and soul, to this wand. In time I would owe it far more than all of my gold.

Keeping the vials from Pippin's safe in one palm, I counted out each galleon into Ollivander's hands, one by one. I never once put down the wand. When the payment was complete I replaced the vials in my pouch, and replaced the pouch in my cloak. It felt very light. But the approval that radiated from the wand more than made up for it.

Ollivander looked impressed. "Very good," he said, and placed the galleons into a locked drawer in his desk.

"May I ask the time, sir?" I asked him.

He consulted his pocket watch. "Half past seven," he said.

I felt my stomach jump into my chest. The wand seemed confused, yet patient. Capable. I regretted dragging such a powerful ally into my life at this chaotic time. But I also knew I needed it now more than ever.

"Thank you," I said to Ollivander. "I have to hurry."

"Of course," he said, a bit of his previous concern resurfacing in his eyes. But he asked no questions. "Good night."

It had grown colder outside, and more windy. "Off we go," I said aloud, as I mounted the broomstick. The two all-important vials of potion were secured in the pocket of my cloak. The wand seemed to hum with readiness.

I kicked off from the cobbled street and shot into the sky above the city. I sensed the winds for a moment, adjusting accordingly, and headed west.

NOTE

Warning: What follows may be upsetting to some readers. I will include a more in-detail warning at the top of the next chapter–please read it.