Chapter 10: Wand Up
Thursday 1st December 1988.
"Master Harry," Mipsy called, as she tugged softly on his sleeve as he sat reading in the sunroom.
"Yes, Mipsy?" He replied, not taking his eyes off the book, even though reading it was just another part of his punishment.
"Miss Hermione is upset. She be asking if you can come get her."
This finally drew his attention fully from the text. "What? Why?"
"Her parents are upset that she can't control the elf magics. Apparently, it's like when she was an elfin all over again. But they can't get her here themselves."
"Tell them I'll be right there." He replied, putting the book aside without even marking his place.
The one thing he hated most about living in this huge manor was it was occasionally difficult to find his parents. Even the elves didn't have a way of determining exactly which painting they were in at any given moment unless summoned. Harry could always feel the magic of the elves, and pop to them when he needed them. But the paintings were different.
It took several minutes of jogging through the halls before he found them both tucked under the tree in a tiny little landscape hanging midway down the main hallway. He should have known, as it was his mother's favourite place to think, the light Italian lakeside apparently as good as a vacation amidst the often-dreary British artwork.
"Mum, Dad. I'm going to Hermione's. Something is wrong."
"No, you're not. You are grounded, mister." James replied simply, not even turning away from the lapping waves to look at his son.
Harry's eyes narrowed at the painting wanting to retort but decided it was not worth the struggle of an argument right now. His friend needed him. Tracking the pair down had already wasted enough time.
"Fine, see you."
And with a pop he was standing in the Grangers' dining room being stared at by the adults before Hermione assaulted him from the side, wrapping him up in her arms.
"Harry. I don't know what to do. I can't help it."
"Shhhh, Hermione. I know what it's like, trust me."
"So, you knew this was going to happen?" Richard growled from the far end of the table.
"Daddy! Stop it."
"No, Hermione. First, some painting tries to tell me my daughter is a witch, a ridiculously offensive thing to say, by the way. Now your gifts are going haywire because of some freakish little monster. I want you to fix this, now boy."
"Fix this? What do you think I can do to fix this?" Harry asked, looking at Richard over Hermione's shoulder, eyes narrowing once more. What was with all these adults?
"Get that little beast over here and take it back. Surely you can undo this nonsense and give me my daughter back."
"Give her back?" Harry was stunned by this. In all the time he had known the Grangers, he had never seen any of them behaving in this manner. "Your daughter is right here, sir. Crying on my shoulder because her dad is scaring her."
"Harry, don't," Hermione whispered.
"No, Hermione. He needs to hear this. Your daughter is special. In a world of the ordinary, she was already amazing. Her brain alone made her stand out. Throw in her magical abilities and she became something else altogether. Now she is broadening those abilities and you are angry at her for it. Why?"
"It's not right. Moving things with your mind is one thing. I'd made peace with that. But some of the things she's done in the last few days. The walls on the second-floor bathroom still won't stop changing colour. My best golf club vanished because she yelled at me while I was practising my swing, and then there is this!"
He held up a #1 dad mug that looked to Harry to be in fine condition. His confusion clearly showed as Hermione piped up next to him.
"I broke it a week after giving it to him on Father's Day when I was 3. There should be a crack running through the number one. But I picked it up to hand to him this morning and it just healed. I didn't mean to."
"That crack meant something to me, boy. It was a connection to my daughter and this… mutation took that away. Fix it!"
"Richard!' Natalie chastised the man from her own place by the kitchen sink, but she also seemed to be slightly wary of Hermione.
Harry was beginning to see red now. His arms tightened around Hermione and he was about to unleash a torrent of words that would likely get his mouth washed out.
"Don't, Harry. Please."
Distracted from his rage for a moment he looked at his friend, tears still streaming down her face. He'd only ever seen her like this once before and that was the night, they'd learned she was a witch. Years of being her friend in happiness and in less than a week since learning of her magic she seemed to be miserable.
"Fine," Harry stated, answering both Hermione and Richard at once.
He locked eyes with the eldest Granger and, sticking out his tongue, popped away again.
ϟ
Hermione shivered as a soft breeze blew across her wet cheeks. Opening her eyes, she noted she was standing in a small clearing with ankle-height grass bordered by tall swaying trees. The shiver increased as she felt Harry's arms release her as he stepped away and with a wave of his hand one entire side of the clearing became wider as every tree along that edge was ripped from the ground with a violent tearing noise and sent careening backwards into the darkness under the trees behind them.
"Fix it! Like you're broken or something." Harry yelled at the air as Hermione watched on, slightly fearful.
She'd seen him angry once or twice, but never had Harry looked this dangerous. His hair was whipping about his face and his eyes seemed to have a light glow pulsing deep in his irises. She could feel power pulsing from him as he stood there puffing at the trees he'd just uprooted.
A quick karate chop to his left sent up another horrid screeching sound. This time he had split the tall onyx block resting in the centre of the clearing in two. What must have been a few tonnes of rock slowly peeled open, only the depth it sat into the soft earth preventing it from just falling flat to the sides.
"A mutation. How dare he. Your own father."
As he spat the last word, Harry pushed both hands forward and the split onyx too went flying noisily off into the underbrush.
"Harry, STOP!" Hermione yelled, squeezing her eyes and hands tight as she tried to rein in her emotions from the conversations she'd just been involved in. When they opened again, she saw Harry staring at her, a look of remorse spread over his face. He looked every bit the scared eight-year-old again, not the powerful presence that had rampaged over the clearing since their arrival.
"Sorry," he mumbled, collapsing to the ground and hunching forward.
"S'alright," Hermione replied as she plonked down beside him.
"I shouldn't have done it."
"Well, the owner might be a bit miffed when he sees your redecorations…"
Harry laughed but did not look up. "The owner is a butthead."
"Harry!" She admonished, slapping his arm.
"What, I am!"
"You… what?"
"It's mine. This clearing is the exact opposite point of the Manor. Or I should say the farthest point from."
Confusion remained the primary expression on her face as she stared at him.
"Right, I never did explain that, did I? Some… one of my many ancestors took the Manor at the time and pulled it out of the world. Don't ask me how." He cut off the clear question in her eyes. "Some magic is just lost to time and she never had a portrait done. But it's why we're here. This place doesn't really exist on earth. You can't get here by walking or driving or flying. From this spot here, walk in any direction and in less than an hour you will arrive at the Manor. No one can get in unless we bring them. Or, sometimes if they've been here before and can apparate. It doesn't work for everyone, though."
Hermione was stunned. If magic could do something like that, what else could it do? "Why you're here?"
"Yeah, figures you'd notice that out of everything I just told you." Harry replied, lying back into the thick comfy grass, "I'm in hiding. Have been since I was fifteen months old. The night my parents were murdered, and a lunatic tried to kill me."
Her hand flew to her mouth to prevent the questions, and the scream, that her body wanted to unleash. To think only minutes earlier she'd been fighting with her parents over something so insignificant. What if they were to be killed like that? What if it had been her fault?
"Relax, Hermione. I'm not made of glass. Or porcelain." He chuckled.
"Hey!" She yelped, prodding him in the side.
"OK, easy. You know there is no way to break it like that again. You'll just have to try and drop it again."
"Harry." She scolded, knowing that he was avoiding the topic at hand.
"Fine. Turns out some prophecy said I was to kill the loon. So, he came after me. Dad died downstairs, forgot his wand and tried to snot the bugger in the nose. Zap. Down he went. Mum was in the room with me. Refused to move, begged him to spare me, actually. Zap. Down she went. Points his wand at me, fires off a curse and Boom. Down he went. That's when Mipsy brought me here. Except for school and visiting your place, I've spent my entire life since then in this 'bubble'."
Hermione was shocked. At all of it. His cavalier description of an utterly life-changing event. The fact that someone who had seemed so alive and worldly during their talks was basically a prisoner in his own home.
"So, I know this place pretty well by now. This is my favourite place to be alone, though. I've never been here with someone else before. I was just so angry at what Dick was saying…" He said, becoming angry once again before he took several deep breaths and calmed down. "Guess I should fix it up though. I think that stone was an anchor for something or other."
Hermione was still too busy processing his story to think clearly, so she sat in silence and watched as he waved his hands about and the massive broken pillar slowly soared back into the open air. A few clicks and claps later it was once more buried in the earth, a single cohesive piece of rock, oddly smooth and shiny.
"I'll have Mipsy prepare a room for you to sleep in. We'll get her and Pops to show you how to manage the new magic." He added as he stood once again. "Then you can go back home again."
Looking up at Harry, he had his hands extended out to her and pulled her to her feet.
"That wasn't a favourite, I hope?"
Hermione looked at him with confusion as he indicated her shirt. It was now changing colours much like the second-floor bathroom. She scowled at the shirt.
"Can you ask Mipsy to fix that? The bathroom I mean. Dad had to turn away several visitors because there was no way to explain it."
"Sure, I'll send her over as soon as we get back to the house."
"And, can you finally teach me how to pop about like that?" She replied, a nervous yet determined look on her face.
Harry smiled. All the things that had been forced through her mind in the last hour and she still wanted to learn something new.
"Never change, Hermione." He said, pulling her tight to his side as the pair set off in the direction of the massive house.
ϟ
Monday 19th December 1988.
Nemea was happy to have her young mistress back in the Manor again.
The almost week where the girl had returned home with her parents had been borderline torture for the wee elf. She felt the absence of her mistress as an almost physical pain. When she had confided in Mipsy, the elder elf had hugged her tightly and promised to do what she could to ease the hurt. Apparently, it took time for the bond to settle into a comfortable background sensation.
She hadn't expected Mipsy to get her mistress back into the manor though.
Her joy at having more to do than take finishing lessons on how to be a personal elf, rather than the standard household elf she had been getting trained for, was palpable. She trailed after her mistress like a puppy, looking about as happy as one too.
Though her mistress did spend an inordinate amount of time in the library. Something about meddling portraits hiding the good stuff.
Nemea rather enjoyed the muggle books that had been cycled in front of her mistress before the facts of her magic had come out. For it was where she had spent most of her visits to the manor before that fateful day.
"Tea, mistress?" She asked, stepping up with her freshly brewed batch.
Mistress looked up from her book and smiled brightly at her. The sight swelled Nemea's already buoyed presence.
"Not right this moment, thank you, Nemea. You should pour yourself some though, if you're thirsty. I know from experience you make a wicked good cup."
Nemea's pallid cheeks quickly became rosy at the compliment. She had heard stories from the other elves of the politeness and fair treatment they received from the Potters. But given the only one she'd ever had to interact with was Harry, she had no personal experience to go off.
The smiles on both their faces quickly vanished though, as Nemea felt a wave of familiar magic surge over her and the nearby bookshelves began ejecting their books out over the floor. Even her freshly brewed tea was knocked aside and shattered on the hard wooden floor.
Tears welled up in her Mistress's eyes and Nemea felt her heart go out to the little lass.
"Pops…" Hermione sniffled.
The elder elf appeared with a soft noise and proceeded to slip onto his behind in the hot tea spread over the floor. He landed with a thud and his eyes quickly narrowed in on Nemea with a disappointed tinge.
"Clean the mess, Nemea." He ordered as he regained his feet and turned to Hermione. "Yes, young mistress?"
"I wasn't even upset this time. And I would never treat books like that! How can this be my unconscious mind?" She waved her hands at the books now spread over most of the visible floor of the library.
"The mind is a perplexing place, young mistress. Nobody truly understands accidental magic. They have theories and ways they've learnt to minimise it, but they do not understand it in the slightest. But in this case, if I'm not mistaken you were feeling very happy, were you not?"
Hermione considered a moment before nodding.
"Happiness may be more enjoyable, yet it is still an advanced and powerful emotion. Emotion tends to be the catalyst of most accidental magic in us elves."
He stepped forward and climbed, slightly awkwardly, into the chair facing Hermione in the little nook. He clasped his hands and rested them in his lap as he cocked his head slightly and looked at his newest charge.
"Put the book on the side table please." Hermione obeyed quickly, marking her place first. "Now close your eyes and your mind. Let nothing in but my voice."
Nemea watched enthralled as Pops ran her mistress through another session of control training. It was the other thing the mistress had done since returning, and Nemea thought she was picking it all up so quickly. With the young master and all the elves helping her, she had only had one major outburst since her arrival.
"I felt it, Lily, even Harry's wasn't this wild." Nemea heard from a nearby alley of the shelves.
Many thought the bond between owner and elf was a one-way street. The owner benefited from the magic of the elf serving them and the elf simply obeyed. But she knew now, it went deeper. Or it most certainly did between herself and mistress. The girl's insatiable curiosity had certainly spawned within herself and now she couldn't help but indulge the strong desire welling within her.
She disillusioned her form and snuck forward until she could see the figures in the painting. Old master was pacing, and his bride was watching him closely. Old master's parents watched him pace but said nothing.
"The poor girl had no training at all before she came here, James. Why would she have Harry's natural control?"
"I know, it's just frustrating. The Grangers have sent a nasty letter every day since she arrived. I'd never even heard some of the words in those first two letters. And the whole thing was in capital letters, who does that?"
"The real question," Ancient master added, "if we're training them on this, what's the difference in preparing their normal magic?"
Old master turned to stare at his father, a pensive look on his features. "They'd need wands for that."
His bride smiled at the idea. "You think they run amok now? Imagine the chaos if they were armed."
The quartet broke into soft laughter at the idea, but Nemea was enthralled. She knew she would never cast wizard magic, but she had also never seen it cast in her lifetime. She longed to see it, to feel its flavour wash over her. Now that the mistress was here, she got to feel amazing magic every single day.
"It would be best to focus on it now, that way they have true control before returning to classes. I don't want to keep them from school any longer if we can help it. They both love it there."
"We'd have to find a way to get them to Diagon Alley. I won't trust my grandson with anything other than an Ollivander."
"Oh, Charlus, hush. I know you were good friends with the boy, but there are other options."
"True, Dorea. But Garrick makes fine work. They would serve the children well."
Another soft crack from behind her drew Nemea's attention once more. She turned the corner of the aisle to see her mistress looking much happier, and Pops was nowhere to be seen. The books that had been all over the floor had returned to their shelves and the mistress was reading once more.
Her mind whirled. The masters wanted the children to learn all magic, and she would be there to watch it. As the young mistress's personal elf, she was not required to do the daily chores, she needed to always be free to assist her mistress. She would be able to see it all, up close.
And a good house-elf showed initiative. They guessed their master's needs before they were given the command. It was why a great elf was never seen, they had already completed the task and moved on to the next. And she knew what the next great task would be.
Nemea smiled as she popped to her room, to await the young master's return with Mipsy.
Then she would show the family her true worth as an elf.
ϟ
A soft crack rent the dusty air, the sound causing Garrick to almost stumble from his perch on the small step ladder. He was unused to loud noises when not actively seeking a match among his wares and even though the sound had likely been quite faint, in the still air of his narrow shop, it carried like a muggle gunshot.
Softly stepping down to the floor, he glanced down the thin alleyway, walled on either side by his enormous stock of cores and wood to see two young children at the front of the shop, accompanied by a wee house-elf.
"NEMEA! What did you do? Quickly, seal the door and flip the sign." The boy called, swinging his eyes about as though afraid to be seen.
And Garrick nearly immediately noted why. He may be getting on in years, but neither his craft nor his eyes had suffered as a result. The messy black hair swishing back and forth was unmistakable for someone who had provided the last three generations of the boy's family with their wands. One of whom was his first customer after taking over the shop full-time.
But it was the eyes that removed any doubt. As they flicked about the dark confines of his shop in a panic, Garrick noted the distinct shape and shade he'd only seen once before. So long ago, yet also a blink of an eye for one with as many years as he.
Harry Potter was alive.
Harry spun back to look at the elf who had just sealed his shop. "Obscure me, quickly."
The familiar traits quickly changed before his eyes as the now uncertain-looking elf snapped her finger in front of the boy.
Garrick smoothed his robes and dusted a light feather that he'd disturbed at the crack from his shoulder and shifted his position to the far aisle. It was time for his second favourite part of the job.
"Well, well. What a treat." He cooed as he dissolved out of the shadows on the far side of the shop from the children.
He got the usual thrill as the trio spun to face him and he could see the shock in their faces at his sudden appearance.
"A touch young for Hogwarts yet, I think. But no matter. The law, after all, does not say when one can buy one's first wand, only when and where one can use it."
He was in full mystery mode now as the youngsters eyed him warily.
"Indeed." Came the now disguised voice of Harry Potter.
His eyes were now a deep blue and his features distorted just enough that unless you knew him, you'd not be able to put the pieces together. Those eyes locked on his own as Garrick surveyed the boy closely.
He looked exactly the right size for a boy of his age, so he was well-kept, wherever he had been secreted. And there was a fire in his eyes that the glamour could not hide. He was ready to fight depending on the next words from Garrick's mouth. The now sandy-coloured hair was James to the root. He'd never seen any other family with hair so unruly, except perhaps the wee girl beside him.
But before the glamour had come down, despite the shock of seeing the dead, he had clearly seen the vibrant green eyes of Lily Evans. The boy was his parents' child, in body and spirit from what Garrick could see.
His eyes flicked to the girl and he noted Harry stiffened in response. A slight smile tugged at his lips, but decades of experience with mystery mode kept it from showing. But more interesting was the look in her eyes. While Harry was firmly in mid-fight or flight, as if he had not expected the trip here in the slightest, the girl was analysing him almost as surely as he was her. There was a deep intelligence in those brown eyes and so far, she did not seem impressed with what she had seen.
Well, that would not do at all. While he was immensely proud of the quality of his works, what Garrick truly prided himself on, was his showmanship. People always remembered the day they were found by their wand and he recalled them all too.
"Shall we begin?" He offered gently, hands spread in a gesture of peace.
The boy eyed him carefully before his posture finally relaxed once more. He glanced at the elf beside them, who now looked very uncertain indeed. Harry sighed softly before glancing at the door and then the girl in turn.
"We need two wands," Harry finally replied, his posture loosening slightly at the gesture, but he had returned to watching Garrick closely.
"As there are two of you present, I had assumed that to be the case," Garrick responded as he quickly circled the counter and disappeared once more down the dusty aisles. He quickly gathered a handful of options before returning to the desk. "Who's first?"
He held a light-coloured wand, handle first, in the direction of the pair. The light apple and unicorn was a favourite of his for first attempts after a spirited muggleborn had nabbed his former favoured option about sixteen years earlier. The applicant's reaction to it helped him narrow his focus quickly due to his many years of experience.
Harry slowly raised his arm but froze mid-way up. He turned and smiled widely at the girl. "You first, Hermione."
She beamed back at him and took a step forward, her hand closing about the handle and Garrick felt a jolt at his end. An interesting reaction. One he had not felt in a long time. He looked at her eyes as she gazed at the wood in her light grip, but he knew the look was wrong. It was on the right track, but not the right piece.
He quickly lifted it from her grip and found himself staring into a pair of glowing green eyes. The power seeping over him from Harry's body had overpowered the glamour and the boy's true eye colour now shone out as Harry glared at him, suddenly standing much closer. Despite the boy's young age, Garrick almost felt intimidated by the display.
"Close, but not right." He said soothingly, as he lifted the wand and indicated the end to Harry but glanced to the side to see the downcast eyes of Hermione. "Fret not, miss. We'll find your perfect match. It's never the first one."
Hermione brightened at his comment and Harry's throbbing magic receded. Garrick was enthralled by the reaction. He realised he had underestimated the boy with his selection. Something with more power would be needed here.
Harry gripped the end of the apple wand and Garrick watched his eyes closely. The glamour had failed there completely, and the green remained as he looked down at the wood in his hands. There was no reaction at all. A complete mismatch as he had expected after that showing.
"Good, good." He whipped the wand from Harry's hand and danced back to the counter.
Unicorn hair seemed to favour the girl, but none of the components reacted to Harry in the slightest. He glanced at the options on the counter and soon freed the next from its box.
"Cypress with a phoenix feather core." He held it end first once more to Hermione and she grasped it firmly, as though afraid he'd rip it from her hand again.
He could feel the upswing in power in the air. This was closer to her wood, but the feather rejected her utterly. There would be no true reaction from this wand. He offered his hand and smiled at the girl as she returned both.
Offering the handle to Harry, he watched closely as the boy inspected the wand. There was the slimmest glimmer in the eyes as he held the wand. "Give it a wave, boy."
Harry eyed him before turning to the side and waving it at the wall. A dark red curve of magic followed the sweep of the wood and left a dark gouge in the wall opposite. A deep, dark gouge.
Ollivander's eyes widened at the showing. And with an unmatched wand. He offered his hand again and Harry sheepishly returned the wand as if afraid it might attack the man unbidden. The boy grew visibly uncomfortable under his gaze, but Garrick found himself enthralled. A true prodigy of the art, perhaps?
He returned the wand to its box but noted a wave of slight anger in the wood. It had not liked the spell the boy had forced through it.
"I wonder." He shot back down the aisle, ignoring the pile he'd originally brought forth and grabbed a couple of distractions as he approached the back corner. He'd secreted this one away in the seventies, acting as though he'd not made it for the longest time.
He returned with a new armful and, pulling the first free of its box, waved the wand and sent the first set flying back to their positions on the shelves. While for most, an unmatched wand was unwieldy unless subjugated to a magical's will, Garrick had an intimate bond with all his wares. It was impossible not to make such a connection with his family's methods.
He held the wand out for Hermione. "Elm this time. Dragon heart." Garrick said, referring both to the nature of the heartstring in the wand and its role as the wand's core.
She gripped the wand and again he noted a reaction in her, but again it was off from what he expected to see. She was difficult, perhaps as hard as Harry would have been, had he not happened upon such a brilliant link.
Still, he passed the returned wand to the boy, keeping up appearances. It wouldn't do to tip his hat too early. An odd feeling permeated the air as his fingers closed on the wood and the boy turned without instruction and waved the wand again. This time, healing the fracture he had put in the wood with his first stroke.
Garrick was amazed, usually, the magic he saw leaving his wands in here was decidedly mundane or random. But the boy seemed to have a disturbing level of control over his magic.
Harry returned the wand with a grin; clearly happy he had repaired the damage he had caused earlier.
Garrick spun and dropped the elm wand on the desk and freed the next from its confines. He spun and handed it unceremoniously to Hermione, who did not react in the slightest to wood or core. He was a little impatient now and pulled the wand a little roughly from the girl's hand.
He paused before pointing the handle at the boy. "Holly, with a phoenix feather core."
Garrick watched like a hawk, all his senses now focused on Harry. The moment of truth was here. Harry's fingers closed over the dark handle of the wand and Garrick was immersed in a swirl of magic from the boy. He smiled momentarily as he watched, and the wand…
BURST INTO FLAMES!
Harry yelped and dropped the offending piece as an intense white flame spread from the tip downward at a serious clip. Within a second the entire wand was engulfed in the hot white flames and within several seconds, it was completely gone.
"I'm sorry. I swear I didn't mean to do that." Harry pleaded.
Ollivander did not reply, his mouth was wide, and his eyes fixed on the pile of ash laid on the floor before him. A second flare of white flame burst up for a moment and when it receded, a single red feather was sitting on the floor. He flicked his eyes up at the boy again but was still unable to form words.
He turned to the counter and without thought pulled another wand from one of the boxes he had brought forth, handing it slowly to Harry, the first he passed as he turned back.
Harry looked at the wand with a perplexed look. Part fear, part confusion. Were his thoughts more composed, Garrick might have reacted, but his mind was still on the obvious choice now destroyed on the floor of his shop. He wasn't even paying enough attention to see Harry attempting to return the wand.
After a moment, Harry handed it to Hermione and a swirl of her magic burst through the store, blowing away the remaining holly ash and causing a few boxes to tumble in the back of the store. Her hair billowed wildly, and a broad smile spread on her lips.
The reaction finally drew Garrick from his own thoughts as he looked at the perfect match in front of him.
"Uh… may I, Hermione?" He asked, remembering how the boy had pronounced the name earlier.
She held the wand to him with a look of trepidation. She was clearly afraid he'd take it from her for good. He inspected it closely, remembering forging it some sixty-three years earlier. Made of elder, a most disagreeable wood to work with. He had attempted seventeen elder wands over the years, most in the same vain attempt that all wandmakers fell to at one time or another after hearing the tale. But this one had paired with a delightful surprise in its core.
"Elder, eleven inches, precisely." He noted, examining the length. "Springy, despite the normally stiff nature of these wands. And a unicorn hair core. I was very surprised at that as elder usually likes to change hands, while unicorn hair often refuses to do so. Odd in that the mare refused to offer from her tail, too." He continued, once more reminiscing over the work and preparation that went into each and every one of his wands. "This particular hair came from the most glorious mane I have seen on a unicorn. A truly powerful, and loyal, wand I think you shall find this to be."
Hermione practically glowed as he passed the wand back to her and a lesser reaction occurred once more, this time only blowing her wild hair outward.
Garrick turned back to Harry and realised he'd not even noted the boy's reaction to the girl's wand. No matter, he still had a client to match and now he apparently had to fear for his wares as well.
He eyed the stack of wands left on the counter and noted another oddity among them. He pulled the wand free and spun back to Harry. The glamour had failed further under the pressure from the girl's outburst and now he looked almost himself once more. The shaggy hair had darkened considerably, though it still had a blonde colouring to it.
"Rowan, this time."
Harry gripped the wand and the entire store shook. Garrick lost his footing at the sudden shaking and bumped his head lightly on the side of the counter as he fell backward. The girl quickly wrapped her arm around Harry's, but his reaction was the most amazing. His eyes flared with a deep glow and his hair whipped about, much as the girl's had. There was power pulsing off of him in thick waves as he looked at the polished pale wood in his hands.
Hermione reached out and plucked the wand from Harry's fingers and the reaction ceased immediately. Garrick couldn't take his eyes off the boy. While he had not matched with the wand he had expected, Potter had certainly proven the belief behind the offering was sound. That boy was dripping with power and he seemed to barely notice. Great things indeed.
"Antipodean heartstring that one. One of the few cores in here I did not collect myself." Ollivander explained as he stood back up, dusting his front and settling the precarious stack of boxes on the counter before they succumbed to gravity.
"I'm told he was the jewel of their reserve, outliving all others of his kind by a substantial marker. And, if the rumour was true, he chose to end his life. Cut out his own heart and laid it before the Reserve Master only a decade ago. A former student of mine at one point, before he realised that animal care was his true calling. He sent me the central heart-string immediately and I just had to make something special of it."
Harry looked at the wand in Hermione's left hand with awe.
"Rowan is a delightful wood to work. Tremendously protective, and with that heartstring, powerful too. Great things." His eyes flicked between the pair as he gave a chuckle and he chose not to share the other tidbit about elder and rowan wand woods that many in his occupation believed. "Both of you are clearly bound for great things."
"Curious that they both come in at precisely eleven inches, and are identically springy, given the differences in the two woods."
Silence gripped the store once more as the quartet stood unmoving. A silence that Garrick broke marvellously as he clapped loudly, causing the other three to jump, and rounded the counter.
"Excellent, most excellent. So, are we paying together then, or apart?"
Hermione glanced at Harry who just nodded, eyes still fixed on the rowan wand, and the girl turned to the elf.
"Nemea, please." She turned back and locked eyes on Ollivander. "How much?"
"Normally not terribly much, but these two pieces are some of my finest work."
"And the holly," Harry whispered.
"Pardon?"
"We'll pay for the holly wand too. I'm still sorry about that." He replied, looking away from the wand for the first time.
"Very well, if you wish. All three together would come to 27 galleons, I'm afraid."
Hermione looked confusedly at him. "And how much is that in pounds?"
Garrick eyed the girl, who he now knew must have been a muggleborn, for a moment before his eyes flicked to Harry. The boy still looked down for some reason. Why was Harry Potter standing there with a muggleborn girl? Especially one still so young? And, while the reason behind Potter's lack of parents was well-known, where were the girl's?
"I'm afraid we only accept Galleons, dear."
"Nemea, home," Harry called and the elf vanished in a moment.
It was several long seconds before she returned with a much older and much angrier elf.
"Pops?" Hermione whispered as the elder elf marched to the counter and lobbed a bag of Galleons onto the countertop, an impressive feat given Garrick couldn't even see the top of his head over the bench.
The elf stormed back over to the kids and held out his hand. Hermione placed the two wands in his grip before the old elf grabbed Harry roughly by the arm and, with a crack, was gone.
Hermione looked up at him for a moment before the younger elf slipped her hand into the girl's.
"Thank you, sir." And with a second crack, she was gone as well.
Garrick slumped back into the chair he kept behind the counter. That day had definitely not gone as he had expected. The boy was alive and the brother wand had been destroyed. And there was the mystery of that girl. Garrick was not often given over to a need for answers. He was quite happy in his work and his knowledge, but the day had his mind whirling, and his desire for answers outweighed his better judgment.
So, he left the shop sealed and rushed back to his small office, where he pulled out a quill and began to write a letter.
ϟ
Tuesday 20th December 1988.
Albus was surprised to receive the letter from Garrick out of the blue like that, but it had finally answered the question he had so long pondered.
No wonder those bloody goblins had denied him at every opportunity. The true-born heir still lived, though how he lived was anyone's guess. Hagrid had shown up too late to provide him with any reliable estimate of what had occurred. And no residual magic was detectable in the rubble by the time Albus himself had been able to inspect the ruined cottage.
He sighed for a moment, one again mourning the loss of the Potters. A sorrowful cooing came from his nearby phoenix, highlighting the moment of sorrow. However, the melancholy quickly passed as he realised that not all of them had passed that night.
This meant that he had new options. Before he had been acting blindly. Seeking a way to finally achieve his long-held goal but without any reasonable path to do so. Hence the difficulty he had endured up to this point. Now, though, he had a defined target.
Albus swept up from his desk and moved to several of the small silver objects that decorated his office. Over the years he had resided here, many had queried what the strange devices did, sputtering and smoking at all hours of the day and night. Several of the former Heads had even complained about the noise.
The one he needed, a tall tripod with a hanging silver pendulum with a delicate point was near the back of the shelf. He rarely had cause to use this one.
Albus returned it to his desk and withdrew a map of England from a drawer, placing the tripod over the centre of the island and applying a drop of his own blood to the top of the pendulum before tapping it with his elder wand.
The pendulum began to swivel. Tiny motions at first before it soon began moving in wide concentric circles. Slowly growing tighter and tighter again as the powerful scrying spell embedded in the ancient dwarven device, amplified by the power of the Elder Wand, sought its target.
Albus smiled, after years, the Stone was once more within reach. Soon he would have that which he had sought for so long.
The smile vanished as the pendulum widened again. Suddenly, without warning it shifted to almost ninety degrees from the map and shattered violently against one of the tripod legs. Both chunks of metal went flying across the room and Albus was left stunned at the sight of the utterly destroyed device now smouldering on his desk.
He sank back into his chair, confusion filling his form as he watched the now-destroyed trinket whimper its last.
Scrying was ineffective, even with a properly-known target. Where was the boy being concealed so perfectly? Even Hogwarts would not prevent a scrying spell of that power from finding him.
Another far more mournful cry came from Fawkes as Albus considered the problem.
Where in the world was Harry James Potter?