Harry Potter and the Way of Things

Ch 7 Part 2 - Ollivanders

AN - Got you what you wanted. Enjoy

Harry looked at the wand shop speculatively. It was narrow and shabby, the sign hanging over the door read: "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.", in peeling gold letters. The shop's display consisted of a solitary wand lying on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

Harry opened the door and walked calmly into the shop. A bell rang somewhere in the depth of the shop, which was small and empty except for a single, spindly chair in the corner. Thousands of narrow boxes containing wands were piled right up to the ceiling of the tiny shop, and the whole place had a thin layer of dust about it. Harry stood in the center of the room, not wanting to get dust on his dark clothes.

"Good afternoon," a soft voice said from directly behind him. Without turning Harry

said, in an even softer voice, "Good afternoon, Garrick Ollivander."

"Ah yes, I thought I'd be seeing you soon, Harry Potter." Harry thought that bit was rather obvious, though he wondered how the old man knew who he was. He hadn't even turned towards him, so seeing the scar wasn't it. Before Harry could continue with this line of thought, Ollivander resumed speaking.

"You have your mother's eyes... It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." He thought of his mother wand, stored safely in the bottom of his trunk and wondered again why it did not accept him.

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Silvery eyes were met with a vibrant, unyielding green.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it – it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Harry wondered ideally if this man remembered every wand he had ever sold. By then Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes. Both stared, unblinkingly.

"And that's where..."

Mr. Ollivander reached to touch the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger. Harry took half a step back to avoid contact.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands...well, if I'd known what the wand was going out into the world to do...."

" You would have sold it anyway, I hope. Every witch or wizard deserves their chance to be great." Harry said with a smile.

"Of course, of course, but onto you, which is your wand arm?" Ollivander said, changing the subject without much grace.

"My right arm, sir."

"Well then, hold out your arm, boy." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful substance, Mr. Potter. We use primarily 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. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Harry realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.