Both Worlds

Chapter 11

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.      
A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Jace felt strangely as though she had entered a very strict library; she swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to her and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of her neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.      
“Good afternoon,” said a soft voice. Jace jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.      
An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.      
“Hello,” said Jace awkwardly.      
“Ah yes,” said the man. “Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Jace Potter.” It wasn’t a question. “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.”     
Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Jace. Jace wished she would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.      
“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.”     
Jace was getting annoyed why does everyone say her last name is Potter? Her father is a greek god not a wizard. Her mother was a witch her father a god, she wanted people to get the facts straight. On her birth certificate her last name was Potter-Evans but at the orphanage for some reason it was Potter too. The thing that stumped her of course, was that none of her parents had the last name Potter. While she was thinking Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Jace were almost nose to nose. Jace could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.     
“And that’s where…”      
Mr. Ollivander touched the stretched lightning bolt shaped scar on Jace’s  right cheek with a long, white finger.      
“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 that wand was going out into the world to do…”     
He gazed at the wall thoughtfully and said "sold it's brother too, to your brother in fact."
He said again thoughtfully “Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… the wand chose your brother."
He shook his head and then, to Jace's relief, spotted Hagrid.      
“Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again… Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn’t it?”      
“It was, sir, yes,” said Hagrid.     
“Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?” said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.      
“Er — yes, they did, yes,” said Hagrid, shuffling his feet.
“I’ve still got the pieces, though,” he added brightly.      
“But you don’t use them?” said Mr. Ollivander sharply.      
“Oh, no, sir,” said Hagrid quickly. Jace noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.      
“Hmmm,” said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look.
“Well, now — Miss Potter. Let me see.” He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket.
“Which is your wand arm?”      
“Er — well right,” said Jace guessing that her wand arm would be the same arm as her sword fighting arm.     
“Hold out your arm. That’s it.” He measured Jace 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 magical substance, Miss Potter. We use 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.”      
Jace suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between her 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, Miss Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave.”      
Jace took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of her hand almost at once.      
“Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try —”     
Jacd tried — but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.     
“No, no — here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out.”      
Jace tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.      
“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere — I wonder, now — yes, why not — unusual combination — holly and phoenix feather, twelve inches, nice and supple.”      
Jace took the wand. She felt a sudden warmth in her fingers. She raised the wand above her head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, “Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…”      
He put Jace’s wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, “Curious… curious…”      
“Sorry,” said Jace, “but what’s curious?”      
Mr. Ollivander fixed Jace with his pale stare.     
“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Miss Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just two other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brothers — why, one of its brother gave you that scar, the other you brother has it”      
Jace swallowed. 
"Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Miss Potter… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things, so did your brother.”