look me in the eyes and burn

Chapter 2 - Welcome to Grimmauld Place No 12

Ollivander's was a place many wizards only visited once in their life. Only saw him once in their life unless, of course, they accompanied their future kids.

Though, not many look forward to stepping into Ollivander's dusty, little shop again. Despite the joy they felt and still remembered from when they found their perfect wand; the warmth that had enveloped them. These memories were shadowed by an ancient man with white, frizzy hair and a disconcerting aura; knowledge he shouldn't have nor remember. And yet, it was this shop the boy with death-green eyes stepped into and smiled.

It was just as dusty and packed as he remembered it. Everywhere he looked where wands, parts of wands, wand cores and already crafted wood. It was chaotic, a mess, and yet everything seemed to have a place.

And the aura this place emitted... it was amazing. A calm tranquility and serenity, even later when the second blood-war or The war waged. It always gave off this aura, no matter what.

Hadrian smiled. He'd missed this. This magic.

A silent crack from the back had Hadrian open his eyes and zero in on the movement he caught immediately. And there, in all his living, old glory stood Ollivander. Hair as white and frizzled as always and pale eyes looking around as if seeing more than every other person.

"Mr Potter" he greeted at least. "Eleven inches, holly, core of a Phoenix feather." He paused, seemed to look the green eyes boy up and down before raising an eyebrow. A slight smile stretched over his ancient features.

"Or would it be 15 inches, elder, its core the tail hair of a Thestral. Interesting, Mr Potter, interesting indeed."

Hadrian just inclined his head with a small smile. He had known the old wizard would know immediately. It was a shame that he hadn't lived longer than he had. He had been a true asset to their side.

Many did not know nor expect him to be efficient in anything except making excellent wands. They could simply not imagine him to stand up to fight — and fight with a power far greater than that of a normal wizard.

Oh, he had shown them all what a master of wands was truly capable of. And that was not only the art of creating them, but also the art of using them in ways seldom seen before.

And what a sight it had been. Magnificent and beautiful and great and deadly.

It was a shame, truly, to have lost him just three years into The war.

He, alongside many other magicals, had been captured by the Mundanes. The rescue attempt got many out again, of course, but not all. And Ollivander was one of those who didn't make it.

The Mundanes didn't make it either, though. Not when Garrick was one for greatness and dramatics and chose to go down with a big bang. A bang that took the entire Science Laboratory and its inhabitants with him.

It was brilliant. And very traumatic.

Hadrian still saw it in his dreams. The great force that blew apart the entire building stone for stone, the all-encompassing flames that left nothing alive, the screams of terror and pain, and, maybe even worst of all, the magic wave that hit those in the vicinity of the explosion.

The wave that forced everyone to feel what they felt, the ones this magic once belonged to, the ones the magic loved and cherished. They had to feel every wound, every torture, every lick of the flames against their paper like skin.

The experience of something like this was as much an honour as a curse. It was as beautiful as it was deadly.

It had been a sad day, and yet also one for eye opening revelations and new beginnings.