Wand Hopping ; D.M.

𝐶𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝐻𝑎𝑡𝑒

Third chapter in three days? ... I'm impressed as well.

Elsie Granger

My legs ached, though I had not moved from the sheets of my bed. They ached in anticipation, but they were too weak to carry me to even the door of my bedroom. I lay, listening to the knocks which are repetitive and echo through from my ears to my brain, over and over.

Before I nearly drove myself insane to listen to it, the noise hushed and the pounding stopped. The damage from it had been done. I was getting no sleep tonight.

I reached to my bedside table, switching the lamp on and pulling a book I had read before bed. My eyes dove into the pages, desperately trying to ignore what had just happened. Maybe I was just dreaming or maybe it's George trying to give me a fright. I couldn't convince myself.

Two chapters, four, and before I knew it, the book was half finished before the clock had struck 4 am. By the time it was 7 and the sun was rising, there were only a few remaining chapters to be read.

I rose from my bed, feeling the weight of the bags underneath my eyes. After brewing some coffee and putting on some proper attire, I decided to make a visit to the twins. As I stepped outside, a letter lay in the small mailbox. The handwriting was nearly illegible and didn't look familiar to anybody I know.

'Get out while you still can' the red ink was smudged. Who would have written this?

I took the letter to the Twins' shop and knocked on the door. Nothing. Again. Nothing. Finally Fred opened the door and looked surprised to see the redness of my face. "Is this some sick joke?" I asked and held the letter out.

He looked confused and invited me inside. George was still in the flat making himself some breakfast when I entered and asked him the same thing. "Is this some sort of sick joke?"

"We didn't leave the flat or shop last night after leaving your shop." he said, "Except when there was a loud knock on the shop door and we went down to see who it was. They were gone and the alley was empty by the time we reached the door."

"Someone knocked on my shop door for five minutes or so last night. They probably knocked over fifty times before I nearly went downstairs with-" I paused, unwilling to say my next words. "I could've killed that fool with the elder wand and then they left this sick note in my mailbox."

"What do they want you to get out of?" Fred asked, "The red smudged ink makes it seem like a threat."

"I don't know." I spoke defeatedly, "I didn't get a minute of sleep last night because of it."

***

The day was similar to yesterday in the shop. Customer's came in looking for a new wand or asking if I can repair their broken or dirty wand.

It was surprising how many people needed a new wand at any given time. Two members from the Ministry stopped by to congratulate me and to tell me to be ready for large numbers of customers this summer.

"Why?"

"The French, Dutch, Italian, and Polish Ministries have reported that all of their wandmakers have either been killed or disappeared. So all of the French, Dutch, Italian, and Polish witches and wizards who need a wand will either be coming here or the Spanish wand shops."

This was terrible news for many reasons. Why are so many wandmakers mysteriously dying? How am I going to create enough wands for the large number of incoming customers? And how am I going to gain access to the different wand cores they use in those Wizarding Worlds?

I went into the shop office and read through the table of contents of each of the wandlore books. Nothing spoke of these cores, where they came from, or what special things they allowed a wizard to do. It's my second day of running a wand shop and I already have my first large obstacle.