Princess; George Weasley

six

A/N: Thanks for reading the really long chapters we've had! This one is about five hundred words shorter than what I would hope for, but it's better than combining and making the last chapter 3,000 words. Go follow these awesome, supportive people.

TheBookWorldIsMine

Wolftailtheoriginal

Vintage_Rogerina

I walk in, and the inside is fairly neat. A counter is running along the back wall, and the staircase besides it is tall and winding. The shop is dark, and the wooden bookcases absorb the light from the large window in the front. The bookcases remind me of the ones at Borgin and Burkes, dark and full. These shelves are filled with wands instead of books. 

The man who I assume is Ollivander, walks down the stairs, his polished shoes are the first thing is see. His silver hair is messy, and the wrinkles in his skin deepen with his smile.  "Ah, miss..." he starts to speak, but he looks at me a little closer. "Sorry, I normally remember most of the witches and wizards I give a wand to..."

I laugh, his confused expression becoming more intense, "not to worry, you didn't give me my wand."

He walks towards me. "Well then, what can I help you with?" A smile is back on his pale face.

I pull out my wand, showing him the rough edges. "Do you think you can repair it?" 

His eyebrows furrow, looking a the split wood. He sighs, "unfortunately, no. I can mend it into a single piece but it won't work." He grins slightly, "Is this one of Violetta Beauvais' creations?"

I nod, "I got it in New Orleans with my grandmother."

He takes his wand from my hand. "It's truly a whimsical city. It has the perfect blend between historical sights and modern landscapes. Is this nine inches, maple wood, and a water serpent spine?"

"Yes, sir," I mumble, looking at his hands.

"Well, miss..." he starts to say.

"Prince," I finish. 

"Prince, eh?" He asks, staring at me with wide eyes.

"Yes," I say, hesitantly, "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all," says Ollivander, grabbing a clear wand case from off the shelves. He takes out his own wand and mends two ends of my wand together. He puts the wand in the case and closes the clear box. "I thought the named died out after Eileen married that muggle man. Your father came in and told me the whole story when he was getting his first wand. I told him the few times I had ran into her. She was in her first year while I was in my seventh."

"Oh," I say quietly, "She raised me most of my life so my father gave me her last name a few years ago. She died in may." 

"That's too bad," says Ollivander, "Bright woman she was... wonderful at gobstones." 

I nod, and place the glass case with my old wand in my tote bag. 

"I didn't recognize you, you know?" He states.

I look up at him, confused. I've been in New York since I was three months old. "Did I meet you at one point?"

Ollivander smiles, "You're father came for a new wand with you right before he left. You couldn't have been more than a few months. He said it didn't work as good as it did at one point, and that there are too many bad memories associated with it. He should still have it."

I look at him, not knowing what to think. I've never really thought about when my father was young, let alone him right after my mother died. 

He turns around, then grabs a wand in a dark red box. He hands it to me. "Black walnut wood, unicorn hair, 10 1/4, with unyielding flexibility."

I take the wand, the handle was more defined than on my last wand. It was a brown wand with a green tint, rather than red. The wood texted was faint, but looked like little, horizontal lines. 

"Go on, give it a flick," he smiled.

I take the wand and try and cast a simple spell, instead of the display case getting bigger, it tips over completely. The loud noise makes us both jump, and I notice a crack on the wand stands.

"Maybe not," He says, a slight chuckle escaping his lips.

"I'm so sorry, I can help pick up," I voice, hoping I didn't cause too much damage.

"You're fine Ms. Prince," Ollivander says,  "I've had people set the staircase on fire!" He  almost looks traumatized at the memory. He goes for another wand which is on a lower shelf. "This one right here is closest to that American wand of yours."

He opens the dark green box, and the black wand almost looks like plastic. It looks quite similar to mine, only mines a dark brown, not black.

I take it out of the case cautiously. I glance at Ollivander and he nods. "Accio flowers," I say clearly. The pink and yellow flowers float out of their vase and glide towards me, instead of landing in my hand, they fly past me and into the door.

"I guess phoenix feather isn't for you," Ollivander looks around his shop, then at the destroyed display case. "I wonder..." he picks up a mustered yellow box and walks over to me.

I take the wand out and before I get the chance to say anything a bright white light hangs around the end of the wand. I look at the light and see the yellowed-brown piece of wood. The handle is smooth, but the actual wand has a swirled texture.

"There's your wand," he says, smiling, "Willow, unicorn hair, 10 1/2 inches, and solid flexibility."

"Willow?!" I ask, somewhat shocked. I close my eyes, thinking of my grandmother's favorite place in the world. We'd always sit underneath a large, willow tree every time I was home. She always told me I was just like my father, and that the tree reminded her of one my father would sit underneath with this closest friend. We would talk about school, and she'd laugh at how Ilvermorny ran things. Herbology was her favorite subject and it's not required till sixth year at Ilvermorny. She would tell me all about our gobstone days. My favorite thing to do was to people watch. We'd pick a random person walking by and make up a story in our mind. It's things like this that make a mark on my personality now. I'm more observant than I once was. It's also things like this that I miss the most.

I wipe a small tear discreetly off my cheek, coming back to reality. "My grandmother and I would sit under a willow tree in central park almost every day."

Ollivander smiles, "The wand chooses the wizard, Ms. Prince. In this case, I think it's very clear why."