Heir Apparent By MonsieurClavier

Chapter 3

Note:
Harry’s milkshake brings all the wands to the yard.

the whole wand scene that follows (with actual wands, not a euphemism for penises, sorry) relies on my own made-up canon that harry gets more and more powerful with age and is therefore, like, super hot property to wands at the age of seventeen compared to when he was younger (and less powerful). which is complete and utter nonsense as per canon but wth.

also harry was the master of the elder wand before he time-travelled, and the wands can sense that, so basically harry’s power brings all the wands to the yard.

yes i said it. all the dicks wands. to the yard.

or should it be one very specific dark lord to the yard?

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Diagon Alley was bustling with witches and wizards of all stripes, but Ollivanders was another world entirely. The moment Voldemort and Harry entered the shop, it was as if a cloak of impenetrable silence had descended upon them.

The dusty old establishment, with its haphazard shelving and its unmistakable aura of ancient magic, had always been one of Voldemort’s favourite places in wizarding Britain.

And Garrick Ollivander, who looked more his age than Voldemort ever would, was one of Voldemort’s favourite people in wizarding Britain. Not only was Voldemort’s first visit to Garrick’s shop a fond memory—this was where he’d been given his wand, his dearest possession—but he respected Garrick’s vast knowledge of magical history and his unrivalled mastery of wandlore.

It was a pity that Garrick was a covert operative of Dumbledore’s. Based on the intelligence that Voldemort had gathered through his own agents, Garrick had been keeping records of the wand cores of Dark wizards, including Death Eaters and their children, for many years, and had been relaying that potentially battle-winning information to Dumbledore.

To know a wizard’s wand core was to know his magical core, and to be better positioned to manipulate it, attack it or deplete it. Garrick should have been sworn to secrecy on this matter—it was a cornerstone of professionalism in the wand-maker community—so his betrayal of this most fundamental of oaths was unfortunate.

Were there a more skilled wand-maker alive, Garrick would now be dead. Still, needs must. Voldemort couldn’t kill him yet. And besides, Voldemort wouldn’t have tolerated an inferior wand-maker crafting his son’s wand.

“Garrick,” Voldemort greeted warmly, his Legilimency stretching out to skim appreciatively over Garrick’s armed fortress of a mind. Not as flawless as Harry’s, but a respectable effort. “A pleasure, as always.”

“Tom,” replied Garrick from behind the counter, somewhat warily. He, too, was familiar with Voldemort, but had the regrettable habit of addressing him by his boyhood name and not by his current title. A failing he had in common with Dumbledore. “I am pleased to see that you are well.” Garrick’s all-seeing eyes flicked over to Harry, probing, questioning. Possibly attempting a Legilimens of his own, futile though the attempt would be. “And this is…?”

“Harrison,” Voldemort offered promptly. “Harrison Gaunt.”

“I’m not a bloody Harrison,” Harry started on his inevitable tirade, only to be interrupted by Garrick.

“But all the Gaunts are dead,” Garrick said, going pale.

“Yes.” Voldemort smiled—a bright, vicious smile. “They are, aren’t they?”

To his credit, Garrick did not ask any further questions. He knew when to be silent and when to speak, unlike Harry.

So Voldemort spoke to fill the silence. “I am here to buy Harrison a new wand.” Whatever wand Harry had owned in the future may not even have been made by 1963, so it was safer to conduct the search from scratch.