The Wand Makers Apprentice

Chapter 1

It was a late Saturday evening. The sky was a satisfying purple and the sun still twinkled lazily near the horizon. Diagon alley was quiet this time of year, especially this time of day, but this day was different. In the distance there were owls flying around in the darkening sky, and what seemed like fireworks were faintly burning in the distance.

Ollivander walked to the front of his shop, shut his blinds and approached the door. He peaked outside the window, his eyes searching above his glasses, checking for any sign of movement from outside. It was worryingly rowdy for this time of night. Had there been another attack? Surely the death eaters wouldn't attack people down Diagon alley...

He sighed deeply. Over the years of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Name's rein that if he was safe behind the doors of his wand shop and there were no death eaters inside with him, there weren't anything to worry about. The ministry was telling everyone to keep inside, look out for your family, but Ollivander had none that were still alive.

He walked off around his shop, shutting and locking all his cupboards full of wands, finally finishing with the front door.

"Alohomora." He muttered. He had never quite mastered the art of non-verbal spells.

He sighed again, this time shutting his eyes and imagines the tranquil imaginary world he had thought up, about his wife still being alive and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named being dead. It grew awfully lonely alone in his shop, but he was doing what he loved. He had nothing to complain about.

He slouched off up the spiral staircase to his bedroom upstairs. It was an unusual room at first glance, as seen as it was only one square meter in size, and cover head to toe in books, no doubt all of them about wands. But as you delved closer, you could see patterns elaborately decorating the sides of the book cases. They were Patronuses.

Every time a witch or wizard purchased a wand from his shop, there patronus form would be magically carved into his bookcase. He glanced to the bookcase which seemed to be plain in comparison to the others, but when he looked again he saw a new pool of animals gathering around the edge, obviously moving, like most magically images. These were the forms of Patronus from the little first years who bought their wands today. They'd soon be heading off to Hogwarts.

Ollivander smiled. The thought of more witches and wizards buying his wand made his tummy grow warm. He lived for his wands.

He came back from his daydream with a blink of his eye. He realised why he had come up the stairs to his apartment. He moved over to the middle bookcase, which was the most beautiful of all of the bookcases in the room. It was the one fullest of animals, and it was the most treasured of all his possessions.

Ollivander glanced at the animals on the left side of the case for a second, with a look of searching on his face. Then he found the thing he was searching for; a small owl, his own patronus.

He took his wand and tapped it twice, and the book case disappeared and ravelled a small hallway, covered with big ebony doors and moving pictures.

Ollivander yawned and began to walk down the corridor, his bed was calling him. However satisfying his work was, he loved to sleep after a busy day. His job was not as easy as it would seem to some.

He was about to reach for the door knob of one of the doors, when a small cough echoed from the end of the hall.

Ollivander's hair stood on end and his eyes grew steadily bigger. His hand withdrew slowly from the door knob, reached into his robes and seized over his wand.

He slowly turned around, his eyes shutting as he did so. He took a deep breath and he opened his eyes. His breathing was quickening now, and his heart pounding in his skull.

His eyes opened fully, wider than they had ever been in his life, but there was nobody to be seen in front of him...

Another cough echoed down the hall. This time it was more urgent and demanding. The penny dropped...

Ollivander walked down the hall, taking big steps. His pulled his wand out of his pocket and turned to face a raged purple curtain, lying limply against Ollivander's dark floral wallpaper. He tapped it with his wand and they flew dramatically open, as if blown by a sudden breeze.

Behind the photo stood a portrait of Geraint Ollivander, order of Merlin second class, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 1852 and the best medieval wand maker.

"Yes." Said Ollivander bluntly, expecting the worst.

"A message from Professor Dumbeldore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," said the portrait. He had a formal tone, with a note of importance, like he was about to tell Ollivander the most important information he would ever receive in his lifetime.

"Yes." Ollivander repeated, a sick feeling was starting to swell in his stomach. Dumbeldore had told him to put this picture here encase of dire emergency so he could contact him and send him information about the Order of the Phoenix without been intercepted by the Ministry.

"The potter's are dead; Voldermort has fallen," Ollivander flinched at the name, but Geraint didn't seem to mind in the slightest. "Dumbeldore will arrive at your shop tomorrow. He has an important mission for you to undertake. He wants you to get a good nights rest. He will arrive at three am sharp. Good night dear nephew."

Olivander sighed once more. He was not morning person, but didn't Geraint just say that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was fallen...