The Three Brothers: The Cure

The Wandmaker

22nd July 1991

"The Goblins are a prideful race, Mr Smith," Professor McGonagall informed her quarry as they exited Flourish and Botts, their book shopping now done. "Despite a bloody history between the two races that is marred by the many wars and rebellions that took place, wizards and goblins now enjoy the longest period of peace and cooperation recorded."

She turned to look at her new student, her legs still striding towards their destination.

"You will learn all about it in your History of Magic Classes, of course. Professor Binns is one of the most experienced teachers at Hogwarts," she added. Mark nodded as he followed her, trying to get as much information as he could from both her words and her thoughts. She didn't seem as confident about Professor Binns as she claimed to be, for example.

Mark's dad followed the two of them, lagging behind a few steps as his head swivelled around to examine the various eccentricities of Diagon Alley. Gold cauldrons, silver telescopes, flying broomsticks, people dressed in bizarre robes; the wizarding world was even more colourful than they had imagined. Their next stop was to purchase a wand for Mark.

They had finished all the other stops on their list, and Mark had never had a better day before. Okay, maybe when he got his guitar. Still, it was a great day so far. Once they got in the alley through the portal in the Leaky Cauldron, their first stop had been the goblin bank Gringotts. After exchanging the pounds for galleons, they began the shopping. School robes at Madam Malkins, brass instruments from Wiseacres, nasty ingredients from the Slug and Jiggers apothecary; Mark's school term was going to be really interesting.

During all this, both Mark and his father had kept up their steady barrage of questions to the professor. Mark could make out that under her professional exterior, she was actually pleased with the questions that the two of them had.

Mark's thoughts were interrupted as Professor McGonagall slowed down. They had reached their destination

"Since 382 B.C.?" he heard his dad ask in an incredulous tone. Ollivander's Wands was apparently an old establishment.

The moment they opened the door, a small bell jingled somewhere inside the shop. It was a bit dusty everywhere, and the smell of old musty paper and curing wood wafted through the shop. Mark looked around, examining the tall shelves filled with boxes that seemed to dominate the interior, reminding him of an old library. His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of an old man with pale eyes and wispy white hair.

"Good afternoon," a voice spoke, an undercurrent of wisdom ringing through the room.

Mark turned and saw an old man standing in front of him. He had pale eyes and his hair white and wispy. His

"Good afternoon, Mr Ollivander," Professor McGonagall spoke, her tone curter than usual. Ollivander looked straight at her, and a twinkle emerged in his old eyes.

"Ah, Minerva McGonagall. Fir, nine-and-a-half-inches, very stiff. Excellent for transfiguration, if I recall."

"Indeed," the professor replied after a tired sigh.

"And who is this?"

"Mark Smith, sir," he replied, a tad too excited. Something about all this felt right.

"Well, Mr Smith, let's find you a wand shall we. Now, which is your wand arm?"

"Both, I guess," Mark answered noncommittally. He was mostly ambidextrous. "Does it matter?"

"Yes, indeed it does. You see, Mr Smith, it is the wand that chooses the wizard. And a wand behaves differently in different hands." Ollivander looked at him, excitement evident on his face. "For you, that means we will have to try twice the number of wands."