Chapter 6
The break did not last long as neither of them wanted to waste any more time than necessary. It was time to get his wand.
Ollivander's shop was small compared to the others, narrow and shabby. A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. They both ignored the single chair they saw and waited standing. Harry's eyes wandered to the thousands of narrow boxes stacked on top of each other neatly right up to the ceiling. He was being watched.
Trying to ignore it, he focused on the dust and cobwebs. All in all, it looked messy, disorganised, although it probably made sense to the seller, Mr Ollivander.
Talking about the wandmaker. An old man with wide, pale eyes that shine like moons, appeared out of nowhere. It startled Harry enough for him to jump. Somehow, he knew he was Ollivander.
"Good afternoon." Through the gloom of the shop, he saw white messy hair matching his creepy eyes. How he hated those eyes looking at him as if he knew. What does he know? He felt a shiver travel through his spine up the nape of his neck.
"Hello." The raven whispered, in his mind the man's voice repeating the same phrase. The exact same words.
"Ah. Yes. Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." Don't say my name like that, he wanted to yell at the old man. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand." He recited in his thoughts. "Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." She was nice for Charms work, came the sudden thought. Blinking back into the present, he felt the hairs from his arms stand up at how close the wandmaker was. "Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration." He gulped down his nervousness as he continued to listen. "Well, I say your father favored it. It's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."
He had to take a step back suspecting what the old man was about to do. Harry didn't want his scar to be touched and he wondered why wasn't Quirrell protecting him now, unlike with that woman that reeks of death.
"And that's where..." He stopped and the boy's evasion. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that it," he said softly. I know. "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... Well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..." He trailed off into silence, none of them having anything to say. Quirrell coughed to get his attention after long minutes of waiting, asking him to please continue as they had a tight schedule. It's a lie the raven was glad for. "My apologies. Now, Mr Potter." He didn't have to continue as Harry automatically hold out his right arm to be measured without flinching at the touch of the long tape measure.
Thankfully, the next words the man had to say were more about wands itself and their cores, which he tuned out until Ollivander returned in front of him with an exclamation of, "That will do. Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nice inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave." He had the feeling it wouldn't work. Actually, they would be here for quite a long time if he lets him continue. Why haven't he thought of giving me the brother wand? Wait. What am I saying? Brother wand? And as that thought crossed his mind, he felt the wand being taken away. Good riddance.
"Sir, why don't I try to feel where's my wand?" He was reluctant to interrupt and ask him, but he didn't want to stay here for that long. Not if he can avoid it.
"Remember what I said before," Ollivander warned him with a stern very present look.
"I know, sir. But I have the feeling we'll be here for a very long time if we use your method." He tried to smile charmingly at him. The raven wasn't sure if he managed it or if it looked more like a grimace. Regardless, it seems it worked because the older wizard stepped aside to let him farther into the shop. "Thank you."
Taking a deep breath, the boy closed his eyes to better focus on letting go of his magic and reach for his wand. It is not his in the same way the other is but it was a good companion while it lasted, came the fleeting thought. There. He felt a pull from his chest to his extended hand and opened his eyes as he followed the lead. He had to be careful to take the right one when he got closer enough to the pile of boxes lest he takes the wrong one. The wand in his hand felt so warm, greeting him like an old friend.
"How curious..." Ollivander's voice startled him, coming back to the present. The man was behind him. Quirrell moved closer to were they were, watching closely at both of them. What is he thinking?
"What's curious?"
"Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches. Nice and supple. You see, Mr Potter, I remember every wand I've ever sold. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother, why, its brother gave you that scar." His silver eyes trailed his scar, making Harry feel very uncomfortable. Stop. Stop looking at it.
"Maybe you're wrong, sir." He nearly spat out. "Maybe it wasn't destiny but something much worse. Like my own choice." He finished with a growl, putting the wand back into its box and waited for the shop owner to tell him the price. He had enough of this place.
"Seven Galleons." Ollivander said faintly. He gave him his money and left the shop, not waiting for anything else the crazy old man had to say.
Being outside was like a breath of air to Harry's mind, too many images and voices fluttering around like butterflies. It was starting to be too much. He groaned in pain as he waited for Quirrell who followed soon after, bidding farewell to the still standing wandmaker.