Rating: G
Characters: Mr. Ollivander and a Customer

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It was a shame, really. A terrible, terrible shame.

Mr. Ollivander fixed the old wand carefully in the vice, and studied it thoughtfully. It was a good wand--willow, sixteen inches, with the heartstring of a Peruvian Vipertooth at its core. Still in excellent repair after more than twenty-five years. Convincing the owner to part with it had not been easy.

What he was about to do to it would be harder still. But he had said he'd do it, and Ollivander was a man of his word. Besides which, it was a challenge, one unlike anything he'd attempted in all his years of wand-making.

He rechecked his materials, assuring himself that everything was here and in readiness. The casing was already prepared, shaped from the same wood to the same length and the same specifications, right down to the cut of the handle. Finding the correct ingredients for the varnish--one long since superceded by more modern materials--had been nearly as tricky as finding the core. But it must be perfect, absolutely perfect, to achieve the desired results--and he remembered every wand he had ever sold.

He could do it, yes indeed. He was certain of it. He might very well be the only wand-maker who had ever attempted such a feat, and it rankled to think that if he succeeded, no one except the man who had commissioned the project and the intended recipient would ever know.

Worse, though, was the necessity of destroying a perfectly good wand in order to do it.

The old wandmaker sighed. He had agreed, and he was working on a deadline. Picking up his own wand, he began the delicate and exacting task of unsealing the old instrument.

Absolute precision was required. One wrong move would sever the heartstring, ruining the entire undertaking, and he very much doubted he would ever be able to find another--certainly not in time to deliver on his promise.

Inch by inch, he watched the edges of the fine, smooth willow curl back, exposing the fragile material within. Speed was also a necessity. Exposed to the air, with its preservative charm undone, the heartstring would not survive long.

At last the casing lay fully open. With all the care of a Muggle surgeon removing a tumor from the heart of a child, he lifted the slender filament from its place and transferred it to the new casing. Fourteen inches, ash, a classic design that had fallen out of favor some years ago--but his hands had worked the wood into the familiar shape with unconscious ease, and he knew it was a perfect match.

He measured the core several times, checking and re-checking the length with almost neurotic care. This was the single most important step--if it should be off by so much as a fraction of a millimetre, the wand's harmonics would turn out all wrong, and it would not take readily to the hand for which it was intended.

Ollivander shook his head disapprovingly at the thought of that first wand, the one this instrument would replace. It had been a fine effort, and deserved a better fate than it had found at the hands of the Ministry.

The same could be said of its owner. By all accounts, he too had been broken, and the wandmaker suspected his reconstruction (if it was possible at all) would be every bit as tedious a task as this. But that was a project for other, younger souls. He would play his part, and hope for the best, and be content.

Satisfied at length that he had measured accurately, he aimed his wand at the heartstring and parted it with a quick, sharp Severing Charm. He couldn't be sure of the results until the wand had been finished and tested--but it felt right, and after all his years in this business, he had learned to trust his instincts.

The sense only grew stronger as he carefully sealed up the wand and began the application of the varnish.

Yes, quite satisfactory. He was certain of it.

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"Good day, Mr. Ollivander."

The old man smiled, nodding to his very special customer. "Eleven inches," he said by way of greeting, "holly, with a core of phoenix feather. Excellent for Defense--and not so bad for the saving of worlds."

"Precisely." The young man smiled faintly. "You have the item I commissioned?"

Ollivander reached beneath his counter and tripped a hidden ward, responsive only to his hand, sliding open the drawer wherein he kept only his most unique and costly wares. "I have indeed."

"You succeeded, then? It's identical to the original?"

"Down to the last detail. I even constructed a duplicate case, at no extra charge." He handed over the box, not without some regret. "Test it, if you like."

The young man opened the box and drew the wand out--and nearly dropped it.

"Something the matter?" Ollivander inquired.

"Not--exactly. It's just--it gives me the creeps." The wand was quickly returned to its place. "Which I suppose is a good omen. We never did agree on a price, Mr. Ollivander. How much do I owe you?"

He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the counter top, then slowly shook his head. "Take it. The experience of making it was payment enough."

"But sir, I'm more than willing to give you a fair price--"

"Nonsense. It's not every day I receive a commission like this. Haven't been presented with such a challenge in years. Just see to it that it reaches its proper owner safely--and for the love of Merlin, don't get caught. I shall be very put out if this one meets the same end as its predecessor."

Young Potter hid the box beneath his robes. "As would I, sir. Thank you."

"Be off with you now. You've a rendezvous with thirteen inches of ash and unicorn hair, if I'm not mistaken."

The young man nodded, and exited the shop, hurrying down the street toward his meeting.

Ollivander smiled, and turned the sign on his shop door. For the first time in its history, excepting the two occasions when the wizarding world had celebrated the fall of the Dark Lord, he would be closing his shop early.

He felt like celebrating.

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated characters and concepts are the property of J.K. Rowling. These stories are fan tributes to her works, and generate no profit of any kind. No challenge to the intellectual property rights of Ms. Rowling, or any other author or artist whose works may be mentioned herein, is intended or implied. Story archived by permission of the author.