Harry Potter, The Bronze Boy

oF gOBLINS aND wANDS (2)

Mike and Thomas walks out of the third book shop with a list of books they ordered.

“Where to next dad?” asked Thomas as he put away the list.

“Well I think we should get your wand,” Mike said then paused and said, “but you'll have to drop your glamour and go by yourself,”

With a sigh he dropped the glamour and made his way to Ollivanders.

A wand, this was what Harry had been really looking forward to. The ability to do the things he knew front in back on theory with the swish and swoosh of a stick.

The shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC.

‘Never updated since!’ Thought Harry as he opened the door to the ancient shop.

Somewhere in the depths of the shop a bell rang. Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library. Looking at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly, to the ceiling. The back of his neck prickled, the very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon,"  said a soft voice. Harry jumped. An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale, unfocused, eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello,"  said Harry awkwardly as he wanted this done as soon as possible.

" Ah yes,"  said the man. " Yes, yes. I thought I" d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter."  It wasn't a question. He began to talk about how he had his mother's eyes and her wand. It would have been even weirder for him if he had known nothing about his mother.

He wanted his wand and wanted out.

Mr Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were creepy.

He began a tangent about his father and his wand. Spacing out Harry looked around the shop.  He only turned in to hear, " – it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course"

That's neat.

Harry wondered, what happened to his parents wands?

Mr Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes. He took a step back, away from the pale eyed man.

"And that's where..."

Mr Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger. Personal space much?

" I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it,"  he said softly. " 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 stopped and turned to the stacks of wands, Harry was just glad they were getting to why he was there. His wand.

" Well, now – Mr Potter. Let me see."  He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. " Which is your wand arm?"

" I'm right-handed,"  said Harry raising his right hand as if to prove his point.

" Hold out your arm. That's it."  He measured Harry from and many more seemingly useless measurements. As he measured, he talked about his family’s history, " Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance-..”

Harry suddenly realised that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.