Harry was not quite sure what to think about the place at first sight. On the one hand, it was like being in the Leaky Cauldron, and he had to wonder if the owner of this shop cared at all for how his store appeared. On the other hand, he got the distinct feeling it was made to appear like this on purpose. Something in the air spoke to him as he looked at the shop, as if saying 'this store doesn't need to look fancy in order to get it's customers' and, upon entering, Harry found out why.
A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the back of the shop as he entered and looked around. The store did not look like much. It was small, dusty and the only item in the room was a spindly chair. Despite it's rather lackluster appearance, however, Harry felt as if he had entered hallowed ground. Magic hung in the air, tingling and reverberating through his mind. It seemed to sing in his soul with a quiet reverence. He could hear what sounded like thousands of voices calling out—not to him he suspected, though he did not know why—in union.
And then he felt the presence behind him. Spinning on a dime Harry prepared to enter a combat stance, his mind going completely blank as he entered what he had taken to calling his 'combat mode.' His feet slid exactly shoulder width apart, left hand tucking into his torso where he could punch with both incredible force and speed, right hand stretching forward in order to parry any attack or pull someone into a grapple depending upon the situation.
Already his left hand was coming out in a straight jab aimed at where the solar plexus would be on his own body, which would leave anybody winded, before he had even finished his spin.
And then he stopped with his fist halfway to its mark. He blinked once, twice, thrice. After making sure his eyes were not deceiving him, Harry spent a moment trying to figure out how this old man managed to sneak up on him without him even noticing.
"Mr. Potter," the old man said, and Harry couldn't help but notice that the man's pale eyes had not even touched upon his scar hidden behind his bandana when he spoke. It was as if this man had known who he was before even entering the shop. "I was wondering when you would be coming by. I suspected I would be seeing you soon. You have your mother's eyes. It seems like only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charms work."
Harry relaxed his stance as he realized that this man was likely the store owner. In return, Ollivander seemed to take notice of Harry's posture relaxing and nodded to himself.
"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for Transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it—it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."
Now that he seemed to be out of danger, Ollivander moved closer to Harry. The boy in question tensed again, but relaxed a bit when he did not sense any hostile intent from the old man.
"And that's where..."
When Ollivander was no less than arms length apart, his hand came up and touched the bandana just where Harry's lightning shaped scar was. Harry almost flinched, but withheld the action by taking a slow breath.
"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 had known what that wand was going out in the world to do..."
"Hind sight is always fifty-fifty, sir," Harry told Ollivander, not feeling any anger at hearing that this man sold Voldemort his wand. It would have been irrational to be angry at someone who was just doing there job. "You couldn't have known at the time that Voldemort would end up becoming one of the darkest and most powerful wizards of the century."
"That's wisdom speaking," Ollivander said as he took a step back, not flinching at Voldemort's name like Professor McGonagall had. "You are indeed correct; when the one who would become known as Lord Voldemort entered this store he was but a boy no older than you are now. No one could have known then how he would turn out. Still, I cannot help but feel regret at knowing the part I played in his rise to power."
Harry shrugged. "Had he not ended up with the wand you sold him, it would have simply been because he had another wand instead."
"Indeed," the old man murmured in a bit of a dazed tone, before seeming to perk up, his eyes snapping towards Harry. "Which is your wand arm?" he asked, pulling a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket.
"Neither," Harry answered. "I'm ambidextrous." It was a skill he had been born with as far as he could tell. He had never favored one hand over the hand, using both and switching up whenever he felt like it. Harry suspected it had something to do with his eidetic memory, but didn't know for sure.
"Fascinating," Ollivander said, seeming to ponder Harry's words for a moment. "Hold out both arms then, that's it." The tape measure suddenly sprung to life, and Harry very nearly smacked it across the room when it started measuring him. It measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. Harry found the actions of the measure to be more than a bit intrusive, but stilled his tongue and fists by telling himself that all of this was so he could get his wand.
As his tape measure measured, Ollivander flitted around the shelves, taking down boxes. "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."
Harry frowned as the tape measure began measuring between his nostrils. He wondered if this was absolutely necessary in order for him to get his wand, or if perhaps Ollivander had simply forgotten to stop the tape as it measured him and it was now simply running on autopilot.
As if hearing his thoughts, Ollivander said, "that will do," and the tape measure stopped and crumbled to the floor in a heap. Ollivander than came up to Harry baring a wand in his hand that he offered to Harry. "Now then, Mr. Potter, try this one. Aspen, nine-and-a-quarter inches, with a Dragon heartstring core. Powerful, yet supple. Perfect for dueling. Just take it and give it a wave."
The moment Harry took the wand a frown came to his face. Not even bothering to wave it, he handed the wand back to Ollivander. "No, this one won't work."
Ollivander blinked.
.
.
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