Darcie felt like she had stepped into the past when she entered the Ollivanders.
Except for the evening light letting itself in through the open entrance, no other lamp or brazier was flaming inside the shop. It was cold, dark, and dusty. Something which Darcie both liked and disliked.
Dobby kept himself closed to her, and both of their heads kept bobbing around, their eyes landing on the thousands of narrow boxes piled right up to the ceiling on shelves and covered under a thin blanket of gray dust. Except for a single, spindly chair in the far corner, the shop was all empty.
Darcie took a few more steps in, her breath white and misty. Clung to her frock, she could feel the house-elf shivering, and for once, Darcie thought it was too cold even for her.
"Hello?" the voice came from behind.
Both Darcie and Dobby spun on their feet and looked up. The same old man, whom Darcie had seen in the morning at Brews and Stews' parlor, was now standing at the entrance, closing off their means of escape.
But this wasn't a children's tale. Nor did Darcie need a pat on her back to calm herself down. "Good evening, Mr. Ollivander," she greeted, taking in a freezing breath. "It's an honor to make an acquaintance with the greatest wandmaker alive."
Garrick Ollivander was an elderly man with pale silver eyes shining like two blurry stars on a cloudy night, and his skin was paler still. His head was full of bushy, white hair, and now, his face was having a hard time holding back the broad smile trying to arch his lips up.
"I know you, young lady," he said, nearing her. "I recognized you in the morning, yes. What can I do for you, Ms. Darcie Malfoy, and her friend, eh?"
The house-elf swelled his chest. "Dobby is my name, sir," he declared. "Dobby is Ms. Darcie's knight."
Darcie shook her head and patted Dobby's head.
Mr. Ollivander looked from Darcie to Dobby, and then back to Darcie. There was an odd glint in his eyes that the coldness of the shop hid from the other gazes.
"I've read so much about you, Mr. Ollivander," Darcie explained, now shivering a bit. "How you revolutionized Wandmaking and the Wandlore itself, and I've even read many papers published by you."
"Oh, have you now?" the Wandmaker chortled. "Well, that's something we share among ourselves, then. I've been quite fascinated by reading your views in Magical Today myself. I see the cold is getting to you, young lady.
"Would you care to join me for an evening tea? I am afraid I made Clutterbuck tell me about your circumstances. Do forgive her for my sake. It's getting hard to curb my curiosities as I get older, it seems."
Darcie nodded.
They went inside, making their way through the many shelves storing the boxes, each having a wand inside them.
Darcie's heart thumped wildly. Often a deep breath would have calmed it down, but not today.
Nothing she could do but walk, follow the owner and push her bubbling curiosity deeper into her mind from where the thoughts of reaching out and grabbing a box were generating like chaotic gusts of wind.
Mr. Ollivander took them to a small room with a bed and two chairs near a fireplace. With two flicks of his wand, a fire roared in the hearth, and a steaming teapot and three cups appeared on the table placed between the two chairs.
"It's not as grand as the Malfoy Manor," he told them, sounding older than he looked, "but more than enough for me."
Darcie helped herself to a chair. Mr. Ollivander sat opposite her, and Dobby sat down on the floor, keeping himself near to the fireplace.
"You don't mind him having tea, do you?" the wandmaker asked Darcie, pointing his chin at Dobby.
The little girl and the house-elf looked at each other. "Why would I mind that?" Darcie asked, confused.
Mr. Ollivander nodded and mumbled to himself.
Darcie could've sworn she noted a hint of a smile on his face, but by then the cups were flying towards them, and hers had more momentum than others.
Once they had got the cups, the teapot whistled a tune, spitting out steam. It poured hot tea into their cups and returned to the table with a sigh.
Darcie sipped. It smelled of home.
"Good, right?" Mr. Ollivander commented. "Madam Rosa from Rosa Lee Shop sends me a jar of her best tea in summer and winter. It was just yesterday when the young Hufflepuff had bought her wand from me. Time flies. Sigh!
"So, you didn't tell me what you are doing in my shop, truly? Oh, I don't doubt you have read my papers. But there is another reason."
Darcie straightened herself. "You are right, Mr. Ollivander," she told him. "I want to learn Wandlore."
Her declaration was like a bullet, and it reached the recipient, tearing and burning the air.
"Cough! Cough!" the wandmaker snorted out the recent mouthful of tea he had sipped.
"Are you alright?" Darcie asked, concerned.
"Forgive me," Mr. Ollivander said, cleaning the table. "So, Wandlore, huh? May I ask why are you interested in learning it? Surely there is no use for a…"
Whatever the old wandmaker was about to say, he held himself back from saying it. Darcie had put down the cup on the table, and it seemed the words no use had offended her somehow.
"Wandlore is as old as Magic, if not older, I've learned, Mr. Ollivander," Darcie explained. "You must have read about my accident in the Daily Prophet. Let me tell you, there is some truth to it if not being entirely true.
"After losing control, I decided to learn about wands and their relation to magic. But as time passed, I became more and more interested in this field, to a point that I couldn't help but enter your shop when I saw it."
Darcie's childish voice had an edge to it, but her words were meticulous, clearly telling of her high birth.
Mr. Ollivander observed her deeply. "Wandlore is an ancient field, I agree," he told her, regaining his composure. "One needs an extensive amount of magical knowledge, aptitude, and knack for practicing their hands at it. Even then, Ollivanders' Wandlore has always stayed in the family. I am sorry, Ms. Darcie."
Darcie looked down but said nothing.
She returned to her tea and took several sips in succession, the silence in the room becoming grand meanwhile.
"You live by yourself here, Mr. Ollivander?" Darcie asked after some time.
"Yes," the wandmaker nodded. "After the passing of my wife last winter, I had moved myself to the shop. With no children, work seemed to be the best potion for loneliness."
Darcie stared at him with a sadness in her eyes clearer than their cold, green colors. "I am sorry for your loss," she intoned. "May I confide something to you, Mr. Ollivander?"
"Oh, yes, please!" the wandmaker smiled, leaning forward. "Old as I am, even I don't get to meet such brilliant youngsters often."
"As I told you, I got interested in wands after my accident," Darcie whispered, leaning forward as well. "So, after spending some time learning many books on magic and basic spellwork, I tried my mother's wand."
"And?"
"Well, it worked fine," she told him. "But it also didn't feel natural. I did confirm a theory of mine, though."
A flame of curiosity was blazing in Mr. Ollivander's eyes now.
"Really?" he mumbled. "What is this theory you confirmed, then?"
Darcie composed herself. "Since I can remember, I have these words that I followed," she said, looking at the teapot. "The first word is Specific. I must be specific enough about what I want (-Darcie's eyes deepened as she looked at the teapot-).
"The second word is Belief. I must have true faith, unbreakable confidence, and hope in my creation; in myself (-a dense magical aura churned around her like a whirlpool-).
"And the last word is Intention. Intentions that must never waver, and must be backed up by solid foundations laid by Specific and Belief."
As she finished, Darcie outstretched her gloved hands towards the teapot and unfurled her fingers.
The teapot instantly squirmed, folding into itself, and from this chaos, tens of little birds spurted out, tweaking a song of ice and fire.
"Merlin's beard!" Mr. Ollivander gasped, as the birds flew out of the room, making a raucous.
Darcie had more to say. "After playing with my mother's wand, and using it to brew potions, which require precise use of wands," she said, making the old wandmaker look at her again, "I got some results of my own."
"Miss Darcie should not tell him," Dobby cut in. "Master told not to…"
Mr. Ollivander's voice overpowers the squeak of the house-elf. "What results?" he asked, color rising to his face, and his lips quivering.
Darcie saw no point in hiding, unlike Dobby. "I may be wrong, as I haven't learned enough…"
"Please, continue…" Mr. Ollivander urged.
Darcie nodded. "I think," she said, "a wand somehow eliminates the need of being Specific and having Belief in oneself. How? I could not figure it out."
Mr. Ollivander's mouth was open wide, and he stared at Darcie with an extraordinary fascination.
"I must go, now," Darcie said, pushing herself out of the chair. "Please don't mention my use of Wandless Magic to anybody, Mr. Ollivander. I don't want to be punished."
With a rare smile, Darcie held Dobby's hand and walked out, the old wandmaker following them with a stunned look on his face.
Dobby collected the gifts they had placed near the entrance, and the pair stepped down the stairs, leaving the proprietor at the entrance.
Darcie paused and turned around. "You can play with us anytime at the bookshop, Mr. Ollivander," she said, looking up at him. "You are not alone. Thank you for the tea."
The legendary wandmaker's face contorted as he saw Darcie and Dobby disappearing along with the thinning crowd. Many times, he opened his mouth to call out to them, his hand lifting and falling with every rise and fall of his thoughts.
Then, with a long, pained sigh, he went back in.
And as he closed the doors, they seemed to creak louder today; in cold and in reluctance.
***************
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