FIC: The Wand Chooses the Wizard (G)
Title: The Wand Chooses the Wizard
Type: Fic
Age-Range Category: Two
Characters: Garrick Ollivander, original house-elves, Eileen Snape, and Severus Snape
Author: iulia_linnea
Rating: G
Note(s): Book canon doesn't specify Severus' wand wood and core, so I've taken guidance from the Harry Potter Fanon Wiki's article on Snape's wand.
Summary The wand chooses the wizard.
A thin shaft of sunlight fell upon a box upon a shelf in the front room of Ollivander's in Diagon Alley. Almost at once, a charm diffused the light so that it would not set the box alight by dint of shining too long upon it. Garrick was especially proud of that particular charm; his mother had developed it, as she had developed so many of the charms - and hexes! - that kept the wand shops in good working order. His assistants and he took turns running things in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, but he had to admit, that like his mother, he preferred the city to the county location.
He sipped his tea and glanced from here to there, pleased to see that Itsy and Bitsy had been hard at work; there was not a speck of dust to be found anywhere. "Here's hoping that Teeny and Weeny are doing as well in Hogsmeade."
Pop!
"Oh, they is, Mr. Ollivander, they is!" Itsy, or perhaps, Bitsy, said.
Ollivander sipped again and grunted.
"The wands is wanting us to be cleaning, too," continued Bitsy, or perhaps, Itsy.
"I didn't see you there," said Garrick, without turning his head to address the house-elf behind him.
"I'm still here."
"Stand together," Garrick ordered, and the house-elves moved to stand before him.
Their cheerful voices rose up to him as one blended song. "Good morning!"
"My friends," Garrick began, noticing how the wands were vibrating in their boxes and not quite liking it.
They did that but rarely, and the last time had been for a boy called Riddle.
"What kind of day do you suppose this will be?"
Itsy, or perhaps, Bitsy, tilted her head at him. "An exciting day! He is coming! The wand has already chosen!"
Bitsy, or perhaps, Itsy, added, "Oh, yes! The boxes keep flying off the shelves - all but the box!"
Looking around, Garrick saw that this was true; hundreds of wand boxes, rattling away in vibrating excitement, hovered like a school of fish before a particular wand slot in the wall, a full slot. The box was dusty white.
"Most likely Slytherin," Garrick said aloud, while thinking, Slytherin. Why'd it have to be Slytherin.
The last time it had been all vibrating wand boxes, it had meant a Slytherin, as it turned out, had got a wand.
The Riddle boy.
Suddenly, Garrick very much wanted to return to bed. Instead he said, "The wand cannot choose the wizard before the wizard puts in an appearance, Itsy and Bitsy, you know that."
"I is knowing that the Riddle boy's wand was waiting for him."
"Yes."
Without knowing who had said what, Garrick shook his head and then drained his teacup. "Would someone please refill this for me?"
The cup refilled by magic. He drank.
"Again, please."
The cup refilled. He drank again.
"All right, you lot!" called Garrick. "Back to your places. Stop gawking!"
The wands returned to their berths.
"More tea?" asked Itsy, or perhaps, Bitsy.
Bitsy, or perhaps, Itsy, said, "More dusting!"
"But there is being no dust," Garrick began, before realising he had lapsed into elven diction and closing his mouth.
"More tea, definitely," the house-elves said, as one.
Pop!
A big beautiful floral pot appeared, steaming fragrantly, before Garrick could take a breath, and before he let it go, Itsy and Bitsy unceremoniously took themselves off.
Pop! Pop!
"Not a speck of dust anywhere, my . . . ."
Garrick moved to the shelf holding a white, dust-covered box engraved with Ogham runes. The cubby was stuffed with wands, and he had to pull each one out and off the be-runed box before he could remove it. He blew the dust off the box and set it to levitating before him.
"Accio tea!" Garrick pulled the cup into his hand and sipped, considering the box. "My father may have made you, or Grandfather."
His mother had enjoyed rune carving, so it was possible that she had crafted the box, but he didn't believe she had.
"Too old. No, it was most likely my great-great grandmother who made you," he said, addressing the wand box.
The runes were old, and some of them, he didn't know, but then, Runes had not been his subject.
"Let's see what you're holding." Garrick tapped the box, and it slid apart into two pieces, the sleeve, and the box inside of it, before the great ebony wand floated up before him.
It was a beauty. He could tell at once that the ebony had come from the Connemara mountains. Ebony was an unyielding wood, dense enough that it could sink in water, and the twelve-inch wand before him, as so often was the case with a dark hardwood, was polished to a glassy finish.
Garrick reached out to stroke it and gasped. "A triple core!"
The wand quivered.
"It's all right, you beauty. You're wonderful."
The wand vibrated under his praise; Garrick felt as though he could feel it purr.
"Yes," he whispered, running a light finger along its length, "you are special, aren't you? It's rare to find a wand with a tricore, and yours is . . . phoenix feather, ridgeback heartstring, and . . . oh! and kelpie heartstring! Magnificent!"
There was no doubt about it; the wand was the product of his great-great grandfather's craft.
"He was something of a show off, you know," he told the wand, sliding it back into its box and pulling the runic sleeve back over it. "Just want to keep you safe for your chosen wielder, my friend."
He replaced the wand in its cubby and sat down to polish off his tea, wondering all the while about just who that wielder was going to be because with three such powerful core products, he knew that wand would want a wizard of great power and sensitivity.
"The wand is strong and tempermental."
He knew that because of how it had reacted to his perceived criticism and praise. Yes, the wand was sensitive, indeed.
"Oh!" Garrick rose to his feet and went looking for his runic dictionary, but before he got far, Itsy, or perhaps, Bitsy, was levitating in front of him holding it out to him.
He grunted in thanks and returned to his stool behind the counter.
"Ah, here it is," he murmured, looking up the runes he remembered clearly from the wooden sleeve. "These are all runes of comfort and calmness and quiescence."
High strung - the wizard who would wield this wand of power would be high strung and, for want of a better word, needy.
"Interesting."
And so it was, interesting, to consider the young wizard - how Garrick knew that the wand had chosen a wizard and not a witch, he couldn't say; he just knew it - who would wield the wand, but it was also disturbing.
"The wand the Riddle boy chose was also meant for a wizard of power and . . . personality."
"Personality" was not a word that Garrick enjoyed wielding, mostly because he used it euphemistically to refer to any of a number of bad personality traits he wished that young witches and wizards did not have, particularly not when entering his shop for the purposes of being chosen by a wand.
"The wand chooses the wizard," he mused, "and the process does not always bode well for other wizards."
The suspense was killing him. Who would it be? Who would come to wield this wand? Whom had the wand chosen?
A vibratory ripple rode through the shelves, ending in the ringing of the shop's door bell.
"Good morning!" Garrick said, standing automatically and smiling.
A dark-haired woman, her hair caught up in a restrictive, tidy bun, entered the shop in front of her son, a taciturn yet curious young man wearing ill-fitting clothes and bearing wide, wonder-filled eyes.
"Mr., er, Mr. Ollivander?" he asked.
"Why, you must be," he said, with a glance at the boy's mother, "Eileen Prince's boy, Severus!" he exclaimed, shaking the boy's hand. "How are you, er, Mrs. Snape?"
"Very well, thank you, Mr. Ollivander. We've come to - oh!"
"Oh!" young Severus exclaimed.
Garrick turned and was not surprised to see the white be-runed box floating in front of Severus' face.
"The wand chooses the wizard, my boy. You may open it. Go on, don't be shy."
Severus didn't have to be told twice. He wrapped his long delicate fingers greedily yet carefully around the wand box and drew it towards him.
Yes, thought Garrick. The wand chooses the wizard, but what . . . what will this particular wizard choose to do with such a powerful wand?
Only time would tell, he supposed, knowing that it was rather quite likely that he would not live to see the outcome of this particular pairing.