Neville's New Wand

Neville Longbottom swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat, and stepped into the narrow, dusty shop. It was unnaturally quiet and still after the slight tinkling of the bell above the door died away, and he was unsure of what to do. There was no one behind the counter, and the flames were turned low in the lanterns spaced unevenly around the walls. He almost turned to go back out into the street, where he had insisted that his grandmother wait for him, but stopped himself. She was hurt and angry about being excluded from this errand, and Neville knew that if he retreated to her now, she would hold it over his head forever, and continue treating him like a baby; an untalented one.

"Hello?" He called into the silence, with a voice stronger than he felt.

He waited a moment for a reply, but got none. He called out again. This time, his ear caught a faint noise that seemed to come from the very back of the store, possibly traveling down some unseen stairway, and then a voice called faintly,

"I'll be with you in a moment!"

Neville supposed that he would have to be content with that, and looked around the shop while he waited. There were several very long rows of shelves; stacked high with boxes that he supposed must hold wands. The shop had a slightly otherworldly feel to it that reminded him strongly of the room in the Department of Mysteries that had held the globes of prophecies. His grandmother would say that it was just his imagination threatening to take over again, and that he needed to pay more attention to the present.

He shook off thoughts of what his grandmother would say. They had had many 'strained discussions' (Gran did not argue with anyone) over the summer holidays. Her disappointment over his behavior just before the end of term, her dismay over the breaking of his father's wand, his disrespectful attitude since his return home from his fifth year at Hogwarts (meaning he didn't meekly do whatever she told him without question)... the list went on. Neville felt a strange sort of pride at having caused his Grandmother so much distress. He had come to realize that his grandmother was not necessarily doing her best to help him along in his magical education, and in fact, might be subconsciously hindering it. He knew that his grandmother loved him, and had tended to smother him a bit because of it, with all of her rules and dire warnings that he would never be as good as his father. But that admonition had lost a bit of its sting now that Neville had discovered that he could do so much more than he had ever expected. He would never again be content to meekly agree with whatever she thought was best for him. He understood better now, that her constant comparisons were her way of trying to convince herself (and him) that her grandson would never be significant or important enough to be hurt. Like his parents had been.

Spotting a spindly chair against the wall, Neville resigned himself to sit and wait for whoever had called down to him to make an appearance. He folded himself into the chair (which creaked ominously under his weight) and noted that he would need to be measured for new clothes today, as well. He had undergone a growth spurt over the past year, especially since the beginning of summer, and his trouser legs and the sleeves of his robes were too short, and the waist of his pants was looser than it should be, much to his relief. He thanked the Powers-That-Be that he was finally growing out of the puppy fat that had plagued him for most of his life, and was getting taller. He had hated the uncomfortable feeling of being less... mature than the other boys in the dormitory at school, and hoped that now he would fit in better. His outside self seemed to be catching up with his newfound inside self.

He would also have to visit the apothecary today. Damn it. He had been gob-smacked when the results from his O.W.L.s had arrived and informed him that he had achieved a grade high enough to take N.E.W.T. level potions. He had received a very resentfully worded letter from the potions master with a list of potion ingredients he would need to have a supply of for his advanced level class. As much as he hated and dreaded the prospect of another year in class with Professor Snape, he admitted inwardly that he would endure anything to qualify to become a professional Herbologist. To live his life getting paid to do that which he loved, spending hours in green houses with his hands in the earth, nurturing all things that grow in it.... That was his greatest ambition. So he would endure Snape if it killed him, and be focused and competent under that derisive glare. What kind of Herbologist didn't know what plants were used in which potions? It seemed ridiculous to him that he had not made that connection in his mind up until recently, and he hoped that it would help him in both classes to remember that. Luckily, Neville had found an old copy of his mother's advanced potions textbook in the library of his grandmother's house, and had been poring over it for the past two weeks. He would not give Snape the satisfaction of casting him out of his class for poor performance.

Another noise from the back of the shop brought Neville out of his reverie, and he stood, expecting the shopkeeper to appear. When he only heard, "Not much longer now!" from the disembodied voice, he sighed and looked around once more. There were boxes piled onto just about every surface, and each one was long enough to accommodate the wand within, and narrow. There was a label at the end of each one, written in what appeared to be a code or acronym: 11 ½ in., bch, uth. He studied it for moment and came to the conclusion that the wand within was eleven and a half inches long (obviously), and was most likely made of birch or beech wood, containing a unicorn tail hair. That seemed simple enough. How Ollivander managed to find anything in the jumble of boxes was a mystery, though, as there didn't seem to be any type of logical filing system to go along with the labels.

Neville wondered if he could save time by looking for a box that was labeled with the type of wand his father's had been. That is what he had been using up until now, and so he guessed he would end up with something similar. His father's wand had been 9 ¾ inches long, walnut, with a dragon heart-string core. How he would find one in all of this was beyond his comprehension....

"Hello! Hello!" The voice that had called out to him before called out again, much closer at hand. A man appeared, wearing a heavy apron, and hurrying out of a row of shelves, apologizing distractedly for keeping him waiting.

"Hello," said Neville, assuming that this man was Mr. Ollivander. "I, er, need a wand?"

The man looked at him properly now that he was behind the counter, and Neville felt his pale gaze penetrate him for a moment. It was kind of creepy.

"I've never sold you a wand before," he stated matter-of-factly, slapping his hand on the counter for emphasis. "I remember every one, you know."

"No," Neville answered. "I've been using my father's wand, but it... got broken."

"Oh dear," Mr. Ollivander said. "Broken your father's wand.... That would be Frank Longbottom, would it?"

"Yes." Neville was taken off guard.

"You favor your mother," Ollivander said, as he came around the counter with a measuring tape. "Now let me see...."

Without further ado, Neville found himself being measured with a long tape, while Mr. Ollivander muttered to himself. The odd wand maker turned abruptly away with a suddenness that made Neville twitch, and disappeared into one of the rows of wands.

"Here we are," came the voice, followed by the man. He placed three wand boxes on the counter, lifted the lid from the top one, and offered the wand inside to Neville. "Try this one."

"Thank you." Neville took the wand reflexively and looked it over. The wood was a lighter, more golden color than his father's had been, and seemed a bit longer.

"Maple. Ten inches, Phoenix tail feather," Ollivander stated, and then promptly plucked it from his hand.

Neville assumed that the shopkeeper was simply going to put the wand in the box and tell him how much he owed for it, but was instead presented with another wand. This one was almost black in color, and much thinner than most of the wands he had seen. He took it and examined it briefly, but it was pulled from his grasp without even an explanation of its attributes. He was not quite sure what was going on; why was he being given more wands? He looked to Ollivander for a clue, but the man was opening the third box.

Another wand was thrust into his hand, and this time Neville gasped. A tingling heat radiated from its handle and traveled up him arm. He gave a shiver as the heat spread through his entire body, until he felt that his hair must have been standing on end.

"Ah yes," Ollivander nodded in a satisfied way, "go on and give it a try. Something simple."

Neville looked at the medium gold wood of the wand for a moment, and then cast his eyes around the shop for something to practice a spell on. His gaze alighted on the spindly chair he had occupied only minutes before.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he muttered, swishing and flicking this new wand the way he had been shown in Charms class in his first year. He had never been very good at it, but had never hurt anyone with it, either, so he figured it would be the best one to try. To his amazement and Ollivander's approval, the chair levitated gently into the air, and landed just as softly at Neville's urging.

"Yes, that will do nicely!" The wand was taken from Neville's hand, and placed back into its box and wrapped. As he tied it into a parcel, Ollivander told him, "Hazel wood, twelve and a quarter inches, with a core of unicorn tail hair. You'll see an improvement in your work, I think, with this wand, Mr. Longbottom."

That's not the only thing that's going to see improvement. Neville thought to himself as he paid for his wand and left the shop. Not by a long shot.

End.