Ollivander's War

At the sound of distant shouting, Horatio Ollivander sat up in his hard, narrow bed. There was rarely any noise within the fortress of the Dark Lord. The room he was confined to was thick with damp that got into one's bones, and though he had been given several blankets after he took ill this winter, they never helped dispell the pervasive chill that had settled deep inside him.

This fortress had been his home for the past several months. His living space was a small, dusty room with just the bed and no windows, and there were locks on the outside of the door to keep him in. He had shelves with wand wood and cores, but was unable to use his woodworking tools unless he was personally supervised by a Death Eater. Meals came on a semi-regular basis, and the Death Eater guarding him walked him to the loo whenever he needed it, but it was a jail no less cruel, he imagined, than Azkaban. He didn't need Dementors to remind him of his mistakes or hone his regrets. He needed only to see one of his beloved creations in the hands of a witch or wizard serving that abomination against nature.

As if his lowly state wasn't enough, his room was plagued with rats. He heard them scrabbling in the walls, and one venturesome creature had taken to sitting at the end of his shelves, watching him with beady eyes that almost appeared intelligent. Ollivander had begun saving scraps of his meals to share with the rat, but it always shied away from letting him touch it. He supposed even a half-tamed rat was better than no companionship at all, and that in itself showed how far he had fallen.

There was a muffled explosion and Ollivander felt the floor shudder the slightest bit. He pushed the blankets back and swung his feet slowly over the edge of the bed, the socks he slept in to ward off the cold doing little to protect him from the icy stone floor. Footsteps thudded down the hallway. Ollivander reached for his shoes. If he was to die in his nightshirt, he would at least die with his boots on.

Severus Snape burst into the room, his wand (birch, nine inches, dragon heartstring) sparking and his face crackling with anger. Remus Lupin (ash, eleven inches, werewolf tail hair--the only time Horatio had used a non-traditional core) had come in behind him, moving backwards, his eyes glued on the passage outside the door.

"Get your things together!" Snape ordered, glaring.

"We'd best hurry, Severus," Lupin said, sounding preoccupied. He was obviously holding several spells active at once. Ollivander was impressed. "We're going to have some Death Eater company very soon."

"You forget, I'm a bloody Death Eater," Snape said. "I'll just tell them I've captured you both."

"I think your killing Nagini sort of blew your cover, Severus."

Yes, of course. That explained the dual nature of Snape's wand--the ferocious core, the patient, loyal wood. He had been a double agent for Dumbledore. Ollivander nodded.

"You aren't moving," Snape observed. "Motivate him, Lupin." He took up Lupin's post at the door.

Remus turned to smile gently at Ollivander, tawny eyes fixed curiously on him. "Your disappearance caused quite a stir. Since there was no disturbance at the shop, no one could tell if you'd gone willingly or not."

"Yes," Ollivander blurted, surprising himself. That would explain Lupin's wand, then--ash wood spoke of curiosity, wit, communication--and it was tied to the snake. Ollivander glanced at Snape.

"You can trust Severus," Remus said, his voice kind. Ollivander wondered if the werewolf knew how warm his gaze was when he looked on the other man. It was obvious there was more to them than was readily apparent. "He learned you were here, and he brought me to take you out of this place. But we really should hurry. Can I help you pack?"

Ollivander shook his head. "I need nothing." His voice broke. He had helped the Death Eaters. He had helped Him-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! He had not gone to them willingly, but he had preferred making wands for the enemy to death, when those were his only options.

"Come, then." Lupin held out a hand, and Ollivander took it willingly--the past year had aged him.

"We'll let ourselves out the back," Snape said, his voice dry. "I take it you can get him to safety?"

"You're coming with us, Severus." Lupin's voice was calm and firm.

"I can't do that. Potter will get himself killed. As soon as you're clear, I shall have to find the brat and try to keep him alive long enough to confront the Dark Lord."

Ollivander could see from the set of Lupin's shoulders that he wasn't happy about Snape's decision, but he didn't argue. Following Snape silently, Remus glanced over their shoulders repeatedly. Ollivander kept his gaze glued to Snape's back, unsurprised by the unhappy, tense lines in his stance.

They took several turns in their flight through the complex passages. Finally they drew up at a simple wooden door set into the stone wall. Snape eased the door open, murmuring an incantation under his breath. Lupin stood guard. They could hear shouting in the distance.

"Go on." Snape put a hand on Ollivander's shoulder and pushed, more gently than the withered man had expected. He stumbled forward all the same, then turned to look back.

"Severus--" Lupin began. He broke off at a small shake of Snape's head. They locked gazes for a long, long moment, then Lupin nodded once. His expression was unhappy. "Come back to me," he murmured, so softly Ollivander nearly missed it.

Snape's lips moved. "I will."

And then he was free.

*

The war was over.

Voldemort was dead, his minions captured or killed, the post-war trials begun, and Harry Potter's funeral still in the headlines.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had reopened under the guidance of Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, with war hero Remus Lupin serving as her Deputy Headmaster and Head of Gryffindor House. The exonerated Severus Snape had been reinstated as Potions Master and Head of Slytherin. After Hagrid's death, Charlie Weasley had accepted the Care for Magical Creatures post.

Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger were all being touted as heroes. Draco Malfoy had surprised most of the Wizarding world by turning on his father and becoming an informant for the Order. It had been the only thing that saved him and his mother from being impoverished by the Ministry. He was currently serving as a key witness for the Ministry in most of the Death Eater trials.

Everyone seemed to have forgotten Horatio Ollivander.

Not that he was going to complain about this fact. He'd lost a stone, gained some new scars, and helped create the untraceable wands that had murdered far too many innocents.

"What have I become?" he muttered, pacing his shop. The floorboards were thick with dust, which rose in clouds and made him sneeze.

Lupin's parting words to him had been, "Go home and be safe, Mr Ollivander. The world needs you."

But why?

What use was an aging wandmaker who had served the Death Eaters? It didn't matter, in the end, that he had done so unwillingly. What mattered was the terrible things that had been done with the wands he created. And he had never been able to craft a wand badly. He had tried, with the first wand, demanded by Bellatrix Lestrange. He had given her holly (a terrible wood for her) with unicorn tail hair. It had exploded the moment she touched it. She had used her brother's wand to cast the Cruciatus on Ollivander, and when the pain finally relented, he had crafted her an exquisite wand that was suited to her personality and needs.

He had spent the rest of the war using only phoenix feathers and dragon heartstrings. Purity, innocence, beauty--these were things of the past. The Dark Lord had no use for unicorns, once their blood was drained.

"Why did I live?" Ollivander asked aloud, his words falling on dust-furred shelves and neglected counters. He thought of the expression on Harry Potter's face when he had learned that You-Know-Who's wand shared qualities with his own. He remembered the look on Ron Weasley's face when he bought his first new wand. He heard in his memory the boyish laughter when Neville Longbottom used a wand that had no legacy attached to it.

He had heard about Neville's death, taking down Bellatrix Lestrange in a brilliant show of courage and fortitude that would have made his parents (alder with dragon heartstring, that was Frank, and hazel with a unicorn tail hair for Alice) proud. It was some comfort that the boy had used an Ollivander wand to do it. He knew that Ron Weasley had been crippled by the blast that killed You-Know-Who and Harry Potter. The boy would need his wand to levitate things to him--if only it hadn't been destroyed in the explosion.

Would there be others who needed wands, who fought and lost the physical extension of their magic in the heat of battle? Ollivander looked around the room, taking in the stock still piled on shelves. Who would make wands for them?

"Horatio, you old fool," he muttered to himself. "If you were spared, there must be a reason."

He had heard of Hermione Granger's project to help the war orphans--as if she weren't one herself. But then, so many of the Muggleborns had lost their families in the war, at least she still had her fiancé. Ollivander shook his head. The war orphans might need wands, and if they didn't need wands, they might need jobs. He would require someone to clean the store, collect wand cores, polish the wood and help collect samples. Very well, he would start with the war orphans.

The Death Eaters had learned tricks to adapt wands for use only by one person. Ollivander had picked up the method during his captivity and that would be a useful thing for the Aurors to know, certainly. He would contact the head of the Aurory and ask if this was something Ollivander could teach them.

And perhaps Minerva McGonagall would know of one or two students who might be interested in the art of wandmaking. It was a tricky profession, couldn't be learned from a book, and he had no children of his own. He would need to take apprentices to pass along what he knew.

No--he would go to the men who had already saved him once, and might help save him again. They were heads of their houses, they could better identify the students with the correct skills and temperment for his craft. Severus Snape, of all people, would understand about second chances. Ollivander had followed the trials via the Daily Prophet. He had done little, in fact, save read the papers obsessively and avoid his shop. He knew that the Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt and Lupin had testified alongside Minerva that Snape had been acting as Dumbledore's agent all along, had only appeared to kill Dumbledore--the evening edition after that stunning revelation had gone into far too personal detail regarding the Headmaster's failing health over the last year before his death, and the Dark magic that was already killing him before Snape's attack.

Even more, it was obvious to Ollivander that Lupin had helped Snape sieze his second chance; Lupin had believed in Snape when probably no one else had, ostensibly because of his role as a fellow spy for the Order. Ollivander knew it was deeper than the case that had been presented to the Wizengamot. He had seen the dedication and need between the two men. He respected their privacy; it told him they would appreciate his desire to do his good deeds quietly, with no fanfare or fuss. He could tell Lupin what he knew about the Death Eater wand tricks. The younger man would certainly be able to communicate this to the Aurors and let Ollivander know if it would be useful to them.

Who better to help him, than two men who had already made their amends? He wouldn't ask Minerva; the dear lady would never understand the depth of his transgressions. But those men--they had seen what he had become. He wouldn't have to explain to them why he must do this--only say that he must--and they would understand.

He had made himself famous as a wandmaker, established himself in his field, and had accumulated a great deal of wealth. This was his chance to start over, to help those he had wronged. He couldn't change the past, so he must make the most of the present. Horatio Ollivander had much to atone for. And after all, there was no time like the present.