The Last Days at Hogwarts

The summons from Ollivander came sooner than Harry had expected. A very large, very official looking owl, an owl to put any Ministry owl to shame, arrived on his windowsill one afternoon. It didn't hoot to announce its arrival; instead, Harry saw it staring at him expectantly, as if curious to know why it had not been attended to already. Harry knew this was a bird to be treated with care and respect: he walked over and took the parchment proffered.

As he unravelled it, he realised that there were actually two scrolls wrapped around each other. One had a very simple message.

'Harry James Potter is requested and required to attend the meeting of the Guild of Wand Makers on the evening of Wednesday next at 8p.m.'

Attached to that was a note from Ollivander.

'Dear Mr Potter,

'As you will see, your induction to the Guild will be next Wednesday. Please arrive at my premises at half past six.'

Harry read the note with a mixture of surprise and apprehension. The Guild of Wand Makers . . . he wasn't quite sure what this would involve, but he knew it wasn't something to be taken lightly. He looked up to see the owl still regarding him gravely.

"Thank you."

The bird gave what could almost have been a dignified nod, before taking flight into the overcast December sky. Harry looked down at the scroll. Induction . . . what could that mean? And what would they expect of him? He supposed Dean had had the same note. Struck by an idea, he reached for a quill.

'Dean,

'I've just got the note about the induction. What happens? What do we have to do?'

He looked up for Hedwig. "Can you find Dean?" he asked her.

His owl looked at him as though to say: find Dean? Do you really think I'm not up to a task like that?

"It's just that it's a bit urgent."

She hooted softly, and Harry gave her the scrap of parchment. She clutched it in her beak and set off into the gloomy afternoon.

For once, Harry wished he was back in the library at Hogwarts. There must be books that would tell him more about the Guild - but then, Dean should be able to fill him in on a lot of the details. He felt a slight hollow feeling in his stomach as he read the two notes again. What was he letting himself in for?

Dean's reply came later in the afternoon.

'Come round this evening any time after eight. I think it's fantastic.'

Harry was a little more re-assured - but then, Dean wanted to be a wand maker, so this would certainly be good news for him. He turned back to the books that Ollivander had given him, resigning himself to an afternoon spent reading.

He felt a little bit more prepared as he stood in the middle of his room ready to go to visit Dean. Dean was sitting at his desk as Harry appeared in his room - Harry thought it only good manners to appear with a slight 'pop', but even so, Dean jumped at the sound.

"Harry! Good to see you."

"How are things?"

"Good. Things going well at Ollivander's?"

"Yeah, really well. Cos of being inducted into the Guild early, he's been doing a whole load of stuff with me that would usually wait until you're apprenticed."

"Oh." Harry wasn't sure what to make of this. Would it mean that his ignorance would be shown up even further? Dean must have read the expression on his face.

"Not that you have to worry. I mean, you're not going into it as a profession, so to speak. For me, it's really important."

"Okay," said Harry, parking himself on the bed, "but - well, they must be going to ask me something about wands. And I've been reading all those books Ollivander gave me, but I'm still pretty ignorant."

"Well, maybe. But that's not really why they're asking you, is it?"

"I suppose not."

"I mean, the idea is to give you some more tricks up your sleeve, so to speak."

"Like I'm a conjurer?"

Dean laughed. "You know what I mean. And that trick I used last time - well, it worked, didn't it?"

"It certainly did," admitted Harry. "We'd have been stuffed without it."

"So - the more you know, the better chance you have."

"I suppose."

"So you'll be able to learn all sorts of stuff from Ollivander. And," he hesitated, "me too, when I start doing this properly."

"I dunno," said Harry. "Sometimes I feel like a circus animal being trained up to do all these tricks."

Dean's face creased up. "Hey, come on. I wish I had all your chances."

"With Voldemort thrown in?"

Now it was Dean's turn to look uncomfortable. "Well, maybe. Well, maybe not, to be honest."

Harry leaned back on the bed. "Sorry to take it out on you, but there're times when it gets a bit much, if you know what I mean."

"S'okay. Anything I can do to help. We're friends, aren't we?"

Harry remembered once using the same words to Neville. "Yeah, sorry. It's just that - well, you know."

"Sure. Look, do you want to have a chat with Mum and Dad?"

"Yeah," said Harry gratefully. It would be a diversion.

"Come on then."

Dean opened the door and took him through. Mr Thomas was reading a paper, and his mother was deep in a book. Family life - what he'd never had. But they both looked up as the two boys came in, and their faces brightened when they saw him.

"Harry!"

"Come in, boy, and sit down."

"Thanks." It was good to be made welcome. "How are the two of you? Recovered from the ordeal?"

"Ethel hasn't had so much excitement in years!"

But Mrs Thomas shuddered. "Maybe. But from what Olive's been saying, I'm glad I didn't see that fellow - you know who I mean."

"But seeing the Ministry was fun," Mr Thomas went on. "And meeting that headmaster of Dean's."

"What's his name again?"

"Dumbledore," Harry told them.

"Funny name. And not what we expected as a headmaster! I mean, that beard. And hair. Still, Dean says he's good."

"Dumbledore? Yeah, he's good all right."

And Harry realised he was now defending Dumbledore after all their tribulations.

"We had to take another of those magical promises," said Mr Thomas. "Not to talk to other Muggles." He seemed amused by the word. "We can talk to you lot, and Olive, but that's it. I tried it on one of my customers once, but somehow my mind went blank."

"Just as well you didn't have a wizard as a passenger."

"Not likely, is it, given the way you folks get about."

"I suppose not."

"That fellow," said Mrs Thomas softly, "he was the one that killed your parents, wasn't he?"

Harry nodded. Suddenly it was too much: his throat tightened, and he had to stare at the blank television for a moment or so. Then: "That's when I got this scar," he said, touching his forehead.

Mrs Thomas nodded, and went on: "You were brought up by your aunt and uncle, Dean says."

"That's right." Even now he couldn't keep a note of bitterness from his voice.

"Dean was saying he met your cousin and your aunt the other day."

Suddenly Harry was embarrassed, and he looked across to Dean, who had the grace to look rather uncomfortable. "Yeah. They haven't changed one bit."

"You've a nice house now, though," said Mr Thomas, seeing Harry's discomfort.

Again Harry couldn't help that touch of bitterness. "That's right. But do you know how I got it?" Mr Thomas shook his head. "It was left to me by my godfather. He was killed just over a year ago."

Another appalled silence. Then Mrs Thomas asked softly: "Him again?"

"No," said Harry. "One of his hangers on. They call themselves 'Death Eaters'." He could see the Thomases faces screw up. "Most of them are locked away now, though." He thought he'd better change the subject. "So what did you think of the Ministry?"

"Thought I'd died and gone to heaven," said Mr Thomas cheerfully. "I mean, that hall of yours - it would be as good as the Pearly Gates."

Harry had to suppress a smile at that. "Yeah, I suppose it does seem a bit like that."

"That Minister - he's a smooth type, isn't he?" remarked Mrs Thomas.

Another smile. "He's certainly that. Very effective though. Very efficient."

"I can imagine. He sweet talked the two of us. Dean wasn't having none of it though - he wasn't going to let us lose our memories."

"You were quite a sensation - Muggles in the Minster's office."

"As far as I'm concerned, it can be the last time," said Mrs Thomas frankly. She looked at her husband. "Anyway, it's all over now. And that Theo boy's locked away, I gather."

"Yeah. His father was a Death Eater. Don't think he was - but he would have been, given time."

"Just as well they caught him then." Harry nodded. "So there's nothing more to worry about?"

It was said casually, but Harry caught the undercurrents: Mrs Thomas was still worried about possible threats to her family.

"In some ways, no - in other ways yes." He tried to phrase his answer as best he could. "Voldemort is still out there, and he won't give up. We've done a good job tracking down his supporters, but Voldemort himself is another matter."

Mr Thomas's face creased up. "What sort of bloke is this Voldemort?"

Harry shrugged. "He wants to rule the world. The thing is, he's good. Really good. At all the nasty things. Like killing people."

"Can't the Ministry track him and just - well, bump him off?"

Harry sighed. "I wish it was as easy as that. Like I said, he's good. Remember Dumbledore?" They both nodded. "Well, Dumbledore's really the only one that can handle him. I saw the two of them, a year ago. They were duelling. It was frightening. They could do things I'd never dreamt of. Anyone else against Voldemort - they wouldn't stand a chance."

"Dean did."

Dean stirred. He'd been listening to the exchange quietly, but now he said: "Luck, Dad. I tricked him. I didn't defeat him, or anything like that. I just won us enough time to get away."

"So what you're saying is that he's still out there, after you, and there's only Dumbledore who can take him on?"

The two boys nodded. Harry could see the faces of the two adults, still not sure what to make of all this.

Finally Mrs Thomas said: "When Dean went off to that school - well, we'd no idea he was letting himself in for something like this."

"None of us did, Mrs Thomas. Everyone thought he was dead, or next to. But he's back. And evil isn't confined to wizards. There are enough Muggle wars out there."

"True enough." She sighed. "We just have to hope that it'll all be over soon."

"So do I. With our side on top."

"What happens if he gets on top?" asked Mr Thomas.

"You don't want to know," said Harry briefly. There was another long silence. Finally Harry said: "Look, his chances are pretty slim. This time people are more prepared. And last time he had a lot of support - this time, he's hardly got anyone. Anyway, there's nothing we can do about it by sitting here talking." He looked across to Dean. "And thanks to your son, I'm going be joining the Guild. That could be really useful."

"Yeah," said Dean. "Having Ollivander on your side - he could teach you loads of really useful stuff."

"This job of Dean's," said Mr Thomas, looking at Harry, "it's a good one, isn't it?"

"What - working for Ollivander? I'd say. And it looks as though Ollivander has taken a shine to Dean, if you like. So I'd say yeah, he's well set up there."

Dean was sitting looking highly embarrassed at being discussed like this.

"Oh, something else," said Mr Thomas. "This bird comes in with a note."

"An owl, dad."

"Okay, then, an owl. It's a note from those friends of yours - the Weasleys. They said to come round for the day. Boxing Day, they said, after Christmas."

"All of you?"

Mr Thomas nodded. "And Olive, of course."

"That'd be good. They'll look after you well."

"What sort of place do they live in?" asked Mrs Thomas.

Harry smiled. "Difficult to describe. But you'll like it. And you'll like the Weasleys. They're good value."

"It'd be nice to meet some more of Dean's friends. That's the trouble - him being at that school."

"Yeah - well, I reckon you'd like the Weasleys."

Then he looked across to his friend. "I'll be heading back. I'll see you at Ollivander's on Wednesday."

"Okay," said Dean. "And, don't worry about it, hey? It'll be okay."

"If you say so." He turned to the Thomases. "I'll probably be seeing you at the Weasleys, if not before."

"Okay, Harry. You take care."

He followed Dean to his room.

"See you Wednesday, Harry."

"Yeah. I'll be relying on you for moral support."

Dean grinned. "Don't bank on it. I'll be twitching as much as you."

Wednesday afternoon he tried reading through the books he'd got on wands once more, but he couldn't concentrate. Restless, he stared out of the window, then decided what he needed was a walk.

The neighbouring streets weren't up to much, despite the signs of gentrification appearing here and there. But there was a park within walking distance, and he found a bench to sit down on. It was a grey, misty December day, and soon he was too chilled to sit still for much longer. Instead, he did a couple of circuits of the park, his stomach knotted with apprehension. Street lamps were beginning to light up, piercing the gloom, and he retraced his steps to Grimmauld Place.

Despite the butterflies in his insides, he thought he'd better have something to eat, and Dobby suggested an omelette. He pushed it around the plate, and it was only the sight of Dobby's reproachful eyes that made him finish. But it did make him feel a little better. Thanking Dobby for the meal, he went upstairs and opened his wardrobe. Tonight he needed to dress as formally as he could. Slowly he changed, then looked at his watch. Twenty past. Oh, well. He gathered the books he'd borrowed together, stood in the middle of the room, and Apparated to Diagon Alley.

It was only a short walk to Ollivander's, and despite the CLOSED notice on the door, it was unlocked. The bell tinkled as he went in, and a moment later Ollivander appeared.

"Ah, Mr Potter." He gave Harry what he obviously thought was a re-assuring smile. "Come through. Dean is already here."

Dean was standing in the middle of the room, obviously too restless to sit down. Mr Ollivander inspected the pair of them.

"Hm," he said, "you'll do. Now, a few points.

"Being inducted into the Guild is as much ceremonial as anything, although you may be asked questions by some members of the Council. Just answer than as best you can. They will not try to trap you with their questions. They may be curious about you, but if you are straightforward with them, they will be straightforward with you.

"I have briefed them all about the two of you. You, Mr Thomas, will go first. In your case, much of the proceedings will be a formality. In your case, Mr Potter, the proceedings will probably be more open ended. But you will be treated with courtesy and respect, whatever happens."

He surveyed the two youngsters again. "Is there anything you want to ask me?" They shook their heads dumbly. "In which case . . ." He reached for two slips of parchment. "The meeting will be some distance from here, but I know of your skills in Apparating. You will find the instructions there."

Harry studied his slip carefully. As he might have expected, the instructions gave away nothing as to their destination.

"Are you both happy with that?" Ollivander asked eventually. Harry nodded, and Dean muttered some noise of assent. "Good. When we arrive, you will be shown to a side room where there will be some refreshments until such time as the Council is ready to see you. You will be called when we are ready."

He paused. "I shall go first, and you may follow after a minute or so. Mr Thomas first."

Ollivander smiled gently, and Harry realised that he was genuinely trying to put them at their ease.

"Follow in one minute," and Ollivander disappeared.

Harry and Dean looked at each other in what was a rather tense atmosphere. Finally Dean muttered: "Me next," studied his parchment, and disappeared in his turn. Harry waited in the empty office for what seemed an age before checking the details on his own parchment, then too Apparated to his unknown destination.

He found himself in a dark hallway, unlit by any window, candles burning in alcoves set along the walls. Ollivander and Dean were waiting for him, and a third wizard stood in the shadows.

Ollivander smiled at him. "I'm afraid you may have to wait a little while. Our meeting will have to dispose of some routine business first. But Abdiel will look after you. I shall leave you with him."

With that, Ollivander turned to a doorway and left them. Abdiel stepped forward. He was a relatively young man, dressed in a dark cloak.

"Through here," taking them into what was obviously an anteroom. "There're some refreshments on the table there. Please, do make yourselves at home. If you need anything, I shan't be far away."

Harry cast a glance at the sandwiches, but his stomach was too tightly tied in knots for him to fancy any of them. Dean was obviously of the same mind; in fact he didn't even look at the refreshments, but stood in the middle of the room, muttering to himself. Harry didn't think this was the time for small talk.

The time seemed to drag by. Harry didn't dare glance at his watch in case he discovered that it was only two minutes since they'd been shown in. He walked over the table, took a sandwich, sniffed it, then nibbled at it, more for something to do than anything else. He had so little appetite, however, that he put it back almost immediately. He glanced round to see Dean looking at him, and gave a rather forced smile.

"Not long now."

Dean treated this with the contempt it deserved, and went back to muttering to himself. Whatever he was on about, Harry had no idea.

Finally the door opened again, and Abdiel looked in.

"They're ready for you now," he said cheerfully.

Now the time had come, Harry didn't want to move. It was as though his feet had been stuck to the floor with some very strong glue. But Dean made for the door, and Harry found himself following him. Abdiel led down a corridor to an impressive set of doors, then flung them open.

"Mr Thomas and Mr Potter," he announced in a loud clear voice.

Harry found himself following Dean automatically. The doors closed behind them.

They were facing a large, horseshoe shaped, table. In the centre, facing them, was Ollivander. It was a relief to see one familiar face. Around the table were six or seven other witches and wizards, all gazing at the two youngsters. There were no windows in the room, and the dark panelling was only dimly lit by candles on brackets.

Then Ollivander began his formal speech.

"Mr Thomas, Mr Potter. You are summoned to the Council of the Guild Of Wand Makers in order that you might be accepted as apprentices to the ancient and noble art of wand making.

"Mr Thomas. Would you step forward, please?"

Harry wasn't sure whether he was relieved at not being first, or not.

"Now, Mr Thomas. On the table in front of you are three wands. You are allowed to touch each with a finger. You are not allowed to pick them up. Tell us all you can about these wands."

Dean stepped forward, and reached out a finger. From behind it was difficult to tell, but Harry thought he had his eyes closed. He reached out a finger, laid it on the first wand, and held it there for several seconds. He moved to the next. This time his finger stayed on it briefly. Then the last. Dean's finger remained on it for what seemed an age, before he stepped back.

"The middle one is not a wand," he announced in a loud confident voice.

There was silence.

"From their appearance, the first is made from mahogany, the second is ebony, and the third oak."

He stopped again and seemed deep in thought.

"The core of the first wand is dragon heartstring. The core of the third - I cannot be sure, but I would say hippogriff feather."

The conclave seemed impressed.

"Indeed, Mr Thomas," said Ollivander. "You are quite right on the first and second. The third has a concealment charm on it, but you are right about being a feather - but from an eagle owl."

From his oblique angle Harry could see the look of relief on Dean's face. Obviously he had passed that test.

"Now, Mr Thomas, you have some wands for us to examine that you made yourself?"

Dean drew out three more wands from his robes and passed them to Ollivander, who kept one, passed another to his left, and the third to his right.

"These wands were made by you, and you alone, without assistance?"

"They were," said Dean, his voice surprisingly firm.

The wands were slowly passed along from witch to wizard, and as each took it, Harry could see them weighing it up.

"M. Fourrure, would you like to chose one of these wands?"

One of the wizards leaned forward and pointed to the one Ollivander was holding.

"Very well. Mr Thomas?"

Dean took the wand from Ollivander.

"Is there some particular spell you would to demonstrate with this wand?"

Dean hesitated. "Would a Patronus be acceptable?"

Several wizards looked surprised by this.

"Indeed, Mr Thomas."

Dean stepped back. "Expecto patronum," he said softly.

A silver mist formed in front of the wand, then began to solidify. A leopard appeared by Dean's side, looked up at him expectantly, then sat on its haunches. Dean gave another little wave of the wand and the leopard looked at him rather reproachfully before dissolving into silver mist once more.

"Bravo," said Fourrure, clapping his hands. "Not an easy spell to cast - and with a strange wand too."

Dean flapped a hand back in Harry's direction. "Mr Potter is a good teacher."

Harry had to choke back a smile.

"Any more questions for Mr Thomas?" Ollivander enquired genially. "No? All in favour?"

There were nods from all around the table.

"Mr Thomas," said Ollivander more formally, "would you step forward and take this parchment. It is a magical binding contract to hold you to the firm of Ollivander as an apprentice."

Dean stepped forward again and took the parchment, then began reading. His voice was slightly shaky to begin with, then it firmed up.

"I, Dean Arnold Thomas, do solemnly . . ."

Arnold? He'd been keeping that one quiet, thought Harry irreverently.

Then Dean had finished, and handed the parchment back.

"This contract can now only be abrogated by our mutual agreement," said Ollivander. "But more of that later. Thank you, Mr Thomas."

And Dean stepped back, his part of the business finished.

"Mr Potter, would you come forward," Ollivander asked quietly.

His mouth dry, Harry moved onto the spot vacated by Dean.

"I realise the unusual nature of the proposal I have put in front of you," Mr Ollivander said to his fellow wand makers. "Perhaps you would like to address Mr Potter yourselves," and he sat back.

There was silence for several moments, then a witch on Harry's right leaned forward.

"Tell us why you think you should be admitted to the guild, Mr Potter," she said in a harsh voice.

Harry blinked, and then carefully prepared his answer.

"As you know, our world is threatened by the rise of one of the darkest wizards there has been. I was involved in his first setback, and have reason to believe he wishes to settle the score. The result may determine our future for a very long time to come. I need everything I can to help me to overcome this wizard. I believe I have a lot to learn from you."

"We do not take this matter lightly, Mr Potter. We are jealous of our secrets. The penalties for divulging them can be . . . severe."

Harry nodded. "I understand that."

"I hope you do," she said, staring back at him.

There was an awkward silence before the Frenchman - Fourrure - leaned forward.

"Mr Potter."

Harry turned to him with relief. Fourrure pulled out several sticks of wood from his cloak.

"These are not wands," he said softly, "but may be one day. However, some are more suitable than others. Now, I would like you to sort them - the most suitable on your far right, the least on your left."

Harry gulped. He glanced at Ollivander, whose face was inscrutable. He stepped forward. They all looked identical to him.

He picked them up one by one, passed them from hand to hand, put them down on the table. He looked at them for a minute or so, then picked them up again, again shuffling them from hand to hand. He pulled one out and put it on his far right. Another on his far left. Four left of the original six. He put them down on the table, closed his eyes, picked them up one at time a time, replacing them on the table. This one - on the right. Three left. There was nothing in it, he felt. Acting solely on instinct - or was he just guessing? - he laid the others down one by one.

The Frenchman looked down at the table.

"Not bad at all. Really quite well sorted." Harry wondered how he could tell. "I would argue about these two," touching two in the middle, "but there is little in it."

He gathered up the sticks again and replaced them in his robe. Harry felt the atmosphere had changed a little in his favour. He had passed some sort of test.

A witch spoke up from his right.

"Mr Potter." He looked at her. "The parchment on the table there. Would you care to Transfigure it into - say, a dormouse?"

Harry stared at her for a moment, and then was grateful for the memory of Professor McGonagall. He pointed his wand, and a startled looking mouse appeared in place of the parchment.

"A vase, please."

They'd done vases last year. He selected a nice crystal pattern.

"And some flowers."

Flowers - what flowers did he know? He settled for carnations.

"Your wand, Mr Potter."

Rather reluctantly he handed it over. She looked at it, ran a finger along its length, then pointed it at the vase. The flowers disappeared, then the vase became a mouse, before reverting to the original parchment.

"Hmm." She looked back down to the wand. "Like most wizards, Mr Potter, you are using only a fraction of the potential of your wand. I find British schools very weak in teaching the effective use of wands. You are a powerful wizard, but you have a lot to learn about the use of a wand."

Harry was speechless. In silence she passed his wand back.

Then a rather lugubrious looking wizard spoke up. But he was looking at Dean as much as at Harry.

"I gather you encountered You Know Who fairly recently." They both nodded. "And you cast the Reverso spell on his wand?" Dean nodded again. "It worked?"

"It did," said Dean, and took Voldemort's wand from his cloak.

There was an intake of breath from around the table.

"That is his wand?"

"It is."

"Might I . . .?" the Frenchman asked hesitantly.

"Of course," and Dean stepped forward.

The Frenchman took the wand from him very carefully, and turned it in his fingers.

"Sacre bleu! What a wand! And you charmed it?"

"Yes."

The Frenchman gazed at the wooden wand he was holding. "You are either very skilled or very lucky. Perhaps both."

He offered the wand to the witch on his right, who shrank from it. Others were less reluctant, and the wand was passed from hand to hand.

"Certainly unusual."

"Quite remarkable."

Finally Ollivander gave a cough, and drew the attention of the meeting back to himself.

"Now, does anyone else have questions for Mr Potter?" There was silence. "In which case, I would like to propose honorary membership of the Guild for Mr Potter. Do I have a seconder?"

The Frenchman, Fourrure, raised a finger.

"Thank you. Now, are we all in favour?"

Harry could tell that several members were not entirely convinced, but were not prepared actively to vote against the proposition.

"In which case - congratulations, Mr Potter. Would you step forward please," Ollivander said, holding out a parchment.

He scanned it then began reading.

"I, Harry James Potter, do solemnly . . ."

He handed the scroll back to Ollivander, who beamed at him.

"Thank you, Mr Potter. Now, if the two of you wouldn't mind waiting outside whilst we conclude our business . . .?"

Harry turned and followed Dean through the large double doors. Harry could see the expression of joy and relief on Dean's face.

"Well done, mate."

"Well done yourself."

"Bringing in that wand of Voldemort's was a stroke of genius."

"I just had a feeling . . ."

"I think it swung things. They obviously weren't very happy about letting me in."

Dean shrugged. "Well, you're in now. Congratulations."

"And you too. You're set up for the future."

"Hope so."

The door opened again and the witches and wizards began filing out. Some ignored the two youngsters, but Fourrure stopped, shook Dean's hand, and said: "Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir."

Fourrure turned to Harry. "Your selection of the sticks was not at all bad. If all else fails, you could take this up as a profession. But I think your future lies elsewhere."

Harry blinked, not quite sure what to say. "Thank you, sir. But I'm not quite sure where my future lies at the moment."

The Frenchman shrugged. "Which of us do? But whatever it is, I wish you well."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry again. "I appreciate that."

The Frenchman moved on, and finally Ollivander himself came out. He surveyed the two of them.

"You did well in there," he said quietly. "And congratulations to both of you. Now, back to Diagon Alley."

He took a step back, then disappeared. Harry looked at Dean.

"You next."

Harry gave Dean a moment or two before disApparating himself.

He arrived back in Ollivander's to find the old wand maker rummaging in a cupboard. He produced a bottle and three glasses.

"I think a toast is in order. I have a fine malt whiskey here. Treat it with care."

He poured a littler amber fluid into each glass, and passed one to Harry and one to Dean.

"To your success," he said, and raised his glass.

"To success," they echoed.

Harry's eyes watered as the liquor bit his throat.

"Too fine to be diluted with water," Ollivander remarked.

Dean was staring into his glass. "The first whiskey I tasted was given to me by the Minister."

"Was it now? First the Minister and now me. You move in exalted circles."

"Not really," said Dean.

"Either that, or your talents have taken you far."

"I was arguing with him at the time. He wanted to modify my parents' memories."

"And did he?"

"No."

"Persuasive and stubborn too. Talents useful in the right place and the right time." He turned to Harry. "You know, you are the first real honorary member for the past one hundred and fifty years."

Harry looked at him astonished. "What?"

"Oh, we give ceremonial membership to people like Ministers. But not real membership, such as yours."

"So that's why so many people were against the idea."

"Exactly. Your sorting of the sticks helped. And Dean's party trick with You Know Who's wand. But Madam Esebeck was right. They do not teach you proper wandwork at Hogwarts. That is something I shall teach you."

"Thank you."

"All those years ago, many people were ambiguous about the rise of He Who Must Not Be Named. Then, they found out too late what it meant. His downfall came a great relief. We must prevent him rising again. And you, I feel, will be involved with that."

"I'm afraid so."

"So you must learn how to use your wand."

"Okay. Thanks."

"We will make arrangements. But as for now - well, Dean, I will see you in the morning. And as for you, Mr Potter - I will be in touch."

"Fine. Thanks again. In which case, I'll be off home, if that's all right." The old wizard bowed his head. "Thanks again." And Harry Apparated back to Grimmauld Place.