A Cloud Before the Moon

Chapter 33 - A Trip to Diagon Alley

Two jaundiced eyes, narrowed to slits, glared down from behind an enormous desk. "I am afraid I cannot allow you to enter the vault, unless you hand in your wand."

"I don't recall any such rule in the past."

The goblin smiled unpleasantly. "You've been away for some time, have you not, Mr. Snape? There are special rules in such cases."

Snape blanched. He said nothing, but stiffly placed his wand on the desk with exquisite delicacy. The goblin snatched it unceremoniously. Snape's hand flew up and seized the goblin by the wrist.

"Do I need to have you removed from the premises?" warned Griphook.

Snape reluctantly removed his hand. "My apologies," he muttered. The wizard and the goblin regarded one another with distaste.

Griphook snapped his fingers and there appeared a particularly nasty-looking goblin, clad in a dragonskin loincloth and chain mail vest. Griphook addressed him. "Tenderbottom, you will escort Mr. Snape to his vault."

Tenderbottom grunted, "Y's'r'M'Gr'k" and stationed himself unpleasantly close to his charge. Though he'd not have admitted it, Griphook felt a certain grudging respect for Snape, who, unlike many humans forced into close proximity with Tenderbottom, seemed to bear the goblin's noxious bodily emissions with exceptional stoicism.

For his part, Snape was very certain that Tenderbottom had never been ribbed about his name.

After taking care of business, Severus Snape was very relieved to depart the halls of Gringotts, a sizable sack of galleons safely tucked away in one pocket and grateful to have his wand restored. He then proceeded to Mr. Ollivander's wand shop. He peeked in the window and caught sight of a young wizard and his father, deep in conversation with Ollivander. Snape waited on a far corner until they departed.

When Snape entered the shop, Mr. Ollivander was facing the back shelf, and did not immediately turn around. He did greet his customer with a pleasant "Good morning," however. He pulled out two boxes. "Oh dear, these don't belong here." He chuckled. "That was another first-year needing a wand replacement after trying to enchant a Knarl. Professor Cadwallader's class has done wonders for mid-year business." As Ollivander turned around, he asked, "Perhaps that is that what brings you...." He saw Snape's grimace and discontinued his question.

"I am surprised that the destruction of your handiwork by incompetent students should so amuse you," Snape commented irritably.

"Perhaps someday you will have your own little bundle of destruction. Then you might see things differently."

"I doubt it," scoffed Snape.

Ollivander paused, appraising his client. "No, I suppose not, Mr...?"

"Snape."

"Ah. A hint of recognition of the name was evident in the way the wandmaker pursed his lips. He again turned his back on Snape and resumed his organizational tasks for several minutes. If Snape was annoyed, he did not betray it. "There," said Ollivander, "all done. Now, how can I help you? Of course, as I'm sure you're aware, no adult wizard may replace his wand without proper proof and explanation," said Ollivander archly.

Snape's lip curled. "That is not why I am here." He then asked softly, "May I speak to you in a back room, perhaps?"

"Perhaps if you tell me why you've come."

"The Witherspoon Wand."

Ollivander knit his brows bemusedly. "Surely you are not here merely out of curiosity? And it is not for sale."

"I wish to borrow it."

"That's impossible! Surely, you're not...?"

"Certainly not," Snape growled.

"Then why...?"

"May we speak in private?" asked Snape, though there was no one else in the shop.

Ollivander considered for several moments, flicked the "Closed" sign into the window and lead Snape to the back room. "Are you familiar with the Witherspoon Wand and its history?"

"I am."

Ollivander ignored Snape's answer. "Abelard Witherspoon was the only child of one of the oldest and most important wizard families. "Unfortunately," he considered, "or not, the Witherspoon family tree has since withered and died." He glanced at Snape, but seeing no reaction to the feeble pun, plunged on. "Alas, young Abelard lacked the slightest magical ability whatsoever. He was a squib, through and through. He was also a fop, a dandy, and more than a bit of a fool, but not so foolish as to not recognize the derision with which he was regarded behind his back. Money was no object, and he had a special wand commissioned for himself. "This wand," he added, producing a baton of well-oiled rosewood, inlaid with a complex ivory runes and ebony geometrics, burlwood florettes and mahogany whorls.

Snape curled his lip in distaste; he was a firm believer in simplicity of design. "It is fortunate that something so hideous is merely a toy. It would be a tragedy to ruin a real wand like that."

"Scoff if you wish," said Ollivander, "but this wand is no toy. It is in fact a brilliant piece of work by my great-grandfather, and none like it has ever been made before or since, that can do what this wand can do."

Snape smiled thinly. "Kill its owner?"

"That was the damned idiot's own fault," Ollivander answered with a hint of annoyance. "And just why is it you wish to borrow the Witherspoon Wand?"

Without answering, Snape pulled from his robe a small roll of parchment, and handed it to Ollivander. The wandsmith unrolled it and read:

Dear Mr. Ollivander:

Please provide the bearer of this note with whatever it is he may request. Thank you for your courtesy.

Your humble servant,

A.P.W.B. Dumbledore

He looked at Snape, at the parchment, back at Snape, and back at the parchment. "Can you prove its authenticity?"

Snape flicked his wand at the parchment and a familiar voice issued forth. "Upon my honor, these words are mine own."

Ollivander chewed on his lip thoughtfully. "Well, if Dumbledore says so," he muttered dubiously. He ceremoniously replaced the wand in its box and handed it to Snape.

"Are you aware that its use resulted in the death, not only of Witherspoon, but its two subsequent owners as well?"

Snape nodded. "One also a Squib, the other a Muggle."

"Yes."

Snape shrugged. "That is a chance we will have to take."

Ollivander did not ask the burning question, which was to whom did "we"refer? "You will be sure to tell me of any - untoward - occurrence, won't you?" Snape's black eyes flicked towards the wandmaker, who smiled grimly. "Provenance increases value, you see."

Snape smirked. "Of course, I understand." But not on my watch, he thought.

Nearly an hour later, after the two wizards had prepared Witherbottom's Wand for its task, Snape left the shop with the Wand safely stored in its box. He then proceeded to Madam Malkin's where the witch was, for once, mistaken in anticipating Mr. Snape's 'usual order'. She was both pleased and surprised when he purchased, in addition to his customary end-of-the-year shirts and boots, a costly set of silk dress robes of midnight blue, in the latest fashion. It was highly unusual, for Madam Malkin could not recall the last time this customer had purchased any item other than an identical replacement for its worn predecessor. Despite her curiosity, Madam Malkin knew better than to query him about his unexpected expenditure. Her evident discretion was rewarded when he made an inexplicable last minute purchase of a simple but elegant witch's dress and matching robe in the same color, and left ten extra galleons in addition to payment. There was no need for Snape to explain to Madam Malkin the reason for his excessive generosity.

Next, he headed down a side street, and located a small shop. Standing before its smooth, shiny metallic door, Snape hesitated, thoroughly repulsed by the thought of entering within. However, the possibility of anyone seeing him standing with his hand poised on the door handle of "Le Style Moldu" was even more mortifying, and he hurriedly slipped inside.

The store was quite large, neat and airy, with walls and floors in a pale, bland wood. An actual Muggle might have felt quite at home, except that the merchandise was more varied than one would likely find in any typical Muggle clothing store. Racks of jeans hunkered alongside kilts; the filmy skirts of colorful saris floated cheerfully between dark burqas, and tawdry leather jumpsuits.

"May I help you?"

Snape, who had been staring about in horrified fascination, focused on the young woman in front of him, a cheerful smile framed by bright red lips that overpowered her small, pale face. She herself was dressed in a style that would be eschewed by any self-respecting witch. Several barbed comments sprang immediately to the wizard's mind, but he held his tongue, and merely stated his requirements. It seemed to him that a pair of black trousers and a charcoal-gray pullover were sufficient for the purposes, and the shop-girl assured him that it suited him very well. (If he suspected that she merely said so for the purpose of making the sale, he would have been mistaken.)

By the time Snape departed from Le Style Moldu, thanking his lucky stars that he hadn't run into anyone, it was getting late and he was feeling rather peckish. He located The Red Lion Inn on a sidestreet off Knockturn Alley, where the rates were reasonable, the fare and lodging clean and decent. It would, in fact, have been well-suited for the clientele of Diagon Alley, but Rastus Pemberton, respected businessman and owner of the Leaky Cauldron, had recognized competition when he saw it. Pemberton had more influence in the Ministry than most people realized, and had found no difficulty in keeping The Red Lion out of his territory. Snape had dinner brought to his rooms and retired early, in preparation for his trip.