A Tangled Web (Post-DH)

Chapter 12: Ollivander

The aftermath of his injury had been a busy time for Albus. In the days that followed, he had hashed out new protections for the school with Snape, to address the danger posed by Draco and his mission. Regular and lengthy visits with Scrimgeour at the Ministry were a constant drain on his attention. He had also since made arrangements for Harry and escorted him to the Burrow, convinced Slughorn to resume teaching Potions at Hogwarts, was reviewing the many memories he had collected of people who had known Voldemort in his past, and continued his Horcrux researches. He was also learning to live with the injury.

His disastrous encounter with the Resurrection Stone remained fresh in his memory, a mistake for which he could not forgive himself, because of what it must mean for Harry. Withal he was satisfied that his plan to have Harry find and eliminate the remaining Horcruxes was the best he could salvage from the situation, though the task should have been his. He could but strive to teach Harry as much as possible, and learn as much as possible to pass on, in the year that remained to him.

It was the Deathly Hallows that still caused him disquiet, a new and unexpected element in his plans. Harry was the already the master of the Cloak, as he had been since his first year at school. Now Albus had the other two. He could pass them to Harry, after his death. Yet, admirable though Harry was, Albus wondered if he could resist the temptation to misuse the Stone. He recalled the boy's fascination with his parents in the Mirror of Erised. The fresh wound of Sirius's death, also, was clearly affecting him, Albus had seen it when he met the boy, and that would be followed, this year, with the unexpected loss of Albus himself. How to give him the Stone was a matter of some delicacy, though he already had some ideas....

This left one more problem for his consideration. Albus leaned back in the thronelike chair behind his desk in the Headmaster's office, and steepled his fingers, gazing down at his wand, which lay on his desk next to a silver ink pot and empty teacup. Scarcely over a foot long, no wider than his finger, it did not look perilous. The Elder Wand. If ever Voldemort learned of its existence, he would not rest until he possessed it. Albus knew that the lure of its power would prove irresistible.

Its trail had grown cold, over the course of decades, yet people still lived who could give Voldemort the clues that would enable him to find it. Albus straightened, as a fresh difficulty dawned on him. Voldemort, for his own reasons, would surely be seeking out the very person from whom Albus himself had learned that the wandmaker Gregorovitch had possessed the wand. From whom else would Voldemort seek to learn why his wand had failed him in his duel with Harry, if not from Ollivander, who had made both wands?

From Gregorovitch, who yet lived, to Gellert who likewise lived, the trail could be followed, and would lead Voldemort to him. And from him, to Severus, who could have no idea of this particular danger among the many he faced. This consequence of his plan to neutralize the wand had not previously occurred to him. He could change the plan, he thought to himself. Tell Severus he had reconsidered, but what would he do instead?

He was still dying, and still of Voldemort's curse. Allowing a Death Eater to kill him would not solve the problem, his murderer would win the wand, and since Voldemort would not hesitate to go after any of the others, he would thus become master of the wand in turn. An even less acceptable outcome. Perhaps the whole mess might even be over, before Voldemort found it...

Sternly, Albus told himself to cease engaging in wishful thinking. The matter bore further thought; he certainly had no solution to it at present. However, if it was a delay he wanted, there was a way to keep the information from Voldemort. At least until after his own death, and if he were lucky, for some time thereafter. Pleased by this new idea, Albus withdrew a sheet of parchment from one of his desk drawers and placed it before him. He dipped his quill into the inkpot, he began to write.

***

The tavern door opened, but the bright sunlight outside made only slight inroads on the gloom of the interior. It could scarce compete with the clouds of cigarette smoke and thick glass windows coated in what seemed the dust and grime of decades. An old man walked in, and stopped to look around, his wide silver eyes seeking something in the gloom. The suit, in a conservative color and a cut that had gone out of style half a century ago, drew some attention from the rather more casually dressed Muggles at the bar and tables near the door. Naturally, his guest was not up on the latest Muggle fashions, Albus thought with a smile. His own purple Hawaiian shirt, while a tad flamboyant, suited the weather and the ambience far better. Albus raised his uninjured hand and. Ollivander returned the gesture and headed straight for the back of the tavern where Albus was sitting.

"Dumbledore!" Ollivander greeted him, and Albus rose. Ollivander extended his hand, visibly taken aback at the blackened, shriveled appearance of Albus's hand, though he did take it and grasp it in a weak handshake. He then seated himself on the other side of the rickety, scarred wooden table.

"Ollivander!" Albus replied, sitting back down as well. "Nothing to worry about," he added with a little wave of his right hand. "Just a little reminder that my reflexes are not what they once were," he added with a sigh.

"I do hope you have your reasons for making me come here," Ollivander replied, glancing about the seedy interior of the tavern with a look of disfavor. "So, how is old Fawkes? Any chance he has another feather to contribute?" Ollivander asked, curving his lips in a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

"No, I'm afraid I don't have another feather for you," Albus replied. "He is well, though, thank you. And how is your business this summer?"

"My busiest time of year is coming soon, as you well know," Ollivander replied. "All the new first-years will be wanting their first wands. Though I did sell one to an older student, this morning. The Longbottom boy - a neat, bendy little wand, cherry and unicorn hair, nine and one half inches. He lost his previous wand fighting Death Eaters at the Ministry last month, as Augusta was quick to tell me."

Ollivander gave him a meaningful glance, but Albus ignored this obvious attempt to fish for more information on the Ministry battle, which remained the subject of much fervid speculation among the wizard population.

Their small talk was interrupted by the barman, who approached their table to take Ollivander's order.

Ollivander glanced somewhat dubiously at the half-filled glass sitting in front of Dumbledore, but then, with a look of resignation, said, "I'll have what he's having."

"Another for you?" the barman asked Dumbledore.

"No, thank you," Albus replied.

The barman left to get a second glass of ale.

"I can't say I'm too sorry not to have another feather from you, Dumbledore," Ollivander said, breaking the brief silence that ensued after the barman's interruption. "I am not at all sure I would want to fashion another wand of such a feather, considering how the others have turned out. I hope you have a good reason for dragging an old man out to this wizard-forsaken spot, when we both have perfectly nice places of business in which we could have met instead."

"I think you will agree, once we have spoken, that my precautions were prudent," Albus said. "What I have to say, in fact, does touch on Fawkes, and your business."

"So, what is it that you have to say to me, that you could not simply tell me in the back room of my shop or entrust to an owl?"

"My dear Ollivander, let me begin with a story. The characters are not unknown to you, and the outline created a sensation this past year when published in the Quibbler. I believe you will find it of interest."

"Very well, since I have dragged myself out here, I'll hear it."

Albus glanced over and saw the barman filling a glass from the tap behind the bar. He watched as the man returned to the table and placed the glass in front of Ollivander without comment, and then turned away. Ollivander picked up the glass and wrinkled his nose slightly, then took a sip. Sighing, he put it back down and gave Albus his full attention.

"Slightly more than a year ago," Albus began, "the wizard who now styles himself Lord Voldemort, with the assistance of his followers, enacted a powerful ritual of Dark Magic, thereby restoring to himself a complete semblance of life."

Ollivander had paled slightly at the name, but now nodded his head with apparent calm and had another sip of his ale. This much of the story was widely known, thanks to Harry's interview with Rita Skeeter.

After taking a drink from his own glass, Albus continued, "Voldemort desired, as his first act upon his return to full power, to demonstrate to his Death Eaters that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, has no special powers and poses no threat to his dominance. To this end, he forced the boy to duel him. You can imagine without my assistance, I suppose, what this entailed for poor Harry."

"Indeed," Ollivander murmured, his expression somber.

"And then, once he tired of this sport, Voldemort cast the Killing Curse at the boy," Albus finished.

"But the boy is still-" Ollivander's objection died unfinished. He leaned back with a self-satisfied smile, his silver eyes seeming to gleam in the dim light of the tavern.

"You know where this is going, I see," Albus said. "The twin cores. Harry in that same moment attempted a Disarming Charm, and the wands refused to work against one another. Harry was able to take advantage of this occurrence to escape back to Hogwarts with his life, and this tale."

"Remarkable," Ollivander said. "Is there, then, something further you seek to learn about the two wands from me? It is matter of some interest to me, and great rarity, of which you speak."

"Not I," Albus replied. "For the past year, Voldemort has been biding his time, exploiting the unwillingness of the Ministry to credit Harry's claim of his return. This has recently changed, as a glance at the front page of the Daily Prophet would no doubt convince you. Do you doubt that a top priority for him will be to learn why it was that his wand failed?"

Ollivander shook his head.

"Do you doubt from whom he will seek the answer?"

The blood seemed to run out of Ollivander's face as Albus spoke, and his eyes grew even wider. With a trembling hand, he brought the glass to his lips and took a great gulp, slopping a bit of the ale on his tie. After setting the glass back down, he took a deep breath.

"Why...why are you telling me this? What do you want me to do?" Ollivander asked, his voice quavering despite his evident effort to control his fear.

"I see you recognize the threat this poses to you," Albus said. "As, obviously, it also threatens Harry. Our interests coincide in this. I no more wish to see Voldemort ask you these questions, than you do. If you will accept my help, I could help you hide from him."

"Hide?" Ollivander echoed him in surprise. "Where?"

"We can work that out together," Albus said. "I doubt the location much matters. If you have a preference, I can help to add protections to the hiding place of your choice. I also have a suggestion or two to make, if you have no ideas. But you will need to truly disappear. The Ministry and casual acquaintances must have no idea of your location, or Voldemort will find you. Naturally, your shop cannot remain open."

"My - my shop? But then, what will I do?" Ollivander asked dazedly.

"Have no illusions - if they could get to Amelia Bones in her home, they can certainly get to you in Diagon Alley," Albus replied. "Even if I had people to spare to stand guard over you - what surer way could we choose to advertise to Voldemort that the two of us have something of importance that we wish to hide from him?"

"True, true," Ollivander agreed.

He shook his head and was quiet for a while, seemingly absorbing the news. Albus sat in silence, sipping his ale.

Finally, Ollivander spoke again, sounding more composed. "I suppose, at my age, I was past due for retirement anyway. So, when shall I go?"

"The sooner, the better," Albus replied. "And while you make any necessary preparations, you would be well advised to stay on your guard."

"I see," Ollivander said, nodding his head emphatically in agreement. "Yes, the sooner, the better. I do not wish to leave my wands behind - I know them all, their cores, the trees whence I obtained their wood, and the labor of their making. Call me sentimental, but as I have had no children of my own, so those children of my mind and hands are dear to me. And if this cursed war ends in my lifetime, I might wish to return to my work. I would need a few days, to move them, and find a new place to live."

"So you could aim for this weekend?" Albus asked.

"Yes," Ollivander said with a nod of his head. "I'll close the shop tonight, move the wands, and then make new living arrangements. I even have an idea of the place. My late wife, God rest her soul, was, as you know, of Muggle stock. We had spoken, idly, before her death, of retiring one day to Walberswick, a seaside village where she had spent some happy childhood vacations, and which we occasionally visited. Would a cottage rented from Muggles there, be sufficiently inconspicuous?"

"Yes, that sounds eminently suitable, though you might consider investing in some more current Muggle clothes. You will be able to make the arrangements yourself?" Albus asked.

"I'll manage, yes," Ollivander said.

"Very well. Let us meet in the main square of the village this Sunday at noon," Albus said. "I can help with additional protective spells. Until then, I recommend we stay away from one another, lest anyone get suspicious of our plans."

"I'll do that," Ollivander agreed.

"And now, I have other business to attend to," Albus said, pulling out his wallet and counting out Muggle money he had acquired for this purpose to pay for the drinks. "Farewell," he added as he got to his feet.

Albus saw Ollivander wave vaguely in his direction and mumble a response, then turned and left.