Chapters 151-160

Vine to Yew, Yew to Birch

Ollivander disappeared for a moment. When he returned, a slender young woman accompanied him. ‘Genevieve is my grandniece. She will look after the shop while we are busy.’

Genevieve, a young witch in elegant French robes, greeted Hermione with a wide, charming smile. Her wavy, ash-blond hair and luminous grey eyes showed a distinct family likeness.

Then Hermione followed Ollivander through the dingy hallway. Blinking at the unexpected brightness as they emerged into a well-lit room at the back of the house, she took in her surroundings with interest. Clearly, this room served various needs: there was a desk for paperwork, a table with chairs along with a hearth and a kitchen-cabinet for quick lunches, but also newly delivered raw materials that still needed to be dealt with, bundles of branches and stacks of boxes. Next to the corridor they had emerged from, two doors led off. On the opposite side of the room, a row of windows and a French door offered a view of a neat backyard with a spacious Apparition point and a small vegetable garden.

‘Cellars for storage, upstairs for the workshop,’ Ollivander explained when he noticed her curious glance. ‘Please, have a seat.’

His wand was white and surprisingly delicate. A moment later a rose-adorned tea service was sitting on the table. But the tea the old wizard prepared by hand, in a chipped Brown Betty that sat waiting on the kitchen-cabinet and with boiling water from a black cast-iron kettle.

The tea was a Darjeeling, a pale golden First Flush with a delicate floral flavour.

‘Wandlore has always been one of the most complex and mysterious areas of the magical arts,’ Ollivander remarked, gazing at Hermione over the rim of his teacup.

She nodded, waiting patiently for the old man to get back to her questions. She didn’t have to wait long.

‘Wandmaking is in some ways similar to alchemy. Affinity is one of the most important powers a wandmaker uses. The affinity of wood and core material, the affinity between wand and wielder, between wand and maker, and, of course, the connection between two wands. Which may be based on the affinity between their woods, their cores—or their wielders.

‘In this case it may be impossible to decide which kind of affinity is most important.

Consider the mythical properties of their wood first: vine, yew, birch. Vine—fertility and resurrection. Yew—death and resurrection. Birch—renewal and purification.’

‘Vine to yew. Yew to birch,’ Ollivander said in a soft voice. ‘A connection between death and life resides within the very wood of your wands.

‘And their cores—’ he went on. ‘I remember every wand I and my assistant ever made.

‘Each core of each wand has its own story to tell. And the origin of the dragon heartstrings in this particular pair of wands is very unusual indeed. They come from twins, a pair of Hebridean Blacks. Only the twin that gave her heartstring for your wand was not black. She was an albino, exceptionally small and delicate, white and pure. Her brother was one of the biggest Blacks I have ever seen, a very dark and volatile beast.

‘Cores made of dragon heartstring are favoured because of their reliable, versatile strength. But of course there’s more to dragon heartstring than a foolproof, multi-purpose wand. A notable American scholar maintained that their true quality lay in uniting the powers of heaven and earth.

‘The other two wands were made by Genevieve. She is particularly adept with more unusual cores. These particular cores come from a Greek hierocosphinx from a flock in the Chalmos mountains near the Styx river of the Peloponnese peninsula. Sphinxes are known best for their wisdom and as magical watchdogs. Originally, however, sphinxes did not protect treasures. They were guardians of paths and ways.’

He put down his cup. Propping his elbows on the table, he intertwined his fingers, forming a bridge.

‘Sphinx and yew, sphinx and birch. Dragon and yew, dragon and vine. Rebirth and resurrection, and the power to guard them. Fertility, healing, and resurrection in a powerful union of heaven and earth.

‘And last but not least, the wielders of these wands are married.’

Ollivander rested his folded hands on the table and looked at Hermione with a solemn expression on his face. ‘It should be interesting to observe how the properties of wood and core affect each other in this particular combination. Have you noticed anything unusual wielding these wands?’

Hermione nodded. ‘Yes, I have. In one of my first practice sessions with the second wand it connected with my master’s—my husband’s—wand. There was an incredible surge of energy and power that flowed through both of us.’

‘Fascinating,’ Ollivander mused. ‘I should like to see that.’

‘I could talk to my husband and ask him if he agrees to meet you for some experiments,’ Hermione offered.

‘Both Genevieve and I would appreciate that very much,’ the wandmaker replied. ‘But I doubt that Professor Snape would welcome that suggestion. I am aware of the fact that he is a very private person.’

‘I think,’ Hermione said slowly, ‘that would depend on what else you can tell me. I am researching mythical connections between wands. One of my theories deals with the legend of the Deathly Hallows.’

The wandmaker paled at hearing the Hallows mentioned. But Hermione ploughed on relentlessly, ‘I believe that the “bridge” across the River of Death mentioned in the legend was actually a special connection between wands that was used to draw back the Veil. I have done extensive research at Hogwarts and in the Flamel archives, but although some of Flamel’s references are very promising, I haven’t been able to find the sources. I was hoping that you could help me, sir.’

‘Ah. I am not surprised. For some of his essays Nicolas used manuscripts from my personal library. Documents that have been handed down in my family for centuries.’ Ollivander sighed. ‘Very well, Mrs Snape. I shall help you.’