Chapters 21-30

Wandcraft

Coughing, Hermione stumbled out of the fireplace and stared. The narrow little shop had changed. The window sparkled in the sunlight of the spring afternoon. The hardwood floor gleamed with polish, filling the room with the scent of beeswax and vervain. There were new shelves, no longer dark with age, but bright new pinewood, reminding Hermione of IKEA of all things. But the shelves were stacked from floor to ceiling with the very same slender boxes she remembered from her exhilarating first visit to this shop in the company of her parents and Professor McGonagall.

The long, dark desk was still there as well, although deep scratches and soot-marks gouged the wood. And behind the desk was Mr. Ollivander. The old man looked frail and thin. His wispy white hair reminded her of a fluffy cumulus cloud and his moon-like eyes were as disconcerting as ever.

‘Miss Granger,’ he said in a husky voice. ‘I see you have come to choose your second wand.’

Ollivander gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Vine suits you even better now. A shrub as sprightly as your hair, if I may say so. Good for binding spells. Enhancing the powers of the bearer, it carries the spark of inspiration. Did you know that grapevine is traditionally also connected with healing and fertility? Since the days of Dionysus vine has been greeted as the disperser of grief and sorrow. And not only its produce, but its wood as well.’

Hermione cleared her throat, unsure of how to reply. But apparently the aged wizard did not expect a comment, because he turned to the fireplace, which flared green again, announcing the impending arrival of Professor Flitwick.

‘And my dear Filius, of course. Ash and birch.’

The small wizard dusted off his robes and beamed at the other man. ‘And still in perfect working condition, after seventy-nine years.’

‘I expected no less.’ Ollivander solemnly inclined his head.

‘Now, Miss Granger. Please place your first wand on the desk,’ he said softly and stepped to his desk. ‘Would you like to try this? Cherry, and a hair from the coat of a Cerynaian hind. Use your left hand, please.’

But the wand remained quiescent. It didn’t even prickle, when she gave it a cautious wave.

‘Mistletoe with a griffin-feather, maybe?’

She managed to burn her own hand with it.

‘Oh no, oh no. But don’t worry—it always takes much longer to find a suitable second wand. After all, it has not only to complement your personality, but that of your first wand, too.’

After three hours of waving her left wrist in miniature flicks, trying out wand after wand, Hermione was getting sorely tired. As her initial elation was wearing off, doubts began to creep into her mind. Maybe Professor Flitwick had made a mistake, and she wasn’t ready for a second wand? Maybe she would never be?

The wand that lay in front of her at the moment was longer than her first and more rigid. The wood had a reddish shimmer and just a few marks where twigs or branches had been. It looked rather handsome.

When she picked it up, her stomach tingled. When she waved it, a shiver raced down her spine. She opened her eyes. A pearly glow shone around the wand—and what was more, an answering sheen shimmered along her first wand where it lay on Ollivander’s desk.

‘Ah…’ Ollivander sighed with satisfaction. ‘Here we go. Yew, 16.535 433 071 inches, containing the feather of a sphinx. An interesting choice. A male second wand to match your female first. It signifies rebirth. A good wand for transfiguration and arithmancy. A wand that may guide and transform, the objects it is used upon just as much as its wielder. And a sphinx’ power for wisdom and cunning.’

oooOooo

Severus Snape took a deep breath and entered the shop.

It was late at night, and Diagon Alley was almost deserted. He knew he had to be very grateful that Ollivander had decided to see him at all, and agreeing to open up the shop at this ungodly hour was certainly more than he had any right to expect. And he was not even sure if it was wise for him to come. What would he need wands attuned to his very soul for at Hogwarts? Brewing school potions and teaching could be done with any wand bought off the rack.

But ever since his first wand had been broken—how that memory hurt, even today, even after so many years—he had yearned to have a wand again that would respond perfectly to him, to the magic deep within his soul…For many years he had resisted that desire. A wand imprinted on him would have been a liability in his position. And the events of the past year had proven just how well his caution had served him, when the D– when Voldemort’s ignorance of wandcraft had eventually served to defeat him.

‘Welcome, Master Snape,’ Ollivander said. A single candle illuminated the old man’s face, casting eerie shadows of his fluffy hair against the stacks of wand boxes behind him.

‘Thank you for…agreeing…to see me…’ He was painfully aware that his voice amounted to no more than a hoarse whisper. Yet it was better than it had been.

‘Ebony, it was. And unicorn hair. A wand of darkness and light.’ Ollivander sniffed. ‘A pity it was broken.

‘Try this one first.’

oooOooo

‘The wand chooses the wizard,’ Ollivander had told him before closing the door behind him, an enigmatic smile wrinkling his face. ‘And always for a reason. Don’t forget that.’

Now Snape sat on his threadbare sofa again, a wand in each shaking hand.

Yew with dragon heartstring in his right. Birch with the feather of a sphinx in his left.

Resurrection and a new beginning.
Strength of heart and inner wisdom.

If only he could make himself belief in the symbolism of wandcraft again.