wand of elder, never prosper

[Gerbold Ollivander]

Thomas,



I am grateful once again to both you and Mrs Giles for chaperoning Margaret on Saturday. I cannot and would not deny that I am very taken with your sister, and my feelings for her grow by the day. Even by the hour. I can only imagine you felt the same when courting Mrs Giles.



But my friend, I write to you with words of concern. Although your father and I have enjoyed several mannerly conversations, he has implied very tactfully that my family may not quite have the funds to keep Margaret in the lifestyle to which she is accustomed. I fear your father disapproves of my intention to marry your sister.



I am at a loss. Margaret means very much to me - more, indeed, than I can put into words. She has inadvertently enlivened a spirit of rebellion in me. I wish to continue courting her - even, if needs be, against her father's wishes. My hand hesitates as I write this, but I am adamant.



My heart knows - I will marry Margaret, no matter what her father thinks.



Gerbold

The letter had been written over thirty years ago, and had never been sent.

It was dry and old, like the heart with which it had once been written. Troubled, Gerbold ran his hand over his grizzled jaw as he surveyed the letter. Then he folded it up carefully, and returned it to the small locked box, which he then placed high on a shelf in the storage room. He had never had to send the letter. Yes Margaret's family had had more wealth than the Ollivander family - thanks entirely to her father's books, which were still sold highly around Europe - but her father had been able to recognise a man in love. Happiness was all Mr Giles had wanted for his daughter.

Gerbold left the storage room and closed the door behind him. He returned to the counter. Outside, a small boy screeched with delighted fright as his equally small friend chased him up the road. A tutting woman followed them both, laden with last-minute shopping.

It was late in the day. Dark, indeed, though it was barely seven o'clock. Gerbold leaned on the counter a moment, still recovering silently and surreptitiously from reading that letter. He hadn't read it in decades. He couldn't even remember why he had kept it.

The tall wandmaker shook heavy thoughts out of his head, rolled up his sleeves to reveal weathered, sinuous arms, and busied himself with closing the shop for the night. Tomorrow would be a new day.

Tomorrow was always a new day.

  

[Hamish MacFusty]

Hamish had absolutely no idea what compelled him to apparate to Hogsmeade on this particular night, but Gervaise's last letter had left him more than desperate and he had the sneaking suspicion that his severe lack of sleep as of late was making him a little crazy. He knew he was crazy, he was a MacFusty after all and he was crazy for Violet, but this was a whole new level of crazy, even for him.

He did know however, that he was not going to let Gerbold Ollivander stand in his way when he had absolutely no good reason to do so. As far as he could tell, in Hamish's opinion anyway, Gerbold was just being difficult because Hamish had blundered the etiquette of asking to court Violet, but it wasn't as if he hadn't asked at all. Gervaise had been all too willing to hand Violet over and therefore Hamish had unfortunately assumed that was the entire family's view (which angered him, quite a bit).

It appeared that was not the case, but that didn't mean Hammy was going to sit by and just take it. No, no, he was Scottish after all, they were known for their stubbornness and he was also as pig-headed as one could some, so he was not going to just sit there and let the situation be controlled by somebody who really didn't have much to do with it in the first place. Hamish had every intention of marrying Violet whether or not he had Gerbold's permission, though it would certainly be easier and less of a scandal if he did. It was easier to think that way knowing how Violet felt as well. Their meeting at the waterfall replayed in his mind over and over, helping to steel his resolve in this decision to show up at the wand shop today.

He'd waited until it was only a few minutes before closing time; there was no reason to make a huge scene if he could avoid it and spectators were not welcome as this was unlikely to be a pleasant confrontation. When the last customer exited the building, Hamish took a deep breath and strode across the street and through the door at a brisk pace, like a steam engine on a full tilt boogie toward the station. That way he couldn't change his mind.

Hammy had no idea if Gerbold would recognize him upon entry, but it didn't stop him, he made his way right up to the counter where the older wizard stood with a steely gaze in his eyes, though he could not quite find the best words to start the discussion with, he waited half a beat to see if the wandmaker would recognize him.

  

[Gerbold Ollivander]

Gerbold ran one long hand briefly over the counter, then rubbed his fingertips together to detect dust. There wasn't a speck of it. His son, Gerard, was obsessive about clean surfaces - and clean everything else, for that matter. Gerbold had grown used to this compulsive cleanliness, but he would not have objected to some accumulation of dust. It reflected how he felt. Old. Tired. Overlooked.

He had never felt this aged in quite some time. For he had a youthful stamina, and a glimmer in his eyes that had never died. But these days, for whatever reason, it felt like age was catching up with him.

Ollivander was about to make for the door, when it opened with a jingle. In walked a customer. A rather broad gentleman with a warrior-esque hardness to his figure, and if Gerbold had cared he would have spotted a thousand emotions in those eyes.

"We're closed", he said simply, in no mood to be pleasant. "Opening time is nine o'clock tomorrow". He leaned on the counter and gazed impatiently at the stranger. He felt and looked like a tired and rather thin old man that wanted nothing more than to get some shut-eye and empty his mind of the day's musings.

  

[Hamish MacFusty]

"Fortunately I am not here fore anything related to a wand." Hamish returned in a tone very similar to the one he'd received. He was in no mood to pussy foot around the situation and while he was pretty sure his insides were going to eat themselves out of nervousness, he refused to let that show on his calm, collected exterior. The man in front of him looked tired and worn, but Hammy was pretty sure that look wouldn't last as soon as he stated what he was doing here. He had timed it perfectly, which was fortunate, though he was pretty sure that Mr. Ollivander would either kick him out, or have him arrested for trespassing, neither of which would get them very far, so he hoped neither happened.

Taking thirty seconds to take a calming breath, Hamish pushed his cloak back over his shoulders. The nerves were making him extremely warm, but he was pretty sure he wasn't going to be invited to make himself comfortable either. "My name is Hamish MacFusty, sir and I do believe we have some things to discuss." He said as respectfully as he could. The man in front of him and riled up and anger so strong, Hammy wasn't even sure he'd reached a level like this before. It wasn't even the fact that Gerbold had forbade him to see Violet, it was the man's treatment of his only daughter that he could not stand for. While Hamish had been able to tolerate Gervaise's distaste for his sister, (just barely) as it had gotten Hammy what he wanted, the general attitude toward Violet in her own home was extremely unjustified and in Hammy's eyes, completely wrong. How could they make her feel so unwanted, so unloved?

"You made it very clear in your letters you do not approve of me, but I am unwilling to take no for an answer." He began after giving the man the briefest of moments to adjust to his presence. The atmosphere was tense, the tension so thick you could almost tangibly feel it. It weighed down upon Hammy's shoulders uncomfortably, but he stood his ground. He would not leave this shop without a reasonable answer. There had to be a reason that Mr. Ollivander did not want him to court Violet and Hammy was going to do his hardest to change the old man's mind.

  

[Gerbold Ollivander]

Although he still treated him much like he would a tardy customer, Gerbold's instinct began to tell him who the stranger was, even before he'd said a word. The man had coolness dashed into his face, which looked as if it had been shaped for smiling. Similarly, there was dislike and anxiety gleaming in eyes that looked like they were more suited to an abundance of warmth.

So this was Hamish MacFusty. And he would not take no for an answer.

I wish to continue courting her - even, if needs be, against her father's wishes. My hand hesitates as I write this, but I am adamant. My heart knows - I will marry Margaret, no matter what her father thinks...

Ollivander's pale olive eyes were utterly expressionless, and did not move from MacFusty's adamant face. I am unwilling to take no for an answer, said the young man. And he stood there - this stubborn trespasser - sturdy and stationary and powerfully built, like a barrier or a bodyguard. His words, his stance, and his figure - perhaps accidentally - implied physical threat. Physical threat to this thin, ageing man who stood here alone in his shop as the darkness grew outside. How repulsive, how uncivilised, how utterly simple.

Gerbold said nothing for a long time. It seemed absurd to him that Violet could love that face. But then, he didn't understand anything about that girl. What was there to understand, after all, other than that which he despised?

"And what are you going to do, Hamish MacFusty, if 'no' is the only answer you receive. Hit me? Knock this old man down where he stands? Let his blood flow until he consents to your hold on his daughter?" These were rhetorical questions, most obviously. And he left no room for an answer before he continued, which he did with utter frost in his voice. "Evidently you have a very poor memory. I have said in two separate letters that I will consider the matter in my own time. Why are you so unceremoniously and disrespectfully forcing my hand".

Something occurred to him in a split second. The only reason why a man would hasten so desperately to the altar. Hatred flashed suddenly across his eyes. "What have you done to her".

  

[Hamish MacFusty]

Wow, this guy really was off his rocker. Not once, not once in his life had Hamish started a fight or antagonized another into taking the first swing. He was absolutely appalled that the man would even suggest such a thing. Hammy almost took a step back as if he'd been struck, but his pride kept him where he was. He tried to relax his pose, but that had the hair on the back of his neck rising which left him very tense. He handled dragons for a living for crying out loud, this man was no worse.

Then again, he had he ever been accused of knocking up a girl. Ever. He did not have the cleanest of records and he knew it, but he had never, ever crossed any unwanted lines with a woman.

Hamish opened his mouth and closed it, almost rendered speechless. That was a very, very difficult thing to do, all anybody had to do was ask his mother, but Gerbold Ollivander had mostly succeeded in about two minutes worth of utter nonsense.

"Wow," He said finally. "You really don't know your own daughter do you?" Hammy was astonished. How in the name of Merlin's beard did he think Violet would agree to court somebody violent or that she was a floozy who would just jump into bed with some guy? Honestly, just wow. "Of course you don't, you never bothered." Hamish was realizing this so thoroughly at the moment that it almost hurt; his heart ached for Violet and that how she missed out on knowing what a family should be like. He should have realized this sooner, Violet had told him as much, but Hammy had been hoping that it wasn't that bad. Apparently it really was. How could a parent not want to get to know their child, their only daughter? What she liked and didn't like, her hopes and fears? His mother had thirteen children and still she found way. If quizzed his mother could probably recite each of her children's favorite colors.

"Disrespect is not my intention, though I find it very hard to respect a man who treats his only daughter so poorly, but I am not a stupid man. I know that "in my own time" is a delay ending in an inevitable no." He'd heard enough similar things growing up to hear the warning bells. "I've slighted you somehow and I realize that, but to completely prevent me from having any way of correcting my mistakes has led me here." Hamish was an impatient man and sometimes rash, but he knew that. "Violet, "Hamish was determined to use her name as often as he could when referring to her, rather than the girl or any other vaguely diminishing pronoun. "Is a smart, courageous, kind woman who respects propriety and to accuse her, to accuse me, of anything else just shows what kind of person you are." Hamish was astonished that the man before was so out of touch with his own family.

"I came here to try and change your mind about me, about us, but I think that's a lost cause and I have every intention of continuing to see Violet, if need be, against your wishes." Hamish held his high and had no problems looking Gerbold in the eye as he said that. "I love her and I refuse to give her up which is why I don't want to have to ask her to choose. We as reasonable adults, should be able to reach some kind of agreement." Even though he already knew what Violet would choose, he still wished she didn't have to make the choice.

  

[Gerbold Ollivander]

Gerbold's dark assumption was clearly such a low blow that it looked like it might topple this great tree trunk, but it remained solid. The eyes - MacFusty's eyes - were a giveaway, though - they remained as hard as they could be, but all manner of emotions were alight in them. He wore his heart on his sleeve. For all his muscles, this made him weak.

He was also stupid. This was becoming more and more obvious as time went by. A man who felt the need to claim "I am not stupid" on more than one occasion was clearly aware that he was seeming that way. And there was a reason for it. Gerbold looked at him and saw a lovestruck moron, and one with all the manners of something much worse. He threw insults at Gerbold, one after the other, childish namecalling, snide remarks, indignant little bouts of wretched contempt.

MacFusty could call Gerbold whatever he wanted, but he was the one who was trespassing, who stood - utterly unwelcome - on another man's property, refusing to leave, and had the dare, the stupidity, to think himself a reasonable person.

Gerbold, on the other hand, did not think himself entirely reasonable in this case. He was aware that he could not be reasoned with, that his opinion of his daughter held him back. But there was some rationale in him, and that part of him was rather startled that MacFusty had chosen to go about this with such adamant disrespect. If the younger man had played this differently, perhaps he would have found himself with a fiancÚe who wasn't disowned by her family, shunned by society. With this scandal hatefully defining her, Violet would bring shame to the MacFustys - not necessarily personally, but in the scope of society. And that, at least, was not her fault. It was her dear Hamish's.

The cold Ollivander was tempted to bring MacFusty up on a number of points. To write him a laundry list of mistakes he had made. From impatience with the way Gerbold spoke of Violet, to the bizarre fact that he thought trespassing was the best way to change Gerbold's mind about him. But the heartless wandmaker knew childishness when he saw it, and refused to buy in to a tennis match of contradictions.

I am at a loss. Margaret means very much to me - more, indeed, than I can put into words. She has inadvertently enlivened a spirit of rebellion in me...

... no matter what her father thinks...

"That's what this is about, isn't it", he said coolly as MacFusty finished his lofty speech. "You don't care about respect, or courtesy, or society - you don't care about her family, or the scandal of taking a girl without the permission of her head of family. You don't even seem to care that standing unwelcome on my property and refusing to leave is the least effective way of making me think you any more respectful. None of that matters to you. All that matters to you is that girl". And that was his impression set. Any man who loved Violet was worthless, foolish, and wildly misguided. No wonder she had fallen for him. (If indeed she had.)

"And perhaps in that... enormous block head of yours", he gestured vaguely to the man's powerful jaw, "you believe that all I'm really doing here is preventing her from being happy. Well you'd be right, Hamish MacFusty. You'd be right". Ollivander didn't seem so cool and collected any more. His pale eyes were ablaze, and he spoke as if reciting something demonic.

"Because why should she be happy? Why should I make a decision that will make her the happiest she's ever been when she's given me twenty two years of misery. Twenty two years of hell. Twenty two years and eleven months and fourteen days. That's how old she is. That's how much I know my daughter. I bet you didn't know that, did you MacFusty?" He was not standing still now - he was walking slowly out from behind the counter, but his eyes were still fixed on MacFusty's.

"Twenty two years and eleven months and fourteen days it has been... since she killed my wife". He seemed quite mad now, his voice full of hatred, driven to harsh digression by the state MacFusty's behaviour had led him to. "And you'd say it wasn't her fault, wouldn't you", he continued, leaving no room in any of this for MacFusty to interject. "Your dear 'smart, courageous, kind' Violet, and just a baby she was back then. How could it be her fault". Gerbold was finally voicing what was inside him. The truth of it all. "But it was not my decision to swap my wife's life for that of a squalling brat".

He was advancing now, and his hand was near his pocket - near his wand. "No matter how kind and courageous and clever you find Violet", his voice cracked - for that had been exactly what he'd thought of Margaret, "her life was swapped with that of my wife. And I..." his voice was dangerous, now - and demented, "... did not..." he was now inches away from the man now, ready to curse him from his life with the most powerful wand Ollivander had ever made, "... consent", he finished.

Not even a split second passed after he said this. For he was only now aware that his chest hurt. More than any physical pain he had ever endured. It was like an anvil had been sitting on him for some time. And the hand that reached for his wand - it shook, and the tingle ran right up his arm. The pale, furious eyes staring at MacFusty were suddenly unseeing, and he fell backwards, cracking his head against the counter. There was a hard flurry of blood as he crashed to the floor, then there he was, Gerbold Ollivander, as still and silent as death.

  

[Hamish MacFusty]

The more then man spoke, the more certain that Hamish, despite whatever he tried, was not going to change, this obstinate old man's mind. No matter how much he tried to reason or explain, there was no changing the fact that Gerbold Ollivander was a selfish man who clearly could not put others before himself. Hamish knew he could be a selfish man, he had been, but to put yourself and your needs before your family's your children's lives was unthinkable and that was why they would never see eye to eye. Unfortunately, he was also right in some respects, Hamish would have absolutely said her mother's death was not Violet's fault, that yes, she deserved to be happy and yes, Violet was all he cared about. He would not however, get her disowned and publicly humiliated.

He watched the man advance on him with hard eyes, all trace of any other emotion other than pure dislike for the man standing in front of him. His own wand was tucked away securely in the inside pocket of his cloak, easily within reach, but staying resolutely there. He was not about to be goaded into some form of action, no matter what the wandmaker had in mind for him. He would not, under any circumstances, despite the fact that Gerbold thought he would, attack the other man. Hammy was big, he was a brute, he worked with dragons, but he was no violet and would not change who he was simply because Gerbold Ollivander held that opinion of him.

Waiting to see what Gerbold would do, Hamish opened his mouth to warm the man to stay back, that wands would solve nothing, then everything stopped. He watched in shocked horror as Gerbold reached for his wand, but never made it, the shock evident in his eyes as he toppled backwards with a sickening crack against the hard wood floor.

"Son of a bitch!" Hamish exclaimed, but there was no way in hell he was letting Gerbold die on his watch. Fortunately, thanks to years of working with dragons, Hamish had quick reflexes, though apparently not fast enough to keep Gerbold from whacking his head that hard, and judging by the amount of blood, it was time to go. Finding his wand, he hefted the man easily up off the floor and with a loud crack! disapparated to the hospital.