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.