Minnie [#Wattys2017]

A Real Magic Wand

A Real Magic Wand

Minerva recognized the sign on the door of the wandmaker's shop immediately, for it was nearly the same as the lovely narrow box her mum had shown her on the morning of 4 October. The sign was wood, with gold letters that read Ollivander's and beneath it, in purple letters, it read, Maker of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C. Isobel held Minerva's hand in hers and she said, "Come along, Minerva, let's replace that switch you've been playing with." And together they stepped through the door into the dusty space within.

Inside Ollivander's wand shop was dark and smelled of dust and wood polish and Minerva could feel the age in the air, as though the very oxygen in Ollivander's spoke of how long it had been a shop. There was only a small space between the door and the counter, which stretched the width of the shop so that nobody could go behind it. Beyond it, there were rows and rows of high shelves that reached to the very ceiling, crammed with narrow boxes, none of them labelled at all. The boxes were all different. Some where gold and others purple, she saw brown boxes and red boxes and silver boxes and grey boxes... they stretched off as far as the eye could see and there were rolling ladders on each of the aisles, great wood things attached to poles and wheels and an upstairs that hung over with a railing and the steps were lined with stacks of the narrow boxes, too.

Minerva trembled. There was a greatness in this store, a feeling like there was a presence of power. Magic, Minerva thought. She had heard her father speak of the church this way - except he would say he could feel The Spirit there. She wondered if The Spirit was here as well.

God is everywhere, her father's voice trickled through her mind.

Even in wand shops, she thought.

Suddenly a face peered over the railing above her - wild, dark auburn hair and wide eyes, a ruffled collar at his throat and a thick purple velvet jacket with ruffles at the cuffs - the man stared down at Minerva and Isobel for a long moment. Then, "Isobel Ross. Well - McGonagall now, isn't it? It's been a long time. Oak. Unicorn hair core. Swishy."

"Yes," Isobel breathed, her eyes dancing.

His eyes flickered to Minerva. "This must be your daughter." And he ducked back over the railing, disappearing from sight for a moment.

"Yes, this is Minerva."

The man appeared again, coming down the curved staircase. He came up to the counter and leaned against it, staring into Minerva's face for a long moment. "Hullo Minerva," he said, and then he ducked behind the counter, disappearing again, only to emerge a moment later with a thick spool of measuring tape in his hand. He flicked his wrist and the measuring tape streched along from her toes to her head and her shoulder to her fingers and across her collar bone and the width of space between her eyes and the length of her nose and her ears and from her elbow to her wrist and then it spooled back up, flew into his palm, and disappeared with a puff of purple smoke.

A smile crossed the man's face and he said. "Ah yes. I know just the ticket." And he turned, leaped onto one of the rolling ladders, and swept down the length of the shelf it hung before, holding onto the ladder with just one arm, his other pointing at the boxes, mumbling names of wood and funny things like unicorn, phoenix, dragon... as he went.

Isobel knelt beside Minnie and she whispered reverently, "That is Garrick Ollivander. He's been a wand maker for time untold, and his father was a wandmaker before him and his grandfather and great-grandfather and so on." She put her hands on Minnie's shoulders, "He's brilliant."

The wild haired man came back, carrying a grey box, which he blew dust off of and he plopped it onto the counter and opened it up with a flourish. "Rowan, dragon heartstring, ten inches." He lifted the wand from the box gingerly, his fingers holding the two tips and he looked it over - it was much more like an ordinary stick than her mother's and Minerva took it in her hand a moment, looking it over, unsure what to do. Mr. Ollivander motioned for her to give it a flick. So she did.