We Open at the Close (Drarry)

The Worst Birthday

Early next morning, Harry was wandering up Diagon Alley with Draco's birthday present purchased, wrapped and shrunk to fit into his pocket. He kept his head bowed as he wandered up the street, trying his best to ignore the stares and murmurs of everyone who passed him. He was accustomed to being gawked at like a caged animal on display, but that didn't mean that he enjoyed it. The attention had intensified tenfold since the end of the war, so much so that Harry actively avoided going out in public unless absolutely necessary. It was a shame really, because he loved Diagon Alley. It was his first real introduction into the Magical World, and he had instantly fallen in love with the strange and beautiful sights before him— broomsticks and cauldrons, owls and cats and potion bottles, all magical in their own way.

He passed Ollivander's Wand Shop and paused. The last time he had been here, the shop had been abandoned, boarded up and in a state of disrepair. The boards were gone now, but the shop front still looked in a shabby state. Peering through the window he saw Mr Ollivander, slowly shuffling back and forth moving boxes here and there. He appeared to be in better health than when Harry had last spoken to him at Shell Cottage, but he still looked quite poorly. He checked his watch— it was only ten thirty and he wasn't meeting Hermione and Ron at the Leaky Cauldron until midday. He pushed the door open into the shop and the little bell tinkled, announcing his arrival.

Mr Ollivander turned at the sound of the doorbell and smiled. "Harry Potter. Such a pleasure to see you again."

"Hello, Mr Ollivander," Harry shookthe old wizard's outstretched hand. "How have you been keeping?"

"I'm doing well, thank you," he replied hoarsely, collapsing into a spindly chair by the counter. He flicked his wand and another chair flew towards them, stopping dead at Harry's feet.

"Thanks." Harry took the proffered seat and looked around at the old shop, which didn't seem to be faring much better than Mr Ollivander. Most of the shelves, once filled with thousands of boxes containing wands, remained empty. The dust was now so thick on the floor that it was like a grey carpet. "Are you reopening the shop, sir?"

"I must," he replied, his wide grey eyes staring fixedly at Harry. "There is no other wandmaker in Britain. I have no children to take my place, so I need to continue until I can find a replacement."

"I see," said Harry slowly, then asked, "What skills would you be looking for in your replacement?"

Ollivander gave him a small smile. "A strong pair of arms and legs." He gave a wheezy laugh before continuing, "A passion for the craft is the most important thing. Wandlore is an ancient, complex and mysterious branch of magic. I have spent my entire life carefully studying it, and I still consider myself a novice in the craft."

"You could say that the central tenet of Wandlore is 'the only thing I know is that I know nothing.'"

Ollivander smiled broadly. "Exactly, Mr Potter! It is a lifelong pursuit of learning."

Mr Ollivander's smile faltered and he sighed. "But alas, it is not a profession that many people opt into. It doesn't have the excitement or hustle and bustle of working in the Ministry. It is a quiet craft, slow and considered, and at times a lonely one. Most people would rather spend their time zooming around on broomsticks than labouring in a workshop."

Harry chuckled, thinking that Ollivander's description sounded a lot like himself growing up. All he wanted to do was play Quidditch and have fun. He still did, but he'd had quite enough of the hustle and bustle of being the Boy Who Lived. He just wanted to be Harry. The peace of a small, quiet workshop sounded very appealing to him.

"Mr Ollivander," said Harry carefully. "If you were to take on an apprentice, what sort of qualifications would you be looking for? I uh...I have a few O.W.L.S. but I didn't graduate from Hogwarts, and I don't have any N.E.W.T.S. I'd be willing to get extra qualifications if I need to though."