Serendipity // PJO

Somehow I am worried about Ollivander's mental health

If I was Ollivander, I would grow desperate of Hazel. But with every unfit wand he seemed to turn even happier, as if he was delectated due to the challenge.

However, Hazel was apologizing verbosely to Ollivander, because he had to put this much effort into this and no wand had chosen her yet. One had even crumbled into dust. In this moment, I felt really bad for him, the tormented expression of his face had shown his pure pain and shock.

But now it was forgotten or at least surpressed, he just wanted to solve the mystery around Hazel Levesque.

"Why are you taking this amount of trouble and work, Mister Ollivander? Perhapse non of your wands is fitting. Maybe no wand is", Hazel eventually murmured bleakly. Clarisse rolled her eyes, was slouching even a bit more unpolitely on the stork-legged chair and continued playing with her auburn wand.

"I am a Ravenclaw, Miss Levesque. I have a knack for revealing secrets." He stroke himself a stray strand of hair out his face and was in the process smearing some splashes of ink, which were originating from an old-school inkpot, which Hazel had let explode. Ollivander looked at Hazel with a serious expression and with his shaggy, silver hair, the glowing eyes and the inkspots he appeared nearly like a mythical creature. "For every wizard there is a wand. The same applies to witches. Some are just harder to place."

A dust grain drew my attention to it. The expection it showed me, nearly seemed to be the basic module for every other wish, which were growing on its fruitful ground. A young man with eyes like moons opened the shop's door and entered the building. From now on much would change, he pledged to himself. He would use much mightier materials than all of his ancestors. Only then it would be possible to create really powerful magic and possess the perfect wand. Because the wand was choosing the wizard, not the other way around. And if everybody thought he was crazy, he would proof them wrong, he was enabled to produce perfect wands and to place them right. He would show everybody, because he had understood: Wands were more than just tools.

I blinked and was again in the here and now. Why did I get these strange hallucinations? With my luck, I would probably become the god of with expections fraughted dust.

Hazel shot a lightning on my, what reminded me hurtfully of Jason, even though he had never electrized me because he was searching for a wand. Clarisse laughed at me and sounded like a barking dog, it seemed to delight her, that I nearly got grilled. Who knew? Maybe she had wanted to hit me instead of poor Gregory before.

Ollivander took the wand away from Hazel. His expression showed nothing than fascination. "Try this one, Miss Levesque. Acacia, flexible, 9 3/4 inches." He handed Hazel the wand.

Hazel swinged it and in the next moment the shop was wreathed in darkness. I was blinded and deaf, so compact was this blackness.

After a few seconds, in which I had held Anaklusmos as a pen in my hand, so I could defend myself if necessary, it got lighter again. The twilight, which had also reigned before over the room, was now nearly too intensive for me.

Maybe this thought, this awareness should have occured earlier but after this uncertain perceverance in the dark I understood it: Magic wasn't only pretty to watch and handy for sprees, no, it was also frightening and threatful. Dangerous and probably even deadly.

We were standing in a well-filled armoury with a man, who was, if you could trust Clarisse in this point, thrusting eleven-year-olds potential murder weapons into their hands. Who was awarding them with more power than anybody else could. Only a god would be enabled to make a human even mightier.

What meant, that Garrick Ollivander was the nearest to a god in this world.

"I hadn't ever meant to sell them, but everything points at those wands...", he muttered. His eyes showed a crazy amount of joy and maybe a little sparkle of insanity.

"Please wait a second." Ollivander vanished in the darkest recesses of his shop.

"What might he be getting?", Clarisse mused. "His peccadillos of youth?"

"You could probably call them like that", Ollivander approved with Clarisse, some boxes pinched under his arm and appearing out of nothing. "In my beginnings I wanted to use more powerful cores than a Kneazel's hair a bit too euphoric. And with this motivation, these wands were developed, but never fitted for selling. There were just never potential customers, who seemed to be equal of their power. Or maybe being able to tame them."

This sounded quite dubious to me. I was rather sure, that we wouldn't leave the shop without at least one of these wands. Wands, which were so powerful, that they got hidden but not burnt or destroyed in any other wise. As if they were admonitions or treasures, which had to be guarded jelaously. Or as if Ollivander had kept them, because he knew, that we would come.

"Give this one a swing, Miss Levesque. Hornbeam, eight inches, with the sliver of an Acromantula's fang as a core."

Hazel did as wished. A spurt of acid erupted out of the wand's tip and chemically burnt the floor.

If I hadn't observed Clarisse reparing the broken window with a harsh Reparo and a swing of her wand, I would have to think very negativelly and worridly about Ollivander's turnover. After all we couldn't be the only customers, crashing windows and chairs, burning parquet, turning the ware into dust or letting it errupt into flames.

Well, at least the last one hadn't harmed the wand or anything else, except for Gregory.

Ollivander changed Hazel's wand with a richly ornamented one. "Claw of a Niffler, especially suitable for spells for searching or locating."

Hazel was rising her hand with such a hopeful expression in her eyes that it was nearly hurting to watch her, but Ollivander wrested it almost joyfully. "No, no. But this here... Why not?"

"A wand out of silver lime. If you believe the legends, this wood prefers witches and wizards with a sensitive nature, in particular in relation to the future. Flexible and smooth. The core consists of the hair of a Thestral's tail, the wand is wrapped in stinging nettle, which is known for its services as oracle, especially when they show if an invalid is going to die, and sleeked pieces of different prophecies. A wand of death and future."

The glimmer Ollivander's moon-like eyes was nearly feverish, when Hazel took the wand uncertainly and swang it.

In the next moment, lute music was ringing through the dusty air and a golden light was enlightening the twilight around Hazel, increasing her angelic looks of innocence. I was just waitning for Apollo's voice, which proclaimed "Blessing completed".

Ollivander was smiling from one ear to the other and reminded me a bit of a shark. Even though I had never met such an old shark. He didn't seemed surprised in the slightest about this life-affirming reaction of the death wand. It appeared strangely dull in the golden light due to the black, dried leaves of the stinging nettle but the tiniy flinders of glass in between were sparkling like a thousand dreams.

It was beautiful and deadly and powerful. Just as the magic it was containing.

"And finally, it's your turn, Mister Jackson."