Closing time

The last time Iona had seen her former friend Tamzin Ollivander, she’d been rightly taken aback and rather awkward about the whole encounter. There’d been something tremendously jarring in having the witch you’d loved since you were 19 ambush you with the witch you’d tried to snog as a younger teenager. Due to the embarrassing nature of the ordeal as a fifteen-year-old, Bruce hadn’t mentioned it to her wife. Coming face to face with the witch who’d clearly been put off by the attempt to exchange saliva had been something that Iona had successfully avoided since Hogwarts.

"She seemed happy to see you in the shop," zora had pointed out after the ambush; something Iona couldn’t deny. There’d been the tiniest hint of sadness in Tamzin’s voice, but she’d not recoiled or anything drastic. She’d been excited about the cane, and perfectly pleasant. Iona had been the awkward one, and she felt guilty for it. As such, the witch had resolved that she’d go and see Tamzin at some point, just to settle things.

Unfortunately, Iona was also the witch that often walked away from confrontation and difficult situations. So, her resolution to actually visit her former friend hadn’t actually been completed by the latter half of January. It wasn’t until Zora mentioned a break-in at Ollivanders while Tamzin was there that Iona realised she needed to get over her own anxiety and show her face.

This was what had brought her here after work on Monday. She was still wearing her work clothes, a black robe, trousers, a blue shirt and cardigan. Her cane was gripped in her right hand, and her hair had been scraped up into a messy bun hours ago. With a nervous frown, Iona pushed open the shop door, the bell above her head jingling to life.

Tamzin was polishing wands at the front counter. One by one, she waxed them and polished them until they were warm and smooth, then tucked them into the long boxes. She took care not to mix them up or her uncle would never stop moaning about it. The chimes on the door jingled and a halting but light step aided by a cane walked in.

"Aura Perciperium," she said, and the room hummed to life. The wands in their boxes were sleepy stars in their nooks. The witch lit up her door, her aura like summer. She was alone. Tamzin, leaned forward to relax on the counter. She smiled and turned her head.

"It's Bruce Ballentyne," she said, "come knocking on wood. I know the cane's doing you well."

No one had more confidence in Tamzin's work than Tamzin. The custom enchanted wolf-carved cane she'd made for an Auror's wife had been crafted to last the owner's life time and thrice over, so the wandmaker had no doubt there'd be complaint. Must mean the visit was something else. Bruce's name had been in the Daily Prophet, of course. Tragic business. It was enough to make anyone enter doors like it was a funeral.

Tamzin tucked her hair behind her ear, trying not to be worried.

Behind the counter, Tamzin Ollivander stood polishing wands, all white hair and glasses. As Bruce let the shop door behind her swing closed, Tamzin leaned over the counter, smiling.

"It's Bruce Ballentyne," the blind witch said. Iona’s brows suddenly shot up and she found herself scanning around for someone else. Nope. No one was telling the witch who it was. The limp might have given her a clue accompanied by the click of the wooden cane on the floor, but it was a clue, nothing more.

“Bloody hell, woman, how the hell’d you guess that?” The Welsh witch asked with a grin, stepping up to the counter. “Some of your best work, I’d wager. Gorgeous.” She wasn’t shy is casting a glance around the shop, looking for signs of the break in she’d been told about. “Not sure how you recognise its sound, mind.”

Nothing. Magic was pretty good at setting things back to normal, like nothing had ever happened.

"Not guessing, woman, just a spell," Tamzin said and gently tapped her wand tip on the counter. She was proud of her skill with the spell, more than if she was just a Seer or had some other innate gift of heightened awareness. It paid to be raised around wands. It was too bad Tamzin hadn't had this spell back in school, or things might have been easier.

"It helps me sense auras. A bit difficult to describe but everyone gets a bit ..." she paused and wiggled her fingers, "... tingly, right. I remember your aura from Christmas; you're easy to spot."

That was something she knew about Bruce. Everyone had always said she had hair like fire: big presence, bright hair, endless confidence. Her aura, to Tamzin, didn't burn, but it was always moving.

"Also, I tested it," she admitted with a laugh. "Me, hobbling around the shop to make sure it had the right feel. Is your wife regretting the gift yet with that bit of crackle and pop I snuck in there?"

Bruce couldn’t help but smirk across the counter at Tamzin as the other witch described her use of auras. It would be foolish to think that she hadn’t always been easy to spot; curly red hair was hardly common or something that faded into the background. But to have her own aura so easily recognisable? It was a nice touch. It made Bruce wonder if her own school friend had had access to such a spell in school or it was acquired since then. Would have certainly made things easier, wouldn’t it?

“Do I tingle far brighter than the others?” As soon as she said it, Iona regretted it, and pulled a face. Of course, she didn’t. That wasn’t how these things worked. Her auror probably had some red tingle to it, or the tingle might be shaped like a wolf or…well, Iona had about as much idea about how these things worked as she did about how to speak gobbledegook.

Did Zora regret the gift? When she was on the floor, maybe. But, as Iona had proudly pointed out, her wife could hardly begrudge her using the gift that she purchased for her!
“Who knows!” Iona grinned, waving her hand. Zora was pretty good at keeping back her emotions. Maybe she was sick of it, but she’d not told her wife. “But, she’s an auror. She’s used to being knocked on her backside, so she’ll live.” Clearly, that was what aurors spent their days doing… Iona leaned her weight on the cane, watching her old-school friend carefully. It was odd to be talking about her wife with her. They’d not properly spoken since the aftermath of the unwanted kiss. So much time had passed, so many things changed, yet Iona still felt awkward now. No one appreciated unwanted comeons.

“Zora told me about the break in.” Iona chose to jump straight into her reason for showing up. “Y’alright?”

Tamzin reflected Bruce's laughter and set her wand down. The auras faded - they were just distracting now. She moved back a little to sit on her stool behind the counter just as Bruce asked about the burglary.[1]

Tamzin barked a laughter of scorn. 

"Oh, that! That was nothing. Just some degenerate with no idea which end of his wand to hold." Tamzin had been happy to tell anyone who'd listen all about the excitement and was always sure to mention the audacity.

"Can you imagine having the set-of-them to have a go at Ollivanders? But they say idiocy isn't everything."

Tamzin might have liked to be more hospitable but the shop was cramped and there was no room for idle furniture. There was one of those rolling library ladders on the wallnearby. Kids perched on while their parents did business. Idly, Tamzin reached for the a carved chess piece that sat amongst the clutter on the desk. It was the queen of a set she'd carved in school.[2] It was blocky and smooth.

"But you, though." Tamzin said setting down her glasses after a long day. "You've got your share of villains to deal with. Horrible what happened to Carter."

1.	21 Jan 2012 - Makers of Fine Burglaries Since Gone Three
2.	In the style of the Lewis chessmen.

Tamzin certainly didn’t seem perturbed by the events that occurred. She seemed content enough to insult the perpetrator and leave it at that. Clearly, she was made of sterner stuff. Had to be having been blind her entire life. Bruce couldn’t even imagine.

“Bah!” Bruce waved a hand at the suggestion that she had enough to deal with. Nothing had been truer. “Bloody nightmare, Tam.” Worse than a nightmare. Bruce took a few steps over to the ladder and pointed her wand at it. A few twists, and a step, just below bottom height, expanded to form a more practical seat. She lowered her rump onto it and rested her cane against the shelves.

“World’s going to shit and we’re floating about in a paper boat with holes in.” she didn’t want to talk about Carter or the werewolves or anything else, really. “Shop’s cleaned up well, at least. You running it now?” Too many years to catch up on! Tamzin knew more about Bruce than she’d have expected, somehow having gotten Zora to open up (quite the feat!), but what Bruce knew in return was negligible. “Old uncle Garrick indisposed now? Figured he’d leave in a casket.” That didn’t come out right. “Well, not retire, not dead. Ugh, you know what I mean, yeah?”

Tamzin laughed as Bruce made herself comfortable. Was always easy talking to Bruce. They'd been close in school, the two of them. Tamzin had always liked that Bruce never held back. Spoke her mind and never let Tamzin be anyone but herself. Tamzin leaned forward on the counter and rested her chin on her hand. Why didn't she connect with old friends more?

Bruce changed the subject away from horror and violence and Tamzin didn't mind, especially when the topic was wands and the shop.

"I don't think he'll ever give it up," she said with a shrug. "I could make a thousand wands and I'd still always be a little girl whittling twigs."

Garrick Ollivander's paternal attitude didn't align with what he actually did. Tamzin ran the shop day-to-day more and more, and she was always working on wands. She was every inch the wandmaker he'd trained her up to be, but until he gave up the ghost, she'd always be wee Tam.

She laughed again as a memory bubbled up and tapped the edge of the counter.

"Do you remember when he visited? He gave some speech in the Great Hall." She searched her mind for the details, trying to place the context.

"It was that spring when Athena - do you remember her, I think she's a Healer now - she colored my hair blue, I think. Was it blue? Merlin, who can tell."[1]

It had been before Tamzin became interested in wand-making. She was more into not being singled out in front of the entire school. If she'd been embarrassed then, she didn't seem mortified now.

"You must have been there."

1.	Athena was Ravenclaw '89

"I could make a thousand wands and I'd still always be a little girl whittling twigs." Tamzin commented on her uncle’s treatment, raising a smirk on the redhead’s lips. A family member’s prerogative, to not really accept that your kin was growing up. She still struggled to get her head around the idea of Waverly no longer living at home. It was like their baby girl was running away with a badly packed bag, only to return when she got hungry.

As her old friend led them down memory lane, Bruce wracked her own memory trying to recall. She’d blanked out various parts of her Hogwarts experience after the whole kissing the blind girl ordeal. Your dorm mates thinking you were about to climb into bed with them certainly put a dampener on your school experience.

But the coloured hair, she did just about recall. As did she have some vague recollection of the wandmaker’s speech. Bruce had been one of the Gryffindor students fidgeting and eager to get out. Unlike Tamzin, she wasn’t exactly capable of sitting and listening to someone drone on about wand lore. Nope, no thanks.

“She’s a healer.” Bruce agreed quietly. “Big bad boss of creature injuries.” And the witch who saved my life. “The hair, I believe was meant to be blue… I have an ah…an apology to make.” Did it really matter now? Did Tamzin even know what colours were? “It was more of a…dirty green. No one had the heart to tell you…so we just said it looked great until one of your housemates could figure out how to fix it.”

Tamzin opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. For a moment she was smiling and the next her eyebrows knit together. She scoffed, struck momentarily speechless as she tried to decide how to feel about this innocent revelation.

She was well in her 30s now and had been done far worse than a bad dye job. There was that pang, though, of remembering how much she'd wanted to fit in.  Blue was the color of the sky and water and lapis lazuli. Blue was pretty. Worse than having the wrong color, 'dirty' Bruce said, was that everybody knew except her.

Oh, but it was so long ago. Tamzin laughed with all intent to convince Bruce it hadn't stung, not even a little bit. She was Tamzin Ollivander and she was above that kind of softness.

"We were all silly fools back then," she said. "Flailing and awkward. I think I'd have more fun on a second try at being a teenager. But do go on - what else have you been keeping from me all these years?"

It wasn't an accusation. She liked reminiscing. She'd adored Bruce. She was so gregarious and Tamzin, bookish and earnest, had probably followed her around to much, trailing behind to get the benefit of Bruce's social aptitude.

It didn’t even occur to Bruce that the whole keeping quiet about the hair dye incident might hurt her old friend. Perhaps the thought should have come, considering how Tamzin had never known, but they’d thought they were protecting her feelings. Back then, Bruce hadn’t known what it was like to be different. Yes, she’d been figuring out her own feelings when it came to boys and girls, but she hadn’t been really different. Being gay had been a challenge she’d never wish to return to, and muggleborn during the war had been terrifying, but it wasn’t until she’d been a lot older that she found out what it was like to be at a physical disadvantage to everyone around her.

“I think you’re alone in wanting a second try at being a teenager.” Bruce replied. But Tamzin wanted to know what else she’d not been told. Bruce frowned, glancing down at her hands in her lap. She knew Tamzin meant secrets they may have kept from her or gossip from their Hogwarts days, but Bruce couldn’t help but feel a little awkward at this question.

“That I’m sorry for ghosting you. After, you know…” They both knew. “Being a teenager was pretty crap. You deserved a friend, not…well…you know.”

Bruce saw right through her.

Tamzin laughed then, another attempt to wash away the difficult memories of feeling strange. She knew what Bruce was talking about. They'd been best friends; absolutely inseparable. It hadn't mattered they weren't in the same year or house. They'd found each other and never left each others' side. They snuck around at night, teamed up on individual school assignments, complemented each other and made school a lark.

And then one day in sixth year, Bruce kissed her. Tamzin recollected it so clearly. She took off her trademark violet spectacles and gently handled the temples in her long fingers.

"You deserved more than a friend," Tamzin said, still trying to smile. Bruce's voice said everything; she still felt guilty about it. "You weren't the only one who ran, if you remember."

Whether Bruce really had deserved more than a friend remained to be seen. As it was, she’d made a complete fool of herself and had been hiding from that reality ever since. It had, after all, only been in the December just gone that she’d even told her own wife about it. by the time she’d met Zora, Bruce had come to terms with who she was and sod anyone who didn’t accept her. As a teenager, she’d been in a very different position.

At the idea of running, Bruce gave her old friend a smile. Even if she couldn’t see it. “You were running from an unsolicited approach, Tam. I was running from a truth.” A truth that caught up with her in the end. For the good. Now she’d found the most perfect witch to share her life with. “And you shouldn’t worry now. You’ve met my wife, I’m too scared of her to ever try it on with another witch.” A joke. Not true. She wasn’t scared of Zora; the thought would never even cross her mind to stray. Even through everything; her accident, her transformation and her wrecked leg and stomach, this witch had stood by her and held her hand. You thanked your lucky stars for that and you didn’t even consider hurting such a relationship.

“You should come for dinner sometime.” Even as she said it, Iona wondered if it was the most sensible suggestion. Would I be super awkward? “You don’t have to, of course. Just…might be nice. You’d like Zora. A proper Auror!” Scary, scary, eh?

Worried? Tamzin laughed lightly in relief. She'd never had the thought. When they'd reconnected this past winter, Tamzin's only thoughts had been a happy nostalgia. Tamzin aways tried to be tender to her younger self, not only as a person but as an artisan. Her first wands were the wands of a beginner with all of its flaws, but it represented a step along the journey. The same could be said for awkward witches fumbling with their feelings and identities. Clumsy, knotty, crooked, but made with love and all part of growing.

"I'd have never guessed you'd end up with a proper Auror," Tamzin said, her anxious fussing with her spectacles stopped. Settled here with an old friend in the shop and all its richness and familiarity, it was a nice moment. Old school friends, no one knew you like they knew you.

"And Zora. Bit serious, wasn't she?" Tamzin didn't remember loads about a young Zora Roh but that she blended easily into Slytherin's strong arm.

“Still is!” Iona replied happily. Zora had always been the more serious of the two. Iona often tried to find the amusement in a situation, or at least something lighter to say about something. She joked when it wasn’t necessarily appropriate, and definitely had the biggest sense of humour out of the pair. Zora’s sense of humour was drier and more deadpan, but they complimented each other well. “Well…more so than me, anyway.”

“Can’t say I even remember her from school.” It was a strange feeling, even now. With a three-year age gap, Bruce and her wife had been at the same school for 4 years without ever knowing each other. “And you’re right, I’d have never sought out an auror. Always thought they were stodgy and full of themselves. Ministry’s elite and all that crap. And a Slytherin… well… people surprise you.”

They really did.

“You remember her?”