1500 hours


Virgil had gone into work on Mysteries in the morning, expecting to be back home on Diagon much later in the day - that was his routine after all. But he hadn't expected to break his wand.

Snapped clean in half in the Brain Room whilst wrestling it away from one of the tentacled encaphalons. It had been such a surprise to all of them: wands could generally go through quite a bit of wear without (so to speak) tearing and Merlin knew he used his frequently and confidently enough to brandish it without worry. Virgil loved magic; after coming down with the magical measles last year, he started utilising little charms and spells for just about anything, simply for the pleasure of exercising the blessed gift.

Not wanting to risk sensitive Mysteries work with a wand that wasn't his own, he requested to go down to Ollivander's. Yavin gave him the rest of the day off, of which hours he could put in later, and so Virgil had made straight for the wand shop once he caught a side-along back to Diagon.

When was the last time he had been in here?

The young man breathed in deeply as the door shut behind him, and he tasted the air in the shop. It was thick with the scents of woods and something less easy to describe; something almost electric, that he could smell in certain rooms on level nine. Here, however, the scent was natural and homely.

It gave him warm feelings, to be surrounded by the familiar sight of wand boxes towering to no end. Eleven. He had been eleven years old and nervous and playful, and altogether impatient to get his hands on his first wand. The impatience, at least, was still the same.

"Good afternoon?" Virgil called out, as nobody was visibly manning the front of the shop just now. He held in one hand the remains of his old wand[1].

1.	11 inch Ebony, rigid with a plain hilt.  Phoenix feather core.

Ollivanders Wand Shop looked small from the front. Shelves encroached on the customer floor and then snaked away into a claustrophobic labyrinth. At their terminus, among other spaces, was a workshop where Tamzin Ollivander spent much of her time. She was there today, turning wand handles on a lathe. She'd been out over the weekend to a copse in Somerset for some good virgin rowan. The hours she spent plying her craft went by without her noticing them; it had always been thus even as a girl chipping a fox out of a block of some scrap pine. Just now, though, a bell and a distant voice ended her focus.

"Keep your head," she called back. When she arrived, she was in the process of letting her short white-bleached hair down from a tie and shaking out the sawdust. She wore a simple white tunic-length shirt with half sleeves and a white scarf. Around her neck was an amulet  in the form of a silver hand. Her voluminous violet and spangled over-robe was on a hook in the back.

"Hello, there," Tamzin said with a deep breathe to change mental gears.  The fellow smelled like warm things. "What you brings to Ollivanders and the finest of wands in the world?"

She drummed long fingers with dark-polished nails on the counter.

Although he knew Tamzin on sight, Virgil had never interacted much with the younger Ollivander. She was certainly not the one who had matched him with his first wand, but he wasn't here on a nostalgia trip. Virgil approached the counter as he considered her appearance: a white contrast to his all-black work attire. She had flair.

            "What brings you to Ollivander's and the finest of wands in the world?"

"I've broken my wand," he bit back his initial reply (why else would he be here?) and, like a reprimanded boy, delicately placed his snapped wand on the counter. "Not certain how it broke, there was a struggle at work and it simply..." Virgil shrugged. "Gave up."

That was exactly how he had felt the instant it had broke into two; the surprise of loud, splintering wood, and an intense sensation of weariness come to an end.

"I need another," he continued, glancing around the shop with a dry smile. "That is, if I can be matched with another of the finest wands in the world."

Tamzin scoffed and smiled. "We can match anyone."

That was the thing about boasting, it was an invitation for the contrary. Tamzin didn't mind. She was also contrary.

She picked up the pieces of a broken wand and cooed. "Oooh, sad little twig. Be honest now, the struggle, was it a duel? Did you lose?"

The phoenix feather core was exposed. The jagged points of a severed shaft and the scraggly barbs of the vane wispy to the touch. It was a rigid wand, not casually snapped. A sundered core made whole repair impossible. Dragon heartstrings were so durable they could often survive a snapping, but not so with unicorn tail hair or phoenix feather. Sad to see a wand end so young, but really, they were spindly sticks enduring daily use. Just like people, that's what made the old ones so worth hanging on to. The spells they've seen ....

Tamzin added quickly, "I'm not teasing you. I can't see your face so I don't know if you're delicate. It's useful information. For the match."

With her own wand, she summoned an empty wand box, wrapped the broken pieces in paper and set it in the box. A little casket. There'd be no saving it.

             "Oooh, sad little twig. Be honest now, the struggle, was it a duel? Did you lose?"

He smiled widely at the question, tickled by her concern for the now-dead wand and her direct questions. The witch was quick to follow it up with a disclaimer and Virgil bit his bottom lip as he realised that he might have to come up with an explanation for how he broke his wand - an explanation that didn't quite reference his work in the Brain Room.

"I don't really duel very often..." he began slowly, the smile creeping back on to his face and into his voice. "An octopus of sorts took it from me and it snapped in half when I was trying to wrestle it back."

Virgil resisted the urge to mimic Yavin's habit of wiggling his fingers; because it was silly and also because Tamzin would not have clocked it anyway. "In all honesty, I'm not certain if I ever bonded with it as well as I've seen most people with their wands."

To him, the wand had been more of a tool than anything else. He would have liked for it to be an extension of himself: another limb, in the way his mind and Legilimency were inseparable from how he navigate magical society.

An octopus broke my wand. Tamzin lifted her eyebrows.

"That's a new one," she muttered. Tamzin lifted her eyebrows. Well, as long as he didn't lose it in a duel, it didn't really matter.

He went on to tell her that he wasn't that torn up over the loss, that they'd never really connected.

"Well, that explains why it 'gave up' on you," Tamzin said with a little shrug. "It just wasn't meant to be. But that happens and it could be a lot of reasons. Some people don't get properly matched, others might have a big life change that affects how they relate their magic, the wand could have been previously owned and not properly passed on which happens with happens often with heirlooms, deep seated personal flaws..."

She twirled her wand deftly in her fingers.

"Regardless, let's get you matched. Tell the book your name and I shall pull something for us to start..."

A large book on the counter flipped open and a quill jumped to the ready. Meanwhile Tamzin moved away to the shelves. Her fingers moved along with the boxes, followed closely by the tip of her wand.

"The wand chooses the wix," she recited, "but we can help it along. What are you looking for in a wand?"

He pondered Tamzin's words as she left the counter to peruse the shelves. Perhaps he hadn't been properly matched - or perhaps he had changed too much, with too mercurial a pace, over the years. There were times at Hogwarts where he felt disingenuous or led on by the company he kept, most of whom he no longer associated with on a regular basis.

Things were different these days. "Virgil Carstairs," he addressed the book in a high, clear voice and watched the quill scribble his name in cursive.

            "...What are you looking for in a wand?"

"Complicity." Virgil drawled as he leaned forward against the counter with his arms crossed, eyes on Tamzin. "I suppose I want to feel like it... knows me. And I have tendency for Divination, as well as mind magic." There was no point in hiding that from her, he decided.

He wanted a good match with his wand, didn't he? That meant being truthful. "Nothing too rigid, though. I don't feel that suited me last time, if that makes sense to you?" Virgil knew little about wand magic so he was curious, and interested in hearing Tamzin's thoughts on it.

"Mhmm," Tamzin replied. Virgil Carstairs' tale of a non-duel with an octopus belied a more internal magical inclination. It was good background to help guide her search. There was an art to pulling an initial selection of wands. For children, Tamzin had a favorite general range that was diverse and helped narrow in. For adults she could be a little more focused. Of course, she must not pidgeon-hole. One had to leave space for surprise.

For divination-forward options, she made sure to pull something hazel, oak, and limewood. Definitely nothing of larch which could be overbearing nor linden which could be protective. For variety, she included a rowan, cherry, and holly in the mix.

"I always start with six," Tamzin said as she returned to the desk. She laid the boxes in a row like soldiers and opened them each in turn. The labels on the boxes showed their relative ages. One label was yellowed and peeling off, written in Uncle Garrick's tight hand from 1956. Three others were his as well, from the 1980s and '90s. Two were Tamzin's made in the last decade.

Now that the wands were laid out, she put on a pair of mirrored spectacles.

"Don't worry about what kind they are. You'll pick one, give it a wave, and we'll see what happens. Do your best not cast anything. I know, dreadfully difficult, but the more open you are, the better the match. Also, don't feel deficient at all if none of these first wands suit you. I have loads more."

What was still a little difficult for Tamzin was quieting her pride. It wasn't possible to be in direct competition with her famed uncle, but she wanted more than anything for her wands to find wix. She could never force it, however. She must never interfere with the opportunity for a wix to find the perfect Ollivander wand.

"Go on, Virgil."

            "Go on, Virgil."

He had stood still a moment, looking down at the various wands nestled in their boxes - each one like a different story or a different path, and himself at the crossroads. Virgil glanced up at Tamzin, briefly, before reaching for one of the wands at random; he recognised it by colour and appearance to be cherry wood.

Though his wand lore was not thorough, he knew woods quite well because magical violins were made with different types to different affect. Virgil held it up, twirled it between his fingers into a more comfortable position, and then gave it a wave.

His lips turned down into a frown. It felt, all at once, too heavy and too light. Like its mass would not obey him; at any rate, there was no real reaction and he returned it to the box so that he could take up another. This went on for a little longer than he liked wave upon charmless wave: after the cherry, the hazel - then the oak, which gave him a promising tingle but not much else...and the rowan, which practically leapt out of his hand.

"I don't remember it being this difficult the first time," the wizard grumbled, gingerly relinquishing that last attempt as it clattered back into its home. By now he had thrown off his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his dark shirt.

He reached for a wand of silvery wood just then and paused, hand on its smooth hilt. "Oh." Virgil tilted his head to the side, puzzled. "This one feels... not quite right. Better, though," he lifted it, motioning it before him; the air seemed to shimmer and he laughed, forgetting his impatience. "How am I supposed to simply know?"

How in Merlin's name had he even known when he was eleven! It seemed a wonder his old wand worked at all.

"Which one?" Tamzin asked when Virgil expressed a presence. She felt out for which box was empty. "The silver limewood? Really sharp, that one."

          "How am I supposed to simply know?"

"You'll just know," Tamzin said. It was unhelpful advice, but she'd never found a better way to describe it but more importantly if they knew what to look for, they'd go searching for it and then the whole process got mucky. 

"And you're pickier than when you were young. You know what you want. And now that you've been casting spells all your life, a dead twig in your hand feels muggly," she told him. "Don't let it bother you. There are thousands of wands here, and dozens would fit you. It's an embarrassment of choice that's the cause of the discomfort, not you."

She left the six boxes and their wands where they were on the desk and left Virgil again to draw more. It was a few more minutes before she returned - the process could take some time. When she emerged from the back, she had seven.

"These are all the silver limewood," Tamzin said, pushing the other wands aside and lining up the new ones. "I'm not going to waste your time with dragon heartstring cores unless you insist."

"Phoenix feather," she said and tapped the first four wands.  "And these are unicorn tail hair."

She adjusted her glasses again - protection for if he got a stinker and jacked up the shop - and then waved a hand. "Just ... be yourself. Take your time."

Although he was known in some ways to be rather impatient, Virgil stood about without complaint when Tamzin disappeared for another selection of wands. She had said that he was pickier now than he had been as a child - the thought ran circles in his head; he glanced around and remembered walking through those wooden doors with Edgar at his shoulder, his sister Adelaide trailing behind in her perfectly pressed robes. Virgil had been eleven and she... sixteen? She wanted to watch him get his first wand.

He could just picture himself here again, awkward and gangly and insufferably sullen. Curious underneath the caution. Back then, he never slapped Laidie's hand away when she tousled his hair. Back then, things weren't so complicated.

            "These are all the silver limewood," the blind witch returned and Virgil turned around from the entrance, rousing from memory.

"Be myself?" he repeated, smiling a little as he observed the seven wands in their seven boxes.

Virgil supposed he could try each one and see if that got him anywhere; go through them like he went through wixes from The Closet. Was that him, though? What did it even mean to be himself? He felt like he was trying on hats and opinions all day long, every day. The wizard glanced at Tamzin. Sightless Tamzin.

"Alright..." he sighed and closed his eyes, holding both his hands over the boxes. His forehead tensed and wrinkled into a frown; Virgil wiggled his fingers. He wanted to see if any of them called to him, or called to his Seer ability. He forced himself to breathe in and out, slowly, concentrating on how he felt and how his fingers drifted across the selection.

Something tingled, tickled like soft electric below his left hand. He opened his eyes, clocking the two limewood wands on that end. A smooth hilt and one that was rough, less polished.

He reached for the former at first, touching and then releasing it without even lifting. It was dead against his fingers. Virgil nodded to himself, grip closing on the other wand instead. It felt like... buzzing, almost, humming in his hand. He laughed and brought it up with simple flourish. A light, clinking sound followed the movement - like a piano in the distance.

"Oh, Miss Ollivander," he exclaimed softly, "I think I have it!"

Tamzin waited, unbothered by the silence and waiting. She didn't know Virgil Carstairs - only of his family - but she had the impression he knew plenty about stillness.

His laughter broke the moment, and oh she loved to hear it. Like a boy greeting a puppy, like the delight of the cold of a solar eclipse washing over you.

"Oh, which one?," she asked, leaning forward. She wouldn't reach for it; they'd only just met and that wasn't a moment she wanted to interrupt.

"Come on, which one?" She seemed almost as happy as Virgil, and relieved. The wand played a bright trill. There was no need at all to second-guess the match.

Delighted, he drew starry shapes in the air with his wand (his, it felt so much like his!) and was brought back down to reality by Tamzin asking which of them he had chosen. Virgil flushed - he forgot she couldn't see - but promptly stepped forward with one of his diffident, boyish smiles; safe in the fact she couldn't see that either.

"Rough hilt, ten inches, furthest one on my left," he stated clearly and tapped the counter so that the other wand boxes closed, lids gently snapping shut. "One of the unicorn hairs I think. You were right, I just knew. It feels even better than my last wand."

It felt... oh it felt like it wanted to be in his hand. Virgil twirled the limewood wand, sighing contentedly to himself. He loved it when magic worked in him the way he wanted it to: nothing seemed right when his magic wasn't. "Thank you," he added with emphasis.

Tamzin beamed. That wand was one of hers. The aged silver limewood featured a moon motif in the handle and a tail hair given by a stunning young unicorn mare encased inside.

She slid her glasses off up into her hair, and gathered up the other boxes Virgil has so kindly tidied. They'd all be returned to the shelves to patiently await their own matches some day.

"That's a very good one. Congratulations."

Then she opened the large ledger, a closely kept heirloom, a secret and safely enchanted tome, generations old. A long lovely black quill stood at the ready.

"Virgil Carstairs, 10 inch, silver limewood, unicorn tail hair. Number seven oh seven sixty-four, two thousand eight."

Then she said to Virgil as she moved to the massive old till, "tell everyone where you got it. It's a Tamzin Ollivander, Diagon Alley."

As if it could be any other. She keyed in the price and the great machine clanged and whirred in response. "That's seven galleons. How are you on polish? We have stands as well."