[Ollivander's] A Branch in the Breeze (Alain, Garrick)

[div style="width:450px;font-family:Abel;font-size:14px;text-align:left;"]“Every forest branch moves differently in the breeze,
but as they sway they connect at the roots.”
― Rumi[/div]

It was an uncommon thing, but not unheard of, for Garrick Ollivander to receive inquiries about a new wand in March. After all, the children of halfblood and pureblood families usually came and got their wands on their eleventh birthdays, and that could happen on any day of the year. What made it a bit more odd, but still not a new experience to an old hand like Garrick, was for it to be an adult asking for a wand.

Most of the year, save August, Ollivander's didn't really get any big business. Not that any of the family wandmakers had ever minded; after all, to sell wands, you have to craft wands. So Garrick would be in the back room of the ground floor office, working with woods and cores and calipers and resins and a lot of odd-smelling and pungent things. The bell would ring as someone walked in the door, Garrick would call out, "One moment please," set down his tools as soon as his current task was complete, take his own wand and wordlessly cast "Scourgify" and "Vestimenti" over himself to de-grime and re-dandify himself, and step out into the shoppe portion of the building. Ninety-eight times out of a hundred in the winter, all the customer wanted was a wand care kit, but Garrick was a man who cared about customer interaction and satisfaction, and he harboured no resentment toward being pulled away from his well-loved but arduous tasks to get someone exactly what they needed.

So when he stepped onto the gliding ladder just outside his workshop and rode it out to the front counter, and saw a young man with wavy dirty blond hair wearing fashionable robes, Ollivander was already in the mindset of selling another wand care kit to a person with fastidious tastes wanting their wand to be as well-kept as their clothing. "What can I do for you today, young man?" [span style="display:none;"] @Alain St. Clare [/span]

There was a biting chill in the air on this particular March day. It was only made worse by the breeze that blew through Diagon Alley as Alain walked up the Wizarding Street. Although he could have made the air surrounding him warmer the young air elemental chose to forgo such an ostentatious display of his abilities in favour of remaining discrete. It was for this reason the French man was wearing a long emerald green woollen coat over his wizarding robes. The twenty two year olds dirty blond hair was slicked back, and a silver watch was strapped around his wrist.

Ever since the air elemental had begun working at The Nightmare League he had found himself becoming more conscious of the need to hide his elemental abilities. The third Aett had been a rather small store, which meant he usually worked his shifts alone and his contact with customers had been limited to serving them as needed. Now, however, he was seeking to make a career for himself. This involved working with others on various project and learning the self defence capabilities required of all who chose to work for Oogie Boogie. Naturally, this meant his time around those unaware of his secret had dramatically increased, and Alain had to try and pass for a regular wizard once again. Much to his chagrin, the most important aspect of this pretence was carrying a wand.

This is stupid. I have access to much more potent forms of magic than a silly old wand. The blond argued with himself for the hundredth time since he made the decision to purchase a wand. It was a classic case of the id versus the ego. Intellectually Alain knew that his plan made the most sense, but he had developed a strong aversion for wand magic over the years and found the idea of wielding one again hard to stomach. Plus, although he wouldn’t admit it, the fact that a wand’s reaction to him was likely to be mild at best was not exactly good for his ego.

However, Alain had always been a rational person at this core, and he therefore pushed open the doors of Ollivander. The Briton was rumoured to be the most proficient at wand lore, and as such, he was the most likely to have a wand suited to an unusual customer like himself. The store was empty the blond noted with a sigh, and the French man resigned himself to waiting for the older man to arrive.

Thankfully his wait was short and Alain proceeded to offer the man a charming smile. He wasn’t flirting. Ollivander was way too timeworn for him, but the elementals time in retail had taught him that simple gestures were often the best way to relax those around him. “I am in need of a new wand… My last one unfortunately did not survive an experimentation gone awry”. That was a lie. The wand in question had actually gone missing three years ago when Alain had been the unfortunate victim of an ancient memory stripping curse. “It was thirteen inches, Ash and had a chimaera scale as its core if that helps to narrow your search”. The words were spoken in a clipped, matter of fact tone. It was likely obvious to the renowned wand maker that the French man considered this to be an unpleasant task he wanted to finish quickly.

Garrick was rather surprised to hear this. "An experimentation gone awry?" he repeated, simultaneously taken aback and amused. "I honestly didn't think there were any big experiments left to perform, but I'm pleased to have been corrected!" He extended his hand for the Frenchman to shake. "Garrick Ollivander, owner, proprietor, and master wandmaker."

The air of the young man, while polite and refined, was that of a person who wished to have this business over and done with, so Garrick was willing to get right down to it. "Just spread your arms out and let me take some measurements then so I can properly outfit you with a replacement," Ollivander went on, taking the old trusty tape measure out of his pocket. He began making some measurements manually and letting the tape measure do others while he jotted down notes on a nearby piece of scrap paper. Height 188 centimetres, well-proportioned, old-fashioned.

"Chimæra scale core and ash? I'm not surprised at all that it was destroyed, though I'm sorry for your loss," Garrick continued absent-mindedly. Armspan 193 centimetres, rigid, flighty, he scribbled. "Ash is a particularly loyal wood that always clings to its true owner, but its propensity toward steadfast wizards would clash violently with the habit of chimæra scale to push a wizard's spellwork toward the most current fads." Crown 59 centimetres, haughty... unfamiliar. Garrick paused very briefly, almost unnoticeably, before he fell back into the habit of idle conversation. "A little too chaotic for my taste, chimæra scale. Still, every wandmaker has their own style, and if it served you well this long I can't fault the craftsmanship."

Wordlessly he dashed back into the hallway, letting the tape measure continue its work while he chewed his lip and mulled over some ideal candidates. Pulling out several from a few high stacks and doubling back to retrieve a freshly finished wand, he returned to the front counter and said, "Thank you," holding out his hand; the measure rolled itself back up and returned to Garrick's hand, whereupon he put it back in his vest pocket.

"Now then, Monsieur, I believe one of these five will be your best match, though obviously if I'm wrong there are plenty more to choose from." He opened up each box one at a time, displaying and explaining each of the wands.

"Box № 10259: elm, diricawl feather, 26⅞ cm, covert.
Box № 44528: birch, phoenix feather, 44⅓ cm, blustery.
Box № 29129: holly, dragon heartstring, 39⅗ cm, serpentine.
Box № 33528: hawthorn, dragon heartstring, 43⅙ cm, lissome.
Box № 56691: fir, unicorn tail hair, 31¼ cm, hearty."

After presenting this last box, he laid it on the counter next to the others and gave Alain a patient, encouraging look.

Alain simply nodded to confirm his words when Ollivander queried about his participation in a magical experimentation. It got the French man thinking about his actual research, and while he was certain that the old man’s next words were correct within the context of wand magic there was still plenty of work to be done within the field of runes. The young elemental was convinced there were ways of using runes to mimic the effects of wand spells, but with a permanency many of them lacked. Although his current big project was different. It was an attempt to use a series of connected runes to create a wave of magical energy that would have effects similar to a muggle explosive. It would only be enough to destroy a single building, and it was nowhere near the strength of their non-magical brethren’s most potent weapons, but it was a start. However, sharing that would ruin his cover story so he opted for silence. When the master wand maker extended his hand the French man returned the gesture. “Alain St. Clare, Beauxbatons Alumnus and Researcher” he offered in a crisp, formal tone.

The twenty two year spread his arms out, as requested, before looking straight ahead lest he interrupt Mr. Ollivander’s measuring. He did not feel the need to question the man about his actions. Alain could still remember getting his first wand just before starting his first year at Beauxbatons. Getting ones first wand was a memorable event, even for an elemental. A frown marred his handsome features as Ollivander offered his initial commentary on the makeup of his former wand. Had he really been sold a sub-par wand before this? Was that why his wand related enterprises had always seemed rather feeble, even for an elemental, or was the old man simply taking an opportunity to make a dig at a competitors work? Whatever the answer the French man was not amused in the slight regardless of the proprietor apparent inability to fault the craftsmanship.

The French man watched with interest as the shop owner moved into the hallway. Alain was curious about the man’s reason for doing so when the tape was still measuring him, but he opted to say nothing lest he come across as inept. A soft sigh of relief escaped the Typh as the tape was moved back into the Briton’s pocket, and he was free to lower his arms once more. It was amazing just how uncomfortable holding them out became after a certain period of time had passed.

When Mr. Ollivander explained that the wands before him were the most likely to be suited the researcher offered him a soft smile and a polite thanks. Since Alain had worked in retail for several years he knew just how much difference consideration from a customer could make. It was then the blond reached over to retrieve the wand sat in Box No 10259, while resisting the urge to visibly gulp. Alain suddenly felt a sinking feeling in the pit of the subject. What if the wand failed to react to him, as it would if yielded by a muggle or squib? The French man knew he was being ridiculous. While elementalism certainly hampered a witch or wizards ability to yield a wand it did not completely diminish their abilities. Some elementals could even apparate after all. It was probably the long period between usage that was getting to him.

When he did finally get around to picking up the wand it was as though his worst fears were confirmed. A spark of light appeared at the end of his wand. However, it was very faint and barely visible. When the wandmaker remarked on the fleeting reaction he politely murmured an agreement before placing the elm wood back into its pocket. His second attempt at finding a wand, the phoenix feather wand, was a little better, or at least it proved he wasn’t a complete squib. The wands reaction to the Typh was rather violent with several of the proprietor’s cabinets breaking open in the background. “I guess it’s not that one either” he joked before lowering the wand with care so he didn’t cause another incident.  Alain had to admit he felt encouraged by that reaction. At the very least it proved that a wand was capable of reacting to him.

The blonde’s attempts with the two dragon heartstring and the unicorn tail hair wand did not fare much better. The holly wand flew out of his hand and bounced to the ceiling as though utterly repulsed by the idea of being paired with him, the hawthorn wand appeared to be a little more responsive than the others by producing a stronger light, albeit still weak, than the birch while the fir and unicorn hair failed to react to him all together. “Do you have any more for me to try at the back? Or is it time for me to give up?” Alain asked the other man awkwardly, although he attempted to utter the query in as nonchalant tone as he could manage. 

As Alain tentatively reached for the elm wand, understandably hesitant about getting a replacement wand, Garrick certainly sympathised even if he couldn't empathise. His father Gervaise had made just for his eleventh birthday a 32⅜ cm hornbeam wand with the heartstring of a Hebridean Black dragon, and he had prized that wand for all of the succeeding seventy-two years he had worked with it. It must be hard to try and find another one that meant something to you, especially well after one's school years were done. Adults were less malleable than students (who often broke their wands during spellwork at school) but also conversely harder to read, so Ollivander wasn't concerned right away with the faint light that emitted from the elm wand. Often adults who needed replacements could not identify as well mentally with their early attempts, so poor spellwork results were to be expected.

When at a wave of the second wand, however, the cabinets behind him burst apart and the (mercifully well-charmed) wand boxes within scattered onto the floor, Ollivander realised this was going to be a tough sell. Whatever it was floating around in that head of the Frenchman's was making it more difficult than normal to get a good read on a good wand fit. As he chuckled at Alain's remark, Ollivander took his measuring tape back out of his pocket and tapped it to the notepad by his cash register. The end of the tape transfigured into a pen nib and began writing down all of the measurements it had taken previously on the left side, while on the right side Ollivander took a true quill and started writing down the reactions. 10259, faint light. 44528, broken cabinets. 29129-- he and the tape broke off as the wand in question flew out of Alain's hand, rebounded off the ceiling and landed on the notepad itself. After eyeing the wand a moment, Ollivander carefully put the wand back in its box, picked up his quill again, and continued writing, complete rejection.

Finally all five wands were tried out, the last failing to produce even a single spell effect, and although Alain St. Clare was putting a brave face on it, Ollivander could tell he was rather put out. He asked, of all things, if it was time to give up!

"No, no, never give up, my young friend," Ollivander said emphatically, turning back around and digging through the wandboxes that had fallen out of the exploded cabinets, extracting a particular box and holding it up to the light. "I have thousands of wands here and one of them is bound to be just right for you. Just let me think..." he tapped his chin thoughtfully with an elegantly long finger, and then grasped at another pair of wands. "I think we've narrowed... down some of the feasible... wand cores..." he tucked another pair under his arm, then turned around and spread them on the counter once again.

"Here we are. Give a wave at these. Box № 15723: elm and dragon claw, 22⅛ cm.
Box № 36293: redwood and kelpie mane, 24¾ cm.
Box № 39903: rowan and coral, 35⅕ cm.
Box № 50986: ash and dragon heartstring, 39 cm precisely.
Box № 56617: silver lime and dragon heartstring, 37⅕ cm." [span style="display:none;"] @Alain St. Clare [/span]

The handsome blond resisted the urge to groan as the wand maker spoke of the thousands of wands in his possession. The idea of standing in the store all day trying various wands was not appealing to the French man. However, Alain did appreciate Mr. Ollivander’s professionalism and the fact he was willing to spend time on him. Therefore, he tried his utmost best to hide the reticence he felt and offered the proprietor an appreciate smile instead. It wasn’t the Briton’s fault he was ill suited to the use of a wand after all.

“It must be fascinating exploring the world of wand lore, learning about the different temperaments of various woods and cores and seeing the people they ultimately choose to unite with. I imagine the knowledge must give you a keen insight into the nature of those around you”. The blond offered in a contemplative tone. Alain himself would have admitted that his attitude towards wands was an unusual paradox. The twenty two year old felt disdain towards their use, as he found the foci less powerful and memorising than its more primordial counterparts such as runes and blood. However, he could appreciate the intuitions one gained from a study of the lore behind wands. He was a firm believer that knowledge was power, especially when said knowledge helped develop ones understanding of the world around them.

When the eighty two year old instructed him to wave the wands the blond nodded in response.  Alain had never been the type to feel a need to fill silence with awkward small talk. It was an unbecoming attribute in his opinion. The French man picked up the wand and gave it a gentle swish and flick, as though to cast a levitation charm. The motions resulted in a red jet escaping his wand and setting a loose scrap of paper on the Briton’s desk on fire. Although he could have stopped the fire, by using his elemental abilities to remove the oxygen powering it, the blond refrained as he did not want to expose the unusual nature of his magic. He waited for the shop owner to extinguish it instead. “Sorry about that” he uttered awkwardly. Alain would have to be more careful in future, as he wasn’t sure if the fire had been the wands reaction to him or a messed up non-verbal levitation charm. Either way, he was not particularly interested in paying the man for property damage.

It did not take Alain long to test the other wands for their reaction to him. The red wood and kelpie mane flew out of his hands and completely rejected him like the dragon heartstring had earlier. The rowan and coral produced a stream of water, which almost drenched the wand maker from head toe. Thankfully, he had pointed it slightly to the left of the man not wishing to risk harming him after the fire incident. The twenty two year old resisted the urge to offer an amused snort at that. It was ironic that his use of the wands had resulted in the appearance of elements contrary to his own. A more philosophical man might even have said it was a sign of just how ill-suited the blond was to use of a wand. The ash and dragon heartstring produced a weak light, while the silver mine and heartstring refused to respond.

By this point the air elemental was beginning to feel flustered and annoyed. Those who knew him best may have recognised this by the way his eyes had slightly narrowed. “This seems to be going nowhere…” He offered bluntly. Alain did not desire to offend the man, but he had never been one for dancing around a problem. “I think I remember reading somewhere that it is possible to have a custom wand made to suit a particular individual. Do you offer such a service?”

A few minutes later, an extinguished sidenote from two years prior and a quick drying charm on himself, Garrick stood incredibly flummoxed and almost as frustrated as the Frenchman across from him.

Typically in finding a wand to match a wizard, there was a pattern that emerged, some sort of common denominator that led to the right wand being narrowed down and determined correctly. Usually it was finding the right core, then the right wood; sometimes it was finding the right core-to-wood correlation, as had been the case with Harry Potter; and occasionally it was finding the right length first, and branching out from there. None of these seemed to be making any progress.

Garrick was about to bring out an unrelated set of five wands when Alain asked an infrequently heard question. "Why, yes," Garrick said with some surprise. "That is in fact a service that I offer here. Often it's an heirloom wand or something infused with a family or personal item to give it that unique touch that responds only to one person, but I have done a few one hundred percent personalised wands before. As my father did for me, and as I did for my children. And a few others," he added, thinking of Miss Lovegood.

"What sort of specifications did you have in mind, Monsieur St. Clare?" he retrieved another scribblepad from one of his pockets, frowned slightly as it was still damp from his earlier watering at the point of the rowan and coral wand. He took his own wand and incanted the drying charm again, causing the pages of the pad to curl up slightly but at least eliminating the dampness that would cause his ink to run. He swapped out his wand for a quill and in the margins wrote notes on the measurements he had taken earlier, as well as a summary of the wand results. h188 sq olde - a193 t fly - c59 ]^[ ? - best 15723, 44528 - fail 36293, 56691.