I Don't Want to be a Hero - Ch. 15

The Wand Chooses the Wizard

The next stop was the dusty old wand shop, Ollivander's. Harry recalled going in there for his first wand, and he recalled not being entirely happy with the old wizard's ominous pronouncement about his wand.

"Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember.... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter.... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great."

He would not say to anyone but he was rather glad that crazy witch had broken his wand.

"Harry Potter!" mused Ollivander. "And, Severus Snape." He nodded his head politely to the dark guardian with Harry. His moon-eyed gaze slid back to Harry and his features fell into that of concern. "I have heard that your original wand met with an... unfortunate accident, Mr. Potter."

"I need a new one," piped up Harry.

"Indeed you do! Let me see what I have," he squinted at Harry, and then spun sharply to dive into the many shelves of wands that he had. Harry and Professor Snape heard shuffling, muttering, and when the old wandmaker began to curse Snape cupped his hands over Harry's ears.

Ollivander returned with three boxes that he laid out upon his counter. Two were in non-descript royal blue boxes, the other was in dark grey. Ollivander chose a wand from one of the royal blue boxes.

"Birch. 13 inches firm with Ashwinder dust." He reverently handed it towards Harry.

Harry reached for the wand, and then snatched his hand back as it seemed to explode with fire. "NO!" declared Harry.

"Changes... changes..." muttered Ollivander as he put that wand back in its box. He then revealed the wand in the other royal blue box. It was very dark. "Ironwood. Nine inches and rather inflexible. The core is a talon from the Ironwood Dragon of Iceland."

Harry could feel a strange animosity vibrating from the wand and with wariness he stepped back until his teacher was directly behind him. Harry shook his head. "Nuh uh. No. Please I don't even want to touch it."

Ollivander frowned. He put the wand back in its box and slowly removed the lid of the gray box. "I try to believe six impossible things before breakfast," muttered Ollivander. "And, this does appear… impossible?" Ollivander glanced up at Snape, frowned, then smiled. "Do take this one in hand, Mr. Potter." He pulled out a long stick that resembled more a twig that had been cut from the long limb of a tree branch. It twisted naturally and did not look at all carved. The colour was gray as if dried out.

Harry took the wand and felt it warm in his hand. "What is it?"

"Cypress. 14 inches - brittle - but in your hands it will become flexible. It has no core as it was as it looks, a twig cut from a branch. However it was blessed by a unicorn." Ollivander leaned over his counter. "Give it a wave, boy."

Harry drew the wand through the air. Instead of sparks a swath of ghostly light was cut along the path of the wand. Ollivander smiled. Professor Snape frowned. Harry simply glowed.

"This will perform magic for you quite easily, Mr. Potter, but the wand has a purpose, only one. Once that is done the wand will simply crumble to dust."

Harry almost asked why but felt he should not. Instead, he asked the price, dug into his bag of galleons, and paid for it. Professor Snape ushered the boy out the door but then he slipped back into the shop.

"Ollivander." The old wizard looked up from the counting of his galleons. "That wand is from the Grave Tree. Why did you sell it to Harry?"

"The wand chooses the wizard, Severus. The wand knows that the boy will need it someday for that one task."

"And, what is that task?" Snape asked suspiciously.

Ollivander shrugged. "The wand was blessed by a unicorn, Severus. You know, as well as I, the significance." The old wandmaker smiled knowingly, and the Potions Master turned away.

With his black robes whipping the air behind him in indignant frustration Professor Snape left the wandmaker's shop and found Harry seated on the on the pavement examining his wand.

"I really like my wand, Professor Snape, but I don't know where to carry it," said Harry as he stood.

"Let me show you a trick I impart to all my Slytherins, Harry," smirked Snape. He then proceeded to show Harry how to tuck his wand into the sleeve of his robe, and how to 'snap' it into his hand when it is needed.

Harry practised the maneuver several times, and was entirely delighted. "This is cool!"

"And, on that note it is time to get you properly outfitted. Come along, Harry."

Harry followed behind his teacher, just barely keeping an eye on the wizard's boots; he was busy tucking away his wand, and then snapping it into his hand.

Professor Snape had to admit, to himself at least, that it was good hearing the child giggle with such delight over something of magic.

In The Headmaster's Office

Harry had been properly outfitted head to toe at Twilfit & Tattinger's - a shop of good yet affordable clothing. He had shirts, trousers, shorts, pants, socks, and two new pairs of shoes - one a pair of trainers for the weekends that glowed as he walked, and then a pair of brown patent leather shoes to wear with his school robes.

And, after all of that he had a handful of knuts and sickles left over so Professor Snape took him to a wondrous shop of candy where he bought a varied bag of assorted chocolates and hard candies to share with Ron and Hermione.

Man and student now stood in front of the huge gryphon that guarded the entryway to the Headmaster's tower. Professor Snape muttered a password that sounded like 'fizzing whizzbees' and the gryphon then slid aside to reveal the moving, spiral staircase. They both ascended and Snape noted that Harry had become very quiet, and close to his teacher.

"Ah! Severus and Harry! So good to see you both returned to Hogwarts." The Headmaster, smiling and his eyes twinkling, drew Harry reluctantly from his teacher's side (from safety) and had him sit down close to him at his desk. He left Severus to a chair that was clearly far from them both. "I hear you have a new wand? May I see it?"

"Sure," Harry said slowly. He did not use the 'trick' Professor Snape showed him. He just removed the wand from his sleeve and began to hand it over.

Albus waved his hand to indicate that Harry should just hold his wand forth. He then peered at it, and frowned in concern. "Severus, isn't this from the gr..."

Snape interrupted, "It is, Headmaster but it has been blessed by a unicorn."

"Indeed." Albus was suitably impressed. He then looked to the small boy. "You have a remarkable wand, Harry. What do you think of it?"

Harry tucked the wand into his sleeve. "I like it.” He glanced up warily at the old wizard. “It's mine."

"Some tea? Severus? Harry?" asked the Headmaster. He knew that Severus would refuse; the young wizard had stopped accepting anything to drink since that one time Albus had laced the Potions Master's tea with a sleeping draught early in his spying career. It was Harry's refusal of tea, and evident distrust that was bothersome.

"Waiting upon supper I suppose," he smiled. "Well, Harry, you have had a day and a half of classes. Not much to make a judgement on but how do you like your classes?"

Harry glanced only quick enough to receive a very slight nod from Professor Snape to answer the Headmaster. He shifted in his chair, then replied, "I like 'em, Professor, but Professor Quirrell is creepy." His shoulders drooped. "Sorry."

"Quite all right, my boy. Why don't you like Professor Quirrell?" asked Albus with sincerity.

"Well," began Harry, "he seems like he's timid but he's not. He's mean and he's already hurt some students. The day I had him he kept... demonstrating... on me." Harry scowled in remembrance. Quirrell had used him as a guinea pig to show everyone what some of the basic defence spells were. Mostly blocking spells but he kept getting knocked off his feet into desks and chairs.

"Ah but one cannot learn without a few bruises, Harry," commented Albus. Simultaneously both Professor Snape and Harry snorted in derision. "I guess that would make Defence your least favourite class. Do you have a favourite, yet?"

Harry smiled brilliantly, "I like flying!"

"Well then! So much like your father, Harry." Albus clapped his hands once together, and did not notice the fleeting glance of suspicion that Professor Snape sent his way.

"James liked to fly, professor?" asked Harry.

"He did, Harry. Your father was a Chaser for Gryffindor at Quidditch. In 1971 he won an award, too."

Harry was not interested in what his father had done but he wanted to know more about... "What's Quidditch?"

"An amazing sport played on brooms. Professor Hooch told me that you have a natural affinity for flying, as did your father. I think you ought to try out for the team."

Professor Snape sat up sharply, "No! Albus, he's a first year! They are not allowed to play Quidditch."

"Oh, Severus," and the Headmaster tutted.

"Mr. Potter may be a natural at flying but he does not have the control of his magic he will have in his second year. It will be too dangerous," protested Snape.

"I'd like to try," Harry posited quietly. He walked over to his teacher. “May I, sir?”

Professor Snape stared at the boy, then narrowed his eyes. A more arrogant child would throw his warning out the window... perhaps, the man wondered, Harry will show more intelligence. He nodded to the boy. "As you wish, Mr. Potter."

"I suppose that is that. Harry, if you would wait for your teacher, I would like a moment with Professor Snape."

Harry slipped from his chair. "Sure, sir." He walked to the door, and stepped out into the small antechamber. He started as the office door closed behind him.

"That wand is entirely inappropriate, Severus," began Albus sharply. "How is he to defeat Voldemort..." Snape flinched and caught at his left forearm. "...with a wand as brittle as that. Voldemort will break it, and then Harry."

"You still believe Harry will kill the Dark Lord, Albus?" Snape asked caustically as he rubbed at the Dark Mark underneath his sleeve on his left forearm. The Headmaster knew that Voldemort's name caused him pain yet still, in Snape's presence, he referred to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as Voldemort. In front of others he used the Dark wizard's birth name, Tom Riddle.

"I know that he will, Severus. And, with that wand he will die."

"Harry," he emphasised using the child's birth name, "will not be your hero, Albus. No child should fight in a war begun by adults. The fact that you are here to recruit soldiers sickens me every time I think of it." He began to stride away when the Headmaster stopped the Potions Master in his tracks.

"The Stone is gone from Gringotts, Severus." He did not smile but his eyes twinkled damnedly with the satisfaction that any colour in the younger wizard's cheeks had drained away. "Voldemort will try to steal it. Our traps may work, they may not. Should Harry seek to protect the Stone you must aid him."

“Dementia, I thought,” growled the younger man as he glared filthy daggers at the Headmaster. “But, no… you are mad, Albus. Mad.”

“But, Severus, Harry will not be at risk…”

“No, Albus. You gave him… to me. To. Me! Harry is now legally my responsibility. I cannot fathom why you rescinded your guardianship but be assured I will not do the same,” Snape was nearly frothing with anger. “Harry deserves someone who believes in him, and cares about him. I. Will. Be. That. Person.”

Professor Snape clamped his lips tightly shut. The old man was mad, for certain, and never did Snape know that supposition as true more than now. Turning away, he opened the door, caught Harry by the hand, and led him down the spiral staircase.