Though it wasn't the start-of-term season, Ollivander's wand shop was still open.
Aside from personally managing his shop and crafting wands, Garrick Ollivander also accepted commissions from wealthy wizards to maintain their wands.
That service wasn't cheap. In fact, a single maintenance often cost as much as a brand-new wand.
But as a master wandmaker, one whose status in the British wizarding world rivaled even Dumbledore's, the fee was perfectly reasonable.
Of course, sometimes wizards came to order a second wand as well. Those spares were usually for… less savory purposes. Ollivander never asked questions.
The price, however, was much higher—anywhere from fifty to a hundred Galleons. Those who could afford a second wand didn't mind spending the money.
That was one of the reasons Ollivander's shop had endured so long without ever running at a loss. Wand materials weren't cheap. Some—like phoenix feathers—might be gifted, but most still had to be purchased at significant expense.
At the moment, Garrick Ollivander was tidying up his shop. Soon, he would travel to replenish supplies.
A new batch of young witches and wizards would be entering Hogwarts, and he needed to prepare a wide variety of wands so each child could find the one meant for them.
His regular customers were already taken care of. No one new was likely to show up today.
Or so he thought.
The doorbell jingled as the shop door opened. A boy in a peculiar tall top hat stepped inside.
At first, Ollivander didn't pay him much attention, assuming he was just another curious child approaching the age for school. But when he looked up—ah, it was a familiar face.
"I remember you. Wilson. Yes, Louis Wilson," Garrick Ollivander said with a smile. "What brings you here?"
Louis removed his hat, watching the smiling old man with a twitch at the corner of his eye.
"You should already know why I'm here, shouldn't you?" Louis hung his hat on the stand. "I almost couldn't get in from the Leaky Cauldron."
Ollivander's eyes lit with understanding.
"Ah… yes, that's an excellent place for wand diagnostics. I won't ask how you managed to get through—that must be your own secret."
He remained perfectly calm, even pulling a chair and table from the cluttered shop. "Please, sit. Even if you've come here to accuse me, I mustn't be rude. Would you like a drink?"
"I suggest you have some green tea," Louis said casually as he sat down. "It'll help with your blood pressure in a moment."
"So, you intend to make me bleed a little," Ollivander chuckled. "That's fine. Actually, I'm more curious about what you really are."
"Me? I'm just an ordinary little wizard."
Louis glanced at the rows of wands around him. "This shop of yours must be quite profitable, right?"
"Just enough to get by," Ollivander shook his head. "The wands I sell normally barely cover the cost of materials."
"Fifteen Galleons for an empty wand shell is just 'materials'?"
"That was hush money. Hardly the same thing," Ollivander replied calmly.
"…You're remarkably honest," Louis muttered.
"There's no need to hide the truth," Ollivander said lightly. "And you can rest assured—I'm not in the habit of spreading secrets."
Louis eyed him suspiciously.
Garrick Ollivander truly was a man of integrity, tight-lipped and discreet. Unlike Hagrid, who acted as though he'd been raised on Veritaserum.
Unless you tortured him.
In the original tale, Voldemort had used the Cruciatus Curse on him, forcing him to reveal the connection between Harry's wand and Voldemort's, and to admit that the most powerful wand of all was the Elder Wand.
Normally Ollivander was fine, but when it really mattered, he was bound to crack. In the past, he would have been the perfect material for a traitor.
What if Voldemort tortured him one day and he spilled Louis's secrets like beans from a jar? What then?
With that thought, Louis's gaze toward Ollivander grew dangerous.
"Don't even think about killing me," Garrick Ollivander said meaningfully. "With my status, even the most incompetent Ministry would be forced to investigate thoroughly. A wandmaker of my standing isn't so easily killed."
"You make it sound like I'd dare to kill you," Louis coughed awkwardly, then his expression hardened.
"Mr. Ollivander, you must be over sixty now, yes?"
"Seventy-two," Ollivander replied, pouring himself a cup of tea. "But that's nothing. Unless something unexpected happens, I could easily live another hundred years."
Ah, right—wizards typically lived around two centuries unless they met with accidents.
Louis scratched his head and asked again, "Then, do you desire great power, Mr. Ollivander?"
"I'm interested in great wands," Ollivander shrugged. "But I'm more fascinated by what powerful people do once they possess them. For myself? I don't really care."
Damn it! What a salted fish!
For a moment Louis almost hallucinated, seeing a big dead fish flopping on the beach with Ollivander's face, sneering at him.
"So lofty, so above it all, huh? Transform for me!"
Louis lost patience instantly. He raised his hand, slapping a wave of black mist across Ollivander's face.
The old wandmaker flinched in shock, about to resist, when a sharp gust whooshed behind his head—then came a heavy thud, and his vision went dark as he collapsed unconscious.
Louis, who had circled behind him with the speed of the talismans, silently tossed a solid gold club into the golden vortex at his side.
"Peh! Couldn't just accept it quietly, had to make me dirty my hands."
He clicked his tongue, only to realize the black mist—which could normally turn an ordinary person into a dark assassin—was being repelled, unable to seep into Ollivander's body.
"…Troublesome."
Louis went to the shop entrance, flipped the sign to "Closed," and dragged Ollivander into the back.
Then he pulled out a boiling cauldron and began his work.
"Well, looks like I'll have another subordinate soon. What should I call you?" Louis muttered as he tossed ingredients into the cauldron, glancing at the unconscious Ollivander.
Yes—his solution was to turn Ollivander into a dark assassin, manufacturing him into one of his own men.
That way, Louis would never have to worry about his identity being exposed.
"Consider yourself lucky. If your fake wand hadn't stopped Peter Pettigrew's curse, I'd have silenced you for good." Louis grumbled, chanting spells.
After all, killing without leaving suspicion was far too easy for him. He could summon a random "Dio" or simply have Chuan handle it. Simple.
No one would ever suspect that the man orchestrating two of the world's greatest villains into one grand organization was Louis himself.
So yes—killing was simple. But Louis thought there were more interesting ways.
For example, imagine Voldemort storming in to interrogate Ollivander… only to get slapped flat by him instead.
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