Dark Lord Dumbledore - Volume 1 Chapter 29

When the vault door opened to reveal the hidden treasure, there was a goodly sum of gold coins piled up.

“How much is there, Hagrid?”

“I don’t rightly know Harry, enough to last you through Hogwarts at any rate!”

To Chad’s practised treasure appraising eye, thanks to his many piles of loot, there seemed to be around five to six thousand Galleons, a goodly sum for the stingy old bastard to part with. It brought a smile to his face as he imagined the notoriously cheap Dumbledore scraping together this gold just to cover his arse. Imagine not even giving a child money for food or presents for ten years and having the audacity to say you care for the said child!

Chad wished he could simply take it all and mention that it would refill because it was a trust fund vault, but that would raise the Dark Lord’s suspicion. Much better to only take five hundred Galleons and seem like a greedy orphan seeing money for the first time.

“Blimey Harry, I don’t think you need that much gold!” Hagrid exclaimed as Chad took out a cloth sack he prepared for the occasion and filled it to the brim.

“I’ve never had any money of my own Hagrid, and I can’t keep coming back here to get more. Besides, I’m tired of never getting anything. Your birthday cake was the first present I’ve ever received; now I’m going to buy my own!”

Hagrid wiped a tear from his eye as he muttered about not slapping ‘those damn muggles’ enough. Chad passed the sack over to Hagrid to hold for him, as it was quite awkward for his small child body to carry around, but easily fit into one of the half-giants overcoat pockets. He was not worried that Hagrid would steal any of it as he seemed too kind, plus even if he did, it wasn’t Chad’s money anyway and didn’t matter! Another quick stop to vault 713 to pick up the supposed Philosopher’s Stone, and they were ready to do some shopping.

The first stop was to purchase a trunk after he asked Hagrid how they would carry everything they bought or take it to Hogwarts. Chad didn’t get a deluxe custom made trunk as everything he purchased now would be scrutinised by Dumbledore. Besides, he already had a few made up years ago. But his school trunk was still tricked out to make his life more comfortable. It had built-in featherweight and shrinking charms as well as a couple of expanded partitions finished with a dark mahogany exterior.

Hogwarts school trunks, like the majority of wizarding luggage, were issued with capacity enhancing or extension charms as standard. The Extension Charm is advanced, but subject to strict control, because of its potential misuse. The Ministry of Magic had therefore laid down a strict rule that capacity-enhancement is not for private use, but only for the production of objects (such as school trunks and family tents), which have been individually approved for manufacture by the relevant Ministry Department. Hermione was breaking the law when she expanded her book bag and could have been prosecuted if Slytherin actually had any cunning people in it.

Hagrid didn’t let Harry buy a different cauldron in canon, mentioning that it wasn’t on the list, but Chad managed to get at least the top of the line of everything he needed thanks to his early sob story of being neglected and his influence over Hagrid’s mind. He got a beautiful set of silver scales for precisely weighing potion ingredients, though he wondered why he couldn’t use muggle kitchen mechanical scales. A collapsible gold telescope was next to be purchased after the shop owner assured him it was by far better than the brass model or anything a muggle could make.

Then it was off to the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell. An assortment of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lining the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. Once again Chad bought the best quality potion tools like crystal phials with unbreakable charms and the freshest ingredients the store had for desirable results when potion-making.

Chad opted to leave getting fitted for his robes until last when he saw a child that could only be Draco Malfoy through the window of Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. Hagrid, seeing no reason to refuse, sent him to Ollivanders to get his wand while he went off to search for an animal for Harry’s birthday present.

Entering the shabby store that was in desperate need of a renovation, it was a tiny place, empty except for a single chair for waiting and a counter to serve customers. Behind the wooden table was thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling.

“Good afternoon,” said a soft voice, the creepy bastard suddenly appearing from behind one of the piles of boxes. It still made Chad jump somewhat even though he was expecting it.

Chad was surprised when he didn’t sense a mind probe from the disturbing old man that looked like a stereotypical paedophile. Especially when Ollivander greeted him by name.

“Ah, yes,” said the man. “Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon, Harry Potter.” It wasn’t a question. “You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.”

It wasn’t creepy at all talking about a stranger’s eyes he got from his dead mother and then describing her wand.

“Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it, but it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course.”

J. K. Rowling summed up the wandmaker pretty well when she described Harry’s first meeting with him. ‘An old man was standing before him, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.’ Whether they were shinning with s.e.x.u.a.l desire at seeing a young boy walk into his shop after playing with his wand all day, or excitement at the chance of selling another wand, Chad didn’t know.

Since the old wandmaker didn’t use Legilimency on him, he must be very skilled at Occlumency to remember every wand he ever sold, this stopped Chad from attempting to peer into his no doubt disturbed mind. Before the creepy old bastard could invade Chad’s personal space and go on about Voldemort and his wand, he spoke up asking for one of his own.

“Ah, yes. I’m here to buy a wand if you don’t mind. Sort of on a tight schedule.”

“Well, ok. Let me see.” He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. “Which is your wand arm?”

“I’m right-handed,” he replied.

“Hold out your arm. That’s it.” He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As Ollivander measured, he spoke about the different cores he used and the poor results Chad would get when using another’s wand.

“Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible, just take it and give it a wave.” Ollivander announced as he handed him a stick. The magical tape measure that had been operating autonomously suddenly crumpled to the floor, apparently no longer needed.

With disastrous results that caused property damage, Chad wondered why the old codger didn’t have a testing room for reactions like this. It would save him a lot of money, particularly when he sold the most important instrument a wizard used so cheaply. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher, but the more wands Mr Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere. I wonder… yes, why not. An unusual combination of holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”

It was as if the old pervert had been building up to this moment all along. When Chad felt a sudden warmth from the offered wand, he raised the wand above his head and brought it swishing down through the dusty air. A stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like fireworks, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls.

What a joke, things had gone exactly as the book even though Chad was utterly different from Harry Potter as night was from day. Maybe it was Voldemort’s influence? No, Harry had part of his soul in his head, while Chad had purified it and then assimilated it, erasing any trace of influence from it.

Mr Ollivander cried, “Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…”

He put the wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, “Curious… curious…”

“Sorry,” Chad responded, playing along, “but what’s curious?”

Mr Ollivander fixed him with his pale stare. “I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand gave another feather, just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother, why its brother gave you that scar.”

“Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. 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.”

This moment was why Chad had wanted Hagrid off doing something else. “I’m sorry, but are you trying to sell me the same wand you sold the lunatic that killed my parents? The wizard that is still so feared people can’t even say his name, and you want to sell me his brother-wand? Are you insane?”

Taken aback by the vitriol in Chad’s voice, Ollivander was momentarily stunned. He barely was able to utter out an excuse. “The wand chooses the wizard, Mr Potter.”

“If the wand chooses the wizard, why did you waste my time with all that measuring? Is the length of my legs or the circ.u.mference of my head going to guide you to a wand that will somehow be compatible? What difference does it make if I’m left-handed or not?

If compatibility is such an issue, why don’t you make custom ones? These premade wands would not compare to one that had all of its properties tailor-made for a customer!” Chad fired back at the old charlatan.

‘Best wandmaker, my arse!’ He thought to himself as he looked at the wide-eyed gaping visage of the old wand-stroker. Was Chad overthinking Ollivander’s skill at Occlumency? Had he never been questioned about his methods or wand quality and been shocked enough for it to fail? Everyone did seem to think this place was better than any other wandmaker.

“Did someone put you up to this? Sell the wizarding hero that defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named the same wand so they can run off to the Daily Prophet to make some Galleons off my destroyed reputation? Who is it?” Chad shouted furiously.

It was a bit of a gamble exposing a small amount of magical world awareness to Ollivander, but Chad was pretty sure Dumbledore did not go around sharing how he raised Harry Potter.

“I’m sorry, Mr Potter, it was not my intention to besmirch your good name. But even though all my wands are premade, they are of the highest quality, I can assure you!”

“I noticed you didn’t justify the parlour tricks with measuring, pointless questions and my parents wand properties! Or that a custom wand would be superior to a random premade one. You also failed to say if you were acting under someone else’s orders, maybe it was only your plan all along?”

The perverts eyes widened further at each new accusation. So much so that Chad thought his eyes were either going to burst or fall out of his head!

“What do you think would happen if I go to the Daily Prophet first and spin a story of the orphaned hero being forced into becoming a Dark Lord by the deviate wandmaker that gets his jollies from scaring his clients? Maybe you even did the same for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, after all, the wand chooses the wizard, but you are the one that has complete control over the process and makes the rules!

I wonder what your competitors would think of your so-called methods and reputation as the finest wandmaker alive. I’m sure they would be more than happy to be endorsed by Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world, and explain how full of sh*t you are.”

Other than some strange noises, Ollivander had yet to voice an excuse or rebuttal. He was also now sweating bullets. But suddenly, his fearful expression morphed into a cold and calculating one. He flicked his arm out, and a wand launched from a hidden holster towards his waiting grasp. It was then three ninja elves beat the stuffing out of him while Chad telekinetically stole his wand.

It seems that potential damage to his reputation had provoked Ollivander’s mental discipline to once again assert itself. Who knows what the old creeper had in mind to fix the situation.

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