Chapter 4: Harry Gaunt - Chapter 4
It was a slow day at Olivander's as Harry stepped inside, the door dinging just like it had before - or was it after? Later?
Harry supposed it didn't matter now. "Hello?" he called into the many rows of wands, noting how it all seemed a little cleaner than he remembered. "Mr Olivander?"
Harry arrived at the counter, feeling sure the old man would have appeared by now. There was a bell on the counter, Harry dinged it.
Ding.
Ding. Ding.
"Hello?" Harry huffed, hearing no one. "Strange."
He set the folder down on the polished top, it was filled with heavy documents. Greycup had assured him that he needed everyone of them, even a notice for failing to pay back a loan from 1621. Apparently House Gaunt still owed people money, amongst whatever else was inside the folder.
Harry skimmed the first page of its contents, quickly losing the will before even reaching the bottom. "Why did they even keep this," he muttered, putting it back in favour of the next. It was a certificate of excellence for fine shrubbery.
Harry shook his head. It really was, one of the previous Lord Gaunt's had seen fit to certify how excellent his shrubbery was, despite how insignificant the 4-bedroom cottage was.
"Membership to the Society of Pureblood Preservation," read Harry from the next one, dated 1832. "Cancelled due to lack of payment."
Harry laughed a little. Poor Mister Gaunt. The rest it seemed as Harry skimmed through were much the same as these, either some kind of useless award or certificate: or a fine, they'd taken so many loans. It was pitiful, they were once a magnificent house, their wealth alone without equal. But it was all gone now, and here was Harry with its dirty remains.
Harry slipped out the final page, which was a review Greycup had given him of his remaining assets.
An empty vault.
An abandoned shack which Harry would soon destroy, and a ring, which Harry had just ordered at the behest of Greycup. The original Lord's ring was lost long ago, only the Hallow had remained before Tom had arrived to claim it. Harry set the folder down.
At least he had a bank account now, and a pouch from Gringotts he could use to conveniently spend at his leisure. Harry had deposited all of his funds, which came to a small but not insignificant sum of 1259 galleons and 4 sickles.
Ding.
Harry glanced over his shoulder, seeing a woman enter with a calm step through the front door. She appeared well dressed, rich and important by Harry's estimate.
"Good morning," she greeted, stepping up a little behind him. She seemed in high spirits. "Is Olivander out today?"
She looked around for him.
"I don't know," said Harry as he turned. "I've been waiting for a while now." Harry shrugged, evidence of Olivander's absence.
"Drat," flicked the woman with her leather gloves. "I was afraid of that. He's probably in the back, I'll get him."
The woman made towards the rows behind.
"Are you sure?" called Harry hesitantly. "Maybe we should-" She was gone, disappeared down an aisle. Perhaps Harry should come back later. He still had to get a room at the Cauldron. "I'll come back later."
Harry picked up the folder on the counter, carrying it under his arm as he walked back to the front door.
"Oh! Sorry!" came a voice that Harry recognised, accompanied by the woman who'd turfed him out. Harry looked as Olivander hurried over. He still looked old. "So sorry dear boy, I got a little caught up," he chuckled, flattening his hair a little. "Please, come through. We'll get you sorted out."
Olivander guided Harry back, watched with an amused smile from the lady who had waited by the counter. "Hello again," she said, looking Harry over with a pleasant smile. "You'll have to excuse Garrick, he gets a little lost in his work sometimes."
"I do," admitted Garrick. The woman chuckled, looking with Harry as Garrick flittered away to some drawers nearby.
"It's no trouble," offered Harry, watching him open and close them. "I just need a wand. Any will do."
Harry adjusted the folder under his arm, wanting to put it down once again. "Set it here," offered the woman, gesturing to a spot to the side. "It looks heavy," she laughed.
"Thanks," Harry set it down. "Do you work here too?" he asked.
The woman nodded readily, taking on a nostalgic look as she glanced at the many boxes around them. "I apprenticed under Garrick's father, oh, years ago. I stop by every now and then to check on Garrick. He works very hard."
"That I do," said Olivander in the same way again, appearing again at her side with a tape measure in his hand. "Hold still," he said to Harry.
Harry did.
"Arms up."
The measure unrolled across Harry's arms, measuring before flicking to his jaw, ear and eyebrow. All under the watchful eye of Garrick and his female friend. "Good. Jolly good." Garrick took on a thoughtful pose, mimicked similarly as Harry relaxed his arms. "My first wand had a core of Phoenix feather," he offered. "If that helps."
Harry could see they were still thinking, taking their time as they glanced every so often at him. It was the woman who spoke first. "What was your last wand?" she asked. "And what happened to it?"
"Um, I lost it." Harry tried for a smile, but it came out awkwardly. "I don't know what it was made from."
Elder Wood. 13 inches. Thestral tail hair. He kept his mouth shut.
"How extraordinary," said the woman. "Did you win it in a duel?"
"Yes," said Harry, if tugging it from Draco's hands before murdering him and his father counted. "It worked well for me. So I kept it."
Draco deserved to die. He'd killed Dumbledore.
"Well then, let's try a few out," Olivander stepped away into the rows of wands, leaving the woman to ponder at Harry.
She glanced at the folder.
"Files," supplied Harry, watching as she smiled in apology.
"I didn't mean to pry," she said with a glance at them again. "It's just, they seem very old. Are they historic?" she asked.
"They are not your concern," said Harry carefully. He could see she was curious. "Do not ask."
"Of course," the woman stepped quickly away. "Allow me to introduce myself, I am Euphemia Potter."
She bowed a stiff greeting, set on edge by Harry's locked expression.
Harry looked at her. "What?" he asked, as if he really hadn't heard.
"Potter," supplied Euphemia. "Euphemia Potter. It's nice to meet you."
She held out her hand, hoping Harry would respond better to it. But Harry only glanced at it, then back to her warm brown eyes. She was his grandmother. "N-nice to meet you," he forced out, taking her hand with a gentle shake. "I am Harry."
Harry quickly let go, wanting to be away as stepped a little back from the table. She looked at him thoughtfully though, so different from when he'd met his father, who was still just a boy, younger than even Harry. It didn't feel the same as when he looked at his paternal grandmother, who seemed so regal and important.
"Are you alright?" she asked in concern. "Can I get you a tea?" she gestured behind, no trouble at all.
"Oh no," Harry shook his head. "But thank you. I am fine, just a little tired."
Euphemia was such a kind woman. "I'll go see what's keeping him," she returned, meaning Olivander who still hadn't come back. "Stay put Harry, no running off!"
She laughed as she went, disappearing down the aisle as she'd done before. Harry chuckled at her joke, there was no chance of that. "They're alive," he whispered, everyone - even those who'd yet to be born. "I can save them."
Harry had to save them.
"Here he is," Euphemia returned with Olivander, each carrying a box with a wand inside. "You first Garrick, see that I am right when you're wrong."
Olivander grumbled, opening the box with a grand ceremony. "12 and three-quarter inches," he uttered, offering the wand to Harry. "Yew. Phoenix feather."
Harry took it, annoyed at its familiar appearance. He'd have much preferred something else.
"Well, give it a wave!"
Harry did so, drawing it in an arc above his head as a streak of light trailed from the tip, settling like flowing mist above their heads.
"Hm," Olivander seemed disappointed at the display. "Not what I expected, but if it works," he shrugged, turning to Euphemia as Harry set the wand down on the counter. They watched together as Euphemia unboxed her wand, the box itself looking old and worn where Olivander's hadn't.
She smiled at Harry.
"Basilisk Fang," she stated, handling it with great care. "11 inches. I think you can guess the core."
She presented it to Harry, who took the pale length with reverent care. How long had it been since he'd seen one of these?
"Who made this?" he asked, grasping the thicker end where a grip had been carved. "And how expensive is it?"
Harry couldn't believe they'd made a wand from it. It was absurd, if still an incredible creation.
"It was made, if I am not mistaken," Euphemia looked to Olivander, who nodded. "By Corvinus Gaunt, around 1708."
Harry stifled a laugh, looking at the wand in his hand in a baffled way.
"Harry?" checked Euphemia. "Harry…?"
But Harry didn't hear, his face was now shifting between complete denial, exasperation and finally, humour. In the end, Harry laughed. "Is that so," he sung, holding the wand in his hand with an easy smile. "I'll take it. It's a good match."
Harry could feel its acceptance, how it swelled with joy at being held by a worthy Gaunt. It was exquisite too, it's entire length about the same width as some of the oak wands he'd used before.
"Does it fit?" queried Olivander, leaning forwards on the counter. "Give it a wave!"
He had for the moment forgotten Harry's bizarre reaction in favour of seeing yet another wand find its master. But Euphemia hadn't, she'd seen it all from the flash of recognition at the maker, to the tinge of pride even Harry couldn't see.
She wondered, as her eyes flicked to the folder nearby while Harry waving the wand, spurred on by a jubilant Garrick. Just one little peek she thought, it was practically open anyway as touched it carefully.
A page came out, she began to read.
!
The folder zipped away. "Ah!" Euphemia jumped in fright, pulling her hand away in contrition as Harry held his wand, levitating the folder before it. He let it linger between them. "F-forgive me," stammered Euphemia. "I shouldn't-"
"Yes, you shouldn't have," interrupted Harry, angry at his own grandmother. No wonder James had been a troublemaker, he'd got it from her. "I'll be leaving now. 7 galleons for the wand."
He wouldn't pay any more than that.
"Of course," Euphemia would cover the rest. She touched Garrick's arm reassuringly. "Would you like anything else? We have holsters too."
"No."
Harry placed the galleons down, storing his wand with a spell up his sleeve.
"I would be careful about putting there," advised Olivander, despite the length being a good fit. "Its core is Basilisk Venom, if it even touches you…" he was about to say more, but was stopped by Euphemia's placating hand.
"He'll be fine," she assured, waving goodbye as Harry left without comment, tucking the folder under his arm as he went. The door closed behind him with a heavy thud.
Euphemia turned quickly around. "Dear lord Garrick," she said. "Do you know who that was?" She looked at him with shock, trying to settle herself.
"A young man who got a priceless wand for 7 galleons?" posed, looking at her expectantly. "It's worth at least 200."
Euphemia waved it off. "Not that," she pointed to where the folder had been. "It makes complete sense. He's a Gaunt!"
Olivander scoffed. "No he isn't," he denied. "Euphemia, they're gone. Morfin was the last and it was no wonder he never had children."
"Then how do explain the wand?" shot Euphemia back with her hands on her hips. "As if Corvinus Gaunt would want any other to use it. And I was right too, it was a perfect match."
"You were lucky," conceded Olivander as he packed away the other wand. He could have easily picked the wand himself, it was obvious how different the boy was. "And so what if he is?" he posed. "Their name is tarnished. I'd find another if I was him, poor boy."
Euphemia came to his side, the two walking back to Olivander's workshop. "You know it's not that simple," she said. "We cannot always choose. Our names are a part of who we are."
Even in marriage, the woman's name is kept with her, recorded and known despite not being used day to day. "He might need help," she decided. "He might even be Lord Gaunt, and that's no easy task."
Olivander wasn't really listening anymore as he stepped inside his workshop, thoroughly uninterested with Euphemia's schemes. They'd known each other for years, he just couldn't seem to get rid of her. "Do what you want, but be careful," he glanced back at her. "With a wand like that, I wouldn't fight him."
The wand chooses the wizard after all.
"I'll come by later," Euphemia had intended to help with the shop. "And will ask Fleamont to send you the remaining galleons."
She turned from the door, hearing Olivander shout behind her.
"193!"
"Will do!"
And with that, she was gone, leaving Olivander to work in peace. "Gaunt," he muttered ruefully from his workbench. "Yes. Perhaps that's what it was."
Harry had air about him, it was like seeing a wounded animal. It was still alive, strong; yet all the more dangerous because of it.
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