Downpour at the Ollivander's

**Catlyn Ollivander**

Although the morning sun has not yet risen over Diagon Alley, it's light, crafting a blue glow over the horizon, still waved through the dew sprinkled window. The morning cold seeped through the broken seals and dulled the warmth of the crackling fireplace. Sulking in the reclining armchair, my hand fights to free itself from my, oversized, blanket robe to grab my cup of tea. Nursing my cup of blood, I fiddle with one of my silver bracelets.

My strangled straight, shoulder-length, hair threatens to wave up again as the extremely early risers shuffle down below. The scar slashed across my face radiates its usual amount of pain as I look around the room.

The reclining chair and couch flank two sides of the wood coffee table. My fings continue their itch of hunger as I slurp up the last of the blood. Grabbing the matching saucer off the coffee table, I pass the brick fireplace and debate turning it on.

Stepping up onto the elevated half of the room, I pass the spiral staircase that leads up to the bedrooms and down to the shop. The balls of my feet turn cold as the material switches from carpet to wood. Entering the kitchen, snuggled between the bathroom and dining room, I slide the step stool to the sink. The rush of the water out of the faucet starts to fill my ears as I begin to wash the dishes and reflect.

Ever since the most recent Half-breed killing, Father forbade me from going out in the early morning or evening. He says it's punishment for disobeying him, and it is, but I also feel like that last one, seeing it in person, really spooked him. It's not like I'm helpless though! I can always use my wand in cases of self-defence and my strength isn't just for show.

"What a pleasant morning we are having!" Father says, without a hint of sarcasm in his voice, as he descends the staircase. "Did the rain interfere with this month's brewing?"

Just finishing up rinsing the teacup, I set it on the drying rack and wipe my hands dry. *Morning! Luckily I made sure to bring them in last night.*

When I came home, I was surprised to find our roof completely changed. Apparently, Dumbledore informed Father about the Mana Potion. He decided to give me an early birthday present by converting our roof into a custom potion brewery. It took him weeks to convince me to accept it.

Like a well-oiled machine, we work around each other as I put away the teacup and saucer and he puts the kettle on. A smile crinkles his soft face as he switches the radio on. Mozart's Symphony No. 40 glides out of the radio as a tapping comes from the window.

*Couldn't you put on something a bit more relevant?* I ask, getting a treat out for our visitor.

"Hey, Mozart's a classic! Now, be a dear and get our little friend would you?" Father rebuked, sending me to grab the morning news from the owl.

*Just because it's a classic doesn't mean other music has been invented in the last two centuries,* I respond, carrying the two copies of the Daily Prophet over to the island, separating the kitchen from the dining area.

Sliding Father's copy across the dark countertop, I begin to carefully make my way onto one of the bar stools. Why do these have to be so tall! Debating if I could reach over and turn the station, something else draws my attention.

Even without opening myself to Mana, the draw of Mana is apparent as space begins to distort. Black smoky energy wraps around the area quickly only for it to fold in on itself. With a pop, Cimsy appears in between the stairs and the kitchen. Barely able to see her, my legs dangle as I push myself up to wave at her.

"Miss and Master Olivander! Cimsy didn't know Master and Miss were awake. Cimsy apologises for not preparing breakfast!" the Small House-elf squeaks, bowing as Father's eyes shift to me, pleading for help.

He clearly hasn't gotten used to her yet. Snickering, I instruct him on how to respond, *Say it's fine and offer her a Cuppa or something.*

"Master, serving Cimsy? No, no no no. Cimsy must serve Master! Cimsy, Cimsy must-'' Flustered at the thought, Cimsy starts tripping over her words and the air, landing face-first on the hardwood. Jumping off the barstool, my feet threaten to trip over the, wool-lined, heaven of comfort as I race around to them. Rounding the pillar, I'm met with Father helping Cimsy up.

*It's fine Cimsy. We're just early risers so you don't have to wake up super early to make us a Cuppa. You have other more important things you need to do,* I sign, testing out a hypothesis, as I comfort Cimsy and nod to Father.

"Is- is Miss sure?" Cimsy sniffled as I led her to the couch. Even though school ended about two months ago, Cimsy joined us pretty recently. Apparently, Gorsuch insisted on giving Cimsy a few lessons.

Nodding, I hop beside Cimsy as the kettle squeals. *How can you understand this?*

Cimsy's red cheeks stretch as a large smile spreads across her face, "Cimsy knows Elf magic that allows Cimsy to understand any language."

"Impressive," Father compliments, handing Cimsy a teacup as he sits in the reclining chair and sips some tea. Her raw cheeks hide the blush that spreads across her face as the prospect of new magic sends a twinkle to my eyes.

*Could you possibly teach me that? I'm planning on learning Portuguese from Anne anyway but that magic could come in handy.*

"Is Miss sure? Cimsy doesn't want to waste Miss' time with learning lowly Elf magic." A small twitch of anger wrestles within me at the belittling of Elves.

Guilt twists my stomach at being half-wizard. Both Muggles and Wizards alike seem to love to belittle and enslave others. The day Half-breeds aren't getting gutted for who they are and House-Elves can carry a wand the same as I, is the day I can rest happy.

*Not at all!* I sign, sending a smile back as a chime reverberates through the house. It takes me a moment, mainly because it's seldom used, to realise that it was the doorbell. I don't know of anyone who'd come around after hours and know to use that. Not to say that there's no one, I may have a photographic memory but I'm not all-knowing. Giving Father a questioning look, he merely gives me a thin smile.

"Cimsy, will you go down and ask our guest if they're peckish?" Cimsy's smile grows wider as she disapparite's. His boney body, draped in a sweater and jeans, moves swiftly over to the stairs only to stop, "Oh, Catty. He knows so you don't have to grab a mask."

My eyes widen as I realise I'm supposed to come. Jumping off the couch, I race over to him, only to pass him and head up the stairs.

"What are you doing?" Father calls, confused at my response as I race past both Cimsy's and Father's room. Scrambling through my drawers, I don't have time to fuss over my outfit. Quickly grabbing an oversized, white wool, sweater and blue jeans, I quickly slip on socks as I make my way back down.

*You seriously think I'm going to wear that in front of a guest?* I say rhetorically, following Father down as I grab my notepad and pen.

Soft candlelight flickers from the brass chandelier as we pass through the open area in between the first and ground floor. This makes most of the first floor more of an overlook circling the wand crafting area; looking over some of the store as well. It is a bit of a pain that you can only get to the first floor from the shop, but it really only holds extra stock so it's not that bad. I can get there without going through the shop, but Father banned me from jumping off the stairs.

Oakwood shines from the floor as the majority of the beige walls are covered by stacks of grey cubbies, filled with wands and wand crafting ingredients. Getting down to the ground floor, Father's crafting bench reminds me of the lessons to come as we cross to the front corner. Looking up at Father, he grins as he opens the door.

"Rodrigo! Thank you for coming!" Father greets, extending his hand out. Professor Rodrigo Ballester's foggy blue eyes look at us, setting his cup of tea on the saucer as Cimsy stares up at him. She got him tea but didn't let him in.

A miss buttoned sweater vest sits over a dress shirt and tie. Baggy caceis fit the Italian Muggleborn perfectly as he shakes Father's hand. "Morning Garrick, Young Ollivander, I hope I didn't wake either of you. You said you were free all day so…"

"Not to worry! We're both early risers. May you come in?" Father gestures for him to come in as I stand there befuddled. His brown briefcase swings slightly as we move to the grey couches, parallel to each other, in the middle of the room.

'I don't mean to seem rude, but why are you here Professor? What's happening?' I write, feeling slightly awkward at not wearing a mask, as Father and I sit across from Professor Ballester.

A conversation of looks takes place as Professor Ballester's smooth voice lets out a sigh, "besides Herbology, I am also an expert Legilimen and act as Hogwarts counsellor."

The mention of Legilimency sends a jolt to my system as I turn to Father. Giving me a nod, I explode with joy; jumping up and hugging Father. Settling down, another portion of the Professor's words pops out at me. 'I didn't know Hogwarts had a counsellor.'

A glum look spreads across his face. "Most don't. That's why I teach Herbology. I don't live too far from here, so when Garrick asked for me to teach you I was glad to."

'Wait, how can I learn Legilimency and Occlumency if I can't use magic outside of school?' At my question, Professor Ballester opens his mouth only to be cut off by the pop of Cimsy Apparating in.

"Cimsy apologies for interrupting. Cimsy found a letter by the door," Cimsy says, handing a sealed envelope to Father. Reading it, his brow furrows more and more as a frown falls on his face.

"What is it?" Professor Ballester asks, eyes filled with worry.

"They scheduled the gathering of the Sacred Twenty-Eight for near the end of this summer," Father explains as Professor Ballester's face turns to match Fathers.

*What's the Sacred Twenty-Eight?* I ask, not understanding what's happening.

Father sighs, "A long time ago, a book called 'The Pure-Blood Directory' listed 28 families as the purest families in all of England. Cantankerus Nott, the author of the book, founded an alliance with said families to increase their wealth and influence. The only requirement is that the heads of each family and their eldest available child must attend a gathering each decade. We are one of these families. Although a lot of the families don't retain this blood stasis and value, many of the members make up a majority of the shop's blacklist. This is due to incidents that have happened in the past."

*Why don't I know about this? And why are we a part of something so bigoted?*

Shame reflects in every aspect of Father. "You've always been too young. The shop gets a lot of discounts on wand materials because of it. The only reason I'm able to keep my prices as affordable as they are is because of these discounts. It's a necessary evil."

By the end of this summer, I have to go to a party containing the most bigoted and wealthiest families in all of England? Not to mention the amount of them that know where I come from and follow him.