Chapter 61
ALDER EVANS
As the time for the final battle drew near, Alder found himself in the most fascinating shop for a young witch or wizard.
Ollivanders was not just a shop; it was an institution, and the man was one of the world's premier wand makers, matched only by a few in his mastery over the craft. Alder could still remember his first visit, and his first had been rather mundane if there was such a thing, but it had served him well regardless.
"Alder. Fourteen inches. Straight, with a dragon heartstring core," and the familiar voice came from the dark end of the shop, while Alder was skimming through the hundreds upon hundreds of boxes, while a tall, thin, and thin-haired man walked out of the shadows.
He had an unforgettable face, and despite his age, the man was rather spry, as he rubbed his excitement.
"It has been some time, Mr. Ollivanders," Alder greeted the man whose grey eyes refused to leave his own.
"A very tricky customer, if I remember. Very tricky. Both you and your sister," he began, and he was right once more, for it had taken up nearly half an hour to find a suitable wand for them both.
"But twins usually are. Especially ones as special as you," and now he was rubbing his hands.
"I hope you got the message," and Alder had sent in his wand a few days ago, hoping to see if there was a chance to have it repaired, but in the end, the man had written up a response.
"Yes, but I am afraid your wand is beyond repair still," and so the diagnosis remained the same.
"Though even if I could repair it fully, I doubt the wand would suit you much anymore," and now those grey orbs narrowed.
"You have had quite a transformative year. Both you and your sister," and his abilities were truly magical, and he had an uncanny way of knowing things.
"You should have her visit me as well," he added, and Alder raised a brow at the comment.
"I would love to see how the gift of Parseltongue shapes a wand's choice. It would be quite a study," and he was already rubbing his hands in excitement.
"I would happily compensate her for the time," and he doubted Lily had any need of money now with the reward from the Ministry headed her way.
"I will pass the message along," Alder added, but he was here on different matters.
"So, if you could not repair it, what's left for us to do?" and now those eyes lit up.
"Quite a bit, I say. Quite a bit," and then he walked back into the storage.
"The specimens you sent were rather interesting, and I had to scour my ancestors' diaries just to read up on methods to deal with them," he added from the back of the shop.
"But to think that I would ever get the opportunity to use materials harvested out of Salazar Slytherin's basilisk. Such honor. Such honor," and then he walked out bearing a singular small box, with a beaming smile on his face.
"I am grateful to you for providing me with such an opportunity," and as part of his reward for helping deal with the basilisk, Alder had a right to the basilisk's remains, and so after some research, he had made a few requests.
A few vials of the venom, some hide, a few teeth, and its heart. His reward money had been nearly halved because of these requests, but he would have money enough, and he knew that he would never get his hands on materials this rare ever again.
"I apologize for the delay, but it takes time to craft such a piece," and with that, he put the box on the glass table and picked up some dragon hide gloves from the side.
"I have made over a thousand wands in my lifetime, and while I love them all equally, I have no doubt in my mind that this is the wand I will be remembered for," and then he slowly opened up the case to reveal a rather straight piece of wood, with a rather dark hue.
And he could already feel the power emanating from it.
"Basilisk venom is rather potent. It eats away at most woods and materials. There are a few woods that can tolerate being soaked in it," and so the wood was soaked in basilisk venom.
"The venom I used to soak the snakewood. I first used it to dissolve your last wand, and then let the snakewood soak it up for five days," and Alder looked up at the man's face, who seemed giddy as he talked about it.
Garrick met his gaze and smiled.
"The wand is highly temperamental. It refuses to let any other wizard even touch it," and then he pointed towards the gloves.
"It rejects even my own touch, even though I am its maker. I have never seen such a loyal wand. Thirteen inches. Snakewood treated with basilisk venom, with a core of basilisk's heartstring," and he doubted that there was a wand like this anywhere in the world, and he could feel it calling for him.
A slight warmth rose in his hand as he slowly reached for it, and Alder would be lying if he were to say that he was not nervous.
This was a grand moment for him, and as soon as his skin touched the finely polished wood, a spark went off in his head, and that familiar warmth jolted up his arm, and it was as if he could feel the remnants of his older wand in there as he grabbed the wand and raised it in the air.
It offered no sparks or ribbons, as his first wand, but it did not need to. They both knew that they were meant for one another.
"A perfect match," Ollivander gasped from the side as Alder drew in a deep breath.
"Thank you for the wand, Mr. Ollivander's," and the man shook his head.
"No. No. No. I should be the one thanking you. You have given this old man an opportunity of a lifetime. Few wandmakers have ever had the privilege of working on such a masterpiece," and Alder nodded as he spun it in his fingers and adjusted it into the holster.
"Each wand is alive, especially this one. I doubt it would ever let another wizard even touch it," and he did not doubt his words.
"What do I owe you for this?" The man shook his head.
"Nothing," he answered, and Alder raised a brow.
"I will not do my work a disservice by putting a price tag on it. The mere experience of working on it was payment enough," and what could Alder say to that?
"So be it," and he would find a way to make it up to the man later.
"Goodbye, Mr Ollivanders," and just as he was about to leave the shop, the man called out.
"Goodbye, Mr Evans..."
And so, he walked out of the shop and onto the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, and outside the shop, Amelia stood waiting for him, leaning against the wall with two scoops of ice cream in her hand.
"Ice cream, really?" Alder asked, and she made a face.
"Shut up," she admonished him, as she thrust one of the cones into his hands, and then she hesitated for a few seconds before adding in a whisper.
"Happy Birthday," and it took a second to register. With everything going on, Alder had lost track of the time.
"You forgot, didn't you?" She guessed right, and he nodded silently.
"Yeah," but that did not matter.
"It's your seventeenth birthday. You should celebrate it," and Alder shrugged it off.
"I intend to have many more birthdays. I can live without celebrating this one," and they needed to be ready, and soon enough the trap would be sprung, and Voldemort would make his move.
The preparations were complete, and this was the last step.
"There is still time...," but before she could finish those words, a loud explosion rocked the streets, as both of them turned and saw smoke rising out of a large building in the distance.
Chaos broke out on the streets as Alder's heart skipped a beat.
"That is...," Amelia gasped from the side as he finished her sentence.
"St. Mungo's," and so the trap was sprung, and his eyes narrowed as he saw the skies over the building darken, as Voldemort's symbol rose over the building.
"So it begins," he whispered before he turned towards Amelia.
"I need to go," and she was amongst the select few who knew of the details of their plan, and offered him a nod.
"Go and end this war," and he nodded.
"I intend to," and with that, he threw the ice cream in the bin and closed his eyes and vanished from the Alley in a pop and appeared in the Halls of the Ministry.
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VOLDEMORT—TOM RIDDLE
They knew.
Dumbledore knew.
The Professor had somehow learned about his Horcruxes, and not just that he was hunting for them. That rat's words had been the first warning, and Tom knew that his time was limited.
He had given them to his followers as treasures to be safeguarded, to spread them out, and protect himself, but somehow Dumbledore had figured out the truth and had already begun hunting them down.
He had scoured the Malfoy mansion and the other hiding spots and had come up empty-handed. The diary. The tiara. The ring. They were all gone, and they were searching for the cup as well.
He had more, of course.
But they were parts of his soul, and each one he lost brought him closer to death itself, and Voldemort could not let them do that.
Bellatrix's devotion was incredible, and he did not doubt her words when she spoke of how she had resisted their attempts at interrogation, but the girl had long become a liability.
It was better to be rid of her, and now with her gone, he had one additional Horcrux, bringing him one step closer to his intended complement of seven.
"One more," he whispered as he placed her wand, which now contained a part of his soul, into a box and left it at the mansion.
"I shall always remember you, my dear Bella," and she was naive and weak, yet her devotion to the cause was truly exemplary. She had failed him many a time, but in her death, she had served him in the greatest way possible.
With the sixth Horcrux made, it was time to go and recover the cup. With the sixth one in his grasp, his victory was all but assured, and he knew exactly who he would use to make the seventh one.
"Alder Evans," he whispered that name with sheer vehemence, as his magic flooded the room.
"I will make you pay," and Bella had hidden the cup in an abandoned safe house she had bought a few years ago, and he appeared at the place in the blink of an eye.
The wards placed around it were intricate and strong, but to him they were nothing more than child's play.
He tore through them with a single wave of his wand as he rushed into the place, and it seemed the same as it was in her mind.
"It seems like you were not lying," and as he walked in through the door, he saw the chalice sitting there on the floor and smiled.
"It seems like your kindness has failed you once more, Professor," and with that confidence, he reached for the chalice, yet the second his hands touched the gold edges, runes lit up all around him, and he tried to pull back, but it was too late, as the portkey activated at once.
POP!
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