The next instant, a blaze of radiant light burst from the tip of the staff, flooding the dim shop with brilliance. Harry flung his arm over his eyes: Good Lord, was that a Blinding Flash Jinx?!
A surge of elation shot through Bernadette: I can use magic?
She immediately tightened her grip on the staff and tried again. "Wingardium Leviosa."
Nothing happened.
"Petrificus Totalus."
Still nothing.
"Alohomora."
"Stupefy."
"Tarantallegra."
Bernadette tried seven or eight more basic spells in quick succession, but none of them worked. The reason was the same as before — the magical power inside her body showed not the slightest response.
Ollivander had by now recovered his habitual composure. "I did tell you — this is simply wandmaking material. You cannot genuinely expect it to substitute for a real wand."
She said nothing. She gripped the staff again. "Lumos."
The blinding white light blazed to life once more — if anything, slightly brighter than before.
"…"
Bernadette felt a sudden urge to swear.
Fine. Being able to cast even one spell was progress. At the very least, it left the door open for other spells later.
She ran her fingers over the rough, uneven surface of the staff and gave it a light tap against the floor. "Mr. Ollivander, I'm very taken with this… wand. How much do you want for it?"
The old man's pale grey eyes shifted in thought. "I came across it by chance in an old-growth forest in Somerset. It's done nothing useful for me, so all I ask is a modest fee to cover the trouble of hauling it back — two hundred Galleons ought to do it."
Harry stared. "Two hundred? My wand cost less than ten Galleons!"
"That was the introductory rate for new students, Mr. Potter."
Bernadette reached into her pocket. She didn't need to count to know she was short. He said he'd left me enough money for my expenses in this world — and I can't even afford one "wand"?!
She couldn't remember the last time she'd been strapped for cash. Perhaps she never had been.
After a moment's thought, she held out her coin purse. "There should be about a hundred Galleons in here. Is it all right if I owe you the rest?"
Ollivander blinked. His pale grey eyes went wider than usual.
No money?
You just spent the last ten minutes being impossibly picky about every wand I showed you — and now you have no money?
The look the old man fixed on her made Bernadette instinctively glance away. Inwardly, she fumed: It's all that wretched man's fault.
Ollivander stared at her for a few seconds longer, then waved a hand with an air of vague resignation. "Fine, fine. Take it. Pay me back promptly, or I'll go straight to Dumbledore to collect. Oh — and the violet rosewood wand? Do you still want it?"
Is this a courtesy extended to me because of "my" position as a Hogwarts professor?
"No thank you, sir. I'll leave that one."
She returned the violet rosewood wand, gave Ollivander a brief nod, and turned to leave, staff in hand. Harry, still puzzling over why Ollivander had mentioned going to Dumbledore to collect the debt, saw her moving and hurried after her.
The moment they stepped outside, Harry noticed Vincent looking at him with an odd expression. Unsure what to make of it, he asked carefully, "Is something the matter, Mr. Vincent?"
"Nothing."
Bernadette quickly looked away. She had, in truth, been considering asking Harry for a loan for a moment there…
Harry had mentioned before that his parents had left him a fairly substantial inheritance. But in the end, she couldn't quite bring herself to do it — it felt too much like swindling money from a child.
Well, it's not as though I need anything else right now. The loan would just mean having to pay him back. When he returns, I'll let him sort it out. Owing Ollivander is still far better than owing Harry.
Lost in thought, the two of them passed by the mouth of a narrow, shadowed alley. Bernadette recognised it immediately — the entrance to Knockturn Alley, where many dark wizards congregated.
She stopped. Her eyes flickered, calculating: Hunting dark wizards ought to bring in decent money — rather like hunting pirates on the open sea. Not only could you collect official bounties, but the quarry tended to carry plenty on them besides.
Her gaze sharpened with temptation.
After a long moment, she let it go. Her rational mind told her that her abilities in this world were still far too limited. Walking into Knockturn Alley to hunt dark wizards would be little better than walking to her own death.
Bernadette shook her head with a quiet sigh. Something to consider later.
She'd barely lifted her foot to leave when two figures came walking out of Knockturn Alley — one tall, one short, both with pale blond hair and an almost sickly pallor, lean and sharp-featured, as though cast from the same mould.
Harry recognised the smaller one immediately: the rude, arrogant boy he'd encountered at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions — the one who'd said something unpleasant about Hagrid.
The moment he saw him, Harry's mood soured. He didn't like the way that boy spoke to him — the same casual disregard he got from Uncle Vernon. His feet moved faster almost of their own accord.
"Hey."
But the boy spotted him anyway and waved from a distance, closing the gap quickly. "Fancy seeing you again."
"…"
Harry hesitated a beat, then stopped and turned to acknowledge him. "Good afternoon." — He wasn't about to stoop to the other boy's level.
Bernadette was mildly surprised. She hadn't realised Harry knew anyone in the wizarding world beyond Hagrid, whom he mentioned often. Though judging by his expression, Harry clearly had no desire to talk to this person.
"The name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."
The blond boy stepped forward, extending his hand to Harry. "And you?"
"Harry Potter."
Harry returned the handshake coolly, pulling his fingers back almost immediately.
"Is that your father?" Malfoy glanced at Bernadette, then caught himself. "Oh — sorry, I forgot. Your parents are dead. So he's a relative? Your guardian?"
Bernadette's brow arched. Insufferable little brat.
Malfoy's eye caught the staff and he tilted his head. "Why is he carrying a dead branch? Is he your servant? Oh, what a shame — pure-blood families haven't used human servants for ages. We much prefer house-elves."
"Mr. Vincent is not a servant," Harry said quickly.
"Fair enough."
Malfoy smiled and nodded at the stack of books in Harry's arms. "A servant would never make their master carry things, would they? So does that make you his servant?"
Harry: "…"
This little — arrogant, insufferable, conceited, with not a shred of manners. He reminded Bernadette uncomfortably of Xio at that age. At the thought, her eyes narrowed and she felt a very strong urge to hang him upside down from something — just as she used to do with Xio when he misbehaved.
"Harry, is this a friend of yours?"
To be continued…