And The Dead Keep Calling Me, a harry potter fanfic

Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's but I like to torture her characters a little bit…

Information: features mostly seventh year, could be canon, I think (well, I don't change anything in canon, so it could be… even if it might be a little bit odd fitting xD) Contains time travel and MoD! Harry, I guess.

Important: Words written in italics with bold beginning and ending are from different parts of HP

My mother tongue isn't English, so sorry for my mistakes.

And now, let's go on with the story…

xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx

And The Dead Keep Calling Me

"Ollivander!"

sss

"The wand chooses the wizard. That much has always been clear to those of us who have studied wandlore...if you are any wizard at all you will be able to channel your magic through almost any instrument. The best results, however, must always come where there is the strongest affinity between wizard and wand. These connections are complex. An initial attraction, and then a mutual quest for experience, the wand learning from the wizard, the wizard from the wand."

sSs

William Weasley, better known as Bill, turned to the man, the Golden Trio had rescued from Malfoy Manor together with Luna Lovegood and Dean Thomas.

"You shouldn't leave," he said, concern clearly written in his eyes. "It isn't safe out there and you have barely regained enough of your strength to stand. Great-Aunt Muriel's is safe. The Fidelius will continue to protect –"

"You don't have to worry about me, young William," the old wandmaker said while his callused hands finished the final touches of the wand he had created just minutes ago. "They won't capture me again."

And with that he turned to the blond girl who stood next to him and looked at him with dreamy eyes.

"For you, Luna, child," he said smiling. "For the coming battles."

The girl took the wand reverently.

"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander," she said, while caressing the wand as if it was a living creature. "It's a beautiful wand."

The old wandmaker smiled.

"You're welcome," he said to the girl that had been an inexpressible comfort for him when he still had been a prisoner in Malfoy Manor. To Ollivander's regret that time was over, there would be no one to comfort him when he finally took the path he had tried to avoid for so long. "May it serve you well."

The girl smiled.

"It will," she said before asking. "Will you return to Diagon Alley?"

The old wandmaker's eyes flashed with unknown emotions.

"Just for a minute," he answered her and the girl nodded knowingly.

"They missed a wand when they took you and your goods," she told him sincerely. "You'll have to go and take it with you."

The old wandmaker just smiled at that.

"Only you, Luna," he said affectionately but before he could continue, Bill reentered the conversation.

"I still think you should stay here, Mr. Ollivander," he said beseechingly. "You've just been rescued from the Death Eaters, you should rest and recover –"

But the wandmaker didn't let him continue on. "There are people, young William, who will give in and bow to superior power if they are just threatened," he explained the curse-breaker softly. "Then there are people who will fight with all they have and prefer to die before giving away any kind of information –"

The old, silver eyes were somehow frightening to look at. "And there are people like me –"

And Bill suddenly knew that there was no way to keep the old wandmaker safe at Great-Aunt Muriel's.

Ollivander left just minutes later, not caring, that every eye of the other occupants of the house were watching him leave.

sSs

"And there are people like me, young William. We bow if we are tortured and shown superior power. We will tell what they want to know – but we will tell just enough to get out alive. And then, when they have turned their gaze elsewhere, we will turn around and destroy them from behind."

sSs

Garrick Ollivander, as he was called in this day and age, was a creepy old wizard with – except for his ability to craft wands – very average abilities as a wizard. He was a fair duelist and not really interested in honing that particular skill more than he had to, so it was no wonder that he lost in the end when Fenrir Greyback and a horde of Death Eaters came at night and snatched him away.

It also wasn't very surprising that in the end he gave in to Lord Voldemort's demands and told the monster what he wanted to know. "He tortured me, you must understand that! The Cruciatus Curse, I – I had no choice but to tell him what I knew, what I guessed –"

Pretty lies out of his mouth.

Pretty lies, just true enough to give him credibility.

"I don't know, Mylord! Please, believe me, I don't know! I – I can guess, of course, guess – but that's all!" he had pleaded. "There's a tale told to us wandmakers, a tale about Priori Incantatem! The same core, 'brother' wands… they don't react with each other normally… … … I don't know! I don't know! It shouldn't have happened! Another wand should have taken care of the problem!... … … I don't know! I don't know! Maybe… maybe a different wand! Yes, a wand like the Death Stick. A powerful wand!"

He had groveled. He had pleaded. He had cried and begged under torture. And they had believed him, they had always believed him.

"I don't know! I – I can guess, of course, guess – but that's all!" – He hadn't guessed. He needn't guess. He hadn't heard about Priori Incantatem in a tale told to wandmakers. It had been his eyes that witnessed it, it had been his lips that had told others about it and it had been his ears that heard the tale turning into a legend.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. It just so happens that the phoenix, whose tail feather resides in your wand gave one other feather, just one. It is curious that you should be destined for this wand when its brother gave you that scar."

Brother wands.

Slytherin and Gryffindor.

Immortal versus immortal – one craving it, one trying to escape his destiny.

History and Future in one.

"I don't know! I don't know! It shouldn't have happened!" – But he had known long before telling the vile creature about Priori Incantatem that a different wand wouldn't get rid of the problem. He hadn't said anything about that until he had to. He had taken malicious pleasure in seeing his capturer's wand being turned into ashes. He had taken even more pleasure in telling the man that he was unable to build him another wand, because a wand always choses the wizard – you can't build wands for wizards and without his stock it would take years to find another match.

They had believed him like always, never knowing that his lips spouted nothing but beautiful lies.

"The wand chooses the wizard. That much has always been clear to those of us who have studied wandlore… … These connections are complex. An initial attraction, and then a mutual quest for experience, the wand learning from the wizard, the wizard from the wand."

Wizard and wand were always connected – and a connection like that couldn't be destroyed as long as the wand existed. Garrick Ollivander had always known that a change in wands would do nothing for the Dark Lord as long as the other wand hadn't sworn allegiance to him as well. A wizard and a wand were bound far deeper than most people suspected, and a 'brother' wand always recognized his 'brother' – used or not by the wizard who wielded it. The Dark Lord's try to use Lucius Malfoy's wand had been doomed to failure from the start. Ollivander had known it. Ollivander had watched it. Ollivander had said not a word about it until he had been forced, and then the only thing he said were "should… would… could…", nothing certain, nothing true.

"I don't know! I don't know! Maybe… maybe a different wand! Yes, a wand like the Death Stick. A powerful wand!" – He had said and pleaded with them. He had pleaded, he had begged and groveled – his eyes always to the floor for fear for them to be seen. The silver of his eyes was smoldering with malicious fire, gaining evil pleasure in molding the Dark Lord's interest until the monster was on a new path – straight to the doors of doom because of a wish, never to be granted.

"Possessing the wand isn't enough! Holding it, using it, doesn't make it really yours. Didn't you listen to Ollivander? The wand chooses the wizard… the Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he had done, or that the world's most dangerous wand had given him allegiance…"

A new quest for the Dark Lord.

A new trial, doomed to failure from the start.

And Ollivander's hand had itched, for the first time in many years, for the soft caress of thestral hair, hidden behind elder wood and embodied by warmth as long as both ingredients were surrounded by the callused skin of his fingers.

One word.

One decision.

His – for all eternity.

No! No, not yet… not yet…

And his silver tongue had spoken and told pretty lies, beautiful lies to the man who had captured him to gain what had always been just Ollivander's to know.

"should… would… could… maybe…" no knowledge was for free, especially not old, crafty Ollivander's.

sSs

"The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter. It's not always clear why, but I think it is clear that we can expect great things from you. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things… terrible, yes, but great."

sSs

When Garrick Ollivander reached his shop in Diagon Alley, his silver eyes darkened. Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. peeling gold letters over the door proclaimed.

This business had been existing for more than two thousand years, now its shop, the proud display of its success, was oddly dark and empty. It was a heartbreaking sight.

Ollivander gritted his teeth and closed his eyes for a moment. Years, decades, centuries of work – gone, just because of the hunger for power of a single man.

For a moment, Ollivander hesitated, grieving, then he slowly opened the door of his shop and went in. Inside was utter chaos. Shelves, dust and broken wands shared the floor. And still, there was one thing still the same: behind the dirty glass of his dusty window, a solitary wand was lying on a faded purple cushion.

The wand was the only wand Ollivander never sold.

Ollivander's hands trembled while he looked around in his shop.

"After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things… terrible, yes, but great."

"Terrible indeed," Ollivander whispered while bowing down to retrieve one of his shattered wands. "Terrible indeed."

And then the fury finally took a hold of his emotions, burning them up with the fire of his hate.

Not long now…

A single thought.

A moment of hesitation, of trying to subdue it again.

Then the fury won.

Not long now…

And Ollivander turned to the window and the single wand on display.

There were hundreds of rumors about that wand.

"It's the wand of a distant ancestor," some said.

"It's the first wand the Ollivander family ever crafted," others guessed.

"It's the first wand the current Ollivander ever crafted," the next corrected.

"It's just a stick, not an actual wand. Something to display, not to use," another sneered.

Thousands of rumors – and they were all nothing but wrong.

Ollivander reached for the wand on the cushion.

His finger closed around the cool wood and the wand warmed in his hands. Elder wood caressed his fingers, thestral hair sang beneath the wood.

One word.

One decision.

His – for all eternity.

No! No, not yet… not yet… but soon.

And his silver tongue incanted the first chain of spells from a long forgotten curse to reunite the wand and the one who had denied himself to its power for so long.

sSs

Just decades ago, Garrick Ollivander hadn't existed, not yet, at least. Back then, his father had still worked in the shop, catering to customers, building wands. At that time, Garrick Ollivander had been nothing but a rumor.

There was an entrance in the birth-records of the Ministry of Magic and the admittance of OWLs and later NEWTs as a home-schooled student. Of course, Garrick Ollivander had been home-schooled, he was a wandmaker's son after all. Most of the wandmaker's sons were home-schooled so that they could learn about the business from the start.

Until the death of the old Ollivander, no one had ever seen the son. They knew that he existed, of course, the old Ollivander talked idly about his child, but they had never seen him.

And then the old Ollivander died, and suddenly the shop was run by a black-haired, silver-eyed youth – a splitting image of his father when the man had been still alive and as young as the son was back then.

Ollivander had a son as well.

There were records in the Ministry of Magic about his birth.

There would be OWLs and NEWTs in a few years time.

And yet, when Garrick Ollivander was kidnapped, no child could be found anywhere in the shop or the flat.

"As if your son doesn't even exist," Yaxley had growled in frustration after Fenrir Greyback had come back empty handed without the child.

And Ollivander had looked fearful at his kidnapper.

"What did you do to my child?" he asked trembling with fear. "What did you do to my child?!"

"Nothing, old man," Yaxley had answered annoyed. "We didn't find your bloody child!"

"And it would have been far easier to get you to cooperate, if we did," one of the others said – Rodolphus Lestrange. "Just tell us where the child is and we will go a lot easier on you."

Ollivander had trembled even more after that declaration, but he had kept his mouth stubbornly shut about the whereabouts of his child. He told them a lot of things – pretty and beautiful lies, but never a word about his child.

Some lies weren't worth creating – and Luna had seen it his way.

"If they are too blind to see your child, lying in the window defenseless until you come back for it, then they are not worth the answer," she said.

Elder wood and thestral hair.

His to wield for nearly as long as he could remember.

His child, his father, his ancestor, his descendant.

Blindly they had seen it as trash and ignored it.

And Luna had laughed with him without him having to tell her the tale.

Too blind to see…

How right she was about this one.

sSs

"I know that you are preparing to fight. Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood. Give me Harry Potter, and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded. You have until midnight."

sSs

Death threats had always been a specialty of the Dark Lord. Death threats and torture. Neither stopped the fighters of Hogwarts.

Instead they prepared for battle. They prepared to die.

Even with their Golden Boy sacrificing himself, they still prepared to die that day. No tomorrow for them, no new day ever again.

Many fell that day.

Lavender Brown, mauled to Death by Fenrir Greyback.

Collin Creevy, found on the battle field.

…

Remus Lupin, killed by Anthony Dolohov.

Nymphadora Tonks died by the wand of her own aunt.

…

Fred Weasley, one moment joking, the next lifeless on the ground.

…

Severus Snape, begging for forgiveness for something that he had long since atoned for threefold.

…

So many died, so many that day…

…

"I'm putting the Elder Wand back where it came from. It can stay there. If I die a natural death like Ignotus, its power will be broken, won't it? The previous master will never have been defeated. That'll be theend of it."

…

"I guess, it's time to even the odds a bit before the worst things happen," Ollivander said, stepping out of the trees smiling. Death Eaters turned to look at him, staring.

Their Lord had already left, he was marching through the woods with Harry Potter lifeless in Rubeus Hagrid's arms.

"What do you want wandmaker?" one of those Death Eaters who were still there, sneered – Rodolphus Lestrange. "Suicide before the true battle even starts?" Other Death Eaters laughed.

Ollivander just smiled benignly.

Then, he twirled his wand lovingly.

Elder wood and thestral hair.

The wand wood and core soundlessly humming in the wind.

A cry for slashed throats, ripped-open bodies and spilled blood.

"I'm here to even the odds," the wandmaker said lovingly. "I'm here for all that fall today, for all that are dead or will be dead in the end. I'm here for Collin, for Lavender, for Fred and Remus and Nymphadora. I'm here for little Rosie who will die in ten minutes, I'm here for Severus who has died while still called a villain, I'm here for Myrtle who died first. I'm simply here for the chance that my doing will prevent the spilling of more blood than this day will already spill."

The Death Eaters laughed again and started to circle the old wandmaker. The wandmaker pulled back his white, unruly long hair, not caring that wherever his hand touched, traces of black suddenly graced the snow-white color of his locks.

Then Rodolphus had enough.

"Crucio!" he hissed.

A slash of his wand and the curse was on its way.

Ollivander smiled a creepy smile. He twirled his wand again, catching the curse mid-fly and send it back. The red of the Cruciatus turned green.

Rodolphus' body met the ground, unmoving. His eyes wide in surprise and empty.

Ollivander's smile deepened.

And the laughter died on the Death Eaters' faces when his eerie silver eyes turned killing curse green for the first time in hundreds of years.

Another slash of the wand in Ollivander's hands, a turning of a stone and an eerie silver, foggy net surrounded the battle of one against twenty. Coming out of the silver threads of the net, sobbing could be heard. It sounded like dead Rodolphus' voice.

The Death Eaters shuddered in fear and the wandmaker smiled.

"Cry for me, children," Ollivander whispered. "This day is a day of grievance!"

And the silver color of his cloak rippled in the night when he started to dance the final dance.

sSs

"You won't be killing anyone else tonight. You won't be able to kill any of them, ever again. Don't you get it? I was ready to die to stop you hurting these people –"

"But you did not!"

"- I meant to, and that's what did it. I've done what my mother did. They're protected from you. Haven't you noticed how none of the spells you put on them are binding? You can't torture them. You can't touch them. You don't learn from your mistakes, Riddle, do you?"

sSs

"You don't learn from your mistakes as well, do you, Harry?" Ollivander asked and Harry looked up, grieve in his eyes.

"They were supposed to outlive me!" he cried while tears spilled down his cheeks. "They were supposed to grow old and die long after I am gone!"

"They were," Ollivander said. "And they did."

Harry Potter looked up at that exclamation.

"What do you mean?" he asked while turning away from the grave of his baby girl.

"You died when you were seventeen, Harry," Ollivander answered smiling. "They outlived you as it should be."

"But –"

"- how are you still here?" Ollivander shrugged. "That's the curse of us who are destined to be immortal."

"Us?"

Ollivander just shrugged.

"You… me… us… it doesn't matter," he said uninterested. "The only thing that matters is that it is like it should be."

"I don't want to live forever," Harry said. Ollivander just smiled.

"I know," he said. "But you don't. Like I said: you are already dead."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but the wandmaker just shook his head and held out a hand.

"The wand," he said, pulling out his wand out of nowhere. Elder wood and thestral hair.

"The stone," a swift turn returned those whose grave they stood in front.

Harry's children and wife smiled at him.

"We will wait for you," his baby girl promised. "Even if it takes eternity."

And Ollivander smiled.

"The cloak," he finished and a silver shadow ghosted through the air. Harry's world blackened and when he opened his eyes again, the grave and Ollivander were gone. Then Harry looked around and corrected himself. Not Ollivander and the grave were gone – he was gone.

Because unlike Garrick Ollivander's, his journey just had started.

It would take a long, long time until, one day, the door to his shop opened for a little, black haired boy with glasses and startling green eyes.

And Garrick Ollivander, as he was called now, smiled.

xXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxX

Since I couldn't get rid of this plot bunny, I hope you liked it…

I definitely should start to think about something else but time travel and MoD! Harry xD

Well, too late.

Ebenbild