House: Gryffindor

Category: Drabble

Prompt: Diagon Alley

Word Count: 492

Beta: Tigger

Dean hurried down the cobblestone paths of Diagon Alley. The magical shopping street was just beginning to pull itself back together after two years of debris, destruction, and death. Shopkeepers were busy clearing away the darkness from their storefronts in the hopes that business would return.

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, once a bright beacon amongst the dull and drab, remained closed. Dean suspected it would remain that way for quite some time while George mourned his twin. But he knew that, eventually, the store would reopen and the light would return to both the orange-framed windows and the orange-haired man.

"Dean!" called a familiar voice.

He was surprised to spot Hannah Abbott levitating the wooden sign for the Leaky Cauldron back into place.

"Hello, Hannah. What are you doing here?"

"I work here now. I know I should go back to school and finish up, but..." she trailed off.

Dean understood. "I get it. I can't go back either. It's just-"

"-too much," she finished. "What do you think you'll do?"

He shrugged. "No clue. I'm floundering trying to figure out what comes next. I thought maybe I'd pop into Ollivanders. He and I talked a bit last year and I hope he can give me some guidance."

"Best of luck," Hannah wished.

Dean continued down the uneven alley until he reached the proper door. "Mr. Ollivander?"

"Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Dean Thomas." Garrick Ollivander slowly descended a rickety ladder propped against one of the many crooked shelves of wand boxes.

Dean cleared his throat. "Yes. When we were being held at Malfoy Manor, you mentioned that you expected great things from me. I-" he stuttered, "I wondered what you meant by that?"

"A wand of rowan with a dragon heartstring core, reasonably flexible, I believe?" the old man asked rhetorically.

Dean nodded nonetheless. "Yes." He withdrew his wand from its holster and held it loosely for the wandmaker to inspect. "It has served me well."

"Rowan wands best serve the witch or wizard who is pure of heart and clear headed. Those that have the ability to use their intuition to seek the truth." He held out his own wand. "The core of mine is dragon heartstring as well."

"Forgive me sir, but why are you telling me this now? You said it all before when I first bought it."

Ollivander conjured a pair of stools and gestured for Dean to sit. "I'm old. I can't keep doing this forever. Especially after these last few years. It's time for me to train my successor."

"Me?"

Ollivander nodded. "A rowan wand with a dragon heartstring core. Flexible yet firm. Wandlore is an art understood by few, but I believe you're capable."

"Are you offering me a job?"

The old man smiled.

Suddenly, Dean felt a sense of purpose that had been missing since the end of the war. "When can I start?"

"There's no time like the present."