Disclaimer: I own nothing. At least, I don’t remember owning anything
To the reader of this letter, my greetings and my congratulations. Although, once you fully comprehend the contents of this communication, you may think that my commiserations would have been more appropriate.
At first appearance, your entering this shop and finding this letter may seem to be a total coincidence, one of life’s random happenings, a minute event in the great scheme of things. Allow me to assure you that it is not.
This letter has been placed in this position, every hour of every day since I have been here, and you are the first person to see it. Just as I found my letter, all those years ago. I have had to temporarily vacate the shop, to prevent myself from being an asset to either side, I am too old, and my power has degraded past the point where I can defend my neutral status.
When I began this job, if it can be called that, I was so sure, with all the surety that youth brings, that I could solve all the questions, decipher all the clues, and explain all the mysteries.
I have since learnt that trying to determine how it all works is pointless, and that one can only carry out one’s duties, and hope that it will one day become clear.
I called this a job, but it is more a way of life than anything else. The rewards are great, but the prices are high, and not everyone can or wishes to conform to the conditions that the position brings.
The fact that you are reading this letter means that you are capable of performing the office, how that works is I confess, one question of many that I never managed to find the answer to. Perhaps you will, perhaps you won’t. My advice to you is to marvel at what you do find out, instead of being obsessed with what you are yet to comprehend. If you only care about what you do not have, then you never appreciate what you do have.
But to break off my ramblings for a second, and to tell you the conditions that come with the life of an Ollivander.
Firstly, you must sever all of your relationships. All of them. All of your connections to life - to your old life. How you do it is up to you. Some of my predecessors faked their deaths, others just said they were going away, some just stopped writing. The type of person who usually becomes an Ollivander, is rarely the type of person whom forms many close relationships.
You also need not worry about anyone recognising you working here, for the simple reason that they won’t. I said that the shop was a life, and it is, and it is much more than that. Becoming an Ollivander is the end of an old life and the beginning of a new one, one with as many positives and negatives as the old. Former occupants have called it a half-life; others have called it a fuller life, as with everything else it depends on your point of view.
What you give up is your social life, your ability to interact with other people, your ability to share a drink, to laugh at a joke, to feel love for another human being. Your personality dries out, and you become Mr. Ollivander. Not a Mr. Ollivander, the Mr. Ollivander. No one will notice the change in personnel, simply because there hasn’t been one. You are Mr. Ollivander, and I live out my final year.
After the retirement of each incumbent, they have a year to spend as they wish, funds no object. Wands are expensive, and one man living alone runs up few bills, and even the most extravagant Ollivanders live out their final year in modest luxury, and with years of interest building up, most fail to even make a dent (although we do make discreet annual donations to various worthwhile causes, but I find that goblins manage the accounts excellently, without any outside interference).
People will see you as the Mr. Ollivander they have always known. At first, you will still see yourself as you, and think that it is merely an illusion created by the shop. Then one day, you will look in the mirror, and realise that you are gone, there is only Mr. Ollivander left.
The same will happen with your personality; since you are reading this document, then you are not likely to be the most extroverted of people, but you will find this trait increases as the only people you talk to are the ones you are selling to and all your time is spent working, and waiting. You will slowly forget your past life, your past friends, even your past name.
You will lose your humanity, and become the shop incarnate.
What you will gain is security. The shop has a magic about it that is almost unmatched. No one can force their will upon the shop; it will simply reject them. No wand will work for any but the one chosen for it, and no wand can be stopped from reaching its mark.
They may appear to be only the focusing point for their user, but they retain some of the power, and even the personality of the creature their core came from. This concentration of magic and personality over the centuries has brought the shop to life. Each wand forms a part of the whole, a whole that is invincible.
However, this whole exists for a purpose, and it will not be swayed from this purpose. Its purpose is to match wands with their holders. It does not distinguish between good and evil, for it is above and beyond both. If any occupant tried to use it on either side, that occupant would be immediately replaced. The shop will not deny any witch or wizard their birthright.
For every wizard born, a wand is made. It sits and waits for its partner to claim it; somehow (I have no idea how) the right child always turns up at the right shop to accept their wand.
You have no doubt noticed that I have said partner, where most would say master. Every time a child comes in, I tell them that the wand chooses the wizard, but when they come back as parents, they have almost all forgotten.
Sometimes I yearn to ask them, what a wizard can do without his wand? And then answer my own question: almost nothing. To rage at them and try and force them to understand that a wizard without a wand is like a quill without ink. Then I remember who and what I am: Mr. Ollivander, and continue rummaging through boxes.
An Ollivander is always impartial. He takes no favourites. He does not discriminate on any grounds, be it race, wealth, appearances, personality, or ability. He is not the giver of power; he is only the courier. His is not to reason why; his is but to do, as the old saying goes. At least, I think it does, my memory I’m afraid, is not all it once was.
I have had to vacate my shop, as I think I mentioned before, so I did not become a pawn, but I had a feeling that my term as incumbent was drawing to a close. It is now your duty to remain neutral, and survive this crisis, to make sure that the next generation has a chance to harness their heritage, their birthright, and their gift. Whichever side comes out on top, and whatever the state of society, an Ollivander must be there, to carry on the legacy. Since the ancient times of bards and druids, it has been our responsibility to ensure that all who have the potential, have the opportunity to fulfil it.
But I fear I may be giving you a rather negative view of the job, and that would be unfair, parts of it are very pleasant, some bits are even rather exciting (though I find the latter a bit less enjoyable, and a lot more tiring than I did originally).
During the summer months it is true that one must merely sit in the shop, and await any customers (although I have found a couple of ways to pass the time, one of my predecessors left a beautiful deck of Muggle cards, and instructions for a game called “Solitaire” which I believe involves laying out all the cards in a particular order, but I’ve never quite managed to finish.
For some reason, I can’t get the fifty-one cards down on the table. He did leave me a message, something about “missing Jack”, but who Jack is, I have no idea. And if I ever feel like a change, then you can get these wonderful things called “tax forms” which you can fill out, and they can last for weeks if necessary.
I do have one vice, however. I hooked up one of the windows, so that it “looks out” over a field that I think the Muggles call “Lords”, and they play this wonderful game, I think it’s called “Krikkit” and I’m really starting to enjoy it.
What happens is … Well I haven’t really got the hang of the rules yet, but it looks fascinating, and they all get very excited, so it must be very enjoyable.
But I’m afraid I’m rambling again, it’s only during the summer that things slow down, most of the rest of the year, I travel all over the place, visiting herds of unicorns, checking the common nesting places of phoenixes, even slipping in to Dragon colonies, to harvest the dead; (yes, I know that may sound gruesome, but it is a necessary task, and the sooner you conquer your squeamishness, the better).
Do not worry about safety, there have long been arrangements made between Mr. Ollivander and the various communities, to allow us safe passage. I do not know the details of the pact, but I know it is an ancient one, that has always been respected.
Then, I visit the ancient groves. I do not dilute the powers or these creatures, with inferior wood. I visit the woods which have been revered for their power for aeons, never taking more than a little from each great tree, and bind the materials together, and watch (never ceasing to be amazed) as it forms a whole. To some, it may seem a wonder that I know the history of every wand I’ve sold, if they ever actually asked me, then I’d ask them how they remembered the names of their children.
Seeing a wand being formed is an amazing thing. I imagine that it must feel almost like seeing a child being born, except without all the kicking and screaming and general fuss that people kick up about it.
Do they still do that? I imagine so, I can’t think of a reason why they’d have stopped, but it’s been so long since I talked to anyone, and I am so very tired, so very, very tired.
Regards and best wishes,
Edmund
Mr. Ollivander (former)