Garrick Ollivander

looking up from the task, grasping the bandages tightly around the wound, el hesitated before shaking her head. “it’s fine.” she said simply, puzzled by the interest of the stranger.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I was asking if you were a wizard since you are a wand-maker.”

“Does that make you a wizard?”

“being a wand-maker doesn’t make me a wizard, but being a wizard is how I’m a wand-maker”

“Wands? Like for witches and wizards?” 

“the very kind”

“No, they hate the dirt and yet they write for gardening catalogs. I don’t mind. I don’t hear complaining all that often. Unless it comes from me but I haven’t had any reason to since coming to New York. Why can’t you do your job the same way? What do you do for a living?”

“the materials i need aren’t fine enough here. wand-maker. i make wands, or I suppose I did make them”

“Someone born between nineteen eighty-two and two thousand and four. If it’s work then I guess you’re screwed. My parents never get much sleep because they’re working literally all the damn time.”

“I think I’d hate to know what people would call me and the year I was born. Is it something they love? My work is the most important thing to me, but I can’t do it here the way I could at home. It’s rather frustrating and I’m halfway between going mad and feeling like my heart has gone missing. Oh, forget all of that, young people shouldn’t have to deal with someone my age complaining about these sorts of things”

“I’m sorry - I’m listening, really, I just - I haven’t been sleeping much lately.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Romeo said. “But you alright? You look like you need a nap. What’s been keeping you up?”