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Post by veronica giselle ollivander on Apr 16, 2024 6:46:13 GMT -7
january 3rd, early in the morning
SIX AM was the usual time for Veronica Ollivander to wake up and get ready for the day. It was an engrained routine for the eldest Ollivander, and one she planned to stick to for perhaps the rest of her life. Her father had followed such a routine and his father before that and even his before that. The list went on of course of predecessors that the eldest Ollivander had to follow and upkeep their legacy. With a family like theirs, tradition was key, but legacy meant everything.
It was simply why Veronica could never fail. Even with what she had done during their last Christmas Dinner. It was decided that night by their father, that these family dinners, luncheons, bi-monthly reunions would be reconsidered and scrapped altogether. The children and grandchildren of the Ollivanders could simply visit whenever they wished, but the one thing they must never talk of for the rest of their lives is their Christmas Dinner of 2028.
At first, Veronica felt no guilt for her actions. Shame, yes, but no guilt. She truly wished that Galen Francis Ollivander would cease to exist at that moment. Of course, it was regarding her son and like an overprotective mother hen, Veronica had gone too far. Her argument of course was ‘well he started it’, but to say such words out loud made her realise how much of a school-child she would sound like.
Regardless, the wandmaker got up like any usual day, cigarette in hand as she threw on each layer. The air outside, while it was cold and crisp as ever, let out a heavy downpour, resulting in the Ollivander taking off quickly, umbrella in arms. With a gentle kiss on Gideon’s forehead and a reminder to visit Gehry for his birthday, she walked fast, hoping to avoid the heavy rain as the day went on. Thinking of Gehrey, Veronica knew wouldn’t stay long of course, but just drop by to hand over a present she wasn’t able to give him on Christmas. Since that evening, everything had been awkward between herself, her siblings and her son. How couldn’t it be? Things would never be normal again, all because of her odd and dark desire.
Veronica had the odd whispers here and there when she took off most mornings, small and hesitant waves from neighbours, but today there was none of that. The sky remained dark, the rain making the morning seem even dimmer, and the atmosphere was already bleak. Something felt wrong, but what didn’t? Everything had felt wrong since then.
Transporting to Diagon Alley was quick in the mornings, busy commuters minding their business as they used floo powder or even apparition to get on with their day. Though the quiet murmurs of others around her as they looked back right at her, slowly caught the wandmaker's attention. What had happened? Had someone ratted her out? Told the world about her own unforgivable mistake?
It wasn’t until Veronica Ollivander’s brisk walk slowly eased into a sluggish pace the closer she reached the Ollivander’s Wand Shoppe, and the realisation had kicked in altogether. Before her, where decades- no, centuries worth of research, sales and wands once stood was nothing but damaged tiles, damaged wood and ash. Outside of the store stood Aurors, some with clipboards and notepads, others taking notes from onlookers, along with Cursebreakers who were sure the accident was magic-related.
One looked over their shoulder, easily recognising the Ollivander, but another soon came running along as Veronica fell to her knees. Puddles of water dirtied the wandmakers skirt and knees, while eyes brimmed with tears. Veronica hadn’t known it then, but the wailing sound that filled the air was far from an ambulance, or someone coming to help, but instead they were wails that came from her.
Hours of questioning, tears, a headache and many cigarettes later, Veronica stood in what remained of Ollivanders. No amount of magic could repair such a thing and she knew it. “Fifteen percent” She muttered to herself, thumb coming close to her lips as she bit into the torn skin. Her own little stress reliever. Fifteen percent was all they were able to save and only four of that fifteen were wands. The rest were files that her father, grandfather and fathers before that had saved, recovered whenever they needed reminding of certain things. And he ruined it all. Burnt it all.
As she stood, face stained from dried up tears, fingers coated in dust, ash and soot, Veronica felt her expression fall flat once more. The same feeling she had when she almost killed her own brother. This was all her fault, a finishing satin bow on something she had started. Francis always hated magic, the one thing he could never use or ever have and Veronica used that against him. In return he had taken the one thing she poured her life into, beyond repair. But alas, that was just a part of Veronica’s flaws. As she never thought of the consequences until it was simply too late.
