Ten minutes. Ten minutes were all Gervaise had managed to sneak in his workroom, barely enough time to get his tools in line. He had spent the morning matching youngsters to their first wands, and had hoped that noon-time would bring with it a lull. Plainly, the wizard thought as he heard the tell-tale tinkle of the bell above the door, that was not to be the case. With a wry smile in Reid’s direction, the wandmaker rose to his feet and returned to the storefront, shirtsleeves still rolled up to just below his elbow—the evidence of how he had expected to spend the afternoon.

“Good day,” he greeted amicably, but not with an overabundance of enthusiasm. Gervaise Ollivander did not do enthusiasm, not unless the customer earned it with a genuine interest in his life’s work. He did, however, do friendly, for friendly meant happy customers, and happy customers certainly paid the bills.

“Here for a wand, or have we come altogether to the wrong shop?”