A fresh scent of spring was in the air and a young boy by the name Garrick Ollivander was leaping with joy through diagon alley. He had a bag with sweets in his hands and entered the shop his family had run for many, many years. "Father, I'm back", he shooted after he had seen that no customer was inside. He knew that it was rude to yell around when customers were there. Gervaise Ollivander looked up and smiled. "Did you get everything you wanted, dear?", he asked while he held some kneazle whiskers in his hands. Garrick nodded and hopped on a small wooden chair. He loved being with his father while he was working on wands. The boy knew that he would inherit the shop one day and the lore of wandmaking fascinated him. He pulled licorice wand from the sweet's bag and started eating it. "What type of core is that?", he asked, curious like a child. "These are the whiskers of a kneazle. An old lady brought them along so her granddaughter's first wand would have the core of her beloved pet. Though they are a bit...peculiar to work with." This was an understatement as the whiskers were a bit kinked. "It looks difficult. The red fibres yesterday seemed to be working better.", Garrick said. "Ah, that was dragon-heartstring, my boy.", Gervaise exclaimed and smiled. "Now, some substances are easier to work with. But the customer is always right", he added amused, "can you bring me the hilt over there at the table? The wand is almost finished...if it weren't for the whiskers." Garrick nodded and rushed over to get the hilt, then walked carefully back to hand it over to his father who thanked him.

And finally, Gervaise Ollivander lifted the newly crafted wand. Garrick was eyeing it curiously because he knew that now the moment for the final test had come. His father waved the wand and conjured a small bouquet of flowers, which was his method to test the magical power. "Yesterday, the dragon one, the bouquet was full of big and colourful roses!", Garrick exclaimed surprised while he eyed the field flowers. "Well, yes. You see, I can definitely say that different cores produce different types of magical power. But it's still a fine wand and a memory to their beloved pet.", Gervaise replied and patted his son on the shoulder. Then he stood up, placed the wand in a fine box, furnished with velvet and placed a small tag on it with the name of the customer. Garrick nodded. He understand the methods his father had, but in his mind, he disagreed. This kneazle wand was indeed well-working, but it would probably always be inferior to one with dragon-heartstring. He made a mental note about that and that he would keep an eye out for other wand cores with a similar level of power like the dragon-heartstring one.

It seem like life has decided for him what his future will be and this bothered young Ellis greatly since he had no interest on running a wand shop or learning the craft. So why, oh why his parents expected him to do it was something he couldn't understand. What if he just wanted to be a professor, or a musician! What if his biggest dream was to become a doctor or a cook? He still had no idea what he wanted, he was still young but the pressure toward a specific future was depressing to the young boy. “I want to be able to chose what I want to do!” He finally blurted out to his mother and father suddenly. “I don't want anyone to ever say I will be making stupid wands for the rest of my life! Who even wants that?!” His eyes were full of tears, and after his words so where his parents eyes.

“I'm sorry Ellis, if we pressured you. Of course you don't have to be a wand maker, it was only our wish and we apologize for not thinking about your own dreams.” His father replied calmly to him.

His eyes widened, was he listening clearly to what his father said? “I can... I can be just anything I want?” The young one asked with a hint of excitement in his voice.

“Of course, as long as you are happy.” His father smiled kindly at him.

His mother didn't looked as happy, but then smiled at her son. “My dear, what is it that you so wish to be then?”

“I don't know yet!” Ellis laughed after he said it. “But I would spend my life finding that out.”

Both his parents nodded and years passed after that day and neither ever mentioned to their son if he wanted to be a wand maker. Ellis have tried so many things looking for what he wanted to do, testing his skills in different things from sports to arts and anything you could think of. Ellis didn't feel pressured to chose anything yet, but since young age helped his father on his shop just for the sake of helping and not to learn the craft or take over his father's shop. Still by helping he have learned so much about wand making, and even tried it with the guidance of his father. Seems like he was a natural wand maker but his father never mentioned it so he wouldn't feel like he was pressuring him again.

One day Ellis got home and told their parents his big news. “I have finally found what I want to do for the rest of my life. I have learned many things, try many things, and failed in many as well as been successful in many more. You both have witness my search, my passion, and love for all I've tried and dislike for those I haven't enjoy. Yet as much as I have looked around, nothing in the world makes me happier than when I help father in his shop. I truly enjoy making wands father; I may not be as good as you..yet, but I want you to teach me all I need to know.”

His father got up from his seat and put his hand on Ellis shoulder, then smiled. “If that is what you truly desire I will guide you since there is not much left for me to teach you. You already are a fine wand maker my son, I just never mention it so you wouldn't think I was trying to push you in that direction again.”

“Really?” His eyes seem to be dancing with joy- that was a really wonderful to know.

“Just yesterday I sold one of the wands you made, seems like the costumer was very pleased.”

Ellis mother walked toward them and hugged them tightly. “I love my two men so much and I'm very proud of you Ellis because you did exactly what you told us you will. You searched and found, if you haven't tried all that you might have felt like you may belong someplace else, but now you know you belong in this little shop.”

“I do mother, thanks for letting me find my own path...even if it only lead me back home in the end.”

“Ah, but all you have learned will help you produce even better wands, there is no end to what you can accomplish.” His father was so happy that in the end they closed the shop and went to have dinner in a small restaurant to celebrate Ellis decision.

“I will become the best wand maker in history father...or so I will try.” There was no doubt in their minds that their young son will become just that, and even if fame doesn't come to his name in their hearts they knew Ellis will do the best wands he could master.

When they went back to their home, which was just in the same building as the shop, the three of them stare at the small sign of the shop that said OLLIVANDER. “I think we should call it Ollivanders” The father tells his son. “Since we are two now and who knows how many more Ollivanders will become wand makers.”

“Sounds good to me father.” Ellis smiled and in his mind he could already see the simple sign with an s at the end of their last name.

    In front of you sits a manila file folder with a note paper-clipped to the cover. Within its covers are confidential Department of Auror's Ministry records in regards to the findings of a missing persons known as Annise Ollivander. 

The envelope is stamped cold case with the tab reading Annise Ollivander upon it. As you lean in to read the note it states "Lack of Evidence, temporarily closed November 15, 1980. Family has been informed." Resisting the urge no longer, you open the file to find a neatly typed sheet cataloging the contents of the file.

Date: November 10, 1980 Complaint: Missing persons, reported by family. The missing has been gone for more then 48 hours.

Missing Persons Description:

Name: Annise Ollivander Gender: female Age: 19 Height: 5'5'' Skin: Caucasian Hair: Brown, medium to long length Eyes: Blue

Assigned Auror: Jackson Ravenfield

Notes: Tracked leads regarding Annise Ollivander till I was led to an old farm house in Kent. The house had seemed to be long abandoned by the muggles who had owned it. Upon investigation, there was a noticeable struggle and signs that Annise had indeed been there. However, there was no substantial leads or evidence as to what happened. I have informed the family and while I don't want to confirm or deny Annise's status, due to the lack of body, she is presumed deceased. Enclosed in this file are the 'Diary Pages' of Annise Ollivander that were recovered from the scene. Physical evidence collected from the scene resides in locker 1378 B. Contents included, are eating equipment, writing equipment, a damaged wand and a makeshift bed. Broken locket that was recovered was returned to family.

As you flip the neatly typed page over you see the tattered pages with feminine writing on them. It seems the few recovered entries have been put into order.

September 15, 1980

I feel writing will be the only comfort I can afford now with the difficult situation I find myself in. I have found an abandoned farm house to hide in. I try to use the lights minimally, but I know they are looking. I dare not loose my head but I find myself wishing, I had gotten better marks in Defense against the Dark Arts. I feel that, should I parish, I want my family to know how much I love them and I'm so sorry for any past disagreements. They seem so petty now. 

September 16, 1980

I have managed to keep myself hidden for the time being. I was able to find some items to help me survive. Thank Merlin I have my wand. Food is scarce, but I was able to find some canned perishables and luckily a few apples from the orchard area that are still edible. I fear a storm is on the horizon. My mind kept drifting back to you today father, I could almost hear your voice reciting the proprieties of the different woods and the best cores to use with them. I used to think the lessons were so...tedious, its funny what comes back to you. 

September 17, 1980

Blotted ink and shaky writing filled this entry.

     I have been awoken by thudding sounds outside. The wind is howling, still threatening a storm. It is dark...so dark. I'm trying to be brave but I'm so scared. The farm attic seems so heavy in black and I swear I hear movement in the corner. A mouse?  I want to run but I know they are out there. They want me to run. Why did I come this way? Why did I think going to this blasted farm house was a good idea?? I feel like I am a toy to them. I want to go home.

September 18, 1980

The writing starts out even but quickly changes to running down the page, hastily written, ink splattered and blotted.

The storm has arrived. Maybe this would be the time to leave. Perhaps the storm slowed them down? I am out of provisions. If I don't leave I am going to die but if I leave and they are there...The house sounds as if it will come down around me. The thunking is back. Was that a howl? I have taken to locking myself in the attic. I'm so sorry for everything I have done. I love you all. Oh god! I think I hear something outside the door. Scratching...Sniffing...they are here.

The last entry was the last page in the file folder. It can only be speculated as to what had happened to dear Annise, but as of right now, no one knows but her.

Gervaise sat at his desk in the ship's cabin, looking out the window. An owl sat dozing in a cage nearby. He had parchment, quill and ink out, but he had yet to start writing. He sighed, wondering just how he should start his letter.

He dipped quill into ink, and began:

10 June, 1895

Dearest Father,

I hope that this letter finds you and Mother in good health. Gideon and I have finished our expedition to Haiti, and are on our way home.

We are on board the Lady Elizabeth, a cargo ship on her way to port in London, and are expected to make landfall In August.

Captain Lever has been most accommodating to us...I suppose that the vast amount of gold I have paid him has brightened his view of taking on two passengers for the journey back to England.

Our expedition was met with partial success. I have brought back some new woods, as well as animal and insect parts that are reputed to be used in magical Vodun ceremonies.

There is much unrest in Haiti, and the Vodun religion has been much campaigned against. We were fortunate to find some practitioners who were willing to speak and work with us away from the capital of Cap Haitien.

Gideon, myself and our guide traveled for two days out into the wilderness, until we came to a small village, surrounded by cultivated fields. It was almost nightfall when we arrived, yet there were still people working the fields, moving slowly and stiffly.

Our guide made the proper introductions for us, and as we had agreed upon, left us to return to the city. He would be back in about a weeks time.

We were shown to our accommodations, which were meager, but we expected as much. Gideon was so eager, Father, you know how he is. He wanted to see everything, and it was hard to calm him down that first night.

The next day, we shared a meal with the natives, and a new guide took us out on a walking tour, where we could see the native flora and fauna.

He was very informative, and explained that he was a priest in training. Gideon, of course, asked many questions, and we learned quite a bit about Vodun.

For the next few days, the tours continued, in different directions from the camp. We gathered specimens and samples to take back home with us.

The following night, after we had retired, there was a commotion. We came out of our tent to see that there appeared to be some sort of a dispute, a man was being questioned, and all of the villagers were standing around listening.

We walked up to our guide, and quietly inquired what was transpiring.

He explained that the man who was being questioned had been accused of a forcing himself on another man's wife. He then pointed out the accusers, who appeared to be pleading their case to the village elder.

We watched, curious to see how this would unfold, but the man was taken away, and the crowd dispersed. Our guide said that he had been found guilty and would be punished accordingly.

We asked him what that meant, and he just walked away.

The next night the villagers assembled again, and we found ourselves watching a Vodun ceremony. The man was in a coffin, and was being buried. When we asked our guide about it, he would not explain, and told us to return to our tent.

Once back, Gideon was livid, and we argued for quite some time about the man's fate. I went to sleep, and when I awoke, Gideon was not in our tent.

I dressed and went looking for him, but I did not find him. I did, however, see the dead man from the night before toiling in the field, along with the the others, who never appeared to rest.

I was finally able to find our guide, and explain to him that my brother was missing. He looked evasive, but said that he was not missing. After I insisted, he said he would bring me to him.

He brought me to a fresh grave.

He explained to me that Gideon had gotten angry with the village elder and their priest over what had happened to the rapist, and overturned the altar. He called them savages, and refused to stop his disrespect. They had to subdue him, and punish him for his sacrilege, according to their laws.

I was horrified.

I insisted that I be allowed to take his body back home when I left tomorrow. He said that he would talk to their elder, and let me know.

I went back to our tent, in anguish. I packed all of our things, and cursed this place with all of my heart.

Later that night, my guide came to speak with me, and said they had agreed to release him to return with me.

I must confess, Father, I was beside myself with grief.

The next morning, when our transport came, I was ready with our things. Imagine my shock when I beheld Gideon standing outside our tent. His eyes were dull, his face slack, and he remained motionless. I embraced him, thinking that the villagers had played some cruel trick. He didn't respond to me.

My transport guide had started to come over to help load the wagon, and he regarded Gideon sadly. "He is a zombie now, Mister Ollivander, " he said to me, "there is no cure for that. He will need to be fed and bathed, for his mind is gone. He will obey orders, but that is all."

Alas, Father, it is true. Gideon has not recovered on the trip back to the capital, and I have had to seek passage by putting him a crate, for they would not take him otherwise, this I know.

At least, he seems at peace, and does not suffer.

I am sorry to break this news to you by owl, but I felt that you needed to be prepared for what is to come when we return.

It is my hope that we may find some way to cure him, surely our magic is stronger than theirs.

I shall see you in August, Father.

Your Loving son, Gervaise

Once he had finished his letter, he folded it properly and sealed it with his signet ring. Then he addressed it to Gerbold Octavius Ollivander.

He opened the cage and woke his owl, giving the letter to him, then opened the window.

It flew off, and as it disappeared, so did his hope for Gideon's future.

He tried to be positive, but in his heart of hearts, he feared that his brother would never return.

Ever since he was little, he would climb on a support to look over the counter, at his grandparent’s clients, and his parent’s clients after them. He grew with that counter, watching wizard after wizard and witch after witch find their bound wand, the sudden surge of power, the look of wonder and happiness and fullness it would come when you finally touched your inner magic. At first, it marveled him, and he eagerly waited for his own turn at the routine of wand picking and choosing. Then, as he watched with his own wand in his pocket, he’d smile at the customers like they shared a private joke, a private feeling of joy he believed all of his magical brethren shared.

Soon he grew big enough that he didn’t need a support to look over the counter anymore. He’d grown tall enough to lean over the dusty wood below and scarred enough with his first attempts at wandmaking. He’d grown into figuring it out if a wand would be a match at the customer’s first attempt, or if they would be one of the difficult ones that delighted him. His customer’s now, not his father’s. He’d come to know wands like he knew people’s faces, and he could tell how most would get along, and he’d made them himself. He would sometimes smile at a wand with the fond memory of their making, as he never forgot a face, and wands had their own faces, even if they were harder to see than people’s.

In all his years, however, that boy had been a special case. Garrick had grown excited with the many wandcases surrounding him – he always thought it was a gift to match wizard and wand, and as such, he delighted in having the difficult ones find their partners. The boy was anything but delighted, though. He had a pretty face for a child, but it looked strange when he frowned like that, like he had enough anger inside to twist whatever beauty into something darker. The boy’s eyes would go from each failed wand to Garrick as if he blamed him for that failure and wished for a fitting punishment to befall the wandmaker.

“Your wands are broken.” There was authority in that voice, even if it was the voice of a eleven year old child. It brought chills to Garrick’s spine. “They don’t work.”

“They do work, mister. They just don’t work for you.”

“Are you saying this is my fault?”

“I’m saying that, if you’re patient, one of them will choose you.”

The boy narrowed his eyes at Garrick, a comeback on his lips, but a stern look from the professor seemed to change his mind as he moved on to pick a new wand. At every new disappointment he would quickly lift his eyes at the man behind the counter, fast enough not to be caught, and each look promised a thousand things that Garrick would not associate to a child. There was just this darkness to him – this growing resentment inside him that seemed to move like shadows behind those big dark eyes. It made Garrick worried, both at what had happened to the boy to change childhood innocence into that freezing anger, and what he would grow to do if allowed to fester for much longer.

Perhaps he could do something about it.

Silently, Garrick produced another wandcase from under the counter. One of his newest creations. He wasn’t sure if the professor would recognize it, but he wordlessly pushed it to the boy, as an invitation. Phoenix’s feathers were not as pure as Unicorn, but they were not easily swayed into darkness. The particular phoenix who produced that feather was a strong ally of the light, and, Garrick thought, perhaps that was the light the boy needed to expel his demons.

Unaware of that train of thought, the boy took the wand with the same look of dangerous boredom he held the last ones, and then Garrick saw the spark in him. It was that sudden look of confusion growing into amazement he had admired for years, but still, something about it made it unnerving. The boy was no longer frowning – instead, he had a big, beautiful smile, his whole face light with accomplishment and pride at the green sparkles dancing around him, yet the darkness remained. It was maybe the way he smiled, that self-assured smile of one who was reinforced in their belief of greatness. It was the light in his eyes, a dark light, a light of someone who saw magic as the tool of subjugation instead of a wonderful part of the world. It was in the way he held the wand in his clawed hand like if it were a sword. Whatever it was, it made Garrick doubt a match for the first time in his career.

“Tom, there is still a lot to buy before we go back to London.” The professor’s words seemed to break the boy’s reverie, and there was a brief flash of darkened anger in his eyes before he complied.

After they left, Garrick closed the shop early. The uneasiness wouldn’t leave him, even after Tom Riddle had long crossed back into London and the orphanage he was forced to call home. Still hours later, watching the last embers in the fireplace being consumed, he wondered if sometimes a light would only darken an existing shadow.

So Fleur was making bangers and mash for the first time in her life. Bill had been delighted when he noticed the sausages on the counter. Mr. Ollivander probably needed comfort food now. After a week of nothing more substantial than chicken and vegetable porridge, Fleur hoped that the weak man would be able to consume the meal he so craved.

She began frying a mixture of onions, bacon, and seasoning. The thick, pink slabs of bacon sizzled and spat in their own fat. "What's this?" Mr. Ollivander had wandered into the kitchen. He had been taking his meals in his room and only left it to visit the washroom. "Bangers and mash? My dear girl," he said with a smile.

Fleur sat him down with a hot cup of tea with lots of milk and sugar. She put a pot on the second burner and boiled potatoes, peas, onions, vinegar, and salt. The bangers began to brown in the pan with the bacon and onions. She mashed the potatoes and covered them generously in the gravy from the pan.

"Just like the Leaky Cauldron's," Mr. Ollivander pronounced after carefully taking his first bite.

(Recipe based off of Keith Richard's!)

Alek crouched down towards the ground, one hand flat on the earth, while the other gripped tightly onto his bow. Although mostly obscured by the wild grass and overgrown shrubs, the boy spotted a rabbit casually grazing at the foot of a tree. The young hunter cautiously and silently retrieved an arrow from the quiver on his back, his eyes remaining locked on the dusty rabbit before him.

As Alek set up his shot, a slight crack from behind alerted both the boy and the his prey. Alek turned around to see what had made the sound, only to find there was nothing there. He looked back to where the rabbit was and saw that the small creature was already leaping away. He simultaneously sighed and rolled his eyes, annoyed that the hunt continues.

The thirteen year old got up and began trailing his target further into the forest. As he got deeper into the trees, the path became less clear. It was more of a challenge to navigate, much less hunt. The falling sun was not helping the situation either. It would be dark soon, so Alek decided to call it quits. Today would not be the day he would make his father proud and actually catch something.

The boy turned around to backtrack out of the forest. However, after about half an hour of walking, he realized, nothing was familiar to him. He had been so caught up in keeping an eye on the rabbit, he had not paid much attention to where he was going. Alek was lucky he didn't walk off cliff. "Great," he huffed, taking a minute to access his surrounding, trying to find a marker that would help him place where he was. He walked over towards one of the trees and stared chipping away at the trunk with a small knife he had one him. After he was done, he stepped back. He had carved thick 'X' onto it. He smiled at it before continuing on his way.

Night had fallen, and the forest had transformed into something a lot less welcoming. It would have been completely black if not for the clear night and rays from the full moon. Alek had been walking for hours. Or well, it felt like it. Somehow, he managed to walk in a circle...twice.

The young hunter made his way over to the tree he had passed two times now and kicked it. "Why are you still here?!," he yelled at it. He was frustrated, tired, and hungry. The boy cursed, and punched the 'X' with his fist.

Suddenly, another voice started him. "What did the tree do to you?," another young boy standing off to the side asked. He was mostly covered by shadow so Alek couldn't get a good look.

"Um," Alek started to speak, taken by surprise that there was somewhere else in the forest at night. "I'm lost," the hunter shamelessly confessed. "Could you help me. I've been trying to get out for a while now."

The other boy stepped forward. The light from the moon now revealed the other boy to be wearing a covered basket on his backside. He was somewhat tall, but kind of pale and skinny. "You don't want to be in the forest at night. There are wolves...and other things," the boy stated ominously. "You definitely don't want to be lost out here on a full moon," he added. "I'm on my back into town now. You can walk with me," the boy smiled.

"Thanks," Alek replied, relieved he had a guide now. "But what do you mean 'other things'? And why shouldn't I be out here on a full moon?," Alek curiously asked.

"Just...there are things. But don't worry about it. Let's just get you home," the stranger remained vague and began walking. Alek followed.

"Okay. Do you know the way? Not that I'm doubting you. Surprised that you can see anything out here. It's so dark. Aren't you scared? Speaking of which, why are you out here?," Alek attempted to make chitchat.

"I come out here a lot, even at night. I like being in the forest. I like being around trees, I guess"

"I do, too. But I prefer daytime. I hunt," Alek showed off his bow.

"Ah. As for me, I guess I'm just a scholar," the other boy replied. "I like studying things. Trees, for example. They're a lot more fascinating than most people give them credit for. I think most people take trees for granted really," he shrugged.

Alek stared at the stranger and smirked. "But not you."

"Not me," the other boy grinned back.

"I guess I shouldn't either then. But you're right. We use wood for a lot of things. Houses, furniture, tools...the list goes on. I guess we see so many trees, we don't really appreciate that they're there and..."

"And why they're special," the guide finished the sentence. "That's good. I'm glad someone else appreciates them."

Alek started to laugh, but then saw a rectangular box had fallen from boy's basket. "Hey, you dropped something," Alek alerted his new friend and picked it up. Curious and nosy, the boy opened the box. Inside was a wooden object. He pulled it out of the box and held it in front of him. A gust of wind spun around Alek, stirring up the dirt. For a brief moment, the immediate area was illuminated by a warm light. "What...is this?," Alek asked, fixated on the object, a stick of some sort. When there was no response, he looked to the other boy.

The stranger had a look of awe on his face, seemingly surprised by something. "It's something I made. Apparently for you," the other boy muttered. "What's your name?," he asked Alek

Confused, Alek answered."I'm Alek Wood."

"Hi Alek, my name is Geraint. Geraint Ollivander. My family makes wands. And you, Alek...you're a wizard."

With a soft, dainty snort the unicorn stepped into full view. Its horn gleamed, pearl-like in the light. The majestic head was lifted as though listening, sensing something, but after a mere moment the beast must have ascertained that there was no threat as it took another step and then another.

Each step brought the unicorn closer to the watching boy. One more, he thought to himself. Just one more and it will be within reach. Then for some reason, the animal stopped and looked straight at the boy. As their eyes met, a shiver ran through the boy at the pure peace and power that seemed to be contained in that gaze. No wonder the unicorn was revered and sought after for the power it could bring to potions and to his father’s wands. Slowly, he let out a breath he’d been holding and inch by inch stretched out a hand.

The unicorn took a step back but did not flee. Instead it continued to regard the boy and when the boy whispered his name and asked for a gift, the magical animal lowered his head, touching the tip of its muzzle to the boy’s fingertips as if in answer.

With a smile, the boy eased himself to his knees and reached forward a bit more. His hand lightly brushed the satiny neck and then his fingers stroked through the long, flowing mane. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I promise to use it well.” Twining a silky strand of hair around his finger, he bit his lip and gave what he hoped was a gentle tug.

As the hair pulled free from the unicorn’s mane, the beast shook itself and gave a soft whinny which to the boy resembled the sound of a bell. Then with a nod of its head, the unicorn turned and trotted from the clearing. Still mesmerized by the fact that he had just done what he’d watched his father do…been granted the same gift..Garrick Ollivander stared down at the glowing strand still wrapped around his finger. His first success at retrieving an item needed for a wand core. He could not wait to show his father, tell his story, and fashion his first wand to be made exclusively by him. It was, as his father had told him before he set out on his quest that night, time to take his place as full-fledged wand maker, not merely teenaged apprentice. It was a night to remember…always.

(ooc – I know it’s probably a long shot that Ollivander’s first wand could have remained for all those years and been Snape’s wand…or that his had a unicorn hair core, but since there’s no surety what the core of Snape’s wand was and since he is my favorite and I had to include him somehow, here’s my take on things. 😄 )