Harry's Fated Wand

Ron sniffed, catching the mingled scent of wood and magical creatures in the air.

Pointing at a dusty black walnut box high above, its corners worn smooth, he whispered to Harry, "George told me that the ones at the very top are all antiques, or wands with especially strange tempers. They might not find a suitable owner for decades, even centuries, so they just sit there gathering dust."

"Fred even bet there might be failed wands in there made from Salazar Slytherin's leftover scraps."

He tried to ease his own nerves with his twin brothers' joke.

Hermione, meanwhile, stood on tiptoe and narrowed her eyes, trying to read the tiny yellowed label on the side of a nearby hawthorn wand box. "That book, Magical Materials and Wandlore, said that Mr. Ollivander remembers every wand he's ever sold... What an astonishing memory!"

Her voice was full of purely academic admiration, and for the moment, she had forgotten all about red eyes and family vengeance.

Harry's heartbeat quickened slightly. He looked around at the mountains of narrow boxes. Inside each one lay a wand waiting to be awakened, waiting for its "other half."

What kind of wand would he get?

Would it be like the ones his mum and dad had used in his dreams, glowing with warm golden light when waved?

Or would it have some powerful dragon heartstring, like Hagrid had mentioned?

He felt nervous, but he could not suppress his anticipation.

The shop was quiet. The only sounds were Hagrid's low, echoing murmur, Mr. Ollivander's feather-soft muttering, and the eternal, faint swaying of the brass scales.

The stillness carried the reassuring mystery unique to magic, as though it had temporarily separated them from the complicated world outside, with its Uchiha and Malfoy.

"Now then, Mr. Potter, please hold out your dominant arm."

Mr. Ollivander returned to Harry like an owl, and a silver measuring tape began flying about on its own, measuring every dimension from Harry's shoulder to his fingertips, from wrist to elbow, even the spaces between his knuckles. The measurements appeared in the air automatically, shimmering faintly.

As he watched, Mr. Ollivander muttered, "Hmm... well-proportioned, great potential... Let's try..."

He turned around and, without seeming to look, pulled a long box from somewhere on the shelves. The dust slid off it on its own.

"Beech, Unicorn hair, nine inches, reasonably flexible. Give it a wave."

Harry took the smooth, pale wand. It felt cool and rather light.

He gave it a careful flick—

Bang! A stack of parchment on the counter exploded into the air, and quills scattered all over the floor.

"Oh, clearly not." Mr. Ollivander did not even blink. The wand flew from Harry's hand back into its box, while another box flew over and opened.

"Ebony, dragon heartstring"—Ron let out a low "Whoa"—"ten and a half inches, rigid. Try it."

This time, when Harry waved it, a small puff of black smoke burst from the tip, carrying a sulfurous smell that made him cough.

"No, no, far too violent. Not for you." Mr. Ollivander shook his head, and the ebony wand flew back.

Over the next hour, Harry tried all sorts of combinations: mahogany with Phoenix tail feather, which made the wand heat up; cherry with Veela hair, which twisted on its own and refused to stay in his grip; yew with Thestral tail hair—at the mention of which, the hairs on Harry's arms stood up—and the entire shop darkened for an instant...

The wands he had tried formed a small pile beside the counter.

Harry was starting to feel discouraged. Hagrid watched him anxiously, while Hermione and Ron held their breath.

Mr. Ollivander, however, seemed even more excited. His enormous eyes gleamed in the dim light. "Interesting, very interesting... A demanding customer... Ah!"

He suddenly snapped his fingers, turned, and drifted toward the deepest part of the shop, nearly disappearing behind the towering stacks of boxes.

A moment later, he returned holding a dust-covered rectangular box, his movements carrying a strange solemnity.

"An unusual combination... Holly, Phoenix feather, eleven inches, supple." He gently brushed the dust from the lid and opened it. Inside lay a warm-toned wand that seemed to glow faintly in the dim light.

Harry's heart gave an inexplicable leap.

He reached out, and the instant his fingertips touched the wand—

A warm current spread from his fingers through his entire body! There was no explosion, no smoke, no exaggerated spectacle.

A wisp of golden-red sparks burst from the wand's tip, like the first gentle flame of a campfire. Then tiny specks of golden light drifted down like summer fireflies, dancing around Harry and illuminating his startled, delighted face.

The whole shop seemed enveloped in that warm, tranquil glow. Even the air appeared fresher and sweeter.

On the counter, the pile of wands Harry had tried lay quietly, no longer showing any rejection.

Mr. Ollivander let out a long, satisfied breath. His silvery eyes remained fixed on Harry and the wand that seemed to have become one with him as he whispered in an almost singing tone, "Wonderful... utterly wonderful... Holly, Phoenix feather... eleven inches, supple... This is it, Mr. Potter. This is the one."

His gaze became unfathomably deep. "Do you know? The Phoenix feather in this wand's core... came from the same Phoenix as the feather in another wand. That one was given to the other figure in your destiny... Yew, thirteen and a half inches..." He did not finish, but Harry understood at once—it was Voldemort's wand.

The realization sent a chill through him, but the warmth and perfect fit of the wand in his hand soothed him strangely.

This was his wand. It had chosen him.

"Cool!" Ron exclaimed sincerely, having completely forgotten his nervousness in the face of that warm display of light.

Hermione's eyes shone as well. She said softly, "Holly symbolizes protection, and Phoenix feather represents rebirth and loyalty... It suits you perfectly!"

Hagrid rubbed his eyes hard and sniffed loudly. "Well done, Harry! I knew it! You're every bit as brilliant as Lily and James!"

Next came Ron's turn. His process went a little more smoothly than Harry's, and when he tried a fourteen-inch willow wand with Unicorn hair, a stream of silver bubbles spurted from its tip.

Mr. Ollivander nodded. "Willow favors owners with unexpected talents hidden within them, and Unicorn hair is one of the most loyal wand cores. It suits you very well, Mr. Weasley."

Ron happily turned his wand over and over in his hands.

Hermione succeeded on her first try.

Mr. Ollivander merely ran his hand gently over her hair, considered for a moment, then almost immediately selected a wand from the shelves for her. "Vine wood, dragon heartstring, ten and three-quarter inches, quite flexible." Hermione took the wand and gave it a light wave. A smooth silver arc flashed through the air, and a radiant smile spread across her face.

"An excellent match, Miss Granger. Vine wands usually choose witches and wizards with lofty ambitions, noble aspirations, and no fear of challenging convention, while dragon heartstring gives it great power and a certain capacity to adapt and learn."

Just as the children were immersed in the joy of receiving the first wands of their lives, Hagrid prepared to pay. A relaxed, cozy atmosphere filled the shop—

The next moment, that easy atmosphere shattered.

The small brass bell above the door, engraved with wands and stars, did not ring with the crisp, cheerful chime it had made when they entered. Instead, it gave a brief, slightly strained sound, as though some invisible force had suppressed it.

Almost at the same time, the ancient brass scales in the corner of the counter, whose faint swaying had never ceased, suddenly came to a stop.

Mr. Ollivander's fingers, which had been tying a purple ribbon around Harry's wand box, paused slightly. His enormous silvery eyes slowly turned toward the shop door, and something extraordinarily rare flickered within them—a mixture of confusion and gravity.

For one instant, the wand boxes that had seemed to be sleeping throughout the shop appeared to sink collectively into an even deeper silence.

Hagrid's massive body tensed almost imperceptibly. Instinctively, he moved half a step closer to the children.