The wandmaker

When Douglas and Ron climbed out of the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron, Tom, the landlord, immediately came over to greet them warmly.

"Hello, Professor Holmes! Fancy a free glass of mead? My treat! Oh, and a young Weasley too!"

Douglas shrugged regretfully. "You know how it is, Tom. Professor McGonagall only gave me an hour. If I go back smelling of alcohol, the consequences don't bear thinking about."

Tom, who had few teeth left, gave a silent, mocking laugh. "Heh, a head of house already, and still afraid of Minerva. Coward!"

Douglas couldn't be bothered with him. He lowered his head and said to Ron, "Hold on to my sleeve. Don't get lost."

Ron instinctively pointed at himself, looking bewildered.

"Yes, you. There's no doubt about it." Douglas pulled him through the backyard. "I'd rather not put out a missing-person notice in Diagon Alley. Or would you like to try my newly developed 'Obedient Rope Art Curse'?"

Ron shuddered. He finally understood why Bill had become friends with this professor. At times, their twisted sense of fun was practically identical.

Douglas walked briskly through the bustling street. He had no desire to run into his editor, Mr. Slane, whose demands for manuscripts were relentless enough to hound a man to death. Yet as he passed Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, his sharp eyes still caught a familiar figure. Slane was holding the hand of a little girl of seven or eight, choosing ice cream with an affectionate expression.

Douglas immediately quickened his pace. Ever since he had graduated, this editor's methods of chasing manuscripts had grown increasingly shameless.

Compared with the surrounding shops, Ollivander's wand shop looked small and shabby. The peeling gold lettering above the door read, "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC."

With a clear jingle of bells, a figure emerged unsteadily from behind mountains of wand boxes.

"Good afternoon," came a soft, aged voice. Ollivander's silvery eyes seemed capable of seeing through everything. "Professor Holmes. Vine wood, eleven inches, Augurey tail feather. I remember it. A wand that pursues lofty ideals. I always knew you would do something that astonished all your friends... such as becoming the Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts."

His gaze shifted to the other side of Douglas's waist, where another, darker wand was tucked.

"Of course, ever since you brought me that piece of elder wood that had survived a thunderstorm and still brimmed with vitality, along with that Thunderbird tail feather... I knew your path would be anything but ordinary. A wand incapable of casting dark magic could hardly be more suitable for a Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Douglas quirked his mouth and leaned against the counter. "Heh, Mr. Ollivander, I never expected that prestigious name of yours to start dabbling in false advertising."

"Slander!" Ollivander was instantly incensed, his voice rising. "Douglas Holmes! The reputation of the Ollivander Family will not be tarnished! Every wand I sell is flawless!"

"Oh?" Douglas slowly drew the Lightning-Struck Elder Wand, its shaft gleaming darkly in the shop's dim light. "You once said that, in certain respects, it was every bit the equal of the legendary Elder Wand. Then why, when I tried using it to repair a broken wand, did that poor wand explode straight into dust?"

Ollivander's anger instantly turned into absolute confidence in his expertise. "Mr. Holmes, this is common knowledge! Broken wands cannot be repaired! The bond between a wand and its owner is unique. Once that connection breaks, no external force can mend it, not even the Elder Wand! This is an ironclad law of wandmaking!"

Douglas stroked his chin, a glint of curiosity flashing through his eyes. Rather than contradicting him outright, he spoke as though discussing an academic puzzle. "That is the theory. But I once read a conjecture in some very ancient, one-of-a-kind volumes... repairing a wand may not be entirely impossible. If-and I do mean if-a wand's core inherently possessed the properties of 'life' and 'creation,' and its wielder shared a mutual understanding with the broken wand's owner, perhaps even a resonance on the level of their souls, then under such exceptionally demanding conditions, might... a miracle occur?"

Ollivander froze, his silvery eyes fixed on Douglas as though trying to see straight through him. He knew the Elder Wand was in Gregorovitch's hands. That secret could never have got out.

Only after a long while did he speak, his tone a mixture of anticipation and slyness. "An interesting conjecture... perhaps you could break your vine wood wand and test it yourself? That would also clear my name of this 'false advertising.'"

Old fox, Douglas cursed inwardly, putting his wand away.

Only then did Ollivander finally turn his gaze toward Ron, who had been treated as though he were invisible throughout the exchange. That scrutinizing gaze made Ron's hair stand on end.

"A Weasley," Ollivander said softly. "I'm sorry, child, but I don't remember you. Your wand wasn't purchased from me."

Ron's face instantly flushed scarlet. He said quietly, "Hello, sir. I've been using my brother Charlie's old wand, but... it's broken."

P.S.

A little side story:

Douglas had two wands.

The first was the one Ollivander had selected for him in this very shop when he was eleven. Vine wood, eleven inches, with an Augurey tail feather core. It was indeed comfortable to use, man and wand working as one without the slightest resistance.

The origins of the second, the [Lightning-Struck Elder Wand], were far more complicated.

It had happened after his graduation, in a forest in Arizona, United States.

The weather changed without warning, and a thunderstorm struck out of nowhere. Sheltering beneath a tall elder tree, he happened to look up and saw a Thunderbird weaving through the dark clouds.

Good grief.

This was a creature of myth, something one could only encounter by chance, never seek out.

His first thought was actually of Hufflepuff's legendary alumnus, Newt Scamander. What would Newt do? He would certainly find a way to have a peaceful, friendly exchange.

Just as he was working out how to say hello safely, a thick bolt of lightning tore through the sky. With a deafening crack, it struck the elder tree directly above his head.

The bark instantly blackened, and a strange pulse of energy spread outward.

Terrified, Douglas scrambled and stumbled out from under the tree's canopy.

Fate worked in mysterious ways. As a transmigrator, he had heard the legends of "lightning-struck wood" more than once in his previous life: a supreme Taoist treasure, especially effective against evil entities. Now that he had witnessed a piece of lightning-struck wood being born, he had only one thought: This treasure is destined for me!

Before he could approach to inspect it, the Thunderbird in the sky suddenly dived straight toward him for some unknown reason, lightning flickering around its beating wings.

Douglas immediately realized something was wrong.

Was it after this piece of lightning-struck wood? Or was it simply enraged by an intruder like me?

There was no time to think. For the sake of his own life, and to stop this huge creature from destroying the precious lightning-struck wood with a swipe of its claws, he immediately drew his vine wood wand.

"Stupefy!"

"Impedimenta!"

"Diffindo!"

Spells shot toward the Thunderbird like machine-gun fire.

The Thunderbird clearly sensed the threat. It gave a piercing cry and abruptly soared higher. But it was still a moment too slow: a spell grazed its wing, knocking loose a tail feather that flickered with lightning.

With a mournful cry, the Thunderbird flew deep into the clouds without looking back and vanished.

The danger had passed.

Douglas let out a long breath, went over to cut off the section of elder wood struck by lightning, then carefully picked up the Thunderbird tail feather, which still crackled with residual arcs of electricity.

[Lightning-struck elder wood] and [Thunderbird tail feather].

After returning to Britain, he headed straight for Diagon Alley and sought out Ollivander again.

When Ollivander heard how he had obtained the two materials, his silvery eyes shone with unprecedented brilliance, and he kept murmuring, "Exquisite beyond words," and, "A masterpiece of fate."

Douglas got straight to the point. "Name your price, Mr. Ollivander."

"Mr. Holmes, it would be my honor to craft a wand from materials like these! However, specialized custom work does not come cheap. One hundred Galleons."

"Deal."

Ollivander accepted the money and readily agreed, promising to personally craft him a wand unlike any other in the world.

Half a month later, Douglas received the finished product.

As Ollivander handed him the wand, his expression was mysterious and excited. "Mr. Holmes, I believe that, in certain respects, this wand will be every bit the equal of the legendary Elder Wand."

He lowered his voice as though sharing an earth-shattering secret. "You may not know this, but the Elder Wand was made from elder wood and Thestral tail hair. Countless people have tried to reproduce it, and all have failed. They thought the problem lay in the materials, but that wasn't actually the case."

Ollivander stroked his counter and said no more.

What he did not say was that, through making this wand, he seemed to have glimpsed a trace of the Peverell brothers' secret from all those years ago. The properties of elder wood inherently conflicted with the aura of death in Thestral tail hair. But what if... another, more powerful force served as a medium?

For instance, [lightning].

For instance, [life].

Unfortunately, this conjecture would take far too many years to verify. He could not tell anyone.

Once Douglas received his new wand, he could hardly bear to put it down.

He tried casting a few spells. Sure enough, their power was more than a level above what he could achieve with his vine wood wand.

However, a problem soon emerged.

As a future professor of Defense Against Dark Magic, he needed to demonstrate and practice dark magic. Yet when he tried casting even the simplest dark spell with this new wand, it did not respond at all.

He tried the Severing Charm. No problem.

He tried the Disarming Charm. Tremendously powerful.

He tried the Cruciatus Curse... nothing.

Not even a spark of light emerged from the tip.

Refusing to believe it, he tried several other dark spells, with identical results. This wand made from lightning-struck wood and a Thunderbird tail feather actually refused to cast any dark magic whatsoever.

No matter how hard he thought, he could not understand it.

Then, one day, he found an Eastern Taoist text that had made its way from Hong Kong in a secondhand bookshop in Knockturn Alley. The book explained in detail what "lightning-struck wood" was.

[When a living being undergoes a tribulation, drawing heavenly lightning to temper its body, the wood in which it shelters, should it survive, becomes lightning-struck wood. It contains the righteous, fiercely yang energy of heavenly lightning and is the bane of all sinister spirits and evil entities.]

Only then did he understand.

So that was it. This wand was inherently an insulator against dark magic.

Although his wand was not made from orthodox lightning-struck jujube wood left behind by some immortal undergoing a tribulation, elder wood itself was highly spiritual. Combined with the heavenly lightning summoned by a magical creature like a Thunderbird, its effects were just as powerful.

From then on, he treated this wand as his trump card.

To bring out its full power, he began researching every spell related to lightning.

The results were deeply disappointing.

The wizarding world's lightning spells were mostly weather charms. They summoned wind and rain with tremendous spectacle, but offered little in the way of precise offensive power.

So he took a different approach.

Over the past two years, he had plunged into the study of Eastern Taoist texts, attempting to turn the [Thunder Method Talismans] drawn on yellow paper into offensive spells that could be cast instantly with a wand.

It was undoubtedly a mad and highly pioneering undertaking.

Clearly, he had succeeded.

The lightning spells he had devised were astonishingly powerful. This only strengthened his conviction that the wand in his hand was a divine artifact on par with the Deathly Hallows.

Until... he encountered Ron's broken wand.