Harry Potter and the Mysterious Legacy

Ollivander's and Wands

'Brilliant!' Harry exclaimed.

'So, we'll have the expensive one...'

'That'll be 10 galleons, Lord Potter...'

'Here they are...'

'Now we'd like the best Owl treats...'

***

When they had bought the most expensive luxury quills of all types of feathers, peacock, eagle, canary, etc... and the best and most expensive parchment for Harry along with different luxury inks, even one that changed colour as they wrote, James announced - 

'Just Ollivander's left now... to get your wand.'

Harry didn't know why his father seemed proud but tensed too at the prospect of buying him a wand.

'You've got to have the best wand...'

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair. Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

'Good afternoon,' said a soft voice. Harry jumped. And his family must have jumped too...

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

'Hello,' said Harry awkwardly.

'Ah yes,' said the man. 'Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter.' It wasn't a question. 'You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.'

'How does it work now?'

'Very fine, Mister Ollivander' Lily said

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

'Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it -- it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course.'

'And what is it's current condition?'

'Oh it quite suits me till now...'

Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.

'And that's where...'

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger.

'I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it,' he said softly. 'Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do...'

'Hmmm,' said Mr. Ollivander, giving Harry a piercing look. 'Well, now -- Mr. Potter. Let me see.' He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. 'Which is your wand arm?'

"Er -- well, the right one..." said Harry.

'Hold out your arm. That's it.' He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, 'Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand.'

Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

'That will do,' he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. 'Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.'

Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

'Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try--'

Harry tried -- but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

'No, no -- here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out.'

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become. One wand was there, ten and three-quarter inches, vine wood, dragon heartstring of a Hungarian Horntail, which suited him quite well, 'Very close' Mr. Ollivander said in a tone, a Chaser might say if the Quaffle passed touching the rim of a hoop.