If you want to support me check out my patréon at https://www.patréon.com/athassprkr
I tend to upload drafts of early chapters on there to get people's opinions of them so you can read up to 20 chapters ahead as a bonus.
I would like to thank my beta, Akisu, for his help in this chapter.
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28th July 1991, Diagon Alley
In the end, Harry left the store happy with his purchase and put the uniforms in his trunk. With that done, he only had to get his wand and maybe even a pet. Magical animals were very smart in the stories, perhaps one of them would be a suitable companion.
But that was for later, Harry decided to first get his wand, which meant that had to go to Ollivanders.
To be honest, Harry was looking forwards to getting his wand. The promise of casting actual spells, not just the weak wandless magic that he's been using. The moment he gets his wand, his identity as a wizard would be confirmed, for him and for everyone.
Unfortunately, Harry hadn't seen any wand shops walking around the alley so far, so, he asked one of the store clerks, "Hello, I'm looking for the wand shop. Do you know where it is, please?"
Harry had to say that giving them puppy eyes was more than enough to get the woman he asked to soften her eyes and immediately tell him the directions to Ollivanders.
Walking around, the young wizard noticed that there were no wand shops except for Ollivanders. Harry hadn't even mentioned going to Ollivanders, only that he was going to buy a wand, but the woman had immediately assumed that she was going to this store. This meant that either Ollivanders ran them out of business, or the store's quality of wands was so much higher that they never even tried.
Because it didn't make sense in any other case. Wands were everyday objects used by every single wizard or witch in the nation, and yet there wasn't any competition for Ollivanders. The store had a complete monopoly on one of the most vital resources in the country.
The shop itself didn't look particularly luxurious, especially considering its status as the only wand shop in the continent. It 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.
Honestly, Harry didn't really care about the state of the shop. It seemed to be something characteristic of the wizarding world. The Leaky Cauldron was the first impression Muggleborns had on the wizarding world, and yet it looked like a dingy dirty pub. This was weird because cleaning enchantments and repairing charms seemed to be taught to all students at Hogwarts.
A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as he stepped inside. It was a very tiny place, empty except for a single spindly chair which he certainly didn't want to sit on to wait. Harry had thousands of questions in his head but chose to stare at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling.
It was odd and hard to describe, but Harry was able to feel them. It was like every box – which probably contained a wand – had a heartbeat. And yet each one was slightly different than the other, like having a different melody. There were a few distinct ones, one that was very loud and fast, resembling more like a drum than a heartbeat. Another had a soothing and somewhat whimsical melody that made Harry relax without even noticing.
Harry stood there, staring at the symphony of wands. He always felt a little pull whenever he was close to any magical item. But it was mostly characterized by goosebumps, not whatever this was.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped. He had been so lost in what he was feeling to notice the man sneak behind him. He turned reflexively and saw an old man standing before him. His wide, pale eyes shone like silvery 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, and made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."
Mr Ollivander moved closer to Harry and continued, "Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and is excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it, it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."
Dear God that man was creepy. Harry found it hard to believe that this man interacted with all eleven years old wizards in the country when getting a wand. He should know not to act like a creep.
Still, this man was the only person who recognized Harry and even spoke about his parents, and he was curious as to what happened to them, "Did you know my parents?"
"Briefly. Every single wizard and witch going to Hogwarts comes to this shop eventually. Even those who foolishly use legacy wands eventually learn to come here to get one of their own."
"Do you know what happened to them?" Harry asked.
The wand maker stiffened and answered, "What happened on that fateful day was a mystery for everyone. It was a few days after the defeat of He-who-must-not-be-named, and the entire nation was celebrating his downfall. However, a few of his loyal servants decided to attack Godric's Hollows to find their master. Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, and Rabastan Lestrange gathered a fighting force of over two hundred dark wizards and creatures and attacked your parents. No one knows what happened afterwards, only that all that remained of Godric's Hollows was a field of flames. There were no traces of James and Lily Potter, no traces of the Lestranges, only a small babe in the middle of a ruined cottage, you. Godric's Hollows is a historically significant place for our civilization. It's the birthplace of Godric Gryffindor, the home of countless magical families over the centuries. On that day, it's not just your parents that perished, but it was the lives of thousands of people, wizards, witches or muggles, that lived in this village. It's one of biggest tragedies in recent times, one that very few wish to remember."
By the end of it, Mr Ollivander was staring far behind Harry, as if he was lost in a distant memory.
Harry, though, was flabbergasted by the story. He expected his parents to be dead, that was a given, but to be the only survivor of an attack that destroyed an entire village was not something that he ever thought about.
It made sense why people chose not to adopt him in the wizarding world, and that the ministry left him at his aunt's doorstep. They thought that he was a dark omen, a sign of future misfortune, and Harry couldn't truly blame them. Perhaps he would have ended up in the hands of someone who would have released their frustration on him, cursing him for the loss they experienced. Harry would need to read more about it later. But Mr Ollivander gave him a place to start from.
Finally, Mr Ollivander shook his head and said, "Let's not speak more of such a painful subject and focus on you. Let's see, which is your wand arm?"
Assuming that the wandmaker was speaking about which hand he write with, Harry raised his right hand. Mr Ollivander just grabbed his arms and started measuring Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. It was so fucking weird.
As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand is primarily made of a wood that has been alchemically altered, and a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We commonly use unicorn hairs, phoenix feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons, since they are usually the elements that are the more suited for wizards to cast wands. However, sometimes, people provide their own cores with which they share an intimate connection. Magic remembers, Mr Potter, make sure you do not forget that. But those cases are usually curse breakers that need new wands and have killed various magical beasts along the way."
"Are certain wands better than others?" Harry asked, curious.
"No. The process is the same. Bonding with a wand means that the two of you are compatible magically. It will never be perfect, but slowly as you start using it, the wand will attune to your magic until it allows you to perfectly control it. If a wizard uses a wand that is unsuited to his magic, his spells will simply be weaker. In the end, a wizard's strength depends entirely on the combination between their magic and their wand, not the wand itself. You could use Merlin's wand, and it would be nothing more than a stick in your hand if it's not compatible with your magic. Although, when a wizard defeats a magical beast, their magic bonds with the body, which makes any wand made with its remains already connected to the wizard, which almost always guarantees that it would be a match and that the acclimation period would be extremely small for the wand and wizard to synchronize. In the end, the magic comes from the wizard, not the wand."
Well, that was proof that Ollivander knew what he was talking about and guaranteed that Harry would not seek out another more 'powerful' wand. After finishing his impromptu lecture, the wandmaker stopped measuring Harry's nostril and went to grab a box, "Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Cedar and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave."
Harry grabbed the wand and felt its melody. It was loud and somewhat volatile, it seemed upbeat but very consistent, and very loyal. Immediately, Harry knew that it wasn't his wand. He didn't have anyone to be loyal to, no matter how much he wished he had.
As commanded, Harry swished his wand and a glass vase shattered into pieces. The wandmaker snatched the wand from the young wizard and gave him another one, "Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try…"
Again, Harry felt its song, and it was too upbeat, too extroverted. It was hard to put it into words and the moment he touched the wand various shelves exploded. Yes, Harry was an introvert, in both of his lives, but this was not his wand.
He tilted his head and looked at the wandmaker, "This wand is too extroverted, do you have something that's a little less so?"
Garrick Ollivander blinked, "How did you know that?"
Harry shrugged, "It's hard to explain. It's like every wand has a song. It's very beautiful."
The young boy wasn't even lying, the melodies were amazing. They were like personalities given form, and when they synergized with other wands, they made some beautiful songs.
"Such sensitivity to magic, at a young age no less," the wandmaker murmured. He then spoke up, "See me after you graduate, my boy, and I will see if you have what it takes to be a wand maker."
The young Potter nodded, "Thank you, Mr Ollivander."
The wandmaker waved him off and kept on giving him wands. A lot of explosions later, Ollivanders gave Harry a beautiful wand with a cloaked handle and spiralled shaft. The wand was light, almost white, and Harry knew that it was special, "Pine and Phoenix feather, a rather unusual combination."
The wand's song was so familiar to Harry. It was a song of loneliness, of creativity, it simply to understand, to know what was underneath the underneath. It was a wand seeking discovery and creation, and Harry was a scholar at heart. Before he could even touch it, Harry knew that it was his. It was just too familiar to his own existence. Harry never thought that there would be a song that could describe his entire personality this perfectly, and yet he was surprised by the accuracy of the song.
When the young wizard touched his wand – because it was his wand - he felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of blue and green sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls.
Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious..."
This didn't sound good, "Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"
Mr Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. And yet, this is the first time I ever sold a wand I did not make. My grandfather made that wand, centuries ago, and I remember my father saying that he was quite obsessed with finding its wielder. I just find it curious that after so long, after hundreds of thousands of tries, this stubborn wand finally found a companion."
Harry let out a smile and nodded. He paid the seven Galleons for his wand and left pondering. He didn't care too much about it because he had his wand now. He could feel it thrum in his hand and couldn't be happier for it. Because Harry Potter was a wizard, and he was certain that he would surpass all who came before him.
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If you want to support me check out my patréon at https://www.patréon.com/athassprkr
I tend to upload drafts of early chapters on there to get people's opinions of them so you can read up to 20 chapters ahead as a bonus.
Thank you guys for your support in these hard times.