Chapter 8: A wand

"Fancy seeing you here, Miss Ravenclaw. What brings you back to my humble workshop so soon?" The man groggily asked, though, despite his slurred speech, his voice carried with it a sense of elegance that could only be created with age. He appeared wiser than what his untamed hair and shoddy attire would indicate. His words were merely empty phrases he spouted in order to greet the woman, for he had already gathered the purpose behind her abrupt visit, the cause behind her sudden intrusion. "If I remember correctly, you were only here a couple of days ago with your little girl, Helena, isn't it? Oh yes, she was an interesting little child, now wasn't she? Her eyes glowed with an understanding beyond her age, a clever little lady indeed much like her mother, and her wand was one of my finest creations, a pine wand, a unique type of wood befitting an extraordinary lady destined for great things. However, the core of that creation created a rather interesting contrast with the wood." The man named Ollivander openly mused, much to the beautiful woman's chagrin, for Rowena's face that upon which once rested an apathetic smirk turned oddly stern, her eyes that merely perused the shop appeared to morph into the pitch black beads of her namesake, while a stern voice bellowed from her mouth.

"I don't believe it very courtesy of you to ask a question and then immediately delve into a monologue, Mr Ollivander. Did you not care for my answer, or did you simply want to spill the contents of my prior visit to your rundown little abode for the world to hear?" Rowena sternly growled, her once kind tone of voice now seeming to be a far-gone delusion, a sweet dream that only Herne had ever experienced. The boy couldn't understand the woman's annoyance, and what more, neither could Ollivander. He had no clue what had set the prideful beauty off. He hadn't said anything that wasn't already common knowledge to an astute observer of the village. Her visit to his humbled abode had already been documented through the handing over of money, so what had he done?

The man wished to ponder such a query, to ask the woman what grievance she held towards him, yet he knew better than to press the issue. He was not so rash as to deny his place in the wrong. So, with a hesitant smile, the man issued an apology, "Sorry, Miss Ravenclaw, I retract my prior mutterings, merely consider them the frantic ramblings of an old man." Ollivander meekly stated, despite being the owner of the humbled abode, he commanded no presence amongst the four walls.

No, in this moment, the true ruler over the untamed land was revealed, that being the most curious, most studious of the four founders, Rowena. Her body, gently embraced by her elegant dress of blue, exuded an aura of crushing royalty, the likes of which would be able to make any student kneel and beg for forgiveness. Yet, Herne, despite being in the direct presence of the untamed mother, felt little more than excitement for the coming revelations. He had worked out what type of place this was now. He'd have to be a fool not to, what with the old man's groggy mutterings. This was a place he could get a wand. However, what a wand was still eluded him, for he had yet to see what lay obscured behind the many boxes that littered the dust-caked floor.

It was only then that the frizzy-haired old man sent a sceptical look to the boy that lay within arms reach of the battle-frenzied beauty, their eyes locked for but a brief second, yet that was more than enough time for the man named Ollivander to read the poor boy, or at least it should have been, on any other child he may have been able to gather their entire life story in such a mere glance, however, for Herne he was stunned, Ollivander couldn't understand the type of life the hollow brown-eyed child must have lived, he couldn't perceive nor understand anything about the boy spare for his abundant excitement that he wore plain as the day upon his positively beaming face.

Herne was an oddity, a new type of human that had been brought to his dusty locale. He was something interesting, a human debatably more intriguing to the wizened man than any young genius destined for greatness. "My my, what do we have here?" Ollivander openly questioned, acting as though this brief exchange of glances was the first time he had seen the child who lingered by Rowena's side. "I didn't know you had another child Rowena and to think it'd be a boy at that, though he doesn't appear to share any traits in common with you, more so the father, I assume."

"He's not mine." Rowena sternly stated, quickly dismissing the man's half-baked claims.

"But of course, but of course, I merely jest. It's plain to see that this child shares no blood ties to a woman as beautiful as you," Ollivander joked, yet his eyes told another story, for they did not glimmer with the dew of fresh laughter but instead shone with a resolve similar to that of a man heading to war. "So, boy, are you here to get a wand?" Ollivander curiously asked.

Immediately Herne's mouth split into an overwhelmingly dazzling smile, "Yes!" The boy boisterously yelled. He simply couldn't contain his excitement any longer. He wanted a wand, no, first he wanted to find out what a wand was, then Herne wished to acquire one and then finally, after those steps had been completed, he would return to the group of children in the village and show them that he was truly a wizard just like them.

"Good, good, that's the type of excitement one should always have when acquiring their first wand…I assume this will be your first, right?" Ollivander jokingly replied as Herne's head launched into a furious spasm of nods. "Great, now then, let me get this place cleaned up, and we'll be set to start your test." The aged man continued as, from his waist, he pulled out what appeared to be a carved stick, one similar to the item Rowena so effortlessly brandished not even hours earlier, though instead of possessing the amber colour of acacia, it glimmered in a light beige.

He flourished the item like an author does his quill, conducting an intricate motion against the stagnant air in one sudden movement. It was then that something simply divine happened, for from its tip exuded no light whatsoever, but an effect was still carried out. The encased objects that littered the floor began to levitate. Their movements were slow at first. They merely hovered ever upwards like a flock of geese that had just taken flight, though, within seconds, they began to gain a speed similar to the one they were discharged at moments earlier. The boxes flew around the room as though they had gained sentience. They bumped into one another and travelled in pairs, though some preferred to live a life of solitude, though their autonomy was a short-lived venture, for the moment they returned to the shelves they could call their home, they fell still, lifeless.

The room was now cleared of rubble, exposing the cold stone flooring underneath that Ollivander stood upon with his buckled leather shoes; however, Herne paid the floor no attention. Instead, all his focus was directed upon the aged man and, more particularly, the box he clutched loosely to his side. "Hmm, let's give this one a try," Ollivander whimsically stated, placing the purple box onto the desk that lay before him for Herne to open. However, it seemed the boy did not possess the initiative to perform such an act. Instead, he merely stared at the object with obsessive wonder. "Come on now, open it. We don't have all day,"

At the old man's direction, Herne finally began to move; he reached out towards the counter that stood just above his neck level with all the grace of a starved beggar grasping at an exposed piece of bread. His movements were hurried, frantic even. It was as though he believed the object to only be temporal, an ethereal creation that may dissipate if he even left it be for a second longer. However, such worries dissipated the moment the boy held the case within his grasp. Now it felt like it was truly his. Herne possessed no such concern that the item would vanish, and with that confidence came with it the urge to unseal the box.

His motions were less than stellar, lacking any and all elegance. Herne clawed at the outside of the object in a beast-like attempt to pry the lid of the contraption open, a feat he did manage to eventually accomplish all be it with the adverse effect of leaving the once purple pristine box a scratched mess.

What Herne saw underneath left him speechless. It was a piece of wood similar to that of both Ollivander and Rowena, a carved item that looked as though made from the masterful hands of a man who had truly perfected his craft. The wand was dark in colour, possessing an almost pitch-black hue that would surely appear invisible under the guise of nightfall. The handle twisted and contorted to a degree where one would be left to speculate if it would even be comfortable to grasp. The object was neither long nor short. It appeared utterly average in length, a size befitting of a child who matched such a description for all his attributes. Flecks of red occasionally broke the monotony of black upon the wand's length though their appearance was few and far between. The boy appeared enchanted by the object, though not for the reason Ollivander expected, for unknown to the boy and both the world as a whole, he felt no connection with the item whatsoever. No, Herne had finally received his answer as to what a wand was. And it truly made him happy.

However, this happiness was short-lived, for the boy would receive no time to mull his emotions over before Ollivanders groggy voice echoed throughout the expansive shop, bouncing off its many cluttered walls and boundlessly high ceilings. "Go on then, give it a wave." Ollivander hastily instructed his intrigue and excitement for the events that were to come rivalling the joy that bounced within the energetic child's empty mind.

Immediately Herne's dirtied palms soaked in algae, and another strange substance wrapped around the wand's contorted handle. Usually, a wizard-to-be would feel powerful upon performing such a motion, even if the wand they had embraced was not right for them, but Herne felt absolutely nothing. His emotions did not calm, nor did his mind land upon a sense of tranquillity and stillness the likes of which he had yet to experience. His body did not experience a sensation akin to the rush of blood towards his palms, nor did he feel lighter. He couldn't feel his magic at work, nor did he concern himself with such an issue, for even the boy himself had yet to consciously experience the intoxicating sensation of such a power.

At that time, neither Herne nor Rowena had been aware of the congregation that had formed outside the shop, the mass of children that peered through the bottle-like glass to witness first-hand the birth of a wizard. They remained oblivious to the many pairs of eyes that lingered upon the boy's completely forgettable form, curious as to the power he may possess. They felt scared yet intrigued. They wanted to know what a wizard from outside their village was capable of to observe the boy's latent potential and to record any potential weaknesses he may possess. Wizards were prideful creatures. All from that world knew as such, it would have been better if Rowena had deployed a ward, something to keep the children ignorant, for the following few hours would dictate Herne's life and the misery he was bound to experience at Hogwarts.

Herne clutched the wand tight within his grasp. He had observed both Rowena's and Ollivander's motions with the item. He knew what to do, and yet when the boy flourished the wand, from its tip exuded not sparks, nor did an unseen disturbance take place. In fact, nothing happened, no bang, no crack of displeasure from the side of the wand. It merely sat there, unmoving within the boy's grasp, as though it had not received even the slightest portion of the boy's dormant power.

Silence fell upon the little shop. This was the first time either adult had ever witnessed such a rejection from a wand, though, within the following moments, they would no doubt become accustomed to such silence. The scene was simply unfathomable to them. They couldn't comprehend what had just happened. Even if a wizard wasn't destined for a wand, they could at least get a reaction from it, no matter their magic power. So for Herne to receive nothing from the wand, no sound or action, well, it was simply unheard of.

"Um…Let's try another one; I don't believe dogwood is suitable for you," Ollivander's dismayed voice peeked through the curtain of silence, carrying with it a defeated yet curious tone. Any and all of his prior excitement had left his body, replaced with a sense of stunned intrigue, for the boy who appeared to possess no magic whatsoever.

Upon hearing Ollivanders dismayed voice, Herne quickly forced the item back into the box from once it came. His attitude, the fire in his heart, had not diminished, for he couldn't even understand his actions' severity. To him, such a reaction appeared normal, something bound to happen, though to say he was thrilled with the idea of having to return the man's item would be a lie, for Herne was still obsessed with the idea of having a wand and proving himself to the children who had so readily mocked him for his boundless idiocy.

Seconds passed with Ollivander out of arm's reach as he perused the many shelves that lingered in the background. It appeared he was taking a lot more care with choosing the young child's partner now, a feat that proved to be nigh impossible for the aged man for one simple reason. He had never had to purely guess what type of wand would be suitable for his customer. At every instance he met someone, he could read their true nature, see what made them tick, but for Herne, he could only go off what he had already observed. His cheery personality that looked as though he had never experienced sadness, his bright and poignant smile that could light up a room with the same efficiency as the sun, these were the only traits Ollivander could go off, for he also felt no atmosphere from the child, no swirling dread or untamed anger, he was too average nothing about him spare for these two traits separated him from the crowd. "Which is why…yes, this should be good," Ollivander voiced his thoughts aloud, taking, in turn, a peculiar vine-green box out from one of the many shelves. He blew on it, revealing layer upon layer of dust that took flight from its humble abode. It had clearly sat dormant for a while.

"Try this. It's vine with a Grindylow heart core." Ollivander stated, pressing upon the young child the vine green box, which Herne quickly took to mangling with his dull nails. He was faster this time, being able to open the box within a matter of seconds as opposed to minutes. Herne's excitement and anticipation were boundless for the wand which Ollivander had so particularly chosen for him, and what he saw did not disappoint.

The item was light brown in colour as opposed to the dogwood's pitch black its handle was not turned nor contorted to even the slightest extent; no, the wand pointed true without any deviations to its course. What appeared to be gold inscriptions painted the body of the wand going from the girthy base to the fine tip that magic would eventually spew from. It looked akin to an ornamental work of art than a practical item that, if so destined, Herne would go on to use and abuse to his heart's content. He took it within his hold where once again he felt…nothing, neither his heart, body, nor mind connected with the artisanal piece Herne held within his grasp.

He did not feel the eerie sense of foreboding one would go on to remember upon receiving their first wand. However, this time it was not just he who could sense the lack of connection. Both Rowena and Ollivander were painfully aware of the diminutive familiarity between the boy and the wand, to the point where Ollivander even considered simply skipping the trial altogether though he wouldn't voice such thoughts aloud.

He motioned to the boy to do something with a lazy turn of his finger, which Herne quickly picked up on. With a deep breath in, Herne waved the wand through the dust-ridden air. His intent was clear. He wanted something to happen, and yet, nothing did, unless one would call having a coughing fit due to the stirred dust a feat of magic. Defeated sighs left the mouths of all the occupants in the room spare for Herne, who merely looked at the item in his palm with a sense of wonderment and intrigue. He couldn't understand what was stopping him from performing feats like Rowena and Ollivander. Perhaps he simply didn't have magic. Such a thought had crossed not just his mind but also Ollivanders and even Rowena's at least once throughout the brief escape though they would immediately be shelved after he remembered the woman's brief talk. She told him he had magic, and he simply accepted it, for all Herne was concerned, the wands around him simply didn't work. None of this was his doing.

"Let's….try another one," Ollivander awkwardly stated, his body slowly shifting in his burgundy attire. He wanted to question Rowena on whether she had just brought a muggle to their enclosed village though he restrained himself. After all, Rowena was no idiot. He would believe in whatever she saw in this child. Still, though Ollivander could restrain himself, the kids outside could not. They laughed at the boy and imitated his failed motions with vile expressions on their faces. They were no longer scared, nor did they fear the unknown child, for he had proved to be less than them, a worthless wizard, the worst of their kind, and they would be sure to spread tales of him wherever they went. Even the teenager Herne had personally interacted with stared at the boy through the bottle-like glass window with a mild smirk on his face and a singular thought in his mind. 'This is going to be fun,'

Ollivander retreated back to his place amongst the rows of waiting wands, whereupon he grabbed yet another box for the child though once again, the wand proved to be useless. Hours passed this way, with Ollivander presenting wand after wand to the elated Herne, only for none to work with the child. It reached the point where Ollivander truly believed the child to be a squib, a human born to magical parents yet possessed no magic themselves. He had cleared through the first level of his shop, he had presented the child with every available wand on the current floor, yet none worked. No sparks, even in the slightest, were exuded, nor was a gust of wind created to uplift his hair. The boy was, for all intents and purposes, genuinely useless.

"I'll go upstairs and grab you another wand," Ollivander sighed, placing the final wand upon its shelf on the first floor before breaking into a mild jog to head up the obscured staircase.

Silence descended upon the egregiously tall shop in the man's absence as neither Rowena nor Herne uttered a single syllable between one another. Any other child in the boy's position may have simply given up on trying to acquire a wand, their spirit having been long broken by the constant scene of failure, but Herne kept on smiling. He truly lived in a wonderland of ignorance where he couldn't understand the cost of his own actions and the mental toll they held over other people. Ollivander was both mentally and physically tired. Even Rowena had exhausted her brain by trying to comprehend the reason behind the child's failure, having simply given up on deciphering a logical answer. She merely remained in the room as mental support for the positively glowing child. Even the kids outside had exhausted their laughter, their throats sore; they continued to observe the boy with pure bemusement. They had contemplated going inside the building to drag him away, to present him the truth of his existence and to ridicule him for ever believing himself to be one of them, yet for some reason, they didn't. They were too entranced by the child's many trials to make a move.

The silence was only temporary, though, as soon enough, the gentle footsteps of Ollivander began to echo across the shop's egregiously high walls. When he revealed himself seconds later, the aged man was holding yet another box. Though this one was burgundy in colour, similar to the vest he wore, it blended in with Ollivander's loose hanging garments to the point where if not for the odd protrusion, Herne would have considered him to be returning empty-handed. 'There will be no next time,' Ollivander inwardly swore. He had used up the rest of his remaining brain power to decide upon this wand of the hundreds that loomed in the obscured cabinets on the floor up above. 'If this one doesn't bond with him, I'll have to ask them to leave the shop and return at a later date, preferably once I've managed to get this incident out of my mind.' The old man inwardly sighed. He could have sworn the events today had taken countless years of his lifespan, and he was not looking to lose any more soon.

With a hefty sigh and no words spoken, Ollivander passed the burgundy box towards the ever-elated Herne, who quickly grasped the object with all his prior elegance, however this time, as opposed to the first few openings he did not need further direction, his hands now appeared professional as they quickly opened the odd coloured case to reveal the contents inside, and all of a sudden, the smile dropped from Herne's mouth. The wand was dark brown in colour and possessed no unique shape or additional features. It was as bland as one could find in Ollivander's mystical shop. But for some reason, some unknown acumen, Herne felt an odd connection with the average item. Merely looking at it filled him with a sense of power and serenity he never knew possible. A rush he had never known descended upon his body the moment his entranced hands wrapped around the item's hilt. He couldn't look away from it. His mouth hung open as though he was asleep despite him being very much conscious. His mind and body appeared disconnected for a second as his hand rose to perform a gentle motion against the air and, from the wand's tip, spewed forth a few dying sparks. They were faint, barely noticeable to those not already focused upon either the boy or the wand, but they were there. Herne had used magic, though his performance could only be considered terrible.

The performance of his wand did not match that of someone correctly in tune with the item. It was as though he had borrowed someone else's, but it got the job done, and neither Rowena nor Ollivander wished for the boy to linger in the dust-filled land any longer. He was an oddity the likes of which neither had ever seen nor liked to see again. Each prayed that this would be the last time the child had difficulty with the world of magic, yet deep in their hearts, they knew things would only get worse for the boy from this point forth. "It worked…I…I did something!" Herne excitedly mumbled, clutching the dark brown wand within his grasp with a tightness one would expect from a mother holding a child in the middle of a pelting storm. He didn't want to lose, nor did he ever want to put it down. Though the feeling wasn't intoxicating to Herne, it gave him value. It made him a wizard.

"Very good boy! Very good! Now, if you don't mind, would you please leave my shop," Ollivander outwardly exclaimed, rushing over to the small child and pressing against his back in a forceful attempt to make him leave. An act he was successful in as Herne put up no resistance to the aged man's rash motions and merely let his feet carry him towards the exit of the shop, the wand still clutched tight to his side.

"What about pay?" Came Rowena's curious voice from behind.

"You don't have to pay me. In fact, I'll pay you if you leave my shop this instant. I want to rest!" Ollivander sighed as his feet finally reached the door, which he swung upon in one explosive motion to reveal the flurry of smirking kids that loomed behind it. All their eyes fixed upon the bright smile of Herne with clear evil intent behind them, their mouths perched to make a sound, yet before they could, they froze, for the woman who had initially accompanied the boy stormed out from behind him, and her eyes did not possess the same ignorant happiness as his, they were cold and unfeeling, she hadn't been aware of the children, but now she was, and to say Rowena was displeased would be an understatement.

She was furious and…sad. She held regret in her heart, for she knew she couldn't wipe the minds of all those gathered to make them forget about Herne's colossal failure. This would be a memory she would have to give up on wiping. As much as it pained her, she would have to allow them to recount this day in their memories for as long as they lived. To enable them to hold a vicious weapon against the young boy's throat that could be swung with a mere word. Herne's life was bound to be problematic from this point forth, a tortuous experience she would rather no one live through. *Sigh* With a sigh, Rowena grabbed the boy's arm and began to twist, becoming little more than a shapeless mass that hovered in the air for a mere fraction of a second before *pop* The pair vanished, leaving behind a stunned audience of children and one inwardly monologuing old man.

'English oak, A wand for good times and bad, a friend as loyal as the wizard who deserves it. To think the boy would acclimate himself to such a wand, I suppose the answer should have been obvious.'