Chapter - 24 : The Curious Wand

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"Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance," he explained. "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. That's enough, now her," he added to the tape measure, which was measuring between Harry's nostrils. It switched to me and I held out my right hand obligingly. "Now 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 waved it around a bit. I watched interestedly, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try this…"

Harry 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."

I watched the growing pile of wands with awe. Wands of walnut, ash, and cedar were tossed aside. Some were bendy, some unbendable. Nothing seemed to satisfy Ollivander, and I couldn't quite tell if he was getting increasingly excited or frustrated as the pile grew larger.

"Tricky customer, eh?" the old man observed. "Not to wonder, we'll find the perfect match somewhere… I wonder… Holly and phoenix feather, quite an unusual combination. Eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand from Ollivander, looking a bit weary from all the wands he'd been testing. But almost immediately, I could tell that something was different about this one. He straightened up, looking down at the wand in surprise. Red and gold sparks shot from the tip like fireworks. Hagrid applauded and Mr. Ollivander smile, but there was something behind it, almost like the reaction unnerved him.

"Bravo, yes, very good. Curious though… very curious… Curious, curious… Miss Potter, I wonder… I wonder… Very curious indeed," he murmured, pinning me with those eerie saucer-like eyes of his before moving off into the stacks. Instead of combing the shelves, he went straight for one box, plucking it from its resting place and opening it up. Mr. Ollivander returned to the front and offered the box to me.

I looked inside, curious and also slightly wary. Mr. Ollivander seemed tense now, like he was expecting something, but he wasn't sure whether it was good news or bad yet.

No matter the wandmaker's reaction, I had to admit that the wand inside was gorgeous. A slim, elegant white wand speckled with black spots above a handle carved with curving patterns. When tilted one way they looked like vines, but then the light caught it a different way, they could have been some kind of runes.

I reached out and pushed away the thin gossamer fabric laid over the wand. I reached inside, hand trembling slightly, and took the handle in my fingers, lifting it up. I held it between the tips of my fingers, then shifted my grip so that my pointer finger extended along the shaft. The wood felt smooth and welcoming against my skin. A strange sort of warmth welled up, tingling my palm, and I knew what had caught Harry's attention when he'd picked up his holly wand.

"Give it a wave," Mr. Ollivander sighed. I felt like I'd been jerked out of some kind of trance by the old man's voice. It was now lower, almost suspicious. The old man had fixed his eyes on me intently. I turned away from him and flicked my wrist elegantly. Sparks burst from the tip of mine, but unlike Harry, mine were gold and silver. I smiled, raising the wand again so that it was parallel to my face.

"What's it made of?" I asked curiously.

"Twelve and a quarter inches. Very supple." He paused. "Yew, with a phoenix feather core."

My head snapped up, recognizing the last two qualifications. My hand jumped to my cheek. "Y-You said-" I began uncertainly.

Ollivander nodded. "I remember every wand I've ever sold," he said slowly. "It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather resides in your wand, Mr. Potter, gave another feather. Just one other. I find it curious that you should be destined for this wand when its brother gave you that scar. And Miss Potter… wand wood is hard to come by. You can't simply cut a tree and turn it into dozens of wands. At most you can get a few branches from the same tree. The yew from your wand came from a particularly fine specimen of a yew tree… several centuries old, in fact. I got exactly two branches from that tree. One is in your wand-"

"And the other is in his," I finished for him, staring down at my wand. I looked up at Mr. Ollivander. "But the core-"

"From a different phoenix," Mr. Ollivander assured me. "I have heard of wands with cores from the same animal coming against each other… but there is precious little information on wands with wood from the same tree."

I looked at my wand with a new respect. The wood from this wand was the same wood that had killed my parents. But for an accident of fate, this wand might have been the one that took me parents from me. The wand, which had originally seemed elegant and lovely, suddenly took on a slightly more menacing cast. I realized that, pretty as I found my wand to be, it was still a weapon.

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