Chapter 05: The Wand

Two goblins bowed to them again, guiding them into a vast marble hall. About a hundred goblins sat behind long counters, some weighing coins on brass scales, others examining gemstones with magnifying glasses, and still others scribbling into large ledgers.

Owen approached the counter and pulled a wad of pound notes from his pocket.

"I'd like to exchange these pounds for Galleons, please."

An elderly goblin stepped forward, taking the money. "Five pounds to a Galleon. Are you sure you want to exchange the entire 200 pounds?"

"Yes," Owen nodded, "and I'd also like to exchange one Galleon into Sickles."

"One Galleon is 17 Sickles," the old goblin explained. After a few moments, a younger goblin handed Owen a heavy bag filled with coins.

With that taken care of, Dumbledore led Owen on a shopping spree.

"First, you'll need a wand," he said. "And Ollivanders makes the finest."

The shop was small and shabby, its gold-lettered sign faded and peeling: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. In the dusty window, a single wand lay on a faded purple cushion.

"Ah, my old friend Ollivander," Dumbledore greeted warmly as soon as they entered. From the corner, a frail old man emerged and embraced him in return.

"Good to see you, old friend," Ollivander replied in soft, archaic English. "What brings you here?"

"I've come to pick up a new student from Wool's Orphanage. You know the place," Dumbledore said with a wink before introducing Owen. "This is Mr. Owen. Though born to Muggles, he's already quite adept at controlling his magic."

"Hmm… no wonder," Ollivander muttered, eyeing Owen sharply as he pulled out a long tape measure marked with silver lines. "Alright, Mr. Owen, let's get started. Which arm do you use to hold your wand?"

"I'm right-handed," Owen replied.

"Raise your arm, please," Ollivander instructed, measuring from Owen's shoulder to his fingertips. "Every Ollivander wand contains powerful magical substances—that's what gives them their essence, Mr. Owen. We use unicorn hair, phoenix tail feathers, and dragon heartstrings. Each Ollivander wand is unique, as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are alike. And remember, if you use a wand meant for another wizard, it won't work nearly as well."

As Ollivander rambled on, he darted back and forth between the shelves, climbing ladders and pulling down boxes, while the tape measure continued to automatically take Owen's measurements. Though Ollivander's chatter was long-winded, Owen listened intently, his curiosity about the magical world still fresh, despite already knowing much of this from the original books.

"Alright," Ollivander said, as the tape measure fell to the ground, coiling itself up. "Try this one—12 and a half inches, made of hawthorn with a phoenix feather core. Give it a wave."

Owen took the wand, and the moment he did, he felt something was off. Sure enough, the wand's tip erupted in a burst of gold and red flames, setting the nearest shelf ablaze. Owen felt as though he was about to summon an actual phoenix.

"Aguamenti," Dumbledore calmly muttered, flicking his wand. A jet of water poured from its tip, extinguishing the fire.

"Hmm, not the right one," Ollivander muttered, shaking his head. He pulled out another. "Nine inches, beechwood with a basilisk nerve core. Give it a try."

This time, a cloud of black smoke billowed from the wand, and the shelf it touched quickly corroded, as though drenched in acid.

Ollivander had Owen try wand after wand. The more they experimented, the more excited the old wandmaker seemed, but mishap after mishap occurred. By now, both Ollivander and Dumbledore kept their wands at the ready, prepared for any unexpected flames, frost, or explosions.

Thankfully, the dirty windows of Ollivander's shop kept the outside world from witnessing the chaos within.

At last, before the mountain of wand boxes could bury Owen, Ollivander stopped the seemingly endless string of failures.

"My, what a picky customer," he remarked. "Was there some kind of magic cast on him? This boy's magic is stronger than his own."

"What are you talking about, Mr. Ollivander?" Owen asked, feigning ignorance. He knew the wandmaker was referring to Voldemort, but he kept up the pretense of innocence.

Ollivander quickly changed the subject. "No, no, nothing. You'll understand in time. Let's return to the matter of the wand."

"This is the best wand I can think of for you," Ollivander said as he carefully pulled out a beautifully crafted purple wand from a large box and handed it to Owen.