Wandmaker's Tale

A sparkling deep blue robe caught Mr. Garrick Ollivander's eye through the wand shop's front window as the midday sun twinkled over its surface through parted grey clouds. Between the robe and a felted gold hat was a face he had glimpsed only once or twice. The face of a young… witch? Wizard? Garrick wasn't sure. A recent graduate of Hogwarts School, newly come of age, from the Hartery-Hoch family.

There were very few wand users in Britain he hadn't met in his shop when they were children. The Hartery-Hoch children attended Hogwarts, as did their father Sebastian Hartery before them, and none of them owned Olivander wands. Garrick felt he had some insight into the lives of everyone he had ever sold a wand to, so those who owned other wands were something of a puzzle. It was abnormal but not unheard of for old wizarding families to pass down wands through the generations. Even so, Garrick had won many old families over with the unrivaled quality of his creations. He had been meaning to speak with Sebastian about the family's wands at a party several years ago, but he missed the chance. Even with these very traditional types, he could usually make a sale if they would take the time to listen.

It pained Garrick whenever he saw a wizard matched with the wrong wand. His interests weren't simply business, but quality of life. Even as recently as 300 years ago when wandwoods were understood as well as they are today, substandard, temperamental, and fragile wand cores were all too commonly made. When the young Hartery-Hoch, Learth, pushed open the door to his shop, Garrick was flooded with curiosity. Even if Learth had come for no more than a simple repair and polish, Garrick would have the chance to witness a new relationship between wand and wizard, to add the memory of yet another customer to his ever expanding catalogue of observations.

Learth approached from the doorway with their wand, placing it on the counter in front of Mr Ollivander. The little man beamed and leaned over to have a look at it, "It is wonderful to have you visit, young Hartery-Hoch… what might I do for you? Here for a repair, are we?"

"I'm… not certain. I mean—I don't think it's broken. I've used it for seven years, and it has always been the same. But there are some issues with using it, so I've come to seek your expert opinion."

Garrick frowned. A mismatch, no doubt. Foolish, headstrong parents sending children through Hogwarts with any old family wand they could get their hands on. Families without means to do otherwise he could forgive, but the Hartery-Hochs were known for hosting lavish parties. "Ah, you should have come to me the moment that you noticed something was amiss. Let us see. Pick it up and cast something, just something simple if you'd please, and I will examine the issues." He whispered an incantation Learth didn't catch. The wand glowed briefly, then dimmed.

Learth took the wand in their left hand, holding it between their fingers with a tight and practiced grip. They pointed the tip at a paperweight on Mr. Ollivander's desk, tracing a bulb shape in the air to cast the spell, "Engorgio!"

Learth winced, but quickly relaxed. The paperweight began enlarging just as it should.

"M-m-merlin's beard! Put that thing down at once!" he sputtered, casting a panicked "Finite!" with his own wand to return the paperweight to its normal size.

"Why?" Learth looked concerned, hurrying to follow his instruction, "What's wrong with my wand?"

"My dear Hartery-Hoch… nothing! It's functioning exactly as intended, but that is not the issue! The issue, which is frankly astounding, is that what you have here is NOT a wizard's wand!"

Learth folded their arms across their chest. "Not a wizard's wand? Forgive me, but that can't possibly be right. I've been casting spells with it for seven years."

"Seven years!" Garrick repeated in amazement, "By Circe's curls!"

"I mean, I never got high marks at Hogwarts, but most of my OWLs were Acceptables, at least. You can't exactly pass OWLs with any old tree branch."

Garrick took a breath, staring intently at the wand. "This is not, as you put it, 'any old tree branch.' It is an exceptionally crafted instrument. It's simply not designed to be used by wizards. How did you ever acquire it?"

"It was passed down through the family on my Mother Dymphna's side, the Hoch family. My mother is a private person—very serious, reserved, quiet... I never told her about the trouble I had with using it at school. I tried to be grateful that she trusted me with something so old, something from the family legacy in Germany that we left behind when we moved here to England. I tried … SO hard… to be a good fit for this wand. At times I wondered if it might be cursed. I won't be surprised if you tell me it was constructed with dark magic. Never had an affinity for the stuff, but I've seen it used plenty. Of course you've probably heard that before when it was less than wholly truthful."

Ollivander gave Learth a dismissive wave, "No, not cursed, though it can be dangerous," He pulled a set of dragon's hide gloves from a drawer beneath the counter and put them on, taking the wand carefully in his hands. "I will tell you everything that I can, but this warrants some discussion of magical history. Tell me, do you know anything of the Goblin rebellions that spread across Europe during the 17th century?"

"Far more than anyone my age should have to, sir. Goblin welfare is my father's life's work. Every week or two Snagbrot and Crumplewunge from Gringotts visit us for tea and talk with him about Goblin affairs and history. My sister and I patiently endure it for the sake of spending some time with our father while he is at home."

"Your father? How curious. I might have expected—but I'm getting ahead of myself. You are perhaps aware, then, that in response to our Ministry's decree in 1631 forbidding non-wizards from using wands, Goblins began to manufacture their own wands in secret?"

"Mr. Ollivander, I am not accustomed to discussing this sort of thing outside of activist circles… but yes. I knew. I hope that you won't try to-"

"I assure you that I do all in my power to remain politically neutral on such matters. While I do have some sympathy for Goblins, and other magical beings, I don't go so far as to sell my own wares to non-wizards. However, should a Goblin present me with a wand of his own making, I would examine it as a fellow professional, and speak no word of it to the Ministry."

Learth gave the old man a nod of understanding. "I've seen a Goblin's wand before. They're small and thin, five or six inches, easy to hide up the seam of a jacket, crafted from purified metals. But my wand looks nothing like anything goblin made, obviously. It's wood. And wizardfolk can't use goblin made wands correctly even when they try, our magic won't channel through metal the same way theirs does."

"Ah, you are near the truth, though I should point out that Goblins can use wooden wands just as well as metal. The wand you possess is not Goblin made. It is known to very few wizards that other races learned wandmaking alongside Goblinkind after the decree. Most that tried failed miserably to master the craft and gave up. There have been rumors through the ages of ones who have not failed, though there is no hard evidence to suggest that this is true, except perhaps what you have brought here today. This is a vampire made wand, young Hartery-Hoch, crafted precisely to amplify a vampire's entropic frequencies of magic. In all my years, and my father's and grandfather's, an Olivander has never seen such a wand."

"You're really serious about this, aren't you? I had no idea." Learth took the wand, "It's so plain, no outstanding marks or style. How did you learn so much about it from just one spell?"

"Trade secret, I'm afraid I can't divulge. But I would advise that you handle that carefully, with a barrier between the wandwood and your skin. A glove or handkerchief should do. A trusted contact of mine informed me many years ago that a vampire wandmaker had been discovered near Freiburg. I attempted to make contact, only to discover that she had been hunted down, and that her work had all been destroyed. Since then I have heard nothing else of vampire wandmakers. Not a whisper." Garrick regarded Learth carefully, "That you were able to use this wand for seven years without withering away is proof that you are a most tenacious… forgive me… witch? Wizard?"

"Magus. Gender isn't really for me. But back to the wand, I have felt pretty withered at times. I've always done my best to rise above the feeling, pressed on for the important things. I don't get much sleep at night, even with potions. Headaches keep me up. I've always felt like… well, perhaps that's too personal. I never seem truly capable of the things I want to do the most. Do you think it's the wand affecting me, making me like this?"

"It is difficult to say for sure. Your Mother's family is from Germany, is that right? Do the Hochs have any history of conflict or cooperation with the vampires of Schwarzwald?"

"I grew up in Schwarzwald. Our family lived in my mother's house there until I was six. There weren't many other witches, or even muggle children where we lived. My best friend was a centaur foal called Gaspar. His parents said he had to stop visiting us, but he came back anyway. At times there were vampires, veelas, goblins, lots of magical beings that shared the land with us. The wood was a home to all of us, a home that we shared, though we mostly kept to ourselves. When my grandmother was little, things were friendlier. There were more witches, and they would even host a carnival every spring for the other magical beings. I'm not sure what made things change, but the Schwarzwald I grew up in would have been cold and lonely if not for my family."

"Perhaps the vampire wandmaker entrusted it to your family for safekeeping, but its true nature was never known. Many explanations are possible. I must strongly advise you not to use this wand any longer, despite the treasure that it is. It should most definitely be preserved and not destroyed, and of course, hidden from prying Ministry eyes. Keep it safe, but cast no more spells with it. If you do, it will slowly drain your magic away. In the hands of a vampire, this wand would be quite powerful, but for a magus, witch, or wizard, it is a recipe for disaster."

"I suppose this explains why mother didn't take this as her wand. It's kind of validating, in a way. Maybe I'd have done as well as my sister at Hogwarts if only my pesky wand hadn't been slurping the vitae from my veins… I can tell myself so, anyway. Thank you, Mr. Ollivander. Thank you sincerely."

"The pleasure is mine, I assure you," he gave a little bow, "But this turn of events leaves you in need of a new wand." He gestured to the row of boxes on the shelf behind him, "And that is my true specialty."

"No, thank you," Learth nodded, collecting themselves. "But of course I will compensate you for the help you have provided." Learth pulled two Galleons from a pouch at their waist and placed them on the counter. "That will be all."

"I can match you with a wand that is a marked improvement in performance and ease of handling. Satisfaction guaranteed. If the wand that chooses you is not a perfect fit, it's free. You won't find a better offer."

"I know how highly recommended your wands are, Mr. Olivander, but I have my reservations, and none of them are because of you. My family has always, ALWAYS used wands passed down from our ancestors, on both sides. Not because they were the best wands, or the most powerful, but because those wands are family, they are our people. You must understand how special that is, how personal. I can't just buy a wand! It would be like buying an uncle."

"And look how well that turned out, with this vampire wand of yours. You don't plan to keep using it out of some misguided sense of obligation, I hope?"

"No, I suppose that would be foolish. I'll…" Learth paused a moment to think, "I'll just have to make a new wand for myself."

"Hah!" Garrick clasped his ribs, "YOU'LL make one, will you? … forgive me … It's been so long since I've laughed. I don't mean to alienate someone who has brought me such a wonderful specimen, but that is absurd!"

"Well why not? It's not like you're the only one who's done it. If I bring my own wand into the world, it will be special. It will be mine in a way no bought wand could ever be."

"Hartery-Hoch, I have honed my craft for a lifetime. My ancestors have honed my craft for twenty lifetimes. But by all means, read a book or two. Cut a few branches, mangle a few cores, and in a few weeks you'll have a wand. Not a good wand, probably the most piss-poor wand you've ever laid eyes on, but at least you won't have to worry about it devouring your magic. Bah! Come back when you've proved yourself incapable, my shop is open to you any time."

Learth stuffed the wand in a deep robe pocket, turning back to him before leaving the shop, "Your confidence in me rivals only that of my parents, Mr Olivander. Good day."