Written for Hogwarts (Challenges and Assignments), Assignment 5.
Home Economics and Domestic Magic: Breakfast — Task 1 — eggs — write about something fragile
Garrick Ollivander wasn't the best wand-maker in Britain (if not in the world) for nothing, but this particular wand was giving him a lot of trouble.
"Come on," he grunted in his deep, raspy voice, trying to thread the unicorn mane hair into the spruce wood. He was very old, but his long, slim fingers were still as nimble as they had been when he had first begun crafting wands. Spruce was known to be difficult, but this — this was almost unheard of. He swore under his breath as the wood bent out of shape and snapped. "Circe! That was my last piece of wood."
His assistant, a young man named either Matthew or Michael or some other name beginning with 'M,' poked his head around the corner.
"Mr. Ollivander, sir? What's the problem?"
Garrick was proud of him for that; most people would ask what the matter was, but not his assistant. The 'M' boy knew what to say around the ancient wand-maker. Instead, Garrick was asked what the problem was. And it was a problem.
"We are out of spruce wood," he informed the boy in his dry voice. He coughed into his hand and continued: "And I have been informed that there are several orders for it ahead of us."
The young man nodded and said, "I see. And would no other wood work for the hair?"
Garrick shook his head. "Nay. The hair is a unicorn's mane instead of from their tail. Unicorns protect their mane hairs with pride and great caution, and it is thus much more powerful. It has rejected and broken every wood I have tried so far."
Martin (?) frowned thoughtfully. "What other woods have you tried?"
Sighing, Garrick ticked them off on his fingers as he named them: "Ash, hazel, pine, cherry, rowan, chestnut, and many others."
Micah (?) pursed his lips. "And what of ebony?" he inquired. "It is a strong wood, and it should be able to channel the power from the mane hair."
"Ebony?" Garrick raised a bushy eyebrow. "I doubt it will work — but there is no bar in trying, I suppose. You are correct in saying that it is a strong wood. It certainly has a mind of its own."
Mumbling, he disappeared back into the workshop.
Garrick set down his tools and admired the wood. He'd just finished smoothing the black into a circular shape, and now he was ready to try putting the unicorn mane hair into it. He picked up the long silvery hair and poked the end of it into the small hole at the bottom.
If the wood complemented the core, it would fit perfectly and finish the wand he'd been working on for months. If it didn't, the worst that would happen was that he somehow ruined the precious hair or the temperamental hair would crack or bend the wood he'd spent days working into shape.
He held his breath and drew the hair through to the top of the wand. It fit perfectly and the ebony wood thankfully didn't explode. The hair resized itself to the length of the wand — twelve inches exactly — and he leaned back, regarding the wand with satisfaction.
It was his masterpiece. Ebony was a wood for those of a strong will. For those not easily swayed from their beliefs — and, more often than not, a hot head at times. Despite the qualities the wood plus the core looked for in a master, the two together were quite fragile and the brittle wood could snap if not handled with care.
He couldn't wait to see the wizard or witch who was chosen by the wand.
That day came many years after his death. Mason (Garrick never actually remembered the poor boy's name) was an old man when a little girl was brought in by her mother, a vividly red-haired woman named Hermione. She was given several wands to try first, but each one made something break or explode.
Finally, Mason brought out the ebony wand and handed it to the young girl with a warning of its delicacy. It shot off gold sparks as soon as the girl picked it up, and Mason smiled at her enthusiasm.
"Ebony, twelve inches, unyielding flexibility, unicorn mane hair," he told the girl's mother.
The redhead frowned. "Don't you mean tail hair?"
"Nay," he replied. "Did your grandmother never tell you about her research?"
She shook her head. "Grandmama Hermione never said anything. Perhaps my mother did? I don't recall."
He smiled mysteriously and tapped the side of his nose. "Ah, then. I shall let Rose tell you." Her forehead wrinkled and he continued, "That wand is powerful, indeed. I foresee great things for your daughter."
They watched the girl skip around, wielding her new wand happily. It was still sending off the occasional gold spark. Hermione spoke softly: "I can, too."