The Wand of Newt Scamander
Pear and Fairy Wing, 8" (1st), Hornbeam and Fairy Wing, 11 1/2", Thunderbird and Ironwood 11 1/2" (2nd)
It wasn't an odd occurrence for children to run away from their parents in the Alley and into the wand shop. Seeing their parents perform spells since the beginning of their lives makes children curious. It isn't, however, common for children under eleven to be brought to the shop by their parents for a wand before their time.
The reason was simple – most children don't have the discipline with the wand to avoid horrid accidents if they weren't schooled. There were enough wandless magic accidents. Without teachers and a school mediwitch who were familiar with student blunders, there was no way every parent could control their child's learning.
It was a rare day indeed when a small boy of no older than eight arrived at the shop with his older brother, mother and father. My father was in the back of the store, creating the wands, while I manned the desk. The boy had a sad sort of smile on his face, while he cupped a small box in his hands.
There was a look in the older brother's face like jealousy, or just annoyance.
"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Scamander," I greeted happily. "And Theseus! It's been, what, four years? Hazel and crup ashes, 9", right?"
"Correct, sir," Theseus seemed proud I'd remembered him.
His father put a hand on his son's shoulder. "Good of you to remember, Garrick. How's your father?"
"Having a hard time passing on the store," I replied with a smile. "I would too, in his shoes. It's a magical place."
I turned my attention to the small boy. "And this must be your younger son. What's your name, young lad?"
The boy kept the sad smile on his face. "I'm Newt, sir."
"He's the reason we're here, actually," his father put in. "Son, show him the core you have for him."
The boy seemed reluctant, but opened the box and held it at arm's length. I looked inside and frowned.
"Fairy wings?" I asked the small boy. "I'm sure you know it's not effective to use a wing you've torn from a fairy in a wand."
"I didn't!" The boy closed the box and held it close to his chest. He had tears in his eyes. "I didn't. Clara was my friend!"
"Clara?" I knelt down and looked at the boy. "And why do you have her wings?"
The boy was crying, soundlessly, and his mother intervened then. She put an arm around her son in comfort. "Mr. Ollivander, his fairy-friend came around often for the last little while. But, er, I'm afraid the crup was a little rough with her. We promised Newt he could have his friend's wings put into his first wand so he could remember her."
"Ah, I see," I nodded to the young boy. "What was your friendship like with Clara?"
THe boy's lip trembled. "She would play with me, and show me magic. She lived in a big tree in the forest. I'd go to see her and her family. She played with Stephie and Barty too."
"Oh? And who are they?"
"Stephie is my favourite knome!" The boy told me happily. "The gardeners throw the knomes away, but it hurts them Stephie is my friend, and we protect the knomes together. Barty is his brother, I think. They fight a lot, but they stay together. You won't tell Barty I like Stephie better, will you?"
I smiled at the charming little man. "Off course not, my boy. It's none of my business, for my business is wands. Now, I think we may have an excellent starting point for a wand just for you. Hold still."
I flicked my wand and the tape measure came to circle the boy, quickly jotting down measurements and such. Length mattered more after the wand was made, when the power balance between the core and the wood needed to be perfected. My tape measure would give me a goo idea on how much power he would be needing to balance it out, so I could at least start near the right length. I looked at it and jotted it down. An easy 8" wand, mostly compensating for a short body. I'd have to inform the parents to bring him back in when he ended his growth spirt later.
"I'll just go grab some wood and see what we can find to save those wings in, hmm?"
I remember that, when I went back to the workshop and told my father about the customer, he grabbed a set of wand wood and followed me out to meet the boy who had two fairy wings for his wand, probably hoping the boy would sell the second and we would use only the first to make a wand. I knew better, but kept the thought to myself as I brought a little ingredient vial with me.
I caught my father talking to the parents, who nodded along, but the mother said 'No'. She thought it was good to sell it, but she realized as I did that Newt viewed the wings as the last momento of a friend. He should not be encouraged to sell something of such value to him.
Newt, hearing the conversation, was hugging the box closer to his chest. He didn't beg to keep it, but he looked as if he would protect the little box with his life if he was asked to give it up. I knelt on the ground next to him, careful not to get too close that the boy would think I was trying to take his box, and extended the small vial.
"You know, only one fairy wing goes in a wand, don't you?" I asked kindly. The boy nodded, scared. "Well, this here is a little Ollivander specialty. Sometimes we get ingredients that we won't use for years when making wands. Never the right wood, or the right pairing. It keeps the wand core preserved so it can be used in the future. Do you think you'd like to keep the second wing in here, so that if you ever lose or break your wand Clara can still be in the next one? You could take it home with you, then, if you promise to take good care of it."
The boy looked so relieved to have that choice that if he hadn't been holding the box I fear he would have launched himself at me. Instead of that, I had him open the box with the wings in it.
"I want you to touch each of Clara's wings," I instructed him, holding the box for him. "One of them will feel a little bit better or more suiting than the other. I want you to pick that one and we'll make it into a wand for you. The other wing will go in the vial. Okay?"
Newt nodded, focusing on his little hand as it reached towards the little wings. He seemed to hesitate over one, then the other, for a very long time. There were several passes before the boy picked the right wing.
"I thought so," I reassured the boy, who was still looking uncertain with his pick. "Now, a wand wood."
The following week, Newt Scamander came with his mother to pick up his little, 8" Pear and Fairy Wing wand, ideal for healing and charms, and a very earth-based wand.
My father had always taken care to register every wand with the Ministry of Magic. He was a law-abiding, careful man with rigid stances on practically everything under the sun. My own passion lay solely within wands and the magic the could enact on or for a person. So when Dumbledore approached me in secret one day, I was not as frightened by his request as I should have been.
Especially when I saw what he had for me; a small vial with a fairy wing, the same I'd given to the young Newt Scamander not eight years before.
The scandal was everywhere, papers and headlines about it. Hogwarts was mostly to blame, as they'd missed the jarvey on their grounds and the experiments upon it. It sat wrong with him thinking the small boy he'd seen had done something like that. With Albus here, though, he suddenly understood the public to be wrong.
"Where is the boy?" I asked Albus, leading him into the back of the shop. I'd later wonder how he knew my father was out for the day, but I knew well enough to know it had been deliberate.
"Mr. Scamander is currently being processed for his release," Dumbledore told me, his expression surprisingly serene. "He will not be allowed to return to Hogwarts, unfortunately, but he's not being penalized further. He has his OWLS; he will be alright. His wand had already been snapped by the time I was allowed to come to his defense, however. Could you-?"
"Certainly," I took the vial in hand and felt for the core's power. The other wing had been light and straightforward. This wing still was, but it had clearly been close to young Scamander's magic for quite a while. There was more strength than previously, and a little more solidarity. An … aloneness. The feeling was that of a widowed father. There was a chain attached to the vial that promised me Newt had been wearing it for years. "It's too different. The boy will need to come here so I can select the right wood, Albus."
"Ah, I thought so," Albus nodded. "He will meet us here when he's finished at the Ministry. I have a favour to ask, Garrick."
I leaned back in my seat. "Albus?"
"You've heard what's happening in Germany, both muggle and magical," Albus leaned forward intently, his voice softer by no less clear. I nodded. "I believe young Newton Scamander may be able to help with that situation. He is a good boy, very capable with the right conditions. To that end, I'm going to need two wands for him. With only one registered with the Ministry."
My eyebrows shot up. "Albus?"
"I know I'm asking for much," he continued, "but I know this will help us all in the long run. Our young friend needs to be able to travel and use magic undetected if this is going to work. But he needs to also continue to exist in the magical world. Two wands solve all those issues."
I stopped to think. Registering wands was standard practice, and a means of identification that the Ministry had. To give an unregistered wand meant that I needed to trust the young boy I'd met nearly a decade prior, once, not to abuse the anonymity he'd be giving to him. I curled my hand around the vial of fairy wing, and felt the magic once again.
"Do you know, fairy wings are very much like unicorn hair?" I shared with Albus, showing him the vial. "Unicorn hair can die when used for dark magic. For fairy wings, dark magic isn't the issue. Fairy wings can conduct magic as much as dragon heartstring, but can die if made to take life. Guardians of light, and guardians of life, as it were," I levelled my gaze at Dumbledore. "Your boy did not experiment on that creature, did he?"
Dumbledore was quiet for a moment, before, in a low voice, he declared, "No, he did not."
I nodded, understanding. "And the fairy wing would go in which wand?"
"The registered wand," Dumbledore seemed to have decided instantly. "I'm afraid there are people who know of Newt's second core. For his new wand to be anything else would raise suspicions."
"Of course. Let me pull a few –"
"Nothing your father made," Dumbledore interrupted, his voice firm. "I want no reason for Mr. Scamander's wand to be identified by anyone outside this room."
"There aren't as many of mine around …" I admitted. "I mostly run the front."
Dumbledore looked at me sternly. "Garrick, it does not help matters when you lie to me. I'm fully aware of your experiments."
I immediately defended myself. "I'm testing cores for stability and strength, that is all. My father disapproves, but it's nothing illegal."
"Oh, I didn't mean to imply that it was," Dumbledore said with a small smile. "In fact, the idea is rather a good one. I never did understand why people insisted on using something so decidedly unmagical as crups for their wands. Tell me, what cores do you find the best so far?"
"Well, I've narrowed it down to the obviously powerful cores - a basilisk scale, or even an egg-shell, phoenix or thunderbirds' feathers or beaks, a dragon's claws or heart, and you can use a unicorn's hair but anything else is forcibly taken from the creature and does not mix well with a wand – and some less obvious cores – fairy wings obviously work well when freely given, but that hardly ever happens; augrey feathers work sufficiently but cannot perform in potions; manticore or chimera claws, bones, or hairs are just as powerful as I'd hoped, although the components are decidedly hard to come by; and Veela, while sufficiently powerful, just does not seem to behave for it maker. I just can't seem to get that wand right."
"Probably because a Veela's magic is more sentient than the others," the small, but confident voice said. Newt Scamander's eyes seemed to wander all over the office, never focusing on the people within it for any amount of time. "Their magic is loyal only to themselves, their families, and their mates; you might make a wand like that one day, but it would be for a part-veela or a veela mate, and with a hair from the one they're linked to. Yes, that would make sense."
"Ah, Newt my boy," Dumbledore rose from his seat and clasped the boy's hand in his own. "I'm so glad you weren't further detained."
"Thank you for speaking for me, Professor," Newt said awkwardly. I had the impression that he did not feel comfortable speaking to people, but also didn't quite know it yet. Obvious of his own shyness, would be how I'd put it. He turned to me and looked fondly at the vial in my hand. "I know it's been a while; can we still use Clara's wing?"
"Of course we can," I promised genially. "I was only waiting for you so I could find the right wood to use, my boy. And, of course, we'll need to get that other wand matched."
"Two-?" He looked at Professor Dumbledore, who gave him a reassuring smile. "Of course."
I pulled them both back through the office and up the stairs. I would normally bring them to father's workroom to find the wood pairing, but I knew better for Newt. Instead I brought them through the upstairs apartment and into my own bedroom, where my personal collection and experiments were hidden.
My room was small, but I brought the boy through to sit on the bed while I sat at the desk.
"Now, your old wand was the sister wing and pear wood, yes?" Newt nodded. "I fear pear will no longer work, and not with this core at any rate. Did you have any preference?"
"No, sir."
I beamed at him. "Good choice. Let the wand decide, I always say. Now, let's see …" I opened the chest at the end of my bed, the branches of various trees carved, lacquered, and tucked, empty, in the bottom beneath various vials of cores. I had the fairy wing in one hand while I picked up each piece with the other. The wood and the core would find a connection right in the middle, around my chest cavity, and I would know. If the connection was too far down either arm it was not a well-suited match.
"Ah-ha!" I pulled a maple branch from the chest and felt the centered, balanced connection. "Put you hand on the core and the wood, my boy. Let's see how they feel."
Newt followed his instructions patiently, as if he had all the patience and wisdom in the world. It was strange to see such a calm spirit in one so young, one who had been through an ordeal as he had. I knew maple might just be an odd fit, if it accepted him. As I thought, the vial of core sparked and Newt pulled away quickly.
"Ah, just as well," I said, putting the wood away. "Maple has a few quirks to it. It's a changer and shaker's wand, that one is."
We finally found his match in the hornbeam, the same type as my own. "A very singular wood, that – focused, intent. It picks those who have a single-minded fascination and purpose. I myself use the wood in my wand."
Newt smiled at that. "Then we are more alike than I thought, Mr. Ollivander."
"Garrick," I corrected. "Mr. Ollivander is still very much my father. Now … we need a second wand."
The bottom level of my trunk had the wands I'd been testing and working on. Variouos woods, cores, and conditions met and tried to find a sense in the feeling I'd always had for wands. I pulled a few wands from there that I thought might suit before placing them on the bed beside Newt.
"Give those a try," I encouraged. "But avoid pointing it at my desk, please. Aim for the lamp. That's easily fixed."
Newt nodded and started in on the boxes I'd presented him with. To start I'd given him another hornbeam to try, this one with a basilisk egg as a core, and it stalwartly refused to even spark for the boy. That returned to the box with an additional note of the reaction. We went through a phoenix and hickory, a cherry and manticore, and an oak and dragon scale with no success.
Since this was taking some time, I pulled one of my more American wands from the chest and put it on the bed, just to see if nationality in any way affected the acceptance of a wand. I had no thought that it would be accepted.
Yet, as Newt touched it, my center that had put together that wand flared and I knew it was the right wand for the boy. He flicked it at the now broken lamp and repaired it, as his first bit of magic with the new wand.
"A curious thing," I jotted down the finding on the scroll in the chest, nearly ignorant of the boy. "The thunderbird, American in origin, and the American oceanspray ironwood. Clearly geography that mattered to the core and wood of the wand do not discriminate against the wielder."
"My wand's an American?" Newt said with a touch of humour. "How very surprising."
"Yes, quite," I affirmed. "Another thing to research, I suppose. It was always just taken as fact that you needed a wand of the same birth as you, but this clearly flies in its face. In retrospect, if that were so then the Americans would be needing more British or French wands, as they are not natives. How curious."
"I always believed such rumours to be the product of those who wanted to make life difficult for our black friends," Dumbledore pronounced from the doorway, his face pensive. "Make the wands more exotic and the components too difficult to acquire, and they will have a hard time affording them."
We were silent for a minute, avoiding the uncomfortable topic. Finally, I found a way out. "Regardless, this is a good wand; thunderbird and ironwood, 11 ½". A very strong, dry wood with a storm-conjuring center. Useful to all magic, but particularly good with healing and earth-related conjuring. I find ironwood to have some level of perception about it, making it particularly adept with silent casting. While your hornbeam is about focus and your own goals where there will present little conflict, this one will be a partner in the difficult moment where selflessness and strength is required."
I paused, considering. "You know, young Newt, it seems fairly clear that your humble soul is hiding some great power, and a stronger soul. I would not be surprised if you turned into a great man and a powerful wizard."
"Well, er, thank you," the boy said with a blush, "but people who get kicked out of school don't get those kind of chances."
"You'd be surprised where your passion can takes you, young man," I said kindly. "You're a good sort, I don't doubt it for a moment."
Dumbledore and his former student walked off just a little while later, once I'd finished putting his fairy wing wand together. I'd later hear of some of his actions during the war with Grindelwald, all from Albus at our regular teas, and was unsurprised when he published his book and became the world's first true authority on magical creatures. Yes, that boy was a good sort, and a great wizard. I doubt he ever saw it himself; he simply did right by what he loved, and for great men that will always be enough.
