A special wand

.

August 1938

.

When Garrick Ollivander had inherited the wand shop in Diagon Alley from his father, he swore to do things differently. His father had been a great wandmaker, just like his grandfather and all the Ollivanders before him right to 382 BC, the year, the shop had been established. But in Garrick's opinion, the wands his father created were just – boring! Just simple wooden staffs with only sometimes a little ornament, and often enough some wands just looked like another. Garrick didn't want that. He wanted wands to be special, not only because of their power but because of their appearance. He wanted them to be distinguishable so that every witch or wizard had their unique wand. He hoped that this would strengthen the bond between the person and their wand. So, over the years he spent a considerable amount of time designing new wands. Often they had interesting runes and ornaments or beautiful twists, sometimes even little faces of animals or humans, and regularly he used unusual materials like shells or fossil feathers. He was very proud of his work and had gotten numerous compliments from parents and children alike that they now owned such a special wand that everyone would recognise at once as theirs. Yes, Ollivander was proud of his work – until one day.

On the 13th of August 1938, a young boy entered his shop. He had a pale complexion, dark black hair and cold eyes.

Ollivander saw at once that this boy hadn't received much love in his life. "Welcome," he told the boy. "Are you here to buy your first wand?" It was the summer holidays before a new Hogwarts year, so many 11-year-old girls and boys made their way into his shop.

The boy nodded eagerly and Ollivander could see a spark of joy in his eyes. He went to get his measurement utensils and started to measure the boy while talking to him to know more about him. "So, what's your name, young man?"

"Tom Riddle," the boy answered sourly.

"Oh, you don't like your name, do you?" Ollivander asked in good humour.

"No. I don't."

"And you're wandering alone through Diagon Alley? Or are your parents buying something else for you?"

The boy gave him a dark look. "I'm an orphan," he said as if it was obvious.

"I'm so sorry, my boy." Ollivander measured more, also writing down the colour of the boy's hair and eyes. "So, you're Muggle-born," he finally said. There were no orphanages in the wizarding world – the Ministry always found a way to incorporate the young children with relatives or willing families.

The boy stomped his foot. "I am no filthy Muggle! And my parents weren't either! At least my father has to be a great wizard!" And he looked so hopeful that Ollivander dropped the subject. He probably was just some Muggle-born kid. He hoped he would find happiness in Hogwarts.

"I think I have the perfect wand for you," he announced and went into the back of his shop to retrieve a box. He opened it in front of the boy whose eyes widened at the sight. "Ebony, 11 inches, unicorn hair," Ollivander told him and offered it to the boy.

Tom took the wand quickly, the black wood matching his hair colour. Without any encouragement, he swung it towards a poster on the wall – which engulfed in flames.

"No," Ollivander said and took the wand back quickly. "Apparently not the right wand for you."

"But I like it," Tom complained.

"The wand chooses the wizard," Ollivander told him. "And every wizard needs his perfect wand, or you will only do mediocre magic – and you don't want that, do you?"

The boy shook his head at once, his eyes determined.

Probably a Ravenclaw, Ollivander thought to himself. Or a Slytherin. He went back to the other boxes and looked through them. He had a general idea what the boy needed but wasn't sure yet. There was something off about this Tom Riddle.

Suddenly he noticed a box a bit father in the back and shuddered. He knew instinctively that this was the right wand for the boy, but he dreaded giving it to him. He sighed loudly and cursed his will for change...

He took the box and went back to the boy apprehensively. "I believe I have found your wand." He opened the box, and the boy opened his mouth in surprise. Inside was a white wand – with a bone for the handle.

"Don't worry, it's not a real bone. Just yew wood. 13 1/2 inches long with a phoenix feather for its core. I know the phoenix personally, a very powerful bird," he tried to sell this strange wand. When he had created it, he had thought of an adult, probably a Slytherin with a macabre side – not an 11-year-old boy who didn't know much about the wizarding world.

Tom Riddle took the wand into his hand and seemed awed. Then he swung it at the poster again and the poster repaired itself. "It feels different," he said. "Like it wants me."

Ollivander nodded. "Yes, this is definitely your wand. If you want, I can change the handle however, and take away the bone."

"No!" Tom said at once and took the wand at his chest protectively. "I like it."

A kid with a macabre side..., Ollivander thought. Well, if he does like it... "Very well, the wand shall be yours."

Tom Riddle gave him the ten galleons the wand cost and went back onto the sunny Diagon Alley with his new treasure.

Ollivander looked after him for a while. He hoped Dumbledore wouldn't write him an angry letter that he had sold such a wand to a first-year...