Harry looked at the wand shop speculatively. It was narrow and shabby, the sign hanging over the door read: "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.", in peeling gold letters. The shop's display consisted of a solitary wand lying on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

Harry opened the door and walked calmly into the shop. A bell rang somewhere in the depth of the shop, which was small and empty except for a single, spindly chair in the corner. Thousands of narrow boxes containing wands were piled right up to the ceiling of the tiny shop, and the whole place had a thin layer of dust about it. Harry stood in the center of the room, not wanting to get dust on his dark clothes.

"Good afternoon," a soft voice said from directly behind him. Without turning Harry

said, in an even softer voice, "Good afternoon, Garrick Ollivander."

"Ah yes, I thought I'd be seeing you soon, Harry Potter." Harry thought that bit was rather obvious, though he wondered how the old man knew who he was. He hadn't even turned towards him, so seeing the scar wasn't it. Before Harry could continue with this line of thought, Ollivander resumed speaking.

"You have your mother's eyes… It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." He thought of his mother wand, stored safely in the bottom of his trunk and wondered again why it did not accept him.

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Silvery eyes were met with a vibrant, unyielding green.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it – it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Harry wondered ideally if this man remembered every wand he had ever sold. By then Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes. Both stared, unblinkingly.

"And that's where…"

Mr. Ollivander reached to touch the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger. Harry took half a step back to avoid contact.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands…well, if I'd known what the wand was going out into the world to do…."

" You would have sold it anyway, I hope. Every witch or wizard deserves their chance to be great." Harry said with a smile.

"Of course, of course, but onto you, which is your wand arm?" Ollivander said, changing the subject without much grace.

"My right arm, sir."

"Well then, hold out your arm, boy." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful substance, Mr. Potter. We use primarily unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Harry realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.

Harry took the wand and waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once. "Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try –"

Harry tried – but he had hardly risen the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

"No, no – here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Harry tried. And tried. He had some idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for; a shower of sparks, the sign of a wand bonding. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere – I wonder, now – yes, why not – unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand in his hand, and felt - as he had with every other wand - it's magic reach out to touch his, and then pull away.

Mr Ollivander seemed surprised with this wand's lack of response, as if he had been expecting this to be the one.

Harry tried more and more wands. Phoenix feather with maple, dragonheart strings with ash, unicorn hair with apple, nothing produced even close to the response he got out of his fathers wand.
After much thought, Mr. Ollivander got out a wand from deep inside his room.

Eventually Mr Ollivander stopped in his search and simply took a moment to stare at Harry. Harry stared right back, neither of them seemed bothered by the drawn out eye contact.

"Well Mr Potter. I am quite dissatisfied with this endeavor so far. I could have you try every wand in the store, but I doubt you'll find the wand made for you."

"What does that mean for me, sir? I have to have a wand to attend Hogwarts, don't I?"

"Why of course Mr Potter, every witch and wizard must have a wand that works for them to perform magic. I didn't say that there is no wand for you, simply implied that it is not currently housed in my shop.

"There is of course a chance that your wand has already been made by a foreign wand maker, but I doubt it. No, I very much believe that your wand has yet to come into this world. Follow me please."

Harry followed Mr Ollivander to a door at the back of his shop, thinking about how the man seemed to change his mind rather quickly. The door was soon opened and Mr Ollivander stepped through, with Harry following behind. As soon as he passed the doorway, he felt himself pass through a barrier of magic. The room had five uneven stone walls. The walls would have made it look barren, with their dark, cold feel, except every flat surface was filled with a jumble of color and light. The room had a bed at the far end, but most of the room was filled with a giant work bench. The walls seemed to hold hundreds of tiny jars, boxes, and different containers, which Harry assumed were used in wand making.

"You'll be needing a custom wand, Mr Potter. I can tell that either, you have already found a secondary wand, or that you have some ability in wandless magic. If it were any other way you'd have gotten some more… extreme reactions. Most children who try even four to five wands find one that rather dislikes them." Harry, having no intention of telling him that he was right on both accounts, commented offhandedly, "I see,". Harry speculated that those "extreme reactions" were caused by the child's unused and uncontrolled magic trying desperately to be chosen, by any wand.

Turning to a specific wall, Ollivander gestured to the shelves upon shelves full of boxes, "Reach out to the woods, Mr Potter, feel them with your magic, they will in turn 'feel' you."

Harry raised his hand, and let his magic sweep the wall of different woods, closing his eyes as he did so. The woods seemed to be organized in some way, because different areas on the wall felt… similar? Some felt wrong in a sense, so he pulled his magic away from those areas. Others felt more pleasant, so he looked through those more carefully, probing the woods with his magic. He began to pull the woods he liked closer in his mind, imagining them floating towards him. He continued along this way for some time, narrowing the list of possible woods down, seven, then four, until he arrived at two woods from which he could not pick the one he felt more in tune with.

At this point, Harry opened his eyes to find the two woods floating in front of him, suspended in the air with his magic. His eyes dashed to Ollivander, who had stood in the corner and watched with a serine smile as Harry had… wait, what did I just do? His thoughts interrupted themselves.

The old man spoke before Harry had a chance to really freak out. "That was an impressive display of wandless magic and at such a young age too. The way you picked up all the woods at once, setting a few back down immediately, then examining each one with a thread of your magic, your sorting process was incredible to watch. A fine show Mr Potter. I see you could not pick between Ebony, and Willow.

"Two very different woods. On one hand you have Ebony, known for its jet black color and suitability to all manner of combative magic, and Transfiguration. On the other hand, you have Willow, which has a well-founded reputation for enabling advanced, non-verbal magic."

Harry took a moment to process this information, promising himself to look up a book on wandlore when he got to Hogwarts.

"Now onto your wand core. If you would simply hold with your magic, the Willow and Ebony, and touch the container of each core with a single finger. Touching raw magical wand cores with your magic could be dangerous, depending on how well they like you, Mr. Potter." As he spoke, he grabbed several different glass jars, and set them on the workbench.

Harry did as instructed grabbing the Willow and Ebony blocks with his magic and held them. With his right hand, he began to touch the glass jars containing the wand cores. First the unicorn hairs, those felt light, like his mother's wand, but not right for him. Next was the phoenix feathers, those felt strong, and pure, not still, not for him. Dragon heart strings were next, he felt a few different breeds of dragons before stopping.

"None of these feel right Mr Ollivander." Harry stated plainly.

"Hmm.. most odd indeed, there are a few others we could try, though I rarely make wands outside of the three main cores, so this should be interesting. " He picked a few more ingredients off the wall and placed them in front of Harry. Touching the first one he instantly felt like this was the core for him. He didn't need to go through the others, he was sure.

"It's this one, sir. I can feel it."

Mr Ollivander picked up the glass jar with what looked like a long, glimmering, black hair in it. "Aw, most interesting indeed. Thestral tail hair. Very curious. I've never sold a wand with this as it's core before, though I've seen a few being made."

Harry wondered what a Thestral was, but decided not to ask. It was hardly important at the moment and he had already resolved to look up a book on wandlore.

" Well Mr Potter, as there is nothing left for you to do here besides wait, I suggest you continue with your shopping. I'll have your wand ready for you at six this evening."

They walked back to the front of the shop, and Ollivander said a quick "Cheerio!" Before closing the door of the shop behind Harry. A second later the sign flipped from "Open For Business" to "Closed For The Day".

Ollivander had seemed so excited to be making his unusual wand, he must have decided to begin right then. Harry idly wondered how wands were made. How did you get the core into the wood? What caused their semi-sentience?

He decided to put those thoughts out of his head for now, they would only distract him from the task at hand.