J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter

Chapter Eleven

The wandmaker emerged from the back of the shop carrying an extremely dusty wooden box. He opened it with an odd expression and said, "Why don't you, please, Mr. Evans, try out this wand. It is ebony and unicorn hair, twelve inches long."

Mark picked up the wand, and he instantly knew that this was the one; it felt like a part of him that had been missing until now. But when he gave it a small wave, it emitted only a single, solitary spark. He did not care. He turned to Gran, overjoyed, and she hugged him tightly. His knees were shaking in relief, Alec was beaming, and all was right with the world again. I did it, I did it, I did it.

Mr. Ollivander cleared his throat, smiling sadly. "I would like a private word with you, Mark, about the peculiarities of this particular wand. By your leave?"

Gran turned with a questioning look to her cousin, who nodded. They left the shop with Alec, who looked over his shoulder curiously as he exited; Mark shrugged at him.

The wandmaker sat down, motioning for Mark to sit in another chair he hadn't noticed until now.

"Many years before you were born," he began, "when I had just begun to make wands, I came across a magnificent supply of ebony wood."

Mark glanced at the wand in his hand - his wand. It really was quite a nice wood, though this did not seem relevant at all.

"I used it to make a full set of wands, in every length and every core. However, to my great disappointment, it soon emerged that two of the wands were not working properly for those they had chosen." Mark still did not see where this was leading. "I researched the situation, and discovered that the wands in question were both twelve inches long. I consulted other wandmakers, and it seems that the problem is common to all wands of that length."

This did not sound good.

"It appears that because twelve is a number of completion and perfection, a wand of twelve inches does not really require its wizard, with whom it will thus generally fail to bond."

Mark stared in mounting dismay, feeling like a patient who did not yet fully understand his diagnosis, but who knew it would be very grim.

The wandmaker continued: "The dragon heartstring and phoenix feather wands had already been chosen, but one remained in the shop. I put it away, never intending to show it to a customer again. I nearly forgot it existed. It sat in the back of the shop, gathering dust, for many, many years, until today." He took the wand gently from Mark, his aged hands holding it lightly.

"So - so what does that mean?" Mark asked, knowing he would have to hear the answer even as he wished he wouldn't.

"It means," Mr. Ollivander said, a look of great sympathy on his wizened face, "that I am afraid it will be extremely difficult to make this wand fully work for you. You will be able to perform magic with it, yes, but its spells will be weak and nearly ineffective through a long and arduous process of bonding. I wish it could be somehow changed, but this is the wand that has chosen you."

Any lingering confusion had by now turned to crushing despair. What good was it to have a wand that would never work? It was hopeless; magic had been placed just within his reach, only to be cruelly snatched away again. He fought hard not to cry, just managing to control his tears as his dreams crashed and crumbled around him, the barely-remembered excitement of half an hour ago cracked beyond repair.

The next couple of hours were painful, wearing a brave face as they bought robes, school books with magical titles and moving pictures on the covers, a cauldron and potion ingredients and whatnot. He pretended nothing was wrong, then refused to answer his grandmother's questions when she inevitably realized that something was. He tried to hope for the best, comforted somewhat by Mr. Ollivander's assurances that he could learn to use his wand, that one of the two witches who had taken the other wand had gone on to become very successful in her magic. It would be a relief when the day was over, though, so he could go home and lick his wounds alone. With a scowl, he remembered that he had promised Noah a complete account of the day's events; this had much less appeal now than it had yesterday.

One particular shopfront made him stop in his tracks. "What is that?" he asked, surveying the window display of bright colors, flashing lights, and minor explosions.

"Just some joke shop," Alec said loftily, and Mark belatedly noticed the enormous sign reading Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"You can stay on your high horse while I check it out," Mark retorted as he opened the shop door and headed inside, followed by a stung-looking Alec.

He looked around the shop in something approaching awe. It was even wilder inside than out. It was rather like a circus, combined with a fireworks display, if circuses and fireworks displays could be held in crowded shops. Then again, with magic, they probably could.

Snapping back to focus, he set about examining things like Everlasting Slinkys, which could walk up stairs as well as down them and across walls and ceilings to boot, and Self-Tangling Laces, for inserting into someone's shoes to trip them up.

He browsed for a few minutes, until he heard Alec snort quietly behind him. He looked up from a basket of fake wands that turned into odd items when you picked them up to see Alec chuckling at a bottle labeled Color-Changing Poo.

He raised an eyebrow at Alec, this being a skill he had perfected for just such occasions. "This? Seriously?" he asked scornfully; it was somewhat strange that this was what his too-cool-for-school friend found funny, of everything in the shop.

A blond girl a few paces away, who looked about their age and who had clearly overheard, looked across the display of Headless Hats to wink at him. Mark found this only mildly awkward, but Alec, noticing, appeared mortified, which Mark felt was no more than he deserved.

They finished their shopping rather quickly after that, ducking outside for a moment to get money from their grandmothers. Mark paid two Sickles for a box of Fever Fudge for Noah, who would undoubtedly be in ecstasy at a gift which was not only magic, but could get him out of class. He bought himself a Headless Hat as well; it would be quite entertaining to use around his mother. Alec, on the other hand, ended up taking only a pair of severe gray-and-black Shield Gloves and a notable lack of any poo-related items.

They headed back toward the Leaky Cauldron, Alec in his Shield Gloves, the two grandmothers, weirdly, in matching green shawls, and Mark, though his wand still weighed on the back of his mind, in much better spirits than before.