A/N: I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters

This is a gift fic for the Gryffindors!

Word Count: 1149

Dean wasn't sure why wood called to him. He had first felt the calling at Hogwarts when he'd been in the Forbidden Forest. There had been an oak tree near the entrance, a tall tree with long branches and handsome leaves. He'd merely put his hand to the trunk, but could feel the strength behind the bark. Oak was solid. Pine and willow were softer, more flexible. At eleven, Dean didn't know what he wanted to do with his life. He hadn't even known about his family. His father had walked on them when he was a baby, he'd never really given a second thought to the man. No, his mother had married and that was that.

Dean found the phoenix feather his second year. It had been near the girls' loo. He'd picked it up, holding it in his hand. He could nearly feel the fire inside, the burning, the passion. Dean never questioned why he found the feather. That sort of thing happened often enough. He found things, special things, such as the feather, or the strange scale at the edge of the lake. He'd found strands of unicorn hair tangled in the briars of the forest. He collected these things, putting them in a wooden box. He wasn't sure why cared so much about these treasures, but he knew, they were important in some way.

Third year was a disaster for Gryffindor. Their tower was broken into twice, he counted the madman knowing the password as breaking in. He hadn't belonged there. That year, Dean found more things to add to his collection. He had some long black furs, some grey fur that he was sure came from a werewolf, and the newest prize of his collection – a shard of wood from Harry's first broom. Until that point, the phoenix feather had held top spot. There was something about the broom fragment that spoke to him. Sometimes, at night when everyone else was asleep, Dean would pull out his treasures and look at them. He felt they were trying to tell him something, to direct him on some path. He couldn't figure out what it was yet though. Maybe he didn't have all the pieces?

Fourth year came and gave him another piece. This time, it wasn't something he found, not a bit or bobble of some sort. No, this was an article in the paper. There was an interview with Ollivander, the wand maker, who talked about the wands of the champions. He talked about the woods, about how each wand had a magic core. Dean remembered hearing the same thing when he'd gotten his wand, but the information had never really sunk in. Now, now it was as if the light had turned on. All the bits of wood, the strange things he'd collected. They were wand components! That night, he opened his box, taking stock of what he had. He had plenty of core pieces, but nothing to make the wand itself from. He sneaked out to the Forbidden Forest, to the oak tree that had started it all. He collected a branch that had fallen in a previous storm. It would take some time for the wood to dry, then he'd have to shape it, sand it, finish it. He knew it would take time, but he was willing to put that time in.

It wasn't until fifth year that Dean succeeded in making a wand. The previous attempts had failed, usually with something blowing up. Part of that was Seamus' fault. Dean had decided to let Seamus help him. That hadn't worked out so well. Now, it was fifth year. Things were getting worse and worse. Their Defense teacher as an idiot, so Dean and Seamus were taking Defense as a secret glass. It gave Dean less time to work, but he didn't give up. He'd gotten another branch of wood, yew this time. He'd waited for it to dry, cored it, shaped it. Now, all he had to do was fill it and cork it. That was the part the went wrong. It seemed the core had to harmonize with the wood. If not, it failed. Dean had some unicorn hairs he'd found. He tucked them inside the wand and sealed it. Now for the hard part. He had to test it. The wand chooses the wizard, he knew that, but what if he wasn't the wizard to wield this wand? Would it work? He raised it in the air and beams of light filled the room. The wand hadn't chosen him, but it did work. He'd finally succeeded.

Sixth year Dean wrote Ollivander, asking if he could apprentice to his shop. Dean had sent him a prototype of on of his wands to show him that he had some idea what he was doing. He waited for a reply, but didn't get one. He wondered if it was because of the war, if Ollivander had closed up shop like everyone else and fled. Dean didn't take the lack of answer as a rejection. If Ollivander was gone, then Dean would need to work twice as hard to fill the void. There were other wandmakers, but Dean knew he had a role to fill.

Seventh year came and Dean put aside his work for a moment. It wasn't until he realized some students were losing their wands, having them stolen by the Carrows for daring to speak up that he picked his calling back up. He found wands for the students that needed them. He provided non-traceable wands for the members of Dumbledore's Army. No one knew where the wands were coming from. Ollivander was dead as far as anyone knew. Dean knew it wasn't true. There was something in his heart that said it wasn't true. The final battle came. Dean saw a few of his creations in the hands of the Order, saw his work used to fight, to save lives. Finally the dust cleared. They'd won. Dean felt the victory in his soul, knew he'd played a large part in it.

A month after the battle had ended, a month after everything had been destroyed, an owl landed in front of Dean.

Dear Mr. Thomas,

I am sorry about the delay in this letter reaching you. I was unable to write until recently. Regarding your request to be my apprentice, I formally accept your request and await you at my shop at your convenience.

Warm regards, G. Ollivander

Dean stared at the letter. His dream had finally come true. He was to be a wandmaker, the path he'd been set upon since before he knew it was a choice. He left straight away for the shop, eager to start his new career. He only hoped the wands he'd made wouldn't pale completely to those made by the master, but would shine with equal power and strength.