Chapter 22: Wand Lore
The next day, Neville, Harry, Sirius, and Remus crowded together in Ollivander's wand shop. The tree branch that Neville had been gifted lay on the long counter. Neville watched it anxiously, his fingers twisting nervously—a habit his grandmother had never quite managed to break.
"Can you do it?" Neville asked, his voice tight with worry.
Ollivander, studying the branch with a practiced eye, cast several spells over it, his gnarled hand wrapped around the wood. He fell into a deep, meditative trance for several long minutes.
The others watched in almost bored fascination.
"What's he doing?" Harry whispered.
"Don't know." Neville replied, his voice barely audible.
"Is he breathing?" Harry asked, frowning. He couldn't discern any movement beneath the old man's robes. "Maybe your branch killed him."
"Very funny." Neville muttered, rolling his eyes.
Finally, Ollivander stirred, rousing himself from his magical trance. He gave a satisfied nod. "It can be done. It's a fine specimen. There's enough here for more than one wand. If you let me keep the leftover wood, I can make you a second wand at a significant discount." He looked at Neville with a raised brow.
Neville studied the branch for a moment, then shook his head. "The wood was a gift," he said firmly. "I don't care about the money." He lifted his chin, suddenly more confident than he'd ever felt before. He wasn't sure why, but there was something about this wood—something important. "I don't wish to sell it."
He wasn't sure what he would do with the remaining wood, but he was certain of his decision.
Mr. Ollivander sighed in mild disappointment but nodded. "Did you want to keep the berries and the smaller twiggy branches as well? I'd be happy to take them off your hands."
Neville shook his head. "No, sir. I plan to use them for potions."
Remus gave a small nod and offered Neville the forager's bag. "You can put them in here for safekeeping, Neville."
Mr. Ollivander, with practiced precision, rendered the branch down to the portion needed for the wand. He never once touched blade to wood; instead, he used magic to carefully separate the piece for Neville's wand, while Remus stored the rest in the bag.
As he worked, Mr. Ollivander spoke of the wandlore of the Wiggentree, or the magical Rowan. "The Wiggentree, as we call it here, is the magical variant of the Rowan tree. Over the centuries, it's taken on many names. It's also known as the Tree of Quickening, Round Wood, Delight of the Eye, Mountain Ash, Quickbane, Roden-Quicken, Roden-Quicken-Royan, Royne Tree, Sorb Apple, Service Tree, Thor's Helper, Whitty, Wicken-Tree, Wiggin, Wiggy, Wiky, Wild Ash, Witchbane, Witchen, Witch Wood, and Tree of Life."
"Whoa," Harry said in awe. "That's a lot of names for a tree."
"That it is, young man," Mr. Ollivander agreed with a creepy smile, sending an uncomfortable chill down Harry's spine.
"Rowan wood has always been a prized wand material, thanks to its strong protective properties," Mr. Ollivander said. "Rowan wands excel in defensive charms. The most powerful wards are created by those who wield them. It's also believed that Rowan wood has a special disassociation with the Dark Arts. Over the years, I've sold countless Rowan wands, and I can't think of a single wizard who's turned to the Dark Arts after owning one. Well, except maybe Lord Black," he added with a knowing smile.
Sirius scoffed and crossed his arms. "Oi, I'm not a Dark wizard."
Mr. Ollivander raised an eyebrow. "You've certainly made a name for yourself, Lord Black, but the wand is still loyal, I see."
Harry snickered at the exchange. While he was fascinated by the wand lore, his thoughts drifted to his own wand—his Holly wand. As interesting as it was, he wasn't keen on listening to wand history for too long.
"Rowan wands are best suited for the clear-headed and pure-hearted," Mr. Ollivander continued, a slight twinkle in his eye. "But don't let that reputation for virtue fool you. A Rowan wand can hold its own in a duel—and often outmatch others, even when wielded by someone as...unpredictable as Lord Black."
Sirius grinned wickedly.
Once the wand wood had been salvaged, Neville's measurements taken, and the design for his wand chosen, Mr. Ollivander led him back to his workroom. It was time to select the core that would pair with the wand. Mr. Ollivander had already decided that Neville's core would be unicorn hair, though apparently, not all unicorn hairs are the same.
The next few minutes were spent with Neville running his fingers through various strands of white to gold-colored unicorn hairs, searching for one that "sparked his magic." Harry watched his friend in fascination, observing as Neville carefully touched each sample.
After a few minutes, Neville finally chose a strand that felt "warmer" to him than the others. Harry, curious, asked if he could try, hoping to feel a difference himself.
Mr. Ollivander, ever accommodating, allowed Harry to touch the unicorn hairs. To his disappointment, Harry didn't feel anything. Later, Neville confided that he wasn't sure if he had felt anything either. They all seemed the same to him, and he had chosen in a bit of a panic.
The finished product was stunning. When Neville held his new wand, his expression showed no reservations—it was everything he had hoped for. The red and ash-gray striations swirled and gleamed like swirling red clouds within the grain of the gleaming wood. The sparks that erupted when his fingers touched the wand left the boys blinking in surprise.
Neville simply stared at his new wand in awe. "I'm a wizard," he whispered, as if just now fully realizing that his magic wasn't borrowed, inherited, or a legacy passed down from father to son. It chose who it wanted, and it resided in every part of the world. And it had chosen him.
Later, they all returned to Remus's cabin for lunch. The boys were begging to go flying when Remus's fireplace chimed. Remus glanced over and saw Albus Dumbledore's head floating in the flames. "It looks like the Kneazles are out of the bag now," he murmured to Sirius, who crossed his arms defensively.
Harry and Neville exchanged curious glances as Dumbledore's head, appearing in the harmless green flames, called out, "Remus, my boy, may I come through?"
Remus and Sirius shared a silent look and sighed. "Might as well get it over with," Sirius muttered.
"If you must, Albus. We were just finishing lunch." Remus's tone was both inviting and disinviting at once—a gift he had perfected. Harry and Neville watched in interest as the headmaster of Hogwarts stepped through the flames. His gaze moved from Remus to Sirius, then landed on the two boys standing side by side, almost protectively. The sight made Dumbledore falter. Plan A should never be in the same room as Plan B. This just wouldn't do.
"Ah, and here is my wayward ward. I'm quite happy to see you safe, Harry," Dumbledore began, but was immediately interrupted by Sirius.
"He is not your ward, Albus. In fact, I don't recall seeing your name anywhere in the will. Did you, Remus?" Sirius was working hard to keep his temper in check.
Harry and Neville stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the exchange with morbid curiosity and growing anxiety. Magic seemed to swirl in the air around these powerful adult wizards, but no one seemed to notice.
Remus shook his head. "No. I would remember that."
Dumbledore sighed, looking between them with a weary expression. "Gentlemen, please. I am not the enemy here. Need I remind you that we have an audience?"
Both Sirius and Remus spoke in unison, as if on cue: "Boys, go outside."
Harry and Neville looked at each other, both dumbfounded. After a moment, they shrugged and quickly retreated through the back door. The sky was waiting.
AN Edited 312/25