Chapter 14
He set the box on the counter and lifted the lid. Inside lay a wand of Rowan wood, yet it looked nothing like the polished twigs John had tried earlier. The grain twisted along its length like climbing vines, rough and textured.
John reached out, his fingers brushing over the rough texture of the wand. "What creature is the core from?" he asked in excitement.
The wandmaker hesitated, his fingers hovering over his own wand. He gave a soft, thoughtful laugh. "That... is a difficult question to answer plainly."
"I came across its core when I was just starting out my career as a wandmaker. A rebel, I was trying to make a superior wand by trying different combinations of woods and cores." He smiled somberly.
"It was before I realized that a wand alone doesn't make a wizard powerful, it—"
"It depends on the bond formed with both the wizard and his wand," said John, now holding the wand in his hand. He looked over to Ollivander, his eyes flickering to a shade of ember before going back to normal.
John raised the wand, then a sudden, sharp gust of wind burst through the shop, rattling thousands of boxes. Silver sparks erupted from the tip before dimming down and settling into a warm glow.
Ollivander smiled amusedly, staring.
"Ah," Ollivander said, looking at the mess with the calm of a man who'd seen it all before. "There it is." He smiled, his eyes locking onto John's. "Wand and wizard have chosen one another."
"A curious pairing," Ollivander said. "Never thought I would ever part with it."
"Why is that?" asked John, looking up.
"Because the creature that its core came from barely has anything magical about itself." Ollivander chuckled, "It came from a mule… haha."
"What?!" exclaimed John. "It certainly is not unexpected…" 'And after the whole fiasco it certainly feels underwhelming.'
"Quite," said Ollivander, lost in his thoughts. "The feather came from a creature that shouldn't have existed. A rare mule born when the grazing grounds of Albanian winged horses and Thestrals intertwined."
"The irony of a flightless creature born from the noble and graceful wings with those known as harbingers of death and bad omen, certainly was a cruel joke."
"So, it's weak, a failure, is what you are saying?" asked John, taking offense for his wand, having grown attached to it already.
"No, Mr. Smith. Though the mule can't fly, it's certainly not weak. It could run for days, carrying burdens no horse should. Its endurance is so great, it can survive falling down a cliff."
"And despite never once leaving the ground…." Ollivander's eyes twinkled with a knowing light. "That part of the story is not mine to tell."
"Well, you should read about it in your courses. In the coming year anyway, so I should leave it up to you to look up the creature." Saying this, Ollivander looked John in the eye and said, "It will be 10."
"What?" asked John, not really listening to what Ollivander said.
"It will be 10 Galleons for the wand," said Ollivander.
"Ah, yes," said a flustered John, searching his pockets.
In the bustling streets of London, two people could be seen walking side by side. One was an elderly person, wearing a pointed hat and a floral gown which was hidden by a blackish-brown cloak. Another person of a short stature, who could be mistakenly taken as her grandson, was walking side by side, staring aimlessly at his wand.
"Mr. Smith, I think it's time we get you back home. Your parents must be worried about you," said Professor McGonagall after spending an exhausting day with the boy. The boy extended his hand in response, which the professor took as a yes.
She held his hand before vanishing in the swirl of space. 'You certainly never get used to this,' said John, huffing his lungs out trying not to vomit.
"Well, Mr. Smith, it was nice meeting you, and I certainly hope to see you performing well at Hogwarts," said the professor pleasantly, finally getting a chance to relax after a long day.
"Yes, Professor," John said, flickering to the side before he took a deep breath and said, "Professor?"
McGonagall, having been broken out of her thoughts, responded, "Yes? Is there anything else I can do for you, mister?"
"I... I remember you," said John.
"What do you mean, John?" asked the professor, not understanding him.
"Professor, I remembered seeing you last year. You came as a counselor for Alina, and now she is dead," said John, his face serious.
Color drained from her face before she tried to explain anything. "John..."
"I guess now that Alina was at Hogwarts. People say she committed suicide because she was unable to keep up with the academic burden. But they also don't know the whole truth, do they?"
"What happened, Professor? What did they do to her? What… did… you… do, Professor?" asked John with barely suppressed anger now.