Vera watched Fortescue's back disappear behind the curtain of the ice cream shop. Meltwater from the raspberry ice cream wrapper in her hand slipped onto her skin, leaving behind a faint chill.
Dairin Fortescue.
That name had never appeared in the original story. Even Florean Fortescue himself had only ever been mentioned in passing—a minor figure at best.
So she resembled his sister?
Considering the size of Britain's wizarding population, and the long-standing tradition of intermarriage among pure-blood families, a bit of resemblance was hardly unusual.
Vera didn't dwell on the encounter for long. She simply pushed her wheelchair onward.
Before long, she arrived at the narrow, shabby little wand shop.
She had just finished her ice cream. Looking up at the sign, she was about to go in when she realized the small step at the entrance had become an obstacle.
She frowned, considering how to get up it, when the shop door suddenly creaked open.
"Good morning, Miss Black," a gentle voice called from within.
Mr. Ollivander greeted her warmly, his silvery eyes especially bright in the dimness of the shop.
His tall, thin figure stood in the doorway as he looked down at the girl in the wheelchair. There was not a trace of surprise or pity on his face—only simple, unfeigned kindness.
"Do you need assistance?" he asked.
Vera shook her head and reached beneath the right armrest, touching the concealed pattern there.
The next second, a pre-prepared Levitation Charm activated, slowly lifting her and carrying her smoothly up the step.
A flicker of admiration passed through Ollivander's eyes, but he said nothing, simply and calmly leading her into the shop.
Vera looked around.
The cramped little store was stacked floor to ceiling with dusty wand boxes, and the air was thick with the scent of wood and magic.
In such a narrow space, her wheelchair could barely turn around.
"Well then," Ollivander said, pulling a silver tape measure from his pocket, "which hand do you use?"
"My right," Vera answered, noticing at the same time that the tape measure had already begun taking measurements on its own—from shoulder to wrist, then to fingertips.
She sat quietly, feeling the tape's cool touch glide over her skin. Just like with other magical objects, she could see the magic flowing through it—tiny currents darting over the metal surface like tadpoles.
"Every wizard has a wand uniquely their own," Ollivander murmured as he set the tape measure aside and moved between the shelves. "Your father's wand was vine wood, dragon heartstring, twelve inches. Quite a remarkable wand…"
As he spoke, he took down a long box from above.
"Perhaps we might try this one. Hawthorn, unicorn hair, ten inches, pleasantly springy."
Vera reached out. The moment her fingertips touched the wand, an icy chill shot from the tip straight up her arm.
"No, no, not this one." Ollivander snatched it back at once, his brow furrowing.
He turned and rummaged through the shelves again, this time producing a black box.
"Ebony, dragon heartstring, twelve inches, exceptionally rigid."
This time, the instant the wand settled in her hand, a few dangerous sparks burst from the tip, and Ollivander hurriedly seized it back again.
Vera lowered her gaze wordlessly to her faintly reddened palm. She could feel the magic circuit inside her body clashing with these wands in some way.
The golden lines beneath her skin flickered in and out of view, as though warning her in silence.
Could it be that because this was Ancient Magic, modern wands simply couldn't match with it?
Surely she wasn't going to have to imitate Voldemort and go digging up the graves of ancient wizards.
Carrying that private unease, she tried wand after wand. Each time, she barely had a chance to give it a single flick before Ollivander whisked it away and handed her another.
Then he went right back to climbing up and down the shelves.
From beginning to end, Vera could only sit in her wheelchair and watch him bustle about.
She had read plenty of Harry Potter fanfiction before, and in those stories, if the protagonist didn't make Ollivander run back and forth at least ten times, there was no way they were finding the right wand.
She just wasn't sure whether that counted as elder abuse.
"I have it," the old man said suddenly, stopping in place. Muttering to himself, he turned to look at Vera, his silvery eyes gleaming with strange light. "Miss Black, perhaps… we need to attempt something rather unusual."
He turned and walked to the deepest part of the shop, then retrieved a dust-covered box from some forgotten corner.
"Thestral tail feather core, yew wood, eleven and a half inches." He opened the box carefully. Inside lay a jet-black wand, its shaft wrapped in spiraling golden patterns.
"This wand is not of my making," he said. "It was left in my care by a friend of mine, another famous wandmaker—Gregorovitch. Supposedly, it requires… a rather special sort of qualification."
Gregorovitch…
The former master of the Elder Wand?
Vera's interest sharpened. The instant her fingertips brushed the wand, the golden patterns along its body suddenly lit up.
At the same time, she felt the magic circuit within her resonate powerfully with it.
The moment she closed her hand around the wand, a brilliant burst of golden light erupted from the tip, illuminating the entire shop. Countless golden motes danced in the air, swirling gently before fading away.
Ollivander's eyes widened.
"Extraordinary! Since the day Gregorovitch entrusted this wand to me, it has never once responded to any wizard!"
Vera, too, stared at the wand in astonishment. The yew wood felt cool and smooth in her hand, and the golden patterns winding over its surface were nearly identical to the flickering lines of the magic circuit beneath her skin.
It felt as though…
…it were an extension of her own body.
"Yew wands grant their wielders power over life and death," Ollivander said, awe edging into his voice. "And Thestral tail feather… such a core is extraordinarily rare. Only a wizard who has witnessed death can truly bring out its full potential."
Vera's grip tightened slightly.
She had indeed witnessed death—not only the fatal car accident in the original Vera's memories, but also her own death in her previous life.
Ollivander's gaze moved back and forth between Vera and the wand, a complicated light flickering in his silver eyes.
"Gregorovitch once said that this wand contains an ancient magic. It does not choose a master lightly. Only a wizard with a very special gift can wield it."
Vera gently stroked the flowing golden patterns on the wand. A warm force was moving from the core into her fingertips, circulating through her body like blood.
This wand had been meant for her from the start.
"Thank you. And please pass along my thanks to Mr. Gregorovitch as well," Vera said softly.
She took out the gold coins she had prepared in advance and counted out seven onto the counter.
At the very least, she wouldn't have to imitate a certain noseless man and go graverobbing through some ancient wizard's tomb.
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My : pat*eon*com/RuneA
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