Chapter 40: The Wandmaker's Reputation
Ollivander glared at him.
"Douglas Holmes, do not imagine that becoming a Hogwarts professor gives you the right to slander my work.
"Every wand I have ever made and sold has been sound.
"My family has been making wands since 382 B.C., and we have never relied on false claims."
Douglas raised his brows, tipped up his chin, and let out a soft, drawn-out, "Oh?"
Ollivander looked as though he wanted to leap over the counter and duel him then and there.
Douglas laughed, drew out his thunderstruck elder wand, and said with open disdain,
"Didn't you once tell me that apart from its inability to perform Dark magic, this wand was in no way inferior to the Elder Wand?
"Then why, when I used it to repair a broken wand, did the repaired wand explode into pieces?"
Ollivander looked personally offended.
"Mr. Holmes, who told you a broken wand could simply be restored by magic?
"Not even the Elder Wand could guarantee such a thing.
"Every wand is unique. Even two wands made from the same materials may behave differently because of the wandmaker's intention during creation, or for other subtle reasons besides.
"And the longer a wand remains with its owner, the more the wand and wizard shape one another."
He gave a sharp sniff.
"In short, the thing you are describing does not simply exist as you imagine."
Douglas frowned.
"But I really did hear that someone used the Elder Wand to mend a wand that had snapped in two."
Ollivander snorted.
"I have never heard of such a case. And I assure you, if such a thing were known, every wandmaker in the world would have heard of it.
"You have clearly been misled."
Ollivander knew perfectly well where the Elder Wand was rumored to be.
If its secrets had truly been understood, the news would never have remained outside the circle of wandmakers.
Douglas went quiet.
He could hardly say he had learned it from a story he once knew.
Then Ollivander narrowed his eyes and added, more thoughtfully,
"That said… it is not entirely impossible.
"The Elder Wand is exceptionally powerful. If someone truly repaired a broken wand with it, then that person must have possessed a profound understanding of the wand being restored."
When he finished, he looked at Douglas with a bright, expectant stare.
Douglas shivered.
"You old man, don't tell me you want me to snap my original wand and then test whether this one can repair it."
Ollivander gave a small shrug, looking at once innocent and sly.
"It would be one way to restore my good name after these accusations of false advertising."
Douglas cursed the old fox inwardly.
He did, in fact, own two wands.
The first was the wand he had chosen at age eleven in Ollivanders: grapevine wood, eleven inches, with an Augurey tail feather core.
That wand suited him beautifully. Whenever he used it, it felt as though wand and wizard were moving as one.
The second wand had been acquired only after graduation.
He had found the materials for it in a forest in Arizona during a violent thunderstorm.
He had looked up by chance and seen a Thunderbird riding the storm.
The sight had nearly made him stop breathing.
At first he had thought only of how glorious it would be to approach such a creature the way certain famous magizoologists might have done.
Then lightning struck the elder tree under which he had taken shelter.
The crack of it sent him bolting from beneath the branches.
Fate, however, had a strange sense of humor.
He had heard of lightning-struck wood before, but to witness its creation with his own eyes—he had instantly felt the thing had been set aside for him alone.
At that same moment, for some reason he had never understood, the Thunderbird had wheeled and flown directly toward him.
For the sake of his own life—and to keep the creature from destroying the elder tree before he could claim it—Douglas had drawn his wand and cast every spell he could think of.
The Thunderbird had sensed danger at once. It was clever enough to break off and climb sharply into the storm, but one of his spells had clipped a tail feather free.
With a furious cry, the great bird had vanished into the clouds.
Douglas had then cut down the elder struck by lightning and collected the fallen Thunderbird feather.
Once back in Britain, he had taken both to Ollivander.
When Ollivander heard how Douglas had come by the materials, he had been astonished.
After charging him a hundred Galleons for custom work, he had agreed without hesitation to craft a wand from them.
When the wand was finished, Ollivander had presented it with great solemnity and said,
"Mr. Holmes, I believe this wand is no less remarkable than the legendary Elder Wand.
"You may not know this, but the Elder Wand itself is said to be elder with a Thestral tail hair core.
"For years, wandmakers have tried to reproduce it, and all of them have failed.
"But the materials in this wand are even more unusual, and more importantly—they are perfectly matched."
What Ollivander had not said aloud was that the failure of earlier wandmakers had probably not been an accident at all.
There were reasons certain materials resisted being joined, and proving such things took years.
Once Douglas got hold of his new wand, he could hardly bear to put it down.
The spells cast with it were unquestionably stronger than those cast with his original wand.
But it was not long before he discovered something peculiar.
The lightning-struck elder wand refused to perform Dark magic.
At first he could not make sense of it.
Only later, after finding certain writings from the East that had made their way through Hong Kong, did he begin to understand what lightning-struck wood was believed to contain.
Though elder was not the most traditional sacred wood for such things, the force within it was real enough.
From then on, Douglas treated that wand as his ace.
To become more closely attuned to it, he spent years experimenting with lightning-based magic.
Unfortunately, most lightning-related spells in Britain were really no more than weather charms and had little offensive use.
So he took another road entirely and spent the last two years studying arcane texts from the East, trying to translate certain thunder-based principles into something workable within western spellcraft.
The experiment, as far as he was concerned, had succeeded.
He truly believed this wand stood close to the Elder Wand in power.
That belief had lasted right up until he tried repairing Ron's broken wand.
Meanwhile, Ron had been all but forgotten.
He had no interest in the technical muttering passing between the two older wizards.
What did interest him was the pale old man behind the counter, who had suddenly fixed him with a pair of silvery eyes.
It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
Without thinking, he edged behind Douglas.
At last Ollivander noticed him properly.
"Oh—a Weasley."
He peered at Ron with mild curiosity.
"I do not recall selling you a wand. Unusual, though not unheard of."
Ron blushed at once.
There were not many people in Britain who did not buy their wand from Ollivanders. As far as he knew, there were only two people in his circle—himself, and Neville Longbottom.
"Hello," Ron mumbled. "I was using my brother Charlie's wand, but it broke. So…"
Ollivander thought for a moment.
"Charlie Weasley. Yes—I remember it. Twelve inches, ash, unicorn tail hair.
"A fine wand. But unfortunately, its first master left it behind, and its second master did not care for it properly."
He clicked his tongue.
"When a wand is deeply unhappy, it can do things no one would expect."
Douglas's eyes lit up at once.
An old fox was still an old fox.
Why had he not thought of that explanation himself?
Ollivander's words made Ron feel even more miserable.
For one dreadful moment, he genuinely believed he had somehow wronged the wand so badly that it had destroyed itself in protest.
Smack.
Douglas slapped him lightly on the head and brought him back to himself.
"If the old doesn't go, the new won't come.
"What's there to be sad about? Think it through. If your old wand hadn't broken, would you be standing here buying a new one?
"Exactly.
"And if you don't buy a new wand, how is Mr. Ollivander supposed to earn money to buy new wand materials?
"And if he doesn't buy new materials, how are the people who supply those materials supposed to earn a living?
"And if they don't earn money, how are they supposed to pay taxes to the Ministry?
"And if the Ministry doesn't get its taxes, how is it supposed to pay your father's salary?
"And if your father doesn't get paid, how is he supposed to raise you?
"And if he doesn't raise you, how will you ever grow up to buy another wand…"
With each step in the argument, Ron nodded more and more automatically.
By the time Douglas finished, Ron was thoroughly bewildered and had no idea why replacing a wand suddenly sounded like a patriotic duty.
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