NOVEL NEXT Chapter 4: Almost Took the Protagonist’s Wand
Mr. Ollivander, an old man with pale-colored eyes that still shone brightly.
He was, arguably, the most incredible old man in history. While other elderly figures in stories might grant the protagonist a single cheat code, this man had handed them out to nearly every young witch and wizard in Britain for nearly a century.
Yes, when you consider how important wands are in the magical world, it becomes obvious that they're essentially the equivalent of cheat devices. Other races, non-member players, if you will, have rebelled multiple times just to gain access to these magical "plugins." And in the original story, the final battle wasn't decided by power alone, but by the ownership of the most powerful wand of all, the Elder Wand.
And this amazing old man remembered every wand he ever sold and to whom, down to the core combination. All that, and the price? A mere seven Galleons!
That's right, only 7 pounds! Folks, what do you call this? A seller with a conscience! Not 100, not 50, but only 7! Bring home your own Ollivander wand today!
Okay, jokes aside, no wonder Ron didn't get a new wand after his second-year disaster. Maybe it was really just because of how badly he screwed up. Though, we can't ignore the fact that Harry was the protagonist and likely got a special price. I mean, who can believe a phoenix feather core wand only cost seven Galleons, including wood and craftsmanship?
At this moment, Allen stood still while a magical measuring tape slithered around him, calling out his measurements in a sharp voice, shoulder to fingertip, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, head circumference, and so on. Meanwhile, Mr. Ollivander sorted through wand boxes based on the sizes, clearly enjoying the process. With his skills, he could easily have summoned the boxes with a flick of his wand, but no, he chose to pick them up manually. Only someone who truly loved his craft would ignore magic in favor of handling each wand personally.
The wand selection process was nothing short of exhausting. Wand after wand was drawn from its box, waved, and then promptly returned. But Mr. Ollivander never once showed a hint of impatience. He was the same with Harry, and now with Allen. To him, wands were sacred. The time spent was not a waste, but the final step in the wand-making process. Only through careful trial and error could the perfect match be found.
As more wands piled up on the counter, Ollivander's smile grew wider. The more selective the wizard, the more likely they'd find a wand that suited them perfectly. And a perfect wand, paired with its destined master, that was the pinnacle of wandmaking. It had been a long time since he'd had such a particular customer. The last one who took this long... well, he'd grown into quite the infamous figure. Evil, yes, but undeniably influential.
"Oh? A discerning customer," Ollivander mused, eyes gleaming. "No matter, we'll find one that's ideal, perfect, and absolutely suited for you. Let me think... ah, yes, how could I forget! A truly remarkable combination: holly wood, phoenix feather core, eleven inches. Supple, and quite powerful."
Wait. Why did that sound so familiar?
Allen, whose spirit had grown numb after so many trials, suddenly jolted awake.
No way, that wand? That's Harry Potter's wand!
This had to be a joke. That wand was part of Harry's and Voldemort's intertwined fate! How could he, Allen, possibly take it?
But the old man was far too enthusiastic to refuse. Fortunately, it seemed the wand didn't approve of him either, it just sat there on the table, unmoved.
"Oh? Not a match, then. Let's try this one." Ollivander smiled as he brought over a different box. "A rare piece, probably one I'll never replicate. I crafted it long ago from materials I found on an adventure. A black walnut tree, struck down by lightning, and a night raven killed in the same storm. Honestly, neither is ideal for wands, but their magical resonance was just too compatible. I couldn't resist trying it. And lucky for me, they fused perfectly, thirteen and a half inches, sturdy."
When Allen took the wand into his hand, he immediately understood what it meant for a wand to choose its wizard. He couldn't even feel the wand in his grip. Instead, it felt like his arm had simply extended, it was as though the wand had always been part of his body.
As he raised it, electricity surged along the wand's tip, crackling in a flash of brilliant light that lit up the entire shop. The wand sliced through the air like a bolt of lightning, swift, alive, until he finally lowered it.
Mr. Ollivander burst into delighted laughter. "Perfect, perfect! A perfect wand for a perfect wizard. It seems yet another of my creations has found its true master. Excellent, excellent!"
He was still chuckling even as Allen turned to leave. At the door, Ollivander removed his hat and gave a respectful bow. "Young sir, remember this always: in the end, your most trusted companion will be your wand. Treat him well, yes, him, not it, as though he were your second life!"
Allen returned the gesture and walked out of the shop, not because he was in a rush, but because his wallet had just taken a massive hit.
Seventy Galleons!
Suddenly, Allen completely understood why Ron had to use a hand-me-down wand. These things weren't cheap at all…
Still, it was worth it. A wand wasn't like other supplies, some wizards used the same one their entire lives.
In the end, it wasn't a loss. Allen truly liked this wand from the bottom of his heart.
What followed was the usual: textbooks, robes, potion ingredients, and equipment. As for an owl? Yeah, no thanks. Allen didn't think his Muggle friends could handle that sort of mail delivery system. And he didn't really know anyone in the magical world yet anyway, so it didn't feel necessary.
Really, it wasn't because he was broke and cutting back on the budget.
He reassured himself with that thought.
Still, even without an owl, Allen needed to stop by the Magical Menagerie. Hogwarts only accepted responses via magical pets, no owl, no acceptance letter. And after all that effort, missing the start of term because of that would be beyond embarrassing.
Before heading off, though, he faced a small dilemma: where to put the wand?
He couldn't just walk around holding it like a gun, but he couldn't find a good place to stow it either. Reluctantly, he held it low at his side as he moved on.
"Right, I'll ask Madam Malkin to make me a custom wand holster. That'll do," Allen muttered to himself.
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