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A trip to Ollivanders

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My wand is made of chestnut and has a core of phoenix feather.  It is 7 and 1/2 inches long and is springy.

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...and finally, a busted light bulb and an irked apprentice later... 

Vine wood, 13 and 3/4'' inch, Unicorn hair core, and quite bendy flexibility. 

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Lee decided that she wanted to choose her wand by herself, banishing her father to wander the street while she had her 'moment', as she had been referring to it.

Ollivander, who at first was a little putt off by her loud voice and all too fast talking, seemed to warm up to the girl fast. Her tenacity and fierce confidence was a little bit inspiring to him as she breezed through wand after wand declaring left and right that they just weren't, perfect. She was convinced that when she touched the wand, her wand, she would feel it. It would be like all the puzzle pieces finally falling into place.

She was right.

She walked past a particularly high stack of boxes and there it was, a tingling in her cheeks. Something in her told her to look up.. and at the top of the stack, teetering off the edge, was a dark purple box that called to her. When she got a closer look at it she could see gold leafing that was flaking off the sides, the box must have been beautiful when it was new.

Ollivander opened it for her, peeling back the ribbons on the inside to reveal her future. He plucked it out careful only touching it with his finger tips and placed it into her hands like a treasure.

This was it, this was her wand...


Rowan Wood

Phoenix Feather Core

12 & 3/4 inches

Surprisingly Swishy Flexibility


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Apparently one did not window shop when searching for the perfect wand. Just as Eva was pressing her nose to the glass window and preparing to mentally sift through the wands on display, the shop's owner, a Mr. Ollivander, suddenly appeared on the other side of the window glass and stared disapprovingly. Then he began shaking his head slowly.

As someone who was generally terrified of scary figures of authority (for instance, literally anyone taller than her), Eva quickly shuffled into the shop. It was dark and lit with a dim golden glow, though Eva couldn't quite tell what exactly where the light came from. Shelves upon shelves were shoved together and squeezed apart, and the wands displayed on them were at the same general level of orderliness.

"Young lady, the wand cannot choose the witch if the witch is standing with a barrier in between herself and the wand," said Mr. Ollivander, in that horrid tone wise citizens of this Earth always adopted when handing out important pieces of information.

"Yes, sir!" barked Eva.

Mr. Ollivander stared at her for a moment, and the image of him with his wild, curly white hair and eyes made big by glasses and surprise nearly made Eva snort. Nearly. She had self control, of course. She kept the snort at bay.

"Anyway, how does this work?" she asked.

Thirty minutes later, she regretted the decision to ever look at Ollivander's wand shop. What did it matter that wands were a required item that all witches needed to go to witching school? This process was so long and tedious and getting longer and tedious-er to the point where Eva honestly wouldn't mind a wand exploding in her face for a change. Pick out a seemingly random wand, touch it (rather, attempt to touch it; Ollivander yanked it away the moment it touched her index finger), and watch as the pile of failed wands grew. That was the process.

And it was so dull, so when her wand finally came to her, and when she could feel the magic coursing from the wood into her fingertips and up her arm, and when she waved it and things happened, she barely noticed.

"Aha," said Ollivander triumphantly. "A brittle redwood wand with a phoenix feather core. Ten inches. This shall suit you nicely, I believe. Phoenix feathers are extremely versatile when it comes to types of magic easily performed, and the redwood matches your sensible temperament nicely. Good luck, young lady."

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Being muggles my parents did not want to go to Diagon Alley with me. In fact, they didn't even want me to go! It's not like they paid very much attention to me, so it was easy to leave without them noticing. I think they may have been a little afraid of me and my 'powers', which is why they stayed away from me. Anyway, after I got my books and the most adorable smushed faced cat, the only thing I had left to do is get my wand. It was an...interesting experience to say the least. Mr. Ollivander looked shocked to see my parents had not come with me, but quickly hid it with a smile. We tried many different wands but none seemed right. After about two hours I was ready to give up and accept there was no wand for me, but Mr. Ollivander would have none of that. Another kid came in so Mr. Ollivander had me go to the back and see if I saw one I liked while he helped the kid that came in. Usually it doesn't take more than a few minuets to find a wand, but for some reason with me it took a while. Walking in the back I saw hundreds of wands, but there was one my eyes kept being drawn to. The box said Sycamore wood,Dragon heartstring core. I went to pick it up just as Mr. Ollivander came to the back. 

"So, dear, find anything you like?" He asked me with a wide smile. 

"Yes, sir." I told him and picked up the box I had seen. 

"Aw, yes yes, very good. Sycamore wood with a Dragon heartstring core 12 ½" and Reasonably Supple flexibility. Very good choice" He took the box from me and opened it. Taking the wand out and handing it to me. "Alright, lets see if this is the one." 

As soon as I had the wand in my hand I knew it was the right one. I gave it a swish and suddenly the box was out of Mr. Ollivander's hand! 

"It seems you have found your wand, Miss de la Rosa." Mr. Ollivander told me. He then took the wand and placed it back in the box, then held the box for me to take. "Take good care of it dear." 

" I will sir." I said. 

And with that I was off. 

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I'd write out a scene, but for some reason, I can't understand Mr Ollivander, so I'll just say it.

Mine is hawthorn, 10/12 inches long with a unicorn hair core and hard flexibility. If I ever do or say anything contradictory, here's my excuse.

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According to Pottermore I got...


Hawthorn wood

Unicorn hair core

13 ½" in length

Slightly Yielding flexibility

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Julia sighed heavily and shifted her weight, wincing at the audible crunch of broken glass. What had formerly been Ollivander's front window was now reduced to shards underneath her feet. While the girl grew more and more frustrated with each subsequent wand handed to her by the old man, the wandmaker seemed to delight in the challenge, an unrestrained grin on his face as he repaired the window pane with a careless flick of his wand. The young witch felt slightly envious at this really quite tactless display of a perfect match, but, then again, one wouldn't expect anything else from a wandmaker. Meeting the craftman's eyes, Julia found herself presented with yet another wand, this one a dark, chocolaty brown. The minute she touched the wood, her eyes widened in surprise.

"It tingles," she whispered, gaze fixed on the long, smooth stick in her hand.

"Wonderful," Ollivander beamed. "Give it a wave, then."

As she drew her wand through the air, clouds of teal-coloured smoke emitted from the tip.

"I knew we'd find the right match for you eventually. I've never yet failed, after all. Alder wood with a phoenix feather core, 14 ½" and slightly springy flexibility.

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According to pottermore i have:

Hawthorn wood, Unicorn hair core, 12 ¼ in lenght and slightly yieldind flexibility :)

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mines kinda droopy and sad looking, i dont know anything else about it 'cos i got it off the street where some poor lad threw it after multiple unsuccessful attempts at finding their own wand

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Posted (edited)

I suppose most people don’t usually ogle the cobblestoned street with an awestruck look on their faces, but I guess that not everyone who visits Diagon Alley is a muggleborn like me, visiting for the very first time. I can’t help but to stare at everything, wide-eyed and with my heart beating rapidly in my chest. Colors and movement explode everywhere, it’s so busy, and if not for my mother ushering me to move along towards the first store on our right, I might have just stayed right here indefinitely, taking it all in.

Two hours pass. I’ve purchased all of my books - both the ones that are mandatory for my first year, and a few that were just calling my name, they sounded so interesting (I wonder idly if they are enchanted to look more desirable, and if not then perhaps I can use that as an excuse to purchase a few more on my way back?) -, all the necessary equipments and tools, my new uniform (even if the robes are plain back, their simplicity doesn’t take away from how more fascinating they made my experience while trying them out, and I might just love my new pointed hat a little too much!), and it’s finally time to choose my wand.

Or rather, as I’ve learned, to let it choose me.

We enter the old looking store (can it really be over two thousand years old?) to find it packed with children that look about my age. Wand boxes fill every single space in the walls from top to bottom as far as my eyes can see. Parents mill about, some looking bored while others engage in conversation with whomever is closest to them. Behind the counter, a white-haired elder is handing a funny-looking wand to a tall boy. In turn, the boy waves it with purpose and about two dozen wand boxes and a handful of parchment sheets (granted, all already precariously discarded) tumble down from their place on top of a loveseat by the front window, their contents spilling to the floor haphazardly. Beside me, my father gasps, but everyone else takes it as if it's a normal occurrence. It's easily understandable, given the sheer number of times the scene replays for the next half an hour, always before the wand indeed chooses its partner, by which time the wands seem to accept the wizards or witches that better suit them.

"Come now, child." Mr. Ollivander calls on me when it's my time, and I nervously approach the counter that suddenly seems so high to my short height, feeling that all eyes in the store are set on me. "Muggleborn, are you?" He doesn't wait for me to respond. "There's nothing to be afraid of. Don't be shy, dear," he coaxes me closer. My parents flank my sides and my sister trails behind us until we reach the front. The wizard takes a good look at me and cambers to the floor, looking for something underneath the counter, I assume. He comes up with three boxes, two covered in a velvet-like fabric and another made of what looks like a very ancient sheet of cardboard. Opening one of them, he takes out a wand and hands it to me. "Applewood with a dragon heartstring, ten inches, unyielding. Why don't you give it a wave and see if it suits you?"

My finger skims the foreign wood and the wand feels strange in my hand when I hold it, as if it weights more than it logically should. Glancing uncertainly at Mr. Ollivander and then at my parents, all giving me an encouraging nod, I swish it, aiming the wand to the open air. For a couple of seconds nothing seems to happen and I don't feel anything out of the ordinary, then the lollipop that my sister was holding is suddenly ripped from her grasp and flies to who knows where. She yelps in surprise and glares at me as if I did it on purpose. I give the wand back to Mr. Ollivander quickly, a little alarmed at its intent.

The old wizard purses his lips and hands me a second wand. "How about sycamore wood with a phoenix feather for a core, thirteen and a half inches, flexible?," he asks me as if I have a clue what he's talking about.

Turning away from my sister to avoid causing any more harm, I direct the wand to a shelf on my left. Again, there's a moment of pause before, needless to mention, and like I'd seen happen with many of the kids before me who'd tried, most of the wand boxes on it come down tumbling, causing a disarray. I give the wand back immediately. "Sorry, sir. I'll pick them up," I offer in apology.

"Nonsense," he dismisses. Waving his own wand and mumbling something I can't quite catch, all the boxes levitate (they just up and go on their merry way, as if some invisible arm is picking them up and moving them, right before my eyes!). My father looks as astonished as I am and my sister even has her mouth hanging open, but we really shouldn't be surprised at this point, after we've seen an enchanted measuring tape registering my sizes on its own back at Madam Malkin's.

My mother is the one who recomposes first, thanking Mr. Ollivander even though I can tell that she's still not used to being around magic like this. None of us really are just yet.

Seven other wands are tested and hastily given back without promising results, and I'm starting to think that perhaps there isn't a wand for me. Maybe this was all a big misunderstanding and I'm not supposed to be here. More and more people wait for their turn behind me, and it's making me anxious. Two more wands Mr. Ollivander hands to me, but snatches away before I can mutter "Blimey". As time passes, I start to lose hope.

Mr. Ollivander must notice my distress, that I'm feeling out of my element because just when I'm going to tell him that perchance I'm not a witch worthy of a wand (or worse, not even a witch at all), he smiles down at me and looks at me curiously. "I wonder, child, if perhaps..." And he's off to the back of the store to look for yet more wands. I have to admire his determination. "Maybe I misread you," he speaks loudly enough so we can all hear him. "Or maybe... Maybe I haven't misread you at all." Getting up on my toes to look past the counter, I see him in the distance climbing a ladder and retrieve a single wand box from the top shelf. For some reason, my heart starts stammering in my chest at the sight. Mr. Ollivander makes his way back to us, box in hand. "You see, I remember every single wand I ever sold. Sometimes choices must be made and people have to acquire wands that don't suit them for this reason or the other, but whenever the wand choosing process was truthful and not misguided, I have never failed to pair the right wand to its rightful wizard or witch."

I wait expectantly, nodding slightly. I wish he'd just give me the wand that I'm itching to grab now, as if I know exactly what's in that box waiting for me, but Mr. Ollivander just keeps on talking. "Most people are easy to read, and a glance or two is enough for me to know just the right wand to suit them best. But others, like you, don't give away their secrets so easily. Or perhaps it's that there is so much to them that it's hard to find a wand that can fulfill the most their aspirations and ambitions in life. Perhaps they envision things that others cannot. There's more to you than the surface shows, you see?"

I don't, really, but I nod anyway. "Can I try that wand, please?"

"Eager, are you?" Mr. Ollivander finally, finally takes the wand - my wand, I can feel it - out of the box. It looks mostly straight, with just a slight bend on its arch. The wood looks old, pretty ash brown with cracks along its length that give it character. I wonder if they have any meaning. "Vine wood, unicorn hair core, twelve and a quarter inches with a slightly springy flexibility."

He doesn't say anything else but I don't think he needs to. The tips of my fingers prickle with energy as I grasp the wood, and a sense of sudden calmness washes over me as my hand closes around it. It's like a cord strikes within me, and I could swear a gentle breeze passes through me when I swish the wand softly. It feels like an extension of my being. The quill that was resting on top of the counter gets up on its own and slowly levitates through the air until it comes rest on my open palm.

I beam in excitement. Mr. Ollivander smiles at me while my sister tugs on my sleeve and asks me to do it again. I look at the old wizard, hoping he'll confirm what I already know. "Feels right, doesn't it?" I nod, rendered speechless. I want to use it again, learn everything about it and start using magic right this moment. "Vine wood is uncommon in use, but not unheard of. I've found it best matches witches and wizards with hidden depths, a vision or purpose beyond the ordinary, and an affinity to more sensitive matters. Furthermore, those wizards tend to surprise those who underestimate them." Could that be me? I study the wand in my hand with fascination. “A strong personality, this one has,” he tells my parents. “I'm curious to see the witch she'll become.”

Feeling like maybe I belong in this world after all, I can't help but to be curious too.

Edited by you-make-me-wander
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