Chapter 11: "A Young Wizard Like Mr. Shelby Needs a Wand Like This"

Chapter 11: "A Young Wizard Like Mr. Shelby Needs a Wand Like This"

Leon stood in front of the small, shabby shop, squinting at the peeling gold letters on the sign. After a moment, he managed to make out the words: "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C."

"Don't let the look of the place fool you," Moody grunted by way of introduction. "It's the only wand shop in Diagon Alley. Not just anyone can make a wand." He shoved the door open with a heavy push.

Leon followed him inside, his eyes curiously taking in his surroundings. The interior felt like a very strict, very old library. Thousands of narrow boxes were stacked in teetering piles from the floor to the ceiling. The shop itself was tiny, containing nothing but a single, spindly-legged chair.

As Leon stepped inside, a faint tinkling bell sounded from somewhere in the back. A moment later, an old man with pale, silvery eyes emerged from between the shelves. This, Leon presumed, was the proprietor, Mr. Ollivander.

"Good afternoon," Mr. Ollivander's voice was soft, and his wide, pale eyes shone like two moons in the dim light of the shop.

Moody, shedding his usual gruff demeanor, offered a respectful greeting. Leon, in turn, removed his cap. "Good day, Mr. Ollivander. My name is Leon Shelby. I'm a new student at Hogwarts, and I'm in need of a wand."

"Such a modest and peaceful young wizard," Ollivander murmured, leaning in so close that his nose was almost touching Leon's.

Suddenly, with an agility that defied his frail appearance, he darted back and strode to a stack of boxes, pulling one out.

"Willow! Ten and three-quarter inches. A gentle wand, for a gentle wizard like yourself. Come now, my boy, give it a try."

He might have a slight misunderstanding of my character, Leon thought. He felt his eyebrow twitch at the word "gentle," but he took the wand nonetheless.

"Good, now give it a wave," Ollivander instructed.

Leon did as he was told, flicking the wand through the air with a swish. But when he stopped, the wand continued to tremble violently in his hand.

Ollivander's eyes widened, and he scratched his head.

"It's afraid..." he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. "I've never felt a wand's emotions so clearly before." He gave Leon a long, penetrating look. "It appears my initial assessment of you was not entirely accurate, Mr. Shelby."

Leon handed the wand back, and it immediately stopped shaking, which made Ollivander cluck his tongue in fascination.

"How curious... You are destined for great things, Mr. Shelby. Yes, indeed." Ollivander carefully put the willow wand away and began searching for another.

In a moment, he presented a new wand to Leon.

"Yew. Fourteen and one-third inches. Very powerful, a bit of a temperamental fellow..."

Leon's interest was piqued. He took the wand and gave it a small flick. Before he'd even completed the motion, Ollivander snatched it back.

"Not strong enough. Still not strong enough... and it's afraid of you too, Mr. Shelby. I am becoming very curious about you. But no, this is not the wand for you."

And so it went. Ollivander would produce a new wand, and Leon would mechanically repeat the motion of waving it. The process was unexpectedly long and exhausting for both of them. A tall pile of discarded wand boxes grew in the middle of the shop, a monument to their failures.

"Oak... no, too upright. It values loyalty above all else. That is not Mr. Shelby."

"Holly... that won't do either. It demands a user who is willing to make sacrifices. Mr. Shelby might be very willing to sacrifice others, but I doubt he is fond of sacrificing himself."

"Yew lacks a sense of control, cherry is too lively, willow is too gentle..."

"My goodness, Mr. Shelby, you are... quite the conundrum!"

Ollivander scratched his head, paced for a moment, and then slapped his forehead as a revelation struck him.

"It has to be black walnut!"

"It's a wand with immense character! It despises indecision and favours a master with conviction and a clear purpose."

"More importantly," he leaned in conspiratorially, "its tolerance for the... 'moral grey area'... is far higher than other woods!"

"It must be a perfect match for you! A match made in heaven!"

Leon took a sharp, quiet breath. 'A high tolerance for the moral grey area?' What's the difference between that and just saying I, Leon Shelby, am a law-breaking degenerate?

He shot a wary glance at Ollivander. The old man knew a little too much.

However, the wandmaker was completely lost in his art, oblivious to the world around him.

"It cannot be too short. Wands under twelve inches are frivolous, not suited for a wizard with leadership qualities."

"Nor can it be too long. Wands over fourteen inches are cumbersome. Powerful, yes, but they lack the finesse required by a rational, cool-headed wizard."

"Thirteen inches! The perfect length! It can channel the 'presence' a leader requires, without being a liability when precision is needed!"

He leaned in again, his eyes gleaming. "Frankly, a wand of this size is perfectly suited for... clandestine affairs!"

Leon glanced around, overcome with the sudden urge to call in his men and have them solve the problem with machine guns.

"The core..." Ollivander mused, tapping his chin.

"Phoenix feather is too gentle, not suitable for a ruthless master. By the same token, unicorn hair is out. It would never accept a master who is not entirely... virtuous."

"That means we must use a material from a creature that is a bit more... wicked."

"Dragon heartstring! It must be!"

"Yes! A dragon!"

"And it must be the most powerful kind of dragon! A dragon that has done nothing but evil!"

"A Hungarian Horntail! That's it! A vessel of immense, formidable power, always on the verge of rebellion, which only the most powerful of wizards can command."

"It even has a preference for the Dark Arts! It will actively cooperate with you, Mr. Shelby. For practicing those less-than-savoury spells, it couldn't be more perfect!"

Leon's feelings on the matter were... complex.

"Therefore, the wand that is truly meant for you must be..."

"Black walnut! Thirteen inches! With a Hungarian Horntail heartstring core! A proud and ferocious wand, one that most wizards would never dare to even attempt to wield!"

Ollivander was practically vibrating with excitement. He shot off like a rocket and retrieved a dusty box from the highest shelf in a dark corner of the shop.

He presented a wand, black as night, to Leon. "Quickly! Try it! It's a born villain, just the thing for a young wizard like you!"

...

Honestly, it was no different from a personal attack. Leon wanted to sue him for slander.

But still, he took the wand, his fingers closing around the dark wood. He gave it a gentle wave.