The Record Of Wands
Wednesday morning, just after breakfast, Holly made her way up to the headmaster’s office. Once she reached the entrance - an eagle statue that stood imposingly at the bottom of the triple tower, she realized she had no clue how she was supposed to enter. She rummaged around for the parchment with this meeting time on it and found only the time, place, and… “Sherbert lemon?” She wondered out loud, not having a clue why Snape of all people would randomly write down the name of a candy.
Except… the eagle statue seemed oddly pleased by the phrase, and in fact, it had begun to move. No - not move exactly. Change was a better word. It began to change into a tight spiral staircase that led up and up and up.
Unsure of what else to do, Holly shrugged to herself and began to climb. It was a surprisingly modest door that she found at the top of the stairs. Arched and old and made of wood that creeked when she knocked it.
“Enter.” The headmaster’s weathered but strong voice called out from within. Holly pushed open the door, coming into a great and wonderful office, full to the brim with interesting things. Interesting and wonderful. “Ah, Holly, welcome.” His voice came from the center of the room where an old and beautiful desk sat, with him behind it. He had his nose buried in a piece of parchment, and his hand resting on a chipped china cup full of tea that smelled like nothing Holly had ever known. “Please, sit.”
So Holly sat across the desk from him, nervously. “Sir, am I in trouble? Is it about the unicorn hair? I can-“
Dumbledore held up a silencing hand. He smiled at her through his half moon glasses. “You are not in trouble, Holly. But yes, this is about the hair. May I see it?” He set aside his parchment and Holly saw her extensive reading list was printed on it.
`She pulled her wand from its pocket and set it carefully on the desk, and then the hair from a pocket on the other side of her robes, now treated with wax, but unattached. “The wax melted during the summer, and in my pocket - i can’t get the shape to hold and i don’t want to wind up in the hospital wing again.” She explained, at the headmaster’s raised brow.
Dumbledore took the wand gingerly, turning it over and over between his fingers. “Do you wish to study wand lore, Holly, or are you just looking for more power?” He asked, peering at her and the wand both at the same time.
“Sir?”
“In my youth, I studied wand lore in hopes it might help me gain power… it was not a path that won me any joy.” Answered Dumbledore, cryptically. He set her wand back down on the desk between them and looked more fully at her, intent in a way that made her want to squirm.
Holly took her wand, but rather than putting it away, she found herself tracing the place where the wood melted into crystal. “I don’t know why I want to learn about wands, Sir.” She admitted, ashamed that she did not have a better answer. “I just do.”
Dumbledore smiled again. “I hoped you would say that!” He enthused, startling Holly out of her shame. He pushed his seat back and stood. “Wand lore is only taught here at Hogwarts in the sixth year, and only for a few short weeks at that,” he started up a flight of stairs as he spoke, so Holly scrambled to pocket her wand and Unicorn hair and follow him so she could hear. “For most young witches and wizards, it is enough. But, just as a wand chooses its wielder, some rare witches and wizards seem to have an innate feel for wands - most come from wand making families and are trained at home, like the Olivandars. Some though,” they had reached the tallest part of the office, with a great window, several bookshelves full of old, thick tomes, and a little table with one of the biggest books Holly had ever seen in her life sitting on top of it, “find their way to it naturally.”
Holly looked up at the old, dramatically dressed man before her. “You think I’ll be like Olivander?” She wondered, thinking of the old strange man who sold her and her brother their wands last year. He had seemed a bit mad, and he’d scared Harry half to death. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be like him.
Dumbledore looked at her meaningfully. “Ah, Holly, that is for you to decide. I do believe that the moment you chose to pick that hair up off the forest floor instead of leaving it behind, though, you set yourself on a path few others have deigned to go.” He smoothed the cover of the tome. “It is my hope that this might help you decide if that is truly the path you wish to go. It is nothing more, or less, than the complete history of every wand ever made, and who wielded it.”
Holly looked down at the tome. It had no title printed on the front, just a triangle with a circle and a line through it etched into the old leather. She touched the cover lightly, brushing the symbol with her fingertips, and then she flicked open the book. It landed on a page with a twinkling image of a wand she recognised.
Hawthorn, young tree - one of ten wands made. Unicorn hair. 10”, reasonably springy. Crafted 05.14.1987 by Garrick Ollivandar. Sold 08.01.1991 to one Draco Malfoy.
Holly stared at the page. Why, of every possible wand and every possible person, had that been the page she opened it to? “Ah, one of your classmates. How interesting.” Dumbledore mused, a twinkle in his eye.
Holly flipped to the next page, but it was written entirely in russian. She flipped to the next. Greek. She closed her eyes and flipped to a random page. This time, it was her own wand that stared back at her. It had, beside it, a long silvery string drawn on the page.
Holly, old tree - one of two wands made. Dittany Stock, Quartz Crystal, Unicorn Hair. 10.5”, swishy. Crafted 07.23.1991 by Garrick Ollivandar. Sold 08.01.1991 to one Holly Lily Potter. Adapted -ongoing- by Holly Lily Potter.
“But Professor, how can it know that? Did you add it in?” Holly wondered, her gaze snapping back up but Dumbledore was already retreating down the steps to his desk.
“I think you’ll find the book knows a great deal, Holly, but you will only be able to learn from it what you are able to ask it.” He said without looking back. “Perhaps some of your other extra reading materials will point you in the right direction - it really is, quite the extensive list you’ve amassed…” he mused.
Holly looked back at the tome. She had two questions for it, and only two. The first she found so frightening that she dare not ask it, but the second… she closed her eyes once again and thought about her crystal hilt. She had always wondered if there were others like it, or if it was just the musing of a mad old man. She loved, of course, but she wondered.
When she opened her eyes again, she was very near the back of the book, staring at a thick, stout tree branch looking wand with a rounded moonstone at its base and several petrified vines creeping up and around it. It was split into two straight down the middle, and spilling from its center was what looked like… powder? But that hardly made sense. Wand cores were supposed to be stringy, weren't they?
Holly couldn't read the text, which was extensive, as it was written in what looked to be runes. It wasn’t even printed out like the other descriptions had been, but layered and strange and ancient.
Holly touched the page softly, feeling as though it held the answers to questions she hadn’t even thought to ask. Dumbledore was right. She wouldn’t know what to ask until she found the questions elsewhere, and she wouldn’t know how to interpret the answers until she had learned infinitely more than she knew right now. The best thing she could do was read. Read anything and everything she was offered and when she had read all of that, read some more. It was the only way she would be able to understand the image staring back at her from that ancient page.
Holly closed the book, and thanked it - it felt wrong not to, at this point, and headed back down the steps to the headmaster. “Thank you, Professor,” she said, a little unsure of what else to say or how to ask if she could come back.
“It will always be here, Holly, but for now I think it best you get to class.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”