Wands choose the Wizard
Ollivander’s Wand Shop, Summer, 1989
“Oh, dear…Not another one…” Ollivander muttered to himself as Merryl and Starling entered his shop. The black-gold pendant around the mother’s neck, with the family crest and rune ᚦ, gave their identity away instantly. “Looking for a first-time wand for school?” He asked, loud enough this time for them to hear.
Merryl removed her gloves and glasses, regally stating, “Yes. Starling, here, will be attending Hogwarts in the Fall.”
“I see…” Ollivander’s analytical mind started deducing the small child's magical inclinations instantly. Everything from her facial expressions to her clothes to the color of her irises gave hints as to what wand wood and core would be best suitable. He was not at all surprised with what he saw.
“Let me retrieve the first selection,” Ollivander informed them and walked toward the back of the store. He selected a box from under a hundred others stacked upon it, using magic to keep the whole pile from falling down on top of him. He then returned to the storefront, placed the box on the counter, and delicately handed the first option to Starling.
“Blackthorn wood, dragon heartstring core, 10 inches and unyielding,” Ollivander reported, to the satisfaction of Starling’s mother. To no one’s surprise, Blackthorns typically match with Blackthorn wands—they took their family name for the plant, after all, before it was even called Blackthorn, when the Old Fairies and first Irish peoples knew it as Straif. However, when Starling picked up the wand, it was clearly no match for her, as books violently exploded and spilled their pages all over the room.
Ollivander delicately took the wand back and retrieved another. “Let’s try this…Blackthorn wood, this time with a phoenix feather core, 10 plus half an inch, and much more pliable. Yes, I think this one—”
As soon as Starling waved it, fireworks shot around the room. Usually, fireworks were a positive sign, but these were much too destructive. They singed his ceiling! No, Ollivander had yet to find the right wand. But, he was so sure this one was perfect for her. What was he missing? He examined her pale face, sharp features, and grey-green eyes. She was tall for her age. Her hands, folded neatly on the counter, featured thin fingers, with an index uncommonly longer than the fourth.
“I think I have it…” Ollivander trailed off, heading for his workbench. He picked up a box with hardly any dust on it, indicating its newer age and little time spent here. When he returned, Merryl was visibly troubled. Of course, it is always a witch’s worst nightmare that their child may have difficulty with magic.
“As you might know, I commonly use unicorn tail hairs, dragon heartstrings, and phoenix feathers as wand cores. They are as powerful as they are reliable,” Ollivander explained. “But, with my colleagues attempting use of Veela hair, and my own father’s work with the Kelpie, I became inspired. I have been experimenting with wands of another core that has shown great promise thus far, much more promise than Veela or Kelpie: the hair strand of a fairy—the Old World descendants, I mean, of the síd, not the pixie variant. Very powerful, very rare, and very difficult to get ahold of, as few are left, and even fewer show themselves these days, what with their shrinking magic allowing them to go underground—
“And, to the Otherworld,” Merryl interrupted him tersely. That was part of the Blackthorn belief, an Old Irish tale that the sidhe escaped the Milesians—the human settlers of Ireland—by occupying the holy dimension of their origins.
“Yes…of course…” Ollivander trailed off awkwardly. “At any rate, I went through great trouble finding a fée donor in the Brocéliande Forest and crafted this wand with your namesake. Given your…family history…if any could match with such a wand, I think it would be a Blackthorn, one who shares a common ancestor with the contributor of this core.”
With caution, Starling wrapped her fingers around the wand and gave it a little twirl. A wind gust blew into the shop, the bell on the door chiming. The breeze wrapped its way around her, traveling up like a serpent, then all the way down her arm, and up, again, through the wand. Starling had never felt magic like this before.
“It’s this one,” Starling breathlessly uttered.
Ollivander returned the wand to its box, handling the magical object like one would handle an egg. He handed the box to his assistant, who took Merryl aside to arrange payment.
Starling stared at the funny old man. And stared, and stared, until Ollivander finally broke the silence. “I’m sure you are familiar with at least some of the wand lore of your selection, as it heavily intertwines with your history, and Celtic Mythology, in general.”
Starling continued to look at him with wide eyes, hoping he would continue.
“Like its sister wood, the Hawthorn, wands made of Blackthorn are particularly adept at curses. The wood certainly holds a fearsome reputation, not only due to your surname, Miss, but because of its association with the fairies of the Old World, the Crone, and all manner of death and destruction. However, much like the users of this wand, Blackthorn is commonly misunderstood and given a worse connotation than it maybe deserves. And I'm not just saying that for your sake, girl, I take this into incredible consideration. A little known fact is that Blackthorn wands are as good for protection from Dark Magic as they are for performing the curses themselves. Always remember that..."
Ollivander lost himself somewhere along the way in his explanation. He forgot he was talking to a young child, and that some things are better left unsaid, even if they are fact.
“In all, I believe that those who find a match with a Blackthorn wand often find themselves drawn into Dark Magic, either reveling in it or fighting to escape its grasp. It is, therefore, also considered a deeply unlucky wand wood, with users often treading far too close to the precipice of danger and death—”
“—Thank you, Mr. Ollivander, that will be all now,” Merryl cut him off, took Starling by the hand, and dragged her out of the store.
The young girl was upset. She wanted to hear more about her imminent death and destruction. It was exciting.