- Story Start -
Ron Wesley is beside himself with excitement. He's going to attend Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in two days, and his parents are taking him to Diagon Alley after breakfast to buy him a wand.
A brand new wand!
He won't have to make do with Bill's old one (with six hearts carved on the handle and all of them crossed out) nor Charlie's (with the scorched tip and claw marks below that). He's going to get a brand new Ollivander-made one. Everyone knows they're top of the line and hideously expensive.
Well. They're actually going to get one of his second tier wands - following a recent initiative by the Ministry of Magic to allow more families to acquire properly made magical items for their children - but it's still band new and made by a master!
Having grown up with hand me downs all his life thanks to five older brothers, Ron Weasley is ecstatic.
- o -
"Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC," Ron reads aloud the peeling gold letters above the door and turns to gaze at the single wand resting on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.
"Well, go on, love. We don't have all day." A motherly hand at his back nudges him forward.
With a nod and a fortifying breath, Ron pushes open the door and enters, a cheery tinkle sounding above his head. The shop's interior is cramped with a tiny counter on one side and all four walls covered with shelf upon shelf of boxes. There's an almost tangible tingle in the air which makes Ron's nose itch.
With anticipation.
With excitement.
With magic.
He's practically vibrating on the spot, he's that excited!
"Hello there, young Mister Weasley." A tall and skinny man with a shock of white hair and wide silvery eyes materialises behind the counter, startling him. "Come to get your first wand?"
"Y-yes, sir," Ron greets.
"I remember when your parents, Arthur Weasley and Molly Prewett, came here to buy their first wands."
Ron's parents stay silent which is odd as they are two of the chattiest people he knows. Turning around, he finds he's quite alone in this cramped, dusty shop with the strange wandmaker.
"Mum? Dad?"
"Not to worry, Mister Weasley. Your parents are over there." Ollivander nods at the window.
Peering through the dusty glass pane, Ron sees them crossing over to the shop opposite and frowns. He was quite sure they would stay with him; he's getting his very first wand after all. But of course they'll come back to pay for it.
"Now then!" Ollivander claps his hands once, making Ron jump a foot in the air. "First tier or second tier?"
"Uh. Second please."
"Right. Let's get you a few to try, eh?" Without waiting for a reply, Ollivander rummages under the counter and brings out two armfuls of long and narrow boxes which he deposits on the counter. A stray white feather wafts over to Ron and impudently dances across his nose.
"Achoo."
One of the boxes on the counter starts levitating.
"No sneezing in my shop." Ollivander gives a reproving frown.
Ron opens his mouth to point out the feather, but it whisks itself behind Ollivander and hides in his white hair.
"Yes, sir. Sorry."
"Very well." Ignoring the still levitating box, Ollivander opens another, removes a wand and hands it handle first to Ron.
"Birch, clingy, with a kneazle whisker core."
Ron blinks. He's heard of unicorn hair and dragon heartstring cores, but not-
"Kneazle whisker," he repeats.
Ollivander frowns at him again.
"Any part of a magical creature may be used as a wand's core, Mister Weasley," he chides. "A kneazle whisker core may not be as consistent as a unicorn hair core nor as powerful as a dragon heartstring one, but it will still channel its master's magic."
"Right." Ron doesn't know if he should ask about the 'clingy' bit.
"Well, give it a wave."
Ron waves, but nothing happens except that his cheeks start tingling. He scratches his left one and lets out a shout of surprise. The levitating box falls back to the counter while the others on the shelves begin to rattle.
"Hush! Hush now!" Ollivander glares all around and the boxes fall still. Then he directs that glare at Ron.
"No shouting in my shop."
"Sorry, but wh-what's this?!" Ron asks in an agonised whisper as he holds out a long, ginger coloured bristle with left thumb and forefinger. The stray feather whisks back to him and starts tapdancing on said bristle.
"A kneazle whisker, of course."
"A kneazle - why am I growing whiskers?!"
"No matter, it'll vanish in a second." Ollivander snatches the wand from him - it meows - stuffs it back in its box and sets it aside. Then he opens another box, takes out the wand and holds it out.
"Pine, buzzy, with a billywig sting core."
Ron takes it gingerly, relieved to find his whisker has disappeared. The feather boops his nose in annoyance.
"Give it a wave, Mister Weasley. I haven't got all day."
Batting the feather away, Ron gives the wand a flick. He squeaks when his shoes leave the floor and he begins floating upward.
"H-help...!"
Ollivander waves a casual hand and Ron drops back to the floor. The feather trembles as if its laughing and whisks away when Ron tries to grab it.
"B-bloody hell!"
"No swearing in my shop!"
"Sorry, but-"
"Surely you know billywig is a key ingredient in Fizzing Whizbees, Mister Weasley? Although I may have added a tad too much." Ollivander snatches back the wand - it buzzes - and keeps it in its box which starts floating above the counter. Paying it no mind, he takes out another wand and holds it out to Ron.
"Aspen, sneaky, niffler fur core."
As soon as Ron closes his fingers around the handle, he finds himself pressed to the front of the counter with the tip of his wand firmly attached to one of Ollivander's shiny waistcoat buttons.
"Uh, sorry!"
"How interesting. I didn't think a niffler's instinct would be so ingrained in its fur." Ollivander pulls away the wand tip - it squeals in protest - and stuffs it back in its box, giving it a sharp tap when it starts inching along the counter. He doesn't seem to notice the white feather floating above his head. Opening yet another box, he takes out the wand and holds it out.
Gulping, Ron unsticks himself from the counter.
- o -
Over the next hour or so, Ron tries every single wand Ollivander passes him and gets subjected to a variety of side effects, much to the feather's amusement. Ollivander continues to ply him with wand after wand, getting increasingly excited as the minutes tick past and the pile of tried wands grow larger.
"Dogwood, friendly, crup fur core!"
Ron grows two tails and feels an overpowering urge to scamper around the shop on all fours.
"Willow, swimmy, mermaid scale core!"
Ron feels a sting on both sides of his neck and is unable to breathe until Ollivander snatches the wand back from him.
"Poplar, wavy, murtlap hair!"
Ron's ginger hair starts waving and wriggling about like an anemone under the sea.
"Alder, swingy, acromantula venom core!"
Ron covers an entire shelf in sticky gleaming webbing before Ollivander snatches the wand from him and Scourgifies the mess. Then they both look at the last wand remaining.
"Yew, deadly, mandrake shavings," Ollivander intones in a solemn voice, previous excitement all but vanished into thin air.
"Mandrake," Ron repeats in bafflement.
"Yes." Ollivander turns his otherworldly gaze on him. "The cry of the Mandrake is fatal, Mister Weasley. So be very careful with how you handle this wand. And above all else, do not drop it."
Ron gulps and takes the wand. Then he stays stock-still until Ollivander clicks his tongue.
"Well, what're you waiting for? Give it a wave!"
"B-but you s-said-"
"I said give it a wave, not drop it!"
Gulping again, Ron squeezes his eyes shut and obeys. By now, his palm is sweaty from having tried so many wands. He loses his grip on the mandrake one and watches, wide eyed, as it sails over Ollivander's head, hits the shelf behind him with a resounding 'Thwack' and drops out of sight.
Ron gapes at Ollivander who looks just as horrified as he feels. The feather trembles and zips out of sight just as an ear splitting shriek fills the shop, causing the other boxes to leap off the shelves, wands falling out and clattering to the floor.
Ron claps his hands over his ears, wincing as the scream goes on and on and on...
- o -
"No!" Eyes snapping open, Ron bolts upright, gasping for breath. He's sweaty, his heart is thumping madly in his chest and echoing in his ears. He's staring at the Chudley Cannons poster on the wall opposite him where the players are giving him cheery waves. Looking around, he realises he's in his bed in his tiny bedroom at the Burrow.
"A nightmare," he says aloud and claps both hands to his cheeks.
No whiskers.
He carefully feels his behind.
No tails.
"Just a nightmare. Bloody hell!"
He isn't going to Ollivander's to get a new wand. There's no initiative from the Ministry of Magic and no second tier wands to purchase. Turning his head, his gaze falls on the scorched and scratched wand on his bedside table and he smiles like it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
It's still a working wand, isn't it?
It got Charlie through Hogwarts, didn't it?
He became a Dragon Tamer, didn't he?
Reaching out a hand, Ron freezes when the wand gives a quiet snuffle, like the sound a dragon might make in its sleep. The familiar saying 'Let sleeping dragons lie' flits through his mind. He decides to do just that and flops back onto his pillow, closing his eyes.
Hand me downs are fine, he thinks drowsily. At least he won't grow dragon scales or breathe fire when he uses Charlie's old wand.
He falls asleep and doesn't hear the soft chuckle from the wand or see the white feather drifting in from the open window and coming to rest beside it.
- Story End -