§3　Wands and Bonds

Kaworu Mimori

Mars Flare was walking hastily down Diagon Alley. Wrapped in the robe of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, hood pulled deep over her eyes to avoid drawing attention, she walked on the cobblestones through the weekend bustle. It was strange; she had never felt so uncomfortable walking through the town before, nor had she ever felt so lonely walking alone.
Ignoring the trendy robes, the ice cream, and even the prank items, she hurried past them all, diving into the wand shop. "Welcome," said the old man behind the counter, spotting Mars, who had finally reached her destination with a relieved sigh. Mars nodded and greeted the old man, who raised his round glasses. He had thick silver eyebrows, a lush mustache, beard and hair that spread like a lion's mane, and a single strand of silver hair remaining on his shiny bald head. This kindly-eyed old man was none other than the current master wandmaker, Mr. Ollivander.
"Are you here to buy a new wand, or is it for repairs?" the old man inquired as Mars removed her hood and bowed. Mars, a perfect example of jet-black hair and black eyes, the embodiment of unparalleled beauty, acknowledged the greeting. Certainly, without the hood, she would have been stopped every three steps along the side street and hardly able to move forward.
"Well, you see..." Mars began hesitantly. "I'm not quite sure…"
"Oh?" Mr. Ollivander's silver eyes sparkled behind his round glasses as he listened intently.
"Your wand, if I recall correctly... was made of maple with unicorn tail hair,"
"You remember quite well," Mars remarked, wide-eyed.
"Of course, I do. You came here with your grandfather when you were about this size," Mr. Ollivander said, gesturing with both hands.
"Sounds like you’re talking about a fish caught on a hook," Mars chuckled. Appreciating that the shopkeeper saw her not as the daughter of a high-ranking official in the Ministry of Magic or as the 'Demon of Gryffindor,' but simply as a child, she felt a sense of comfort. "Well then, may I see your wand?" Mr. Ollivander inquired with a smile.
Mars gently placed the wand she had pulled from the inner pocket of her robe on the counter.
"I was able to use it normally until the day before yesterday. Suddenly, yesterday, it stopped working," Mars explained.
"Hmm... 'Lumos,'" the old man chanted, taking her wand and causing a magical light to emanate from its tip.
"Hmm, it seems there's no problem with the wand itself," Mr. Ollivander concluded, returning the wand to the counter. Mars took the wand back, took a deep breath to calm herself, and quietly chanted the spell again.
"Lumos," Mars repeated, but nothing happened this time.
"...Why..." Mars's expression clouded with concern.
"Hmm. Well then, shall we ask the wand directly?" the old man suggested, stroking his well-trimmed nose beard.
"The wand's compatibility with the wizard can vary greatly, as wands use a combination of the wood for the body and the material for the core, which often comes from powerful magical creatures, resulting in individual differences even among the same types. Sometimes, wands even choose their own masters," Mr. Ollivander explained. He handed the wand to Mars and addressed it directly.
"Now then, wand, does your core consist of unicorn tail hair?" Mr. Ollivander asked. "Miss, give the wand a gentle shake," he instructed Mars.
As Mars shook the wand, small sparks flickered from its tip.
"The answer is yes," Mr. Ollivander confirmed. "And your body is made of elm," he added, but nothing happened this time. “The answer is no,” he said.
"In fact, your body is made of maple," he continued, and more sparks flew.
"Then, let's get to the heart of the matter then. Why don't you obey your master's commands? Perhaps you're fed up with her?"
As Mars shook the wand, suddenly its tip burst into flames, scorching the end of the old man's neatly groomed beard.
"Ah! I-I'm sorry!"
"No, it's not your fault, Miss."
Ignoring Mars's embarrassment, Mr. Ollivander smiled cheerfully.
"It seems this one took offense at my words... Well then, is your loyalty still with this young lady?"
In response to his words, this time the wand erupted with a flamboyant display of sparks from its tip.
"You see, Miss?"
“Um…yes,” Mars answered, bewildered.
"Well, now... wand, is there something wrong with you?" Mr. Ollivander asked, met with silence.
"Do you still have your vitality?" he inquired again, and sparks flew.
With a puzzled expression, Mars kept shaking the wand absentmindedly.
"How old are you now?" Mr. Ollivander asked.
"...Huh? Um, yes, I'm fifteen," Mars replied, realizing a moment later that the question was directed at her.
"I see... So, wand, what do you want your owner to do?" Mr. Ollivander asked, stroking his neatly trimmed beard. "Do you want her to own a new wand to replace you?" The wand kept silent for a while as if it were in deep thought, and then responded with a quiet spark.
"Um... excuse me?"
Furrowing her brow, Mars timidly inquired. Despite being an excellent student at Hogwarts, she found herself completely lost in the conversation between the old man and the wand, feeling bewildered and left behind.
"The first time you held that wand was when you were four years old. I remember your grandfather telling me so."
As he looked up at the shelves packed with wand cases lining the wall, Mr. Ollivander began rambling about the past.
"Normally, we wouldn't give a wand to such a young child. But when a child possesses much more magical ability than the average, she needs to learn to control it early on. Otherwise, she might accidentally wreak havoc with magic, turning her home upside down."
Mars's eyes widened in surprise. She had always assumed that anyone born into a wizarding family would learn magic from a young age, with their own wand. However, she now realized that it was actually quite rare. Additionally, she now understood the reason for the scorch marks and repairs on the walls and pillars of her grandfather's house.
"Normally, wizarding wands aren't something you replace every ten years or so. But it's unreasonable to continue using the same wand you bought at four years old into adulthood. Your wand brought you here today because it felt it needed to be replaced with one more suitable for a talented adult witch like you... Ah, here it is."
Mr. Ollivander took a box from the bottom corner of a shelf, placing it on the counter with reverence.
"Silver birch with phoenix feather core, twenty-eight centimeters. I made this about fifty years ago," he said.
"Fifty years..." Mars couldn't help but wonder if it was a leftover item, but she couldn't say that. She didn't want to ridicule a master wandmaker like Ollivander in a way she usually does her roommate.
"Luckily I happened to obtain a piece of a sacred tree in a certain place. I thought it would make a fantastic wand," Mr. Ollivander explained. The ivory-colored wand with intricate rope patterns etched all over it sat in the pristine new box.
"It's very temperamental. Although it is indeed a powerful wand, it's fastidious, proud, and has very particular tastes about its owner. In the end, it didn't bond with anyone over the past fifty years," Mr. Ollivander said.
"Oh..." Mars was taken aback. As she swallowed the words of frustration about why such an eccentric wand was being presented despite the array of options available, the old man offered the wand box to her.
"But you, Miss, undoubtedly should be the master of this one. Go ahead, give it a try."
(Why is he so confident about this anyway?)
If this were her grandfather, she would have already exploded. Reluctantly, Mars took the wand made of silver birch in her hand.
"Huh..."
Instantly, her palm grasping the wand's handle felt a gentle warmth, and an unfamiliar sense of excitement surged from the depths of her body.
"Now, give it a wave," Mr. Ollivander instructed.
Following his instructions, she waved the wand, and from its tip erupted sparks of seven colors, while countless grains of light danced around like golden sand.
"Just as I thought," Mr. Ollivander said, and narrowed his eyes behind his glasses and smiled satisfactorily, as Mars showed an expression of astonishiment appropriate for her age.
"It was worth waiting thirty years."
"Thirty years? ...But earlier you said fifty."
Mars furrowed her brow.
"That wand had a twin sibling, you see. The two wands were made from the same wood and contained feathers from the same phoenix, though the other wand was a bit shorter. It was purchased by a daughter who was accompanied by her father, about thirty years ago."
Ollivander said this, peering into Mars's eyes.
"And that father, he's your grandfather."
"Wh-!"
Mars gasped.
She had no aunts on her mother's side.
The daughter her grandfather had accompanied, that meant ---
"Would you like the wand then?"
"Yes..."
Clutching the wand made of birch and on the verge of tears, Mars smiled.
"Well then, that will be three Galleons."
"!? THREE Galleons!?"
In the midst of her sentimentality, Mars let out an incredulous cry. Her emotions were running wild today, to say the least. Usually, a new wand is worth four to seven or eight Galleons. For a wand of the quality handled in this shop, six Galleons is a modest price. And this birch wand is a masterpiece crafted by a young talent, using top-notch materials for both core and wood.
“That’s way too cheap...! There must be some catch, something seriously wrong with it."
"No, no. That's the market price from fifty years ago."
With a grin, Mr. Ollivander pointed to the handwritten price on the lid of the box. Mars let out a sigh, returned the new wand to its box, took out her purse from her pocket, and placed three gold coins on the counter.
"There you go."
Then, she picked up the old wand.
"What should I do with this wand?"
"Hmm..."
Mr. Ollivander stroked his singed beard.
"In that case, why don't you ask the wand itself? ...Alright, wand. Shall I find you a new master?"
Boom!
The wand erupted into flames, singeing what little hair on Mr. Ollivander's crown.
"!?"
"So, this is the answer, Miss,". Mr. Ollivander flashed a mischievous grin at Mars, who showed a look of embarrassment.
"Take it home, display it, or keep it in a box by your side. Treat it like a mother keeps her baby's umbilical cord, eh?", he said stroking the singed tuft of hair on the top of his head.

§3　Wands and Bonds --- Fin.