Elder.
The word slid into Cedric’s ears and tightened something cold in his chest.
He recovered in the next breath, face blank, expression locked down before anyone could notice.
No one was watching him.
Ollivander’s gaze had already settled on Professor McGonagall and stayed there.
She stood silent, lips pressed together, clearly turning the word over in her mind.
Ollivander waited a moment, then spoke.
“That particular legend is… tenuous.
Most treat it as a fairy tale.
Never mind.
Let us return to the wand.”
He held it out with the solemnity of a father handing over his most precious daughter.
“Besides the elder and the unicorn horn, I worked dozens of rare materials into the shaft—purely to push its power as high as it would go.
At the time I only knew how to stack excellence.
I forgot the one rule that matters: no matter how powerful a wand is, someone has to be able to master it.”
“Once it was finished I realized the truth.
It was too strong.
It looked down on ordinary wizards and simply refused to accept a master.
Today I saw something different in you.
That quality of yours—the one that makes cores flinch—might be exactly what this wand needs.”
His eyes were encouraging.
McGonagall watched the exchange with complicated feelings.
An eleven-year-old boy taking a wand that already sounded this dangerous felt deeply unwise.
Cedric was no soft child either; she did not want to picture the chaos he could cause at Hogwarts with something this lethal in his hand.
But the choosing of a first wand was a ritual.
She would not break it.
I hope I do not regret this later, she thought.
Under Ollivander’s eager stare and McGonagall’s quiet misgivings, Cedric felt a faint, ridiculous sense of ceremony.
For a moment he even considered whether a short acceptance speech was required.
Reason won.
He stopped playing games in his head and reached out.
The instant his fingers closed, heavy pressure rolled down the length of the wand.
It felt like being watched by a hundred eyes at once.
One pair in particular—clean, sharp, and full of quiet curiosity—pressed hardest against him.
A moment later those eyes seemed to see something that terrified them.
They vanished in a rush.
Only the clean pair remained, hesitated, and finally closed.
Cedric opened his own eyes.
The wand released a soft plume of pure white cloud—quiet, almost pretty.
“It worked,” Ollivander breathed.
“I never thought I would live to see someone claim this wand.”
Cedric said nothing.
He stared at the white cloud drifting above the tip.
No matter how he looked at it, the thing resembled a raised white flag.
So the wand had not chosen him.
It had surrendered.
He was a first-year with a Hunting Level of one.
What the hell did it have to be afraid of?
…
Wand in hand, the next step was money.
The moment the subject of payment arrived, Cedric went numb.
Listening to Ollivander describe the materials and the craftsmanship had felt abstract—filtered through the usual magical-world gloss.
The instant the bill was due, the sales pitch snapped into focus.
This was pure home-shopping television.
The wand had already raised its white flag.
He was too far in to ask for a normal one now.
He forced the words out.
“Mr.
Ollivander… how much is this wand?”
His mind was already racing through debt and repayment.
McGonagall had made it clear the materials were expensive.
He would rather not crawl back to the goblins for another loan.
Other transmigrators never worried about food or money.
He worried about both, and now a single wand was making his heart race.
He did not expect McGonagall to step in.
They were professor and student, not family.
Kindness had limits.
She had no reason to empty her vault for him.
“You cannot afford the full price,” Ollivander said.
Cedric’s stomach dropped—then the tone shifted.
“However…” The old man continued, “I believe your future will be interesting.
The payment can wait.
No interest.”
Cedric exhaled.
“We will put it on credit.
I will waive the labor.
You will pay only the cost of the materials.” Ollivander glanced down, smiled, and named the number.
“Twelve thousand Galleons.”
Twelve thousand.
The figure hit Cedric like a physical blow.
He clamped a hand over his chest to keep his heart from climbing out of his throat.
He genuinely wanted to declare bankruptcy.