Silence settled over the shop.
Ollivander regretted the question almost as soon as he had asked it.
If someone was concealing something, they presumably had a reason.
Fortunately, the bell above the door rang before the silence could stretch much further.
‘Ah.
One moment, please, young lady.
I must find a wand for Mr Grin first.’
He acknowledged the girl in the green dress, then gave Dumbledore an apologetic glance.
Dumbledore inclined his head.
No offence taken.
Black noticed the newcomer too.
He recognised her at once.
Why she had appeared earlier than she was supposed to, in a period where she didn’t belong, he couldn’t explain.
But did that really matter?
Here was someone new who might produce chests.
For all his inward excitement, he gave her only a brief glance before turning back.
‘Which is your wand hand, Mr Grin?’ Ollivander asked.
Black was tempted to say he could use either.
But he wanted the best possible match, so he answered properly.
‘My right.’
‘Very good.’
Ollivander began making notes in a small book.
A measuring tape rose from the counter and set to work: arm, forearm, height, head circumference—even the distance between his nostrils.
After a thorough examination, Ollivander closed the notebook and turned towards the shelves.
Apparently, those measurements mattered.
They helped him narrow thousands of possible wands down to a selection that might suit Black.
‘This one, perhaps…’
He reached for a box.
‘Or you.
Yes, we ought to try you.’
Another joined it.
‘And of course, I mustn’t forget you.’
It was almost as though the wands were speaking to him.
Before long, he returned with an armful of boxes and carefully piled them on the counter.
He rubbed his hands together, watching Black eagerly.
This was the part he always looked forward to.
Whenever a wand found its proper owner, he felt something of a proud father’s delight.
‘You seem compatible with quite a broad range.
Let’s begin with this.’
He selected a box, opened it and lifted out the wand.
Turning it carefully, he offered Black the handle.
‘Ash.
Unicorn hair.
Twelve and a quarter inches.
Very springy.’
Black wiped his palms before taking it.
His first wand.
Now he was finally holding one himself.
Warmth spread through his hand.
‘Oh.
Promising.
Give it a wave.’
Ollivander sounded delighted.
The wand wasn’t resisting him.
Could they have found the right one on the first attempt?
Black was experiencing something rather unusual.
His magic felt stronger.
No—not stronger in itself.
It had more room to flow.
Casting without a wand had felt like sending it down a narrow river.
Now that river had widened, allowing a powerful current to surge through.
It felt wonderful.
Ollivander had told him to wave it.
So he did.
A gentle breeze swept through the shop.
‘Excellent.
Very good—’
The dust stirred by the breeze became a fine drizzle, pattering softly down around them.
‘Ah, I knew this would suit—’
Bang.
The wand exploded.
Black stared at the remains in his hand.
The tip had split and flared out like the mouth of a trumpet.
‘Er…’
Silence returned.
[Shock detected from three people.]
[Chest draws in progress.]
[Silver Chest obtained ×3.]
Black knew exactly where those had come from.
He glanced at Ollivander, who appeared to have forgotten how to move.
‘Do I need to pay for—’
‘No!
No, of course not.’
The wandmaker recovered enough to wave away the suggestion.
‘If anything, the fault is mine.
I couldn’t possibly ask a customer to bear the cost.’
In theory, choosing entirely the wrong wand might cause it to destroy itself.
In practice, Ollivander had never seen it happen.
Nor, to his knowledge, had anyone in his family throughout their many years of wandmaking.
An unsuitable wand might blast out a window or damage a wall.
It did not ordinarily blow itself apart.
He carefully took the broken wand from Black and put it away.
He would have to examine it later and find out what had gone wrong.
A small mishap.
That was all.
He opened a second box.
Dragon heartstring.
Eleven inches.
Very pliable.
An excellent wand for Transfiguration.’
He stole a glance at Dumbledore.
A child of that family was bound to have a gift for the subject.
This one should be right.
Black accepted the wand and immediately found it even more comfortable than the first.
He pointed it at a box on the counter.
The box became a white dove.
It beat its wings and took flight.
‘What splendid Transfiguration!’
Ollivander had never seen an eleven-year-old turn an inanimate object directly into a living creature.
Dumbledore watched with a quiet, pleased smile.
He already knew what Black could do.
‘Well, with his family—’
Dumbledore coughed.
‘Ah.’
Ollivander stopped himself.
[Intense shock detected from two people.]
[Gold Chest obtained ×2.]
One had come from Ollivander.
The other was from the girl in the green dress, who was still sitting on the bench.
Her wide green eyes were fixed on Black’s back.
She looked utterly astonished.
‘Well,’ Ollivander said, smiling again, ‘this one clearly suits—’
Bang.
He stopped speaking.
For a moment, he stared at the second ruined wand.
‘I refuse to believe it.
Try this one.’
A wand destroying itself meant he had made a mistake.
His reputation rested on finding the right match.
He could hardly let this stand.
For the next ten minutes or so, passers-by outside Ollivanders heard a succession of explosions coming from within.
‘Shall we… try another?’
Black spoke cautiously.
Ollivander was slumped over the counter, his head in his hands and his face ashen.
He sprang upright.
‘No.
Please.
No more.
Perhaps you could go and wreak havoc somewhere else.’
He swallowed.
‘Gregorovitch does excellent work.
He is in Germany, admittedly…’