Being singled out for such “special attention” made Soren want to bite someone, but on the outside, he kept up the act, playing oblivious and going along with their little performance.
Mr Ollivander maintained his cheerful demeanour, pulling a tape measure marked with silver increments from his pocket.
“Which arm would you use for your wand, young man?”
“My right.
I’m right-handed.”
“Lift your arm and hold it straight out.
Good.” He measured while tidying the counter with practised efficiency.
The start of each school year was his favourite time.
Fitting young ones with their first wands, matching long-waiting wands to their ideal owners, it felt like presiding over a wedding.
Given Soren’s unusual circumstances, he adjusted his usual opening remarks.
“Polite young man, I must tell you that every wand is unique.
The properties of the wood, the nature of the magical creature that contributed the core, and the character of the witch or wizard themselves, only when all three align perfectly can a wand achieve its true potential.
So this is a mutual selection.
You choose the wand, and the wand chooses you.
Only when both parties are satisfied does a partnership begin, one that may well last a lifetime.
Every time I witness such a beginning, my heart stirs.
It’s like opening a fresh book, about to embark on a marvellous journey.
Ah, perhaps I’m being too talkative.
Don’t mind me.
Age does this to everyone, ha ha.”
Still smiling, Mr Ollivander walked to a nearby shelf and began pulling down long narrow boxes.
The enchanted tape measure carried on without help, even taking the circumference of Soren’s head and the distance between his nostrils.
What use those numbers could possibly serve was anyone’s guess.
Before long, Mr Ollivander returned carrying over a dozen boxes, stacking them on the narrow wooden counter.
His movements were spry, betraying no hint of age.
“Right, let us begin properly.
We’ll start with…” He opened the topmost box, revealing a handsome white wand that looked at first glance like a silver spear.
“Poplar!”
“Our family motto goes: if you seek integrity, look first among poplar wand owners.
Go on, give it a try.
I do prefer picky young wizards, but an instant match has its own charm, wouldn’t you say?”
Under his encouraging gaze, Soren reached out and took the wand.
His magic, which usually only cooperated when he concentrated hard, surged into the wand of its own accord.
The sensation was like trading a bicycle for a sports car.
The very first wand felt this natural.
Could it be?
Just as he was about to give it a test wave, Mr Ollivander shook his head and plucked the wand from his grip.
“Mmm…
not quite right.
It accepts your control, yet doesn’t truly resonate with you.
That tells me that particular quality isn’t your most prominent trait.
You’re simply overpowering it with raw potential and magical strength.
Interesting…”
He returned the wand and opened another box, gesturing for Soren to continue.
Still mindful of Snape’s “special attention,” Soren hesitated before asking, “What wand is it this time?
What are its properties?
Could you tell me more, Mr Ollivander?
This is genuinely fascinating!”
The question hit Mr Ollivander’s sweet spot.
He laughed heartily.
“Of course, of course!
A vigorous curiosity, that’s a fine quality.
Perhaps you’ll end up in Ravenclaw and become my schoolmate, separated by a good many generations!”
He glanced down at the wand in his hand, his tone light and breezy.
“Cypress with dragon heartstring.
Its soulmate is someone brave, resolute, and possessed of a spirit of self-sacrifice.”
Soren took the wand.
It felt equally comfortable, but the outcome was the same.
“No, this one won’t do either.
Same as before, you’re merely overpowering it…”
“Try this one.
Applewood wand, very powerful, especially suited to those with lofty goals and grand ideals.
Its users tend to possess extraordinary personal charisma.
Rather like you, in fact.”
Saying so, he gave Soren’s face an extra glance and nodded again.
Soren reached for it.
This time the sensation was even better.
The wand trembled in his palm, as though answering him.
Mr Ollivander grinned and snatched it back.
“Well, well, a demanding customer.
The applewood wand has chosen you, but your talents go beyond it.
We must keep searching.”
“This one…” He paused before opening a box at the very edge of the stack.
“Blackthorn.
Powerful and exceedingly rare.
They say it only truly bonds with its owner after they’ve faced danger and hardship together.
Also, its users fall into roughly two categories: Aurors, and the people Aurors chase.”
Soren understood.
Police academy issue.
Half the graduates would spend their careers arresting the other half.
He gave it a try.
Honestly, not bad at all.
Fortunately, Mr Ollivander took it back soon after, or Snape’s death stare might have lasted indefinitely.
“This won’t do either.
What a picky customer.” Mr Ollivander was delighted.
“Red oak…
not quite.”
“Walnut…
good, good, perhaps you’ll become a spell inventor, but still not right.”
“Fir…
very nice, but only nice.
Far from perfect.”
“Willow…
Severus was right about you, you’re a young wizard with extraordinary potential.
Pity it’s still not the one.”
“Ash…
hornbeam…
redwood…
laurel…
no, all wrong!
Ah, this is wonderful!!”
Mr Ollivander shuttled back and forth between the counter and the shelves.
Wand boxes Soren had tried piled into small mountains.
Most had been rejected the instant they touched his hand.
Only a handful had made it to an actual test wave, and even those fell short of Mr Ollivander’s ideal.
Snape glanced toward the small queue forming outside the shop.
Several times he opened his mouth, then closed it again.
But Mr Ollivander didn’t so much as look at him, thoroughly lost in the art of wands, oblivious to everything else.
After who knows how many rounds, Mr Ollivander finally seemed to reach a decision.
He went to the deepest shelf and retrieved a few special wands.
“All right, all right.
Perhaps you should try these.
Here, yew.
It grants its wielder power over life and death, and carries a particularly dark and fearsome reputation in duelling and…
cursing.”
Soren didn’t need to turn around to know Snape was watching him.
He reached for the brownish-black wand.
It felt superb in his hand, his magic unusually active.
When Mr Ollivander raised no objection, Soren gave a casual flick.
A deep crimson bolt shot from the tip and scorched a black mark into the floor.
Behind him, Snape’s gaze sharpened.
Mr Ollivander sighed.
“You could choose it, but it’s certainly not the best fit for you.”
Soren hurriedly handed it back.
A wand with that kind of reputation wasn’t something he wanted either.
Mr Ollivander fell silent for a long moment, visibly wrestling with something, then opened a box that looked ancient.
“In my youth, I was obsessed with finding ideal wand pairings.
I experimented with every material the magical world had to offer.
That included elder.
I once tried to recreate a certain legendary wand, but I could never find a wizard suited to it.
Go on, try this one.
Elder, thestral tail hair, thirteen inches.
An extraordinary combination.
It is harder to master than any other wand.
Only someone truly exceptional can bond perfectly with an elder wand.
And when such a rare event occurs, that wizard is destined for a remarkable fate.”
Soren’s breath caught.
Nervously, he accepted this replica of the “Elder Wand.”
Magic surged through his fingertips and sang in his ears.
His magic aligned with the wand so completely that it produced a powerful illusion of invincibility.
He raised the wand and gave it a gentle flick.
The tip barely touched the air, and the mountain of stacked boxes on the counter lifted off, hovering in mid-air.
Listen closely and you could hear the wands trembling inside their containers, practically shaking.
Snape’s eyes flickered.
He said nothing.
Mr Ollivander applauded, though his expression held a note of hesitation.
“A fine match.
Perhaps you should choose it.
But how shall I put this…
by my standards, it’s still not perfect.”
“…”
Life was hard.
Soren sighed.
Even Mr Ollivander seemed to have gone numb.
“You are the most particular young wizard I have ever met.
If you’re this fussy about food, you must be chronically malnourished.
Come on, try the last few.
If none of these work, the elder wand it is.”
The last few didn’t work either…
Wait.
The very last one was unexpectedly right.
When Soren waved the wand, the entire shop trembled faintly, as though caught in a miniature earthquake.
At the same time, a faint phoenix cry echoed in his mind, its resonance lingering long after the sound faded.
This was unmistakably a superior match, even more suited to him than the elder wand.
Mr Ollivander stared at the wand, then at Snape.
His expression was as peculiar as peculiar could be.
“This one…?”
“Details.” Snape’s tone left no room for debate.
He would need to report the specifics to Dumbledore later, and naturally he wanted the full picture.
“Very well…” A flicker of memory crossed Mr Ollivander’s silvery eyes.
“Holly, phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.
A most unusual combination.
I remember using two tail feathers from the same phoenix to make two wands.
One is right here.
The other…
belongs to He Who Must Not Be Named.”