Chapter Twelve: The Unique Wand

Pushing open the small shop door, the bell inside jingled, alerting Mr. Ollivander to the arrival of a customer.

Rogue followed Professor McGonagall into the wand shop, which was even more cramped than in the movies. The boxes of wands, stacked all the way to the ceiling, trembled underfoot as he stepped on the creaking floorboards.

“Minerva McGonagall, if I’m not mistaken, your wand is made of fir wood with a dragon heartstring core, measuring nine and a half inches,” said the elderly man behind the counter, his hair streaked with gray, smiling warmly at Professor McGonagall.

“Your memory is remarkable, Mr. Ollivander,” McGonagall replied with a smile. “I’ve brought a new student, Rogue, to be fitted with his first wand.”

“Oh, a new student!” Ollivander’s eyes lit up. “Come now, young man, let’s see which wand chooses you.”

Mr. Ollivander picked up a measuring stick and carefully measured Rogue’s arm length, forearm, height, and head circumference. Rogue glanced helplessly at Professor McGonagall; this was the second time he had been measured today, and he felt that Mr. Ollivander’s process was even more meticulous and thorough than Madam Malkin’s.

“Mr. Ollivander, I’m just a child now—is all this measuring really necessary?”

“Oh, absolutely, my boy,” Ollivander said enthusiastically. “Wandlore is a complex magical art. To find the wand that best suits a wizard, understanding the user’s physical characteristics is a crucial first step.”

“Your body will continue to grow, but your physical traits and bone structure reflect your personality and talents.”

As he explained, Ollivander noted Rogue’s measurements on paper. “These provide important references to determine the ideal wand length, core material, and other elements.”

“A wizard must see beyond appearances to the essence within. Rest assured, we will find the wand that is perfect for you!” Ollivander declared confidently.

“I understand. Thank you for your guidance, Mr. Ollivander,” Rogue nodded. Having been reborn, he was filled with anticipation at the thought of finally owning his own wand.

Based on Rogue’s measurements, Ollivander selected several boxes from the shop that might hold suitable wands.

“Try this one first—hawthorn wood, with a core of thestral tail hair, twelve inches, reasonably flexible.”

Rogue took the wand and waved it, but only a faint chill breeze emerged.

“No, no, not quite right,” Ollivander shook his head. It seemed Rogue would be a discerning customer.

He quickly retrieved another wand. “How about this one? Cherry wood, dragon heartstring core, ten inches, very sturdy.”

Rogue waved this wand, and with a loud crash, a vase in the shop shattered.

“My vase!” Ollivander exclaimed, then chuckled and shook his head. “No harm done, but still not the right match.”

Rogue then tried several others—boxwood, yew, and more—but either nothing happened or chaotic effects ensued.

“Hmm… indeed a picky client,” Ollivander murmured to himself. “Don’t worry, I think I have a wand that will suit you perfectly…”

He produced a brand-new box containing a distinctive wand.

“Here, try this one: holly wood, phoenix feather core, eleven inches, flexible and resilient.”

“That looks like Harry Potter’s wand—have I stolen it from him?” Rogue stared at the wand but took it anyway.

He glanced at Professor McGonagall, who, guessing Rogue’s worry that the wand might still be unsuitable, smiled encouragingly, “Give it a wave, Rogue. A wand chooses its wizard friend.”

Rogue nodded and waved gently—yet nothing happened.

“Ha… you startled me! Let Harry Potter and Voldemort’s tangled fate remain theirs to resolve,” Ollivander said with a slight frown. This shouldn’t be happening.

He scratched his Beethoven-like white hair and crouched down to retrieve a box from the lowest shelf.

Inside was a wand crafted from sandalwood, twelve inches long, with a spiral shape—unique and elegant. Its core was made from kirin heartstring, a rare and powerful magical substance.

As soon as Rogue grasped this wand, a dazzling golden light shot forth, scattering beautiful sparks throughout the shop.

“Wonderful! This is the one!” Ollivander announced joyfully. “Sandalwood, kirin heartstring, twelve inches, very resilient.”

“Mr. Ollivander, did you say kirin heartstring?” Professor McGonagall asked nervously, eyeing the wand in Rogue’s hand.

“Minerva, calm yourself,” Ollivander raised a hand to signal her to listen. “The kirin heartstring in this wand does not belong to Newt’s kirin, nor is it connected to Grindelwald. This comes from an adult kirin carcass provided legally by the Ministry of Magic sixty years ago. Please, no need for concern.”

“Now, allow me to explain the significance of this wand in detail.”

“Sandalwood is a rare material. To complement the kirin heartstring, I sourced this wood from the Far East. It symbolizes a wand owner with firm will and noble purpose. The spiral design represents the continuity of life and infinite possibilities.”

“In Eastern culture, the kirin is a sacred creature symbolizing auspiciousness and peace. Using kirin heartstring as the core means this wand possesses strong protective and healing powers.”

“Finally, the twelve-inch length is perfect for many wizards seeking balance and harmony.”

“To be honest, this wand wasn’t made according to our traditional methods. It was crafted by my hands but seemed to await a wizard from the East.” Ollivander had not expected the wand to truly choose Rogue.

“In any case, it is a wand of great potential, capable of performing complex magic with sensitivity—a perfect blend of flexibility and strength. It suits wizards who are agile and possess adaptability and creativity,” Ollivander concluded.

Professor McGonagall wholeheartedly agreed with his explanation, though the kirin heartstring still troubled her deeply. Rogue grasped the meaningful wand happily; the magic flowed unimpeded, blossoming into beautiful fireworks at the tip.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Ollivander!” Rogue said excitedly. “I will use this wand responsibly and unleash its power.”

“You should, my boy,” Ollivander smiled warmly.

Rogue took out a small leather pouch and placed a hefty bag of Galleons on the counter.

“Thank you for your hard work, Mr. Ollivander. I believe this wand is very precious.”

“Oh, no need, my child,” Ollivander waved kindly and took only seven gold coins.

“That’s more than enough. I trust this wand will be a good companion to you.”

“You can take it home and try it out. If you encounter any problems, come see me again,” Ollivander said with a smile, gesturing for Rogue to put away his pouch.

Rogue nodded and carefully pocketed the new wand. Led by Professor McGonagall, he stepped out of Ollivander’s shop, thrilled—for the first time since his rebirth, he finally had a wand of his own!

“Mr. Rogue, congratulations on receiving your wand,” McGonagall sincerely expressed, pushing up her glasses as she began Rogue’s first lesson as a wizard.

“According to Ministry regulations, children over eleven who know they are wizards but have not yet enrolled are strictly forbidden from performing magic outside school. Their wands will be confiscated and kept until admission.”

“Ah… Professor McGonagall, please allow me to keep it myself. I swear I’ll never use magic outside school,” Rogue said disappointedly, looking at her. He had never known young witches and wizards had their wands seized.

He understood the Ministry placed trace monitoring on enrolled students’ magic use but had not expected such strict rules for those not yet admitted. In the movies, Hermione repaired Harry’s glasses with her wand before attending Hogwarts.

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