"Father, why were you so polite to that fellow?" Draco asked, sounding slightly aggrieved.
Lucius Malfoy glanced at him coolly. "I am simply smoothing the path for your future network, Draco."
"Hah! Based on our first eting, I'm fairly certain he already hates ." Draco rolled his eyes, clearly not taking his father's words to heart.
"At least you're self-aware. Now, let test you," Lucius said softly. "Since you have already offended the other party, how should you go about salvaging this relationship?"
"How?" Draco asked blankly.
"An orphan, yet dressed in the finest silks, skin pale and clean... it is obvious he enjoys the finer things and has no taste for hardship. And yet, he is an orphan. What do you think sustains such a lifestyle?" Lucius prompted.
"...Money?" Draco ventured. Seeing Lucius's thin smile, he continued, "Since he's an orphan, it must be soone else's money. But the Weasleys and that Hagrid fellow don't look like they have two Sickles to rub together."
"The green-eyed boy. Did you not see the lightning scar on his forehead? That is Harry Potter. The Potter estate is anything but poor," Lucius reminded him.
"So... I have to compete with Potter in spending money to win over this Kane Heath?" Draco frowned.
Lucius knew his son wasn't exactly the most charming personality, so he set the bar a bit lower. "There is no need to compete. An ordinary friendship, or at least a lack of hostility, is enough. And that applies to Mr. Potter as well."
"So I have two more social tasks?"
"Precisely," Lucius nodded. "If possible, I would even like you to pick up the threads of friendship with the Weasleys."
"A pack of paupers. What use are they?" Draco sneered.
"Because they are a 'pack,' Draco. There is power in numbers. Of course, if you are unwilling, so be it," Lucius said dismissively.
Draco looked at the four retreating figures. "They're at least pure-bloods. I'll try. Just try."
"Good lad," Lucius said, patting the back of Draco's head.
Back at Ollivanders...
"Compared to the rest of Diagon Alley, which seems to be overflowing with brats who keep their eyes on the ceiling, this place is much better. At least it's cool and lacks other living souls."
No sooner had Kane sat down on a small sofa in the corner than the bell above the door chid. A young girl with bushy brown hair and a clean, earnest face walked in.
"Oh, so many people. Should I co back later?" the girl asked reflexively.
"No need. Mr. Ollivander is just finishing a custom wand for Kane. Just call for him and he'll co out," Hagrid explained.
The girl nodded. "All right. I'm Hermione Granger. So, you're all first-years? Except for you, sir, obviously." The last bit was directed at Hagrid.
"Indeed, my youth is a distant mory," Hagrid sighed before introducing himself and the rest of the group.
Hermione nodded, then began pacing the shop, hands behind her back. Communicating with her peers was clearly just as interesting to her as buying a wand.
"Mr. Hagrid ntioned Mr. Ollivander is making a custom wand for you?" Hermione stopped in front of Kane, who was currently having a staring contest with his raven.
Kane looked up and nodded blankly.
"But I've read in Wand Woods and Magical Cores that the Ollivander family only uses three materials: unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, and phoenix feathers. I never read anything about bespoke commissions..." Hermione looked puzzled. It wasn't a challenge; it was an insecurity.
Was the gap between Muggle-borns and pure-bloods already this wide? she wondered. Do we get the off-the-shelf models while they get custom-tailored masterpieces? Her dream of being top of the class suddenly felt a lot more uphill.
"I'm sure Ollivander has made plenty of special wands. Right, Hagrid?" Kane said, awkwardly deflecting.
Hagrid stroked his beard. "Well, now that you ntion it... I've seen a few unique ones over the years. Elder wood with Thestral tail hair, Elder with snake nerves, Elder with Qilin hair... mostly various magical feathers. So even use their own hair."
"Wait, just how powerful is Elder wood? Why is everyone using it?" Hermione interrupted.
"Oh, it's not that," Hagrid explained. "It's just that Professor Dumbledore's wand is Elder. Most of those others were just... tributes to his."
Hermione nodded and looked back at Kane. "So, is yours Elder too?"
"Certainly not. I've seen the Headmaster's wand. It's covered in knots; looks terribly uncomfortable to hold," Kane said, waving the idea away.
Hermione's heart sank again. Here she was, a Muggle-born who had just arrived in Diagon Alley, while this "aristocrat" had already spent enough ti with the Headmaster to criticize his wand ergonomics. The gap wasn't just wide; it was a canyon.
Kane, totally unaware that he had just been branded a "Wizarding Elitist" in Hermione's mind, went back to teasing his raven. Suddenly, footsteps echoed from the back. Ollivander erged, holding a long, slender box.
"Mr. Heath, I dare say you are going to absolutely love this." Ollivander placed the wand on the counter, waiting for Kane to co over for the "rite" of picking it up.
Kane didn't care much for rites. He looked at the wand and felt it calling to him like a long-lost limb.
Because his own shadows were part of the Living Log and Nightmare Fuel, the wand was essentially an extension of himself. With a re thought, the wand flew from the counter directly into his palm.
Hermione's eyes went wide. "Was that... wandless magic?"
Kane tilted his head. "I was just picking up my wand. Is there a trick to it?"
He looked down at his new tool. The bark of the Living Log had been stripped away, leaving only the dense, oily, heartwood core.
It was slightly longer than average, so Ollivander had flattened it slightly, inlaying the flat sides with Mithril and crystal. It looked less like a traditional wand and more like a long, elegant blade for a hidden assassin.
The wailing face at the end had been scaled down proportionally. Ollivander had curved that end into a handle and—rcifully—driven two golden cross-studs through its mouth, pinning it shut so it couldn't make a sound.
"Try it! Try it!" Ollivander urged, looking like a proud parent.
Kane nodded and gave the wand a casual flick.
As he moved it, the gems inlaid in the "blade" glowed with a faint, ethereal light. The shadows at Kane's feet, usually so obedient, suddenly surged with life.
With Kane's silent permission, the darkness detached from the floor, whipping through the air in tandem with the wand's movents.
Ollivander watched his shop get tossed into chaos by the thrashing shadows, but he didn't mind a bit. He was purely enamored with his creation.
Kane stopped, spinning the wand between his fingers. He was very satisfied. With a lazy wave from Ollivander, the shop tidied itself back up.
Harry and Ron looked at their own wands, then at Kane's, and suddenly felt like they were holding sticks they'd found in the backyard.
Hermione, anwhile, summoned her courage and raised her hand. "Mr. Ollivander? If I wanted a custom wand, what would it cost ?"
User Comments
0 comments from readers