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(Arcane Tinker) Chapter 8: Wands and Brushes
🕑 Added 2025-05-16 14:02:00 +0000 UTCChapter 8: Wands and Brushes
10 June 1991, Diagon Alley, London
“But first, we’ll need to get to Ollivander’s for your wands, then we’ll stop by the Apothecary for your potion supplies. Then we’ll see where else we can go. I hope you brought your savings; this is probably the day you’ll spend the most this year.”
Dean and his friends followed Matron Kara through the bustling alley, each step bringing them closer to the heart of the magical shopping district. The road to Ollivander's was narrow and lined with cobblestones. He noticed that people sneered at them a bit, but he didn’t really care. After all, it wasn’t every day he would get a freaking magic wand.
Finally, they reached the shop. Ollivander’s was a narrow, slightly crooked building squeezed between two larger shops. Its faded gold lettering over a peeling black sign read, "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C."
The shop window was small and dusty, showing off a single wand on a faded purple cushion. As they stepped inside, a tiny bell tinkled softly above the door. The inside was dimly lit and filled with the rich scent of polished wood and old parchment. Shelves crammed with long, narrow boxes created a maze of wands. The place had a cosy, old-fashioned feel, and it was, by far, the first thing that actually met Dean’s expectation of a magic shop.
There was a sense of mystery there, a certified place of wonder, unlike what he had seen outside. Diagon Alley was very similar to an old marketplace in the Muggle world. If it wasn’t for the weird names and the products displayed, he would have thought that he had been scammed. And yet, the moment he entered the shop was the moment that the realisation had set in. He was in the magical world. What he felt was true. The energy coursing all over the shop, the faint thrumming that he couldn’t quite hear, yet knew was present anyway.
This wasn’t some elaborate dream he had come up with. And while wonderous, Dean couldn’t help but be slightly chagrined. After all, that meant that his mother truly was dead.
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice, “Good afternoon.”
Dean jumped. He had been so lost in what he was feeling that he had not noticed the man sneak behind him and his friends. He turned reflexively and saw an old man standing before him. His wide, pale eyes shone like silvery moons through the gloom of the shop.
"Hello," said Dean awkwardly.
The man seemed to nod to himself, “How curious.” and then turned towards the matron, “Ah, Kara, how wonderful to see you, my dear. Elm and Dragon Heartstring, if I am not mistaken.”
The matron rolled her eyes. “You always say the exact same thing every year, Ollivander.”
“And you always respond the exact same way. Who am I to break such a strong tradition? Now, if I’m not mistaken, those are this year’s batch to Hogwarts.”
She nodded, “Yes. Meet Lisa Turpin, Sally-Anne Perk, and Dean Thomas.”
“How wonderful. Three new wands to partner.” he then turned towards Lisa and exclaimed, “You first! What’s your wand arm.”
As he was being distracted trying to suit a wand to Lisa, Dean slowly turned towards Kara, “Hey. Is he like this with everyone?”
He had a point. He wouldn’t say that the man was creepy, but he was definitely eccentric.
The matron smiled slightly, “Oh, he was always like this. My guess is that he’s a clairvoyant of some sort. They always tend to be whimsical in nature. I suppose knowing too much about the world would do that. The Ollivander family has always been the best wand crafters in Europe for thousands of years. No one knows what exactly their magic is specifically, but it has to be centred around wands. Whatever it may be, it has served them very well. The Ollivanders have gained a monopoly over wand crafting in Britain for centuries. I don’t think there are any shops selling wands anywhere in the country, other than the few illegal shops that sell stolen ones, that is, but you have no business knowing about them in the first place.”
Dean hummed in agreement. He didn’t really understand how the economy worked in the magical world. Other than the currency, he didn’t know much. There weren’t really any books for him to read in the orphanage. His entire knowledge of the world was from Jack and Lisa’s mouths, and they weren’t exactly the most knowledgeable people in the world, on account of being children.
Thankfully, Lisa and Sally-Anne got matched up with their wands quickly enough. Lisa was holding her Walnut wand reverently, and Sally-Anne was holding her Hazel wand as if her life depended on it.
Then, it was finally Dean’s turn. He walked towards the back with Ollivander and let the man do his thing, “Dean Thomas, right?”
“Yes,” he simply replied.
The older man nodded, “What’s your wand arm?”
Dean lifted his right hand, and Ollivander immediately took it, beginning his meticulous measurements. He measured from shoulder to fingertip, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and finally around Dean's head. It was so fucking weird.
As Ollivander worked, he began to explain, "You see, Mr. Thomas, each Ollivander wand is crafted with precision from wood that has been alchemically altered. The core of the wand is made from a powerful magical substance. We often use unicorn hairs, phoenix feathers, and dragon heartstrings, as these elements tend to be the most compatible for wand crafting. They have a certain resonance with magic that makes them ideal.”
“However," Ollivander continued, his voice taking on a more thoughtful tone, "sometimes people bring their own materials for the core. These are often items with which they have a deep, personal connection. Magic, Mr. Thomas, has a way of remembering these connections. It's important not to forget that. Usually, the people who provide their own cores are curse breakers who need new wands and have collected these rare and powerful materials through their adventures, often after defeating magical beasts. It's a fascinating process, really, and quite unique."
"Are some wands better than others?" Dean asked, his curiosity piqued. He had always wanted to ask this.
"No, not really," Ollivander replied. "The process of bonding with a wand is fundamentally about magical compatibility. Initially, there is an inevitable period of adjustment, but as you use your wand, it will gradually attune to your unique magic, allowing for increasingly precise control. At the end of the day, wand magic uses your own personal magic and warps it into a spell. It’s why people are sometimes stronger with a certain brand of magic. A fire elemental would find it easier to conjure a fire than water using a wand. It’s just more efficient, and there isn’t as much loss of energy during casting. You could be using Merlin’s wand and barely be able to cast sparks. Sure, families tend to have similar personal magics between members, and that could work. But it could also not work at all, and people would be using a very inefficient instrument during their education. I would not wish that on my worst enemy.”
After finishing his impromptu lecture, the wandmaker stopped measuring Dean’s nostril and went to grab a box, “Try this one, ash wood with a unicorn hair core, twelve inches. Good for charm work."
Dean took the wand, feeling its weight in his hand. He gave it a tentative wave, but nothing happened. Ollivander quickly retrieved it and handed him another. "Perhaps not. Let's try this one, Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches.”
Dean waved the Holly wand, and a few sparks emitted from its tip, but it burned his hand, forcing him to let go. He picked it back up and handed it back, feeling a bit discouraged. Ollivander, however, seemed unperturbed. "Finding the right wand can be a delicate process. Don't worry, Mr. Thomas, we'll find your match."
Wait a minute, wasn’t Harry Potter’s wand supposed to be Holly and have a phoenix feather as a core? Did he just dodge a bullet?
After several more attempts, Ollivander paused thoughtfully before reaching for a wand on a higher shelf. "Ah, yes, let's see how you fare with this one. ebony and phoenix feather, thirteen inches. An artist’s instrument. And highly sensitive to the nuances of its wielder’s magic.”
Dean took the wand, immediately feeling a subtle warmth spread through his hand. He waved it, and a stream of silver sparks shot out, dancing in the air before dissipating. A smile spread across Ollivander's face.
Was this… it?
He expected his expectations to be shattered with sensations that he couldn’t really describe. Something ethereal, maybe. Instead, all he had felt was some pressure inside him being relieved slightly, and the wand becoming comfortably warm while it conjured the sparks.
Dean thought that he had missed something until he noticed that the wand maker was smiling brightly at him, “Perfect, now let’s get back to dear Kara. We took a bit too long to match you to this wand.”
The moment they went back to the matron, she gave Dean bright smile, “Oh, you all got your wands, huh. Great.” she then turned towards Ollivander, “Now, how much do I owe you?”
“That’s three wands, which are seven Galleons each. That’s twenty-one Galleons in total.”
The matron winced and took out some kind of golden check book and a quill. She wrote the details before giving Ollivander one of them. The check glowed slightly, and the wand maker nodded, “Thank you. Have a good day.”
As they left, Dean could see the woman counting her finances in her head. He could sympathise, really. He didn’t expect the orphanage to have a lot of gold to throw around. Still, he couldn’t help but be curious about the chequebook, “What did you just give Ollivander? Shouldn’t you have paid with coins?”
“Oh, Merlin, no. Can you imagine having that much gold around you? Gringotts implemented banknotes a few decades ago. The Goblins enforce the whole thing with their own brand of magic, which they really don’t like to share.”
“So, can we use one too?” Lisa asked.
“No, you need a Gringotts vault to get one and believe me, the fees on those vaults are even more expensive than your entire allowance. I don’t think any of you will be able to open one before you graduate. But enough talk of boring banks, let’s go to Madam Malkins for your new robes.”
And they did get that. Half an hour later, they were each holding a small bag with a new robe in it. Dean honestly thought that they were going home until Kara, for some reason, took them to a second-hand shop.
It looked like those pawn shops Dean saw in the news, with various random little knick-knacks all over the place. The matron gave them both a small smile, “Alright, we have a bit of leftover silver for us. You can pick a single thing that I’ll get you as a gift. Consider it a way to celebrate the fact that you’re going to Hogwarts. Now, off you go.”
It was odd. After the registration at the ministry, Matron Kara had gotten a lot calmer, for lack of a better word. She felt more casual during the shopping. It might be the fact that they were in public and she had to play the caring matron, or it might just be the fact that the three of them were pretty well-behaved and hadn’t really done any antics previously. Dean didn’t exactly know, and to be honest, he didn’t exactly care. After all, it wasn’t exactly his problem. He did his best to follow the rules, so he barely interacted with her since coming to the orphanage.
Choosing to ignore the matron’s possible mental issues, Dean walked around the shop. Most of the stuff was unlabelled, which in a magic shop was pretty short-sighted. Two minutes in, he found himself staring at a small silver ring. He didn’t know why he liked it so much, but when he touched it, a warm tingle spread all over his body. He went and asked the clerk what it was, only for the man to shrug, “No clue, just some trinket. Got ripped off with that one. Couldn’t really do anything with it. Tell you what, two Sickles and it’s yours.”
The young wizard simply nodded and handed the man his weekly allowance. He went back to Kara, asking her to give him the silver he had just paid for the ring with. He didn’t even know why he liked it so much. But something inside him told him that it was worth a bit more than that.
It wasn’t like it was a big deal. It was just two sickles after all. He’d get it back in a week.
It was on his way back that he saw it. A white canvas, with a brush underneath and colours. No, he would pay for the ring. He would ask Kara for this.
Speaking of the matron, she walked behind him, surprisingly quietly and asked, “Fancy yourself an artist, Dean?”
An artist, huh. That sounded nice, to be honest. Dean remembered the drawings he made for his mother which he often liked to hang on the refrigerator. He remembered his mother teaching him how to draw when he was younger, despite being extremely exhausted, and hugging him, telling him how talented he was.
A small tear fell from his eyes as he looked at the empty canvas, imagining his mother’s face on it. He simply smiled, wiping the tear from his eyes, “Yes, an artist. I want this.”
He turned towards Kara with a pleading expression on his teary face, and the matron’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, her features softening more than he had ever seen before. She answered while giving him a warm smile, “Sure, Dean, but you’ll clean up any mess you make.”
He gave the woman a hug, “I promise.”
Because for the first time, since he entered the magical world, the gaping hole inside him that wanted to swallow anything, got slightly less deep. It was only on the way home that he realized that it was the first time he thought of his mother without feeling ache inside him.
AN: So, that’s it for the trip to Diagon Alley. I tried to make it somewhat brief and different, since I know that you probably read it like a million times before. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
Comments
Garri Sarkisov
New lease on life = new opportunities. Good job Dean
