Chapter 5 - The Pointy Magic Stick

  4th of August 1971, London

  All that was left on the list now, was a wand. They had met up with Professor Sprout, who promptly also fell in love with Sam’s new pet. She dug out an owl nut from her pocket to offer it to him, and he happily took it, gulping it down. Sam had asked where she’d gotten those, and she pointed him in the direction of Eeylops Owl Emporium, which surprise, surprise, also sold owls and supplies to care for them. Dean promised he’d go get some owl nuts, but Sam had to hurry up and get the magic stick. They were running out of time, and their Dad wouldn’t be pleased if they were much later.

  So off went Dean, just before Professor Sprout cast a spell over his bag and cauldron, basically making them weigh no less than the materials of the bag and cauldron themselves. Dean was dumbstruck but incredibly thankful he didn’t have to haul all those heavy books around any longer. Sam and Professor Sprout headed to Ollivanders, the best wand shop in the Alley, Professor Sprout assured him. She’d also gotten her wand there, she told him.

  “Best day in my life, I tell ya,” she went on about the experience. “But I shouldn’t give it all away, should I? Go on, head in, I’ll wait here for you with your owl.”

  Sam nodded, swallowing his nerves, and headed into the store. He hoped it wouldn’t be more than twenty galleons, as that was all Dean had given him for the “magic stick.” This store too, had a bell. Sam rubs his hands together and takes another step in.

  “Well hello,” said an older gentleman, with wide, pale eyes. He stepped down from the ladder he was perched on, dusted off his grey suit jacket, and stepped up to tend the front desk. “How can I help you, young man? Here for your first wand, perhaps, are we?”

  “Uh yes,” Sam says, but it comes out very quiet. “Yes, I am here for my first wand,” he tries again, after clearing his throat.

  “Splendid!” the old man says, clapping his hands together joyfully. Sam thinks that wizardkind must be very easily excitable, or at least all very happy, the enthusiasm they all speak with is.. uncanny.

  “I will just have you answer some questions—just some standard stuff, don’t you worry—and we will find you a wand.” The old man’s eyes twinkle with excitement. Sam smiles back.

  “Let’s start with an easy one, yes? What is the young man's name?” he asks, extending a hand. When Sam reaches out to shake it, he doesn’t get to - because the old man grabs a hold of his, and gently turns it over. He traces his finger on the inside of Sam’s palm. Then, a tape measuring tool whips out from his side, floating in the air, as if by magic, ugh, it IS magic, Sam thinks, and he has to really hold back his groan. The old man takes a few measurements, and the results are jotted down by a magical quill and notepad also just appearing out of nowhere. Sam doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this.

  “Sam,” he says finally, releasing a breath. “Winchester. Sam Winchester.”

  “Well, it’s a pleasure meeting you, Sam. You can call me Ollivander,” his eyes twinkle. Then his brows furrow. “Winchester, eh? I haven’t had an American come by in many, many years. I’m..” he thinks for a minute, looking away, not meeting Sam’s curious eyes. Ollivander is then pulling out a long, rectangular box from the shelf directly behind the counter. “.. Sorry to say your family name is unfamiliar to me” he sighs, turning back to Sam, setting the box down on the counter. “Muggleborn?”

  “Yep.” Sam wishes people would stop asking him that. It made him feel uneasy. The old man opens the box carefully, and Sam’s eyes are immediately drawn to the smooth, ivory stick inside. Wand, he reminds himself.

  “I would like you to try this one first. I have a sneaking feeling it might be yours,” Ollivander gently pushes the box forward towards Sam, and then he interlocks his fingers together, looking at Sam expectantly. “My intuition is almost always right, and... well, I... hmm... let’s just give it a go!”

  “Uh, sorry, what do I do?” Sam cringes, not really sure what is expected of him.

  “Well, try it out, will you? Give it a swish!”

  Sam picks it up, holding it firmly in his right hand. He gives it a flick.

  Nothing. He looks to Ollivander, whose brows seem almost knitted together.

  “Again,” Ollivander says. Sam flicks the wand again, and this time, to his utter relief, a few sparks fly from the tip of it. Sam looks at Ollivander, but .. by the look on the old man’s face… it wasn’t what he had wanted to happen. Sam gets a sinking feeling in his gut, and he has to look down. He puts the wand back in its box, shameful.

  “Hmm, peculiar. Maybe I was wrong,” Ollivander mumbles. “Strange..”

  Sam doesn’t say anything.

  “Alright, well, let’s not dilly dally, let me ask my questions, yes?” Ollivander clasps his hands together, and the notepad and quill flies to his side, ready to take notes for him.

  “Alright..” Sam says, now feeling very nervous all of a sudden.

  “You are eleven, yes?” he asks. What an easy question! Sam feels relieved.

  “Yeah,” he says with a smile. “My birthday’s in May,”

  “That would be my second question,” Ollivander gives him a kind smile. “What date?”

  “May 2nd.”

  “Could you come a bit closer, please?” Ollivander asks, and waves Sam forward. He squints as Sam does so, and it seems like Ollivander is really looking at Sam. What for, Sam doesn’t know.

  “Kind eyes; sage green, brown around the irises..” Ollivander mumbles to the quill and notepad. It vigorously scribbles it down. “Tall for his age, thick, brown hair, …”

  Sam feels awkward again. Was this really necessary?

  “What would you say are your best qualities, Sam? What do you value most?” Ollivander asks, and Sam’s heart beats dangerously fast. Was this a job interview?? What sort of interrogation was this?

  “Uh, I don’t really know..”

  “Let me list some off for you,” Ollivander suggests, and ushers the notepad to flick over a page, and then he reads out loud:

  “Just let me know which of these you value most, okay?” he looks to Sam, and Sam nods. Easy enough. “Determination, imagination, resilience, intelligence, originality, optimism, or kindness?”

  “Uh…” Sam furrows his brows, and actually mulls it over. He has always seen himself as intelligent and proud of it. He’s always excelled in school, and he reads a lot. If he’s honest though, Sam isn’t much of an optimist. He tries to be, but that’s difficult with the life he’s led. So much death, so many dangers and uncertainties. Originality didn’t seem that important to Sam, he could see why people would want to stand out from the crowd, but honestly? Sam just wanted a normal life, didn’t ask for much. What are his other qualities..

  Hmm. He knows what Dean would say, but what did he think himself? And how did this have anything to do with what color his magic stick would be? He decides then, not to mull over it too much, and just goes with his gut.

  “Determination,” he says simply. That could be applied in all cases. “But, honestly I -”

  “That’s alright, gut feeling answers are preferable.” Ollivander interrupts. “I think I have enough for now.”

  Sam’s shoulders finally relax.

  “I’ll go get some more wands for you to try now.” Ollivander claps, then swiftly turns on his heels and walks further into the shop, turning a corner, disappearing from view. Sam puts his hands back in his pockets, and looks around, taking in his surroundings. There were lots of boxes here, in all sorts of colors, most of them in muted, earthy tones. A few of them had stickers labeling them, but most were unmarked.

  “Have you been told much about wands yet, young Mr Winchester?” Ollivander asks then, peering from around the corner.

  “Uh no, not really, no.”

  “That’s alright, I myself am well versed in wandlore, so should you have any questions, I am more than happy to help,” he smiles warmly, and starts making his way back to the counter. He’s picked out five boxes, and Sam’s eyes widen.

  “Will I need that many?”

  “What?”

  “More than one wand, I mean,” Sam asks, blushing.

  “Oh no, not at all. Only one.” he gestures to the wands on the table. “We’ll find out together which wand is right for you.”

  “Did I break the white one?” Sam asks then, feeling very small.

  “Oh no, it just didn’t fit you.”

  “Oh..”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “The wand chooses the wizard, Sam Winchester, not the other way around. We’ll have to find a good match. Don’t worry, though; I have never had a customer leave unsatisfied or without their own wand.” He assures Sam when he starts looking especially worried.

  “I am certain one of these will be yours, call it a hunch, but an experienced hunch.” Ollivander laughs then. He opens up the first box, a velvety purple one. The inside reveals a beautiful reddish brown wand, with intricate carvings and what seems like a smooth, comfortable handle.

  “So wizards only get one wand?” Sam asks, eyeing the wand, gently picking it up, turning it over in his hands. Feels… good? He’s not really sure what to look for or what is precisely supposed to happen. He almost expects it to start glowing or something.

  “Yes.” Ollivander answers simply.

  “What if I break it?” Sam asks, biting his lip.

  “Do you intend to break it?” Ollivander seems a bit startled by this.

  “No.” Sam feels his blush turn a deeper shade of red, and he wishes he hadn’t asked. “Of course not.”

  “Good.” Ollivander seems pleased enough with that answer. He gestures for Sam to flick the wand, folding his arms together, tucked neatly behind his back. Sam does.

  Ollivander’s nose starts growing rapidly, and it’s changing colors, too! Sam’s face pales, and he hurriedly puts the wand down.

  “Oh dear!” Ollivander says, tapping his nose with his own wand, promptly stopping and reversing the growth and color change.

  “Sorry-”

  “Not to worry, it is all handled, Mr Winchester,” Ollivander says kindly.

  “Alright, let’s try this one right here,” Ollivander says, gesturing to the next box. He lifts the top open to reveal a dark brown stick with gold details. Sam reaches for the stick. No, not the stick, but the wand, Sam has to remind himself. He holds this one in his hand too, and.. it.. it burns! Sam hisses, and promptly drops it back on the countertop, where the gold plating makes a clattering noise as it hits the wood.

  “Why I have never-” Ollivander’s eyes are wide with shock, and he carefully picks the wand up and stuffs it back where it came from. He places the box to the side and looks to Sam. “Are you okay, boy?”

  “Yes it's just, it burned me..” Sam is blushing again. What was wrong with him? Why did none of the stupid sticks like him? He was being shunned by sticks too now. Great.

  “Don’t worry, son, we’ll just..” Ollivander stutters. “Here, this one next.”

  He slides the dark orange box over to Sam and lets him take off the lid. Inside, there’s a relatively short and thick ember-colored wand with what looks like vines wrapped around it. The vines are actually green, but Sam can tell it’s just carved from the wood and then painted over. It looks beautiful. He bites his lip, and goes to pick it up. Ollivander watches him carefully. When the wand doesn’t immediately burn Sam, he feels a bit lighter and looks to the old man for his queue to try and flick it. Ollivander nods, approvingly. Sam swallows, and.. flick!

  Angry flames burst out from the tip of the wand, but Ollivander is quicker, and he’s put up some sort of shield with his own wand. Sam gasps in shock and drops the wand, seriously not wanting to try any more today; thanks very much.

  “Well, this is highly unusual…” Ollivander’s brows are furrowed again, and as he holds the latest test wand up to his ear, listening intently, his eyes go wide. It looks like he’s had some sort of realization. He takes the lid off the next box Sam assumes contains the wand Ollivander would have him try next. He doesn’t offer it to Sam, just holds it up to his ear again. Same expression as before, Ollivander slowly lowers the wand back down, laying it gently in its box.

  “Sam Winchester.” Ollivander then says solemnly, and chills run down Sam’s back. He swallows again, the lump growing dangerously large. He’s worried he’ll have trouble breathing soon. “Have you faced death before?”

  “Uhm…” Sam’s stomach ties itself into a knot.

  “I.. I realize this might seem like an intrusive question, but I must know. None of the wands I have here seem to take to you and I wonder..”

  “I, well..” Sam attempts to swallow the forming lump in his throat. “My mother, she.. There was a fire in my nursery when I was a baby. She uh.. she didn’t make it.” Sam looks down, eyes stinging. Ollivander tuts, and nods sympathetically.

  “I am deeply sorry for your loss, you needn’t tell me more, I apologize for the intrusion, I just-” he stops himself. “Wait here a minute, please.”

  Sam is left alone then, waiting. He scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. What was wrong with him? Why did none of the wands want to be his?

  Ollivander comes back a whole five minutes later, and he does not look pleased. He’s carrying a pitch black box, Sam can’t take his eyes off it, power seems to radiate out of the very container, as if the wand doesn’t want to be in there. The box is dusty, and a little worn on the edges.

  “This wand is… very special, Sam Winchester. It has been in my family for generations, and we’ve only had two wizards before you try it. None of them were a match.” Ollivander tells him, placing the box carefully down in front of Sam.

  “What’s.. what’s so special about this one?” Sam asks, hoping that isn’t a very rude question. He also shivers thinking about the price tag of such a wand. Maybe this was some sort of sales trick?

  Ollivander gently lifts the lid up, revealing soft, crimson silk draped over the wand. Sam feels his breathing catch, and he looks to Ollivander, who nods to him. Sam lightly grips the silk between his index finger and thumb, and lifts it aside to reveal the wand. Sam’s heart beats faster, and a smile spreads across his face. The wand had a deep, hickory brown color, with lighter details towards the handle.

  “This is a fir wand, with a thestral tail hair as its core. It is an incredibly rare combination.” Ollivander tells him. Sam’s jaw is slack, and he can’t take his eyes off the wand. It’s.. beautiful. He wants to pick it up and has a very strong urge to do so, actually, but he waits for Ollivander to let him know he can. He does NOT want to set fire to the store or something of the likes.

  “The wood comes from that of the most resilient of trees and has been called ‘the wand of survivors,’” Ollivander clears his throat then. Sam glances quickly at him, but Ollivander doesn’t meet his eyes. “Fir wands are very well suited for transfiguration spells, and.. they require wielders with strong minds, and who possess great power. It can be temperamental, but.. I think it might be a fit for you,”

  Sam nods in agreement, even though he’s not paying much attention at this point, he just has to get his hands on this wand RIGHT now.

  “The thestral tail hair is a tough core to work with in wandmaking, and though very, very potent, is only a core a wizard who has a true understanding..” he pauses for a second too long. “.. and acceptance of death can wield.” Sam looks up at Ollivander then.

  “Well. I think it’s time you try it, yes?” Ollivander then gives Sam the go, and his hand immediately reaches out and picks the wand up. The second he does, it’s like he’s been stunned. His body goes warm at once, and he feels… strong. Powerful. He looks down at the wand and grips the handle tightly, which is incredibly comfortable to hold. It was as if it molded itself to Sam’s grip. The wand itself was reasonably straight, and had a distinct handle side, and.. a pointy side. There were intricate carvings about halfway up the shaft, starting at the edge of the handle, and evened out towards the tip. Sam flexes the wand slightly in his grip, feeling the wood bend to his will. As he held it more firmly, he could feel a surge of power go through him, siphoning into the wand.

  He then had a sudden urge to expel that power, and without looking to Ollivander again for approval, he confidently, though gently, flicks the wand again. Out of the tip comes water, first in little droplets, that immediately start floating upwards, then it is a constant stream, and it all gathers together to form a sphere. Sam adjusts his grip, and the water sphere transforms before his very eyes into… into.. the water horse! Sam is grinning like an idiot because this water horse looks exactly like the one Dumbledore had created for him, all those weeks ago.

  “My, oh my!” Ollivander exclaims happily. This makes Sam lose his concentration, and the water horse turns back into.. well, water, and it goes everywhere. EVERYWHERE. Sam wants to cry. Ollivander is soaked, and so are all the boxes on the counter.

  “Oh no! I'm sorry!” Sam says immediately, hand flying to cover his face. “I didn't mean to-”

  “My dear boy, don’t apologize!” Ollivander is laughing now, beaming at Sam with a pleased smile. “We have found your wand!”

  *

  Sam helps Ollivander clean up all the water. And by helping, that means Sam sits on the counter watching Ollivander do magic to evaporate the water away, with a huge, awestruck smile on his face. When all the water’s been cleaned up, Sam has more questions for the man that he just has to get out, and since Dean hasn’t come to fetch him yet, he figures he’s got enough time to do so. He pays for the wand, which, to his greatest relief, is only 10 galleons, and sits down in one of the two armchairs Ollivander had conjured for them to lounge in while they waited for Dean to return. It was very refreshing for Ollivander to have such a young wizard take such interest in his craft that he was more than willing to share his knowledge with the boy.

  “Why do wizards, uhm... need wands?” Sam asks, hoping he doesn’t offend the old man, who has dedicated his life to creating them. He thinks back to when Professor Dumbledore was showing him the water birds and how Sam had created wind—most of that had been done wandless.

  “That’s a good question, not many stops to ask,” he says, and he doesn’t look offended at all, just happy to be able to talk about his passions, it seems. “Wands are quasi-sentient magical instruments and help witches and wizards wield the magic that they themselves possess. But wandless magic isn’t unheard of, not at all, it is just incredibly challenging to master.”

  “Does that mean non-magic- uhm, muggles,” Sam corrects himself. “-- Can’t use wands?”

  “That is somewhat correct, yes. Wands tend to misbehave if muggles use them. The wielder holds most of the magic, I like to say. The wand just allows it to flow more freely and in a more.. hmm, controlled manner,” he smiles. “No two wands are never the same, of course, even if they're made with the exact same materials. Wands are.. in a way, as close to animate that an inanimate object can be.”

  “Right..” Sam nods, taking mental note of that. “What makes the wands so different from each other?”

  “Many things, but to put it simply: wands are made up of four main components that give them different properties. First, of course, there’s the wood type. Then, you have the core, which, without it, “a wand” would have just been a piece of wood, a regular, normal, non-magical stick.” Ollivander eyes Sam then, probably to check if the boy is paying attention. And Sam indeed is, his eyes wide, and he’s trying his absolute best to remember every word. Ollivander clears his throat before he continues. “I, personally, have found that three cores are especially potent, these being dragon heartstrings, unicorn hair, and lastly, phoenix feathers. I call these the Supreme Cores and use no other cores in my own wand craft.”

  “So all these are ..” Sam gestures to the entire store. “... supreme core wands?”

  “Well, no, some of these wands have been in my shop for decades, and have been crafted by other talented wandmakers. I carry the entire sortiment proudly,” he tells Sam. “Like your wand. I did not make it, and its maker.. is sadly unknown to me. As mentioned before, it has been in my family for generations and-”

  Ding!

  “Sammy, time to go!” Dean is halfway into the store, and he looks ridiculous as he tries to carry everything Sam bought today.

  “Oh, sorry, Mr Ollivander, I have to go now!” Sam says, getting up, wand in hand. No way is he putting that anywhere else.

  “That’s quite alright, my boy, I very much enjoyed our chat. I hope your wand will serve you well!” he pats the boy on the shoulder before sending Sam off.

  “C’mere,” Dean says, hauling Sam out. “Dad’s waiting.”

  He hands Sam back the owl cage, with the cat owl hooting happily when it sees Sam, delighted to be reunited with its new boy. Sam also takes the cauldron, which had been magically altered to weigh much less than it did prior.

  “Allright, let’s hustle, c’mon Sammy,” Dean says, and the two boys make their way back to the Leaky Cauldron, Dean paving the way through the crowd. He looks so silly, Sam thinks, with the pointed hat still on. He makes sure to grab it off of Dean before they go out the doors of the Cauldron, stuffing it into a side pocket of Dean’s bag. Sam’s smile fades as he sees their Dad waiting, a stern look on his face. Here comes that fight he was dreading. Great.