Chapter 4: Ash Wood and Unicorn Hair

Words : 1294 Updated : Sep 19th, 2025

Chapter 4 of "Harry Potter: Don't Touch the Badger's Plants" begins with: Professor Sprout led Ciel through the shifting archway and into the vibrant, chaotic wonder of... See the full story!

Professor Sprout led Ciel through the shifting archway and into the vibrant, chaotic wonder of Diagon Alley. Even though he'd seen it in movies, the reality was a sensory overload. The sounds, the smells, and the sheer press of magical humanity were far more overwhelming and magnificent than anything a screen could capture. Amidst the colourful, bustling shopfronts, Ollivanders was an island of quiet modesty, its dusty exterior looking as though it hadn't changed in centuries. But no first-time visitor was ever focused on the decor. The moment Professor Sprout and Ciel stepped through the door, a bell chiming softly above them, Garrick Ollivander seemed to materialise from behind a teetering stack of wand boxes. His wide, pale eyes blinked in surprise. "Professor Sprout," he said, his voice a soft, reedy whisper. "Are you escorting the first-years this year? I had thought Professor McGonagall still held that duty." Professor Sprout beamed, gesturing to Ciel as if presenting a priceless treasure. "This is my nephew, Ciel Sprout. He was lost to us for many years. I have only just found him in the Muggle world, and he's in need of his first wand." Ollivander's eyebrows shot up. The Sprout family wasn't one of the great, ancient houses, and their line had been tragically cut down during the war, leaving Pomona as the sole survivor. But she was the Head of Hufflepuff and a world-renowned Herbology Master. No one in their right mind would ever underestimate the name Sprout. And now, another had been found. A genuine warmth touched Ollivander's features. "Then I must offer my sincerest congratulations, Professor." He turned his piercing gaze to Ciel. "Child," he said, his tone respectful. "To bear the name Sprout is to have the potential for greatness. Perhaps, like your aunt, you too will become a Master of Herbology." Ciel offered a polite, small smile. I wonder if he says that to every kid who walks in here. It made sense, he supposed. A wand was a significant expense. Ron Weasley, in the original story, had been stuck with a broken hand-me-down for two years before his family could afford a new one. It was a major life purchase, so a bit of flattery was good for business. Ollivander began his work, a magical tape measure fluttering around Ciel, taking his height, arm span, and a dozen other esoteric measurements. All the while, the wandmaker expounded on his famous theory: the wand chooses the wizard. Ciel listened quietly, nodding at appropriate intervals to show he was paying attention, but his mind was calm, his heart unswayed. He wasn't interested in a wand with a strong personality. In his experience, a tool with too much of its own mind was a liability. He valued stability and reliability above all else. One by one, Ollivander had him try wand after wand. One by one, nothing happened. The wands lay inert and lifeless in his hand. With each failure, Ollivander's expression grew more troubled, as if faced with an unsolvable puzzle. He had seen thousands of young witches and wizards, and while much of his sales pitch was poetic licence, he could almost always sense a person's magical aptitude through their connection with a wand. Ciel's performance was, without a doubt, the weakest he had seen in years. He was barely a step above a Squib, just meeting the minimum threshold for Hogwarts admission. Sensing the wandmaker's frustration, Ciel, who had anticipated this exact scenario, spoke up. "Mr. Ollivander," he said calmly, "you told me the wand chooses the wizard. It seems these wands are not particularly fond of me. So, perhaps I could describe my own needs?" Ollivander's brow furrowed. He would never normally entertain such a request; it went against the very core of his craft. But the boy's magical signature was so faint, so... unremarkable. If this continued, it would be a deep embarrassment for Professor Sprout. He gave a reluctant nod. "It seems you are a... discerning customer, Mr. Sprout. Very well. Tell me what you require." "Reliable performance," Ciel stated without hesitation. "Stability. I do a lot of heavy labour, so it needs to be durable and not temperamental." Ollivander stared, completely taken aback. Most young wizards wanted power, uniqueness, and a wand that would make them stand out. This boy was asking for the magical equivalent of a sturdy workhorse. It was the first time in his long career he had ever received such a request. But it was not a difficult one to fulfill. He returned from the stacks with a plain, unadorned wand and placed it in Ciel's hand. Ciel gave it a gentle wave. No sparks erupted, no magical lights flashed, but he felt an immediate, reassuring sense of solidity. It felt right. Ollivander let out a quiet sigh of relief. "It seems this one has chosen you, Mr. Sprout. Twelve inches, ash wood with a unicorn hair core. Both materials are known for their exceptional stability and steadfast nature. When combined, they signify that the wizard who wields them will be—" He stopped abruptly, his expression turning conflicted, almost pained. Professor Sprout, sensing the shift, leaned forward with concern. "Will be what, Garrick?" With heavy steps, Professor Sprout led Ciel out of the wand shop. "Professor Sprout, Mr. Sprout," Ollivander called from the doorway behind them. "There will be no charge for the wand." Ciel glanced at his aunt's crestfallen face and offered a slight smile. "See, Aunt? Don't be so upset. It was free. You should be happy you saved some Galleons." Professor Sprout whirled on him, exasperated. "How can you still be smiling after that?" She gritted her teeth, mimicking the wandmaker's final, ominous words. "'Either as ordinary as dust or as brilliant as a star, but a hundred million motes of dust may not produce a single star.' That man! I ought to send a crate of Venomous Tentacula to his shop!" Her anger quickly faded, replaced by worry. She had been so afraid that the experience would crush Ciel's spirits. To her surprise, he seemed completely unfazed. "Aunt," he said reasonably, "if Mr. Ollivander could truly predict the future, he wouldn't be selling wands. He'd be a Seer." A reluctant smile touched Sprout's lips. "Alright, let's not dwell on it. Now that you have your wand, let me show you around. There's an ice cream parlour just down the way that is simply divine." But again, to her astonishment, Ciel shook his head. He glanced at the sun's position in the sky, his expression turning serious. "No time," he said. "I have something very important to do." "What could be more important than—" "Farming," he stated plainly. "I still have to plant another acre of cotton today. I have a schedule, and I must stick to it." And with that, a dumbfounded Professor Sprout found herself being practically dragged back out of Diagon Alley by her determined nephew. As she watched his focused face and his almost obsessive love for planting, the last of her worries evaporated. Mediocre? No talent? She'd heard those words before, directed at students others had written off. But she knew better. Sometimes, passion, persistence, and the will to work tirelessly were the most powerful talents of all. She allowed a small, secret smile to form. "Either as ordinary as dust or as brilliant as a star?" Just you wait, Garrick Ollivander. My Ciel Sprout will be the brightest star you have ever seen. *********** ✨ 300 gems = 1 bonus chapter ✨ 500 gems = another bonus chapter Get access to advanced chapters at my P@treon. [email protected]/meowthtl

Chapter 4: Ash Wood and Unicorn Hair

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