Chapter 72 - 71: The Wisdom of the Old Wandmaker

"Harold, I'm afraid I can't offer you any helpful advice on this." At No. 267 Diagon Alley, on the second floor of Ollivander's Wand Shop, Garrick Ollivander stared at the five wands laid out on the desk in front of him, a dazed look flickering in his eyes. Last year, when Harold crafted a wand using the heart nerves of a Red Cap as its core, Garrick had been so shocked he couldn't sleep for days. And now... that wand seemed like the most ordinary one of the bunch. Just look at the rest— An entire troll's spine, a wizard's hair, a unicorn's soul, and one more unidentifiable but certainly ominous object. These things were pulverizing Garrick's understanding of wandcraft—grinding it to dust, piecing it back together, and smashing it again... at least four times over. And now Harold had the nerve to start asking questions—how to shrink the troll spine to wand-core size, how to match wizard hair with the right wand wood... He had no idea! Yes, he'd been making wands for nearly a century—but he had never used a whole troll spine before! All that hard-won experience passed down through generations suddenly seemed utterly useless in the face of Harold's creations. It made Garrick wonder, not for the first time—what on earth was Harold experiencing at Hogwarts? "Let's put the rest aside for now," Garrick said, picking up what looked like the most ordinary of the wands—though in truth, he found it the strangest of all. "How exactly did you make a wand using a wizard's hair?" "Is there something wrong with that?" Harold asked. "Didn't you once make a wand with a Veela hair core..." "Veela aren't wizards," Garrick cut in. "They may look like witches, may even marry wizards—but their essence is that of magical creatures. Their magic is fundamentally different from human magic. "I've tried using a wizard's hair before—all failures. My father tried. My grandfather tried. And my grandfather's grandfather. Not one success." Then Garrick explained further. A wand exists to compensate for a wizard's magical imbalance—like two halves of a magnetic whole, one positive, one negative, coming together to form a complete circuit. That's why most witches and wizards can only cast magic with a wand—only a rare few can hone their magic to the point where they can cast spells without one. In this dynamic, magical creatures' power is the "negative," while wizards' magic is "positive." That's why Hogwarts' anti-Apparition spells don't affect house-elves or phoenixes—it's a different kind of magic. A wizard's hair carries "positive" magical charge. And how can two positives ever attract? Hearing this, Harold sat up straighter, eyes wide. "Wait—so a wand like this has never been made before?" "Well... not exactly," Garrick frowned. "There was the case of Invincible Andros—his wand supposedly had his own tooth as a core." "Then there you go." Harold shrugged. "I did make one, after all." "What's it like in use?" Garrick asked eagerly. "No idea." Harold thought for a second. "But Professor McGonagall says it works great for her." "And anyone else?" "I like using it too." "Is that what I asked?" Garrick's face reddened. He snatched the wand up and gave it a flick. "Orchideous!" The wand twitched violently. A few sparks sputtered from the tip, nearly setting Garrick's hair alight. But he didn't care. His eyes were glowing. "Just as I suspected... and yet..." he sighed, looking both resigned and thrilled. He couldn't use the wand, but Minerva McGonagall could. That alone was miraculous. And those sparks, while minor, were still magic. "Could it be the magical reaction in the hair is just too faint?" Garrick murmured, nearly pressing his face against the wand. "Combined with your unique wandcrafting techniques, it's catalyzed a brand-new magical interaction..." He turned the wand upright, running his fingers along its length, tapping at intervals. "Such unfamiliar resonance... but very pure... no, that is the key... incredible... it's a completely new path..." "Harold, could I borrow this for a while?" he asked, unable to hold back. "Of course," Harold said after a pause. He'd seen Garrick like this many times, but the old wandmaker's depth of knowledge never failed to impress him. Back when he'd made a wand with a Quintaped core, it was Garrick who suggested bamboo as the wand wood—something Harold had never even considered. And now, even though Harold had created this wand, he still didn't understand the theory behind it. Garrick had nearly unraveled it in minutes. That was the difference a true wandmaker made. Harold looked at him curiously. "Could you make a wand like this yourself?" "Not right now," Garrick said. "But in the future?" "No," Garrick said seriously, pulling his eyes from the wand. "The wands I make may not suit everyone, but they will never be suited to just one person." "That's my principle, though. Not yours." He smiled at Harold. "You should walk your own path—even if it's different from mine, or from any Ollivander who ever lived." Harold stayed quiet for a while. Then he muttered, "You say that like I'd actually change my mind if you didn't agree." Now it was Garrick's turn to fall silent. "But Grandpa, if you can't make this kind of wand, why spend time studying it?" Harold changed the subject. "A goblin in Gringotts never thinks he has enough treasure," Garrick said. "Even if he'll never use it all. Wands are my treasure." Harold nodded slowly, half-understanding. Then he pointed to the remaining three wands on the table. "I won't be using them over the holiday—feel free to borrow them too." "No need," Garrick declined instantly, the corner of his mouth twitching. He loved wands—but only the ones he understood. It was like a goblin loving treasure, but not daring to touch the Galleons in Dumbledore's pocket. As for how on earth Harold had managed to fit an entire unicorn into a twelve-inch wand... Garrick had no clue. That kind of question would drive even the most experienced wandmaker insane. His instincts, his wisdom, his eighty years of experience—all screamed the same thing: Put that wand down and walk away. The other two? Same logic. Leave them to Harold. (End of Chapter)