Hogwarts: Third Dark Lord

Though Ollivander appeared to be speaking to Rosier, his gaze remained fixed on Wentworth. Before Wentworth could say a word, a magical measuring tape had already sprung into action, busily flitting about him.

Perhaps it was Rosier's earlier mention of Gregorovitch—a name that undoubtedly irked Ollivander, who considered himself Europe's foremost wandmaker—that spurred Ollivander into more meticulous action. Wentworth could distinctly sense that Ollivander's current level of focus far exceeded what had been described in the original accounts.

"Do you favor your left hand or right hand?"

"Right hand, thank you."

"How about this one? Eleven and a half inches, ash wood with a phoenix feather core. Absolute loyalty born from absolute confidence. Ash wood wands never accept a second master; they firmly believe their owner to be the greatest wizard of their time."

Ollivander carefully retrieved a wooden box, extracting a wand and handing it to Wentworth with no small amount of confidence.

As the wand met Wentworth's palm, a warmth akin to the midday sun in June radiated outward, illuminating the entirety of Ollivander's shop.

Just as Wentworth marveled at his apparent good fortune in finding a suitable wand on the first try, the glow abruptly faded, as if it had never been there at all. Ollivander and Wentworth exchanged perplexed glances.

"Oh, no matter," Ollivander reassured him. "It's not uncommon. Some customers need to try seven or eight wands before finding the right fit!"

"Let's try this one. Ten and three-quarter inches, an extraordinary combination: willow wood and unicorn hair. Willow wands choose those with great potential. My family has a saying: 'If you wish to journey far, the willow guides your path.'"

When Wentworth took this new wand from Ollivander's hands, a green light spiraled up his arm, filling him with a refreshing sense of clarity.

But just as Wentworth was lost in the sensation, and Ollivander's face lit with joy, the willow wand dimmed just as quickly as it had shone, returning to its unremarkable appearance.

Wentworth looked at Ollivander, puzzled, and found the wandmaker frowning deeply, muttering to himself, "This doesn't make sense. I felt the wands' joy—they were pleased, delighted even. Why would they refuse to connect in the end?"

Rosier, waiting nearby, began to grow impatient.

"Well? Can you manage it or not? If you don't have a wand worthy of Wentworth here, stop wasting our time. You're not the only master wandmaker in Europe!"

Rosier's words, meant to apply pressure, seemed to have the opposite effect. Ollivander's eyes lit up, and he exclaimed with the delight of a child, "Ah, yes! Of course! That's it—I understand now!"

Summoning a magical ladder, Ollivander ascended to the highest shelf of his storeroom, carefully retrieving a dusty box. He blew gently across its surface, revealing a slightly warped wand nestled inside.

"This is—?!"

To Wentworth's surprise, Rosier reacted most strongly, letting out an involuntary gasp before clamping a hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened in shock—gone was her usual composure and elegance.

"Nine and a quarter inches, elder wood with a dragon heartstring core. Go on, child—try it!"

Were it not for Rosier standing directly behind him, Wentworth might have bolted from the shop. Ollivander, at this moment, bore no trace of his dignified reputation as Europe's preeminent wandmaker and looked instead like a wicked queen enticing a princess with a poisoned apple.

Gingerly, Wentworth took the wand from Ollivander. A flame flared to life at its tip, then burst into a cascade of fireworks, scattering brilliantly in all directions.

There was no need for further words—Wentworth knew this was his wand.

"Elder wood is a rare and formidable choice, unmatched in power but notoriously difficult to master. It refuses to partner with a wizard of inadequate skill, and dragon heartstring cores, though potent, are susceptible to allegiance with dark magic and prone to changing masters."

"This was one of my early creations," Ollivander continued. "Back then, I was obsessed with crafting the most powerful wand, not yet realizing that the most suitable wand is the strongest of all. That's why this wand has been left unused for so many years. But make no mistake—this wand has one undeniable quality: power. Unparalleled power."

"A wand with a dragon heartstring core casts spells with unmatched brilliance and strength, while elder wood amplifies that strength further still. But with such power comes a single concern for the wizard—whether they can control it."

Ollivander gazed at the wand in Wentworth's hand, his eyes filled with wonder and reverence.

Suddenly, his expression shifted, as though struck by a realization. Fixing Wentworth with a curious look, he asked, "Do you know why the other wands initially accepted you but ultimately withdrew?"

Wentworth slowly shook his head, utterly baffled.

Ollivander's strange gaze lingered until Rosier, visibly irritated, nearly snapped. Only then did he explain, "Because they found themselves unworthy."

Wentworth blinked in confusion and quickly tried to explain, "Mr. Ollivander, please don't misunderstand! Grandma Rosier didn't mean to insult your craftsmanship. She was merely anxious, that's all. I've always believed your wands are the finest in the world!"

"Of course, my wands are the finest!" Ollivander declared proudly. "They deemed themselves unworthy—that's what they told me."

...What?!

Wentworth and Rosier exchanged bewildered glances.

"They initially accepted you," Ollivander elaborated, "but when they resonated with you, they hesitated. They decided they were unfit for you."

"As for why they felt unworthy, I can't say. Perhaps it's your talent, or perhaps it's your ambition. Either way, they all ultimately withdrew."

Wentworth was left dumbfounded by Ollivander's explanation, while Rosier's eyes gleamed as she studied him.

"As expected of our future leader of the Pureblood Party," Rozier thought, "a wizard whose ambitions are so pronounced that even wands can sense them. It's only fitting—just like the Master in his day. A king among wizards, bold beyond measure."

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