Chapter 5: A Wand With Unique Materials

"Your statement has been rather strange from the beginning," Professor McGonagall said with a sharp glance. "The characteristics of a wand are defined not only by the wand wood but also by the material used for the core. Why, then, did you pay so little attention to the core material when selecting a wand for Mr. Cecil?"

Allen had wanted to ask this question for quite some time. However, being an orphan unfamiliar with the common sense of the wizarding world, he had chosen to hold back, fearing it might reveal his lack of background knowledge. Unexpectedly, Professor McGonagall had now voiced the exact concern he had been silently harboring.

Mr. Ollivander didn't seem offended. Instead, he regarded Allen with the kind of fascination one might show a rare and exquisite relic. "It's not that I neglected the core material intentionally," he said. "It's simply that Mr. Cecil is... far too special."

He paused and leaned forward, inspecting Allen with wide, curious eyes, his tone laced with awe.

"It's extraordinarily rare—almost unheard of—that a wizard would be so compatible with every kind of core material we tried. Whether phoenix feather, dragon heartstring, or even Thestral tail hair, the matching degree was exceptionally high. Almost unnaturally so."

Professor McGonagall frowned slightly, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses. "That doesn't sound like a good thing, Mr. Ollivander. Compatibility is one thing, but if the materials are repelled or unstable in his presence, could there not be something wrong?"

Mr. Ollivander rubbed his chin and replied solemnly, "It's not a matter of anything being wrong. All those materials are indeed extremely well-suited for Mr. Cecil. The issue is... they're afraid of him."

"Afraid?" McGonagall echoed incredulously. "Are you suggesting wand cores—mere inanimate substances—are capable of fear?"

It was an idea that would sound absurd to most. Yet, the wizarding world often defied logic. And while Professor McGonagall had read extensively about wands and magical theory, she'd also lived long enough to know that magic often veered into the unexplainable.

Mr. Ollivander didn't smile or offer any clarifying joke. He simply nodded slowly. "Yes. Fear. That is the word. It's subtle, not something easily measured, but it's there. A tension. A... trembling."

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken implications.

"Then how can you expect any of these cores to work for him?" McGonagall asked cautiously.

"I don't," Mr. Ollivander said softly. "Which is why I had to consider something... different."

He turned away from the pair, muttering to himself. Then, with a slow and reverent movement, he made his way to the far corner of the shop. Dust drifted into the air as he reached toward the very back of the shelf, his hand brushing over ancient wand boxes that had not been touched in decades.

Finally, he pulled out a single, dust-covered box. It was old, its corners worn and faded by time. Yet, the care with which he held it revealed its importance.

"This," he said, returning to the counter, "was one of my earliest works—crafted in my youth. It has been waiting here for many, many years. I have never found a wizard it would accept."

He paused, brushing the dust off the box with a handkerchief. "But something tells me... perhaps, today, that wait is over."

Allen looked on with growing anticipation. Professor McGonagall observed silently, her arms crossed but her eyes attentive.

"Don't worry about its quality," Ollivander said, catching Allen's apprehension. "Though it was made during my younger years, its construction is sound. In fact, in terms of craftsmanship and strength, I would say it rivals—if not surpasses—many of the wands I create today."

With that, he slowly opened the box.

Inside lay a wand unlike any Allen had seen before. It gleamed softly, a pale golden hue catching the light. Thin, shimmering green lines spiraled down its shaft, delicate as veins of ivy.

"This wand," Ollivander said with deep reverence, "is fourteen inches. A bit long, yes, but fitting for your frame. Its wood is elder."

Professor McGonagall stiffened slightly at the mention. Elder wood was legendary, mysterious, and often seen as dangerous. Very few wands were made from it—fewer still found suitable owners.

But it was Ollivander's next words that truly shocked her.

"And the core," he said, pausing to choose his words carefully, "is... unicorn horn."

A beat passed. Then another.

"Mr. Ollivander," Professor McGonagall said, her voice laced with alarm. "Are you sure? Did you just say—unicorn horn?"

"I am quite sure," he replied evenly. "Not powdered fragments or trace elements. This wand's core was crafted from a single, complete unicorn horn—polished and refined, but whole."

McGonagall gasped audibly, and even Allen, unfamiliar with most magical customs, could feel the air grow tense.

"Mr. Ollivander..." she began slowly, "you are aware that the use of unicorn horn is—prohibited—by wizarding law?"

"Yes," he answered before she could continue. "And I assure you, this particular horn was obtained long before such laws were enacted. Its existence and origin were registered with the Ministry of Magic at the time. I have all the proper documentation. You may verify it at your leisure."

McGonagall still looked concerned, though slightly reassured. She knew Ollivander to be eccentric, but never lawless.

Seeing her expression, he continued. "You see, in my youth, I was... ambitious. I wanted to craft the most powerful wand imaginable. I sought out materials not for compatibility, but for sheer magical potency. That pursuit led me to rare woods and cores—materials others wouldn't dare touch."

He stared at the wand again, the golden surface gleaming under the shop's warm light.

"I spent weeks crafting it. I poured everything I had into its creation. It was meant to be my masterpiece. And yet... it rejected every single witch or wizard who came into contact with it. Until now."

Allen stepped forward slightly, as if drawn by an invisible thread.

"What makes it so difficult to use?" he asked softly.

Ollivander's eyes met his. "Because it is not a forgiving wand. Elder wood alone is notoriously particular, demanding a master of extraordinary potential. Combine that with a unicorn horn—the raw, unprocessed essence of such a pure magical creature—and the result is a wand that requires exceptional balance of will, power, and character."

He continued, almost in a whisper, "Most wands seek harmony with their user. This wand demands resonance. It will not bend. It will not yield. It must accept you—entirely—or not at all."

Allen looked down at the wand. A part of him felt afraid. But another part—deeper, primal, perhaps intuitive—felt as though it had already been calling to him.

With a cautious hand, he reached forward and wrapped his fingers around the hilt.

A breeze stirred through the air.

The dust in the shop trembled as if something had shifted in the room's very atmosphere. A faint pulse of light flickered from the wand, followed by a soft golden glow that surrounded Allen's hand.

Professor McGonagall watched, mouth slightly open. Mr. Ollivander stood still, a reverent awe in his eyes.

"…It accepts you," Ollivander whispered.

A strange warmth surged through Allen's chest. It wasn't just the feeling of holding a wand—it was something more. As though something long dormant had finally woken inside him.

McGonagall spoke softly. "A unicorn horn… and elder wood. That's not just a rare combination—it's historic. This is unlike any wand I've encountered."

Ollivander nodded. "Indeed. And Mr. Cecil… may just be the wizard it was waiting for all these years."

The silence that followed was not awkward, but sacred—shared between three people who all understood, in that quiet moment, that something significant had just occurred.

Allen looked at the wand in his hand. Though he didn't fully understand it, he knew one thing with certainty: his life was no longer going to be ordinary.