The moisture on the surface of the two pieces of magical wood vanished almost instantly, as if the wood had eagerly absorbed every drop.
Wyzett observed closely. The two pieces fit together perfectly, forming the body of a wand. At the core, he could see a long, continuous groove—its carvings varied in depth, the workmanship exquisitely fine.
Ollivander produced a slender pipette, drew up some liquid from a crystal cup, and carefully injected it into the groove.
Curious, Wyzett leaned in over the cup, wafting the scent toward his nose. He immediately picked out notes of sage, rosemary, and other aromatic herbs.
Just then, the deep clang of a bell echoed through the workshop—fourteen solemn chimes.
Ollivander moved with new urgency. He swiftly unfurled a roll of dragon hide, extracting the dragon heartstring nestled inside, and laid it precisely into the groove. Then, with practiced hands, he pressed the two pieces of magical wood together.
For now, a visible seam remained where the woods met.
"Kenaz!"
As the last bell faded, Ollivander pressed his wand to the join and spoke the incantation.
A reddish aura blossomed across the wood. With a faint, crackling rustle, the seam began to disappear, the two halves merging seamlessly until only a flawless wand remained.
Ollivander stifled a yawn, fatigue etched deep into his features, as if he'd been up all night.
He flicked his wand. "Potion, come!"
In the blink of an eye, a small vial of golden potion floated across the room and landed neatly in his palm.
Wyzett squinted at the shimmering liquid. Judging by its color and the fact that Ollivander drank it after such exertion, it was almost certainly a Pepperup Potion.
He'd never brewed one himself, but the telltale golden glow and the immediate effect left little doubt.
Sure enough, as soon as Ollivander downed the potion, a wave of energy washed over him. He straightened up, face brightening, and moved on to the next step.
Wyzett felt even more certain now—this golden potion could only be Pepperup Potion, given its dramatic revitalizing power.
Ollivander tapped his wand against the workbench.
Immediately, a web of crisscrossing grooves appeared on the previously smooth surface.
He picked up another crystal cup and poured its crimson contents along the etched lines.
The liquid spread, following the intricate patterns. The workbench glowed with a fierce, fiery red, as though flames were dancing across its surface.
Gradually, the light drew inward, converging on the newly crafted wand—as if the wand itself was absorbing the radiance. Bit by bit, the glow faded and was gone.
…
With the aid of his Oculus Magicae, Wyzett saw the truth: the red light was actually a vast network of magical circuits—so dense and numerous that their sheer abundance triggered a transformation, making the flow of magic visible to the naked eye.
…
Ollivander continued, beating his wand against the workbench in a rhythm that grew ever more intense—almost as if he were a drummer, hammering out a wild, passionate cadence.
Only when the last trace of light was drawn into the wand did he finally stop, wiping the fine sheen of sweat from his brow.
He turned to Wyzett, eyes shining with anticipation. "Well? What did you think?"
"I learned a lot!" Wyzett replied earnestly. "Many of the questions I had about wandmaking finally make sense now."
"Oh? That enlightening?" Ollivander raised his brows, intrigued. "Tell me—what did you see?"
Wyzett closed his eyes for a moment, organizing his thoughts before answering. "First, there's the preparation work. Once you've selected the magical wood, you split it in two and carve out the core, leaving a groove for the wand core to fit."
Ollivander smiled. "You're very observant, Wyzett! That groove is more than it appears—it sets the lower limit for a wandmaker's skill."
"The lower limit?" Wyzett echoed thoughtfully. "So, if the groove matches the core's shape as closely as possible, the bond between wand and core becomes even tighter? Which would mean…"
"If you use phoenix feather as a wand core, the crafting difficulty must be the highest, right?"
"Exactly!" Ollivander's smile turned to genuine surprise. "Absolutely right! Unicorn tail hair is the easiest to work with—just a single strand. Dragon heartstring is more challenging. But phoenix feather is so delicate that achieving true precision often takes many failed attempts."
"And this cup," Wyzett said, picking up one of the crystal vessels. "I can smell sage, rosemary, vervain, lady's mantle…"
As he rattled off the names, Ollivander's eyes widened in disbelief. "Merlin's beard! You can identify all those herbs by scent alone?"
"I think there's more than just those," Wyzett mused, frowning slightly. "There's also whatever you used to dissolve the herbs. I'm not sure if this is Lethe River Water…"
"Lethe River Water is transparent, of course, but there are other solvents—dew, pure water, or even magical ingredients I've never seen."
"This is indeed Lethe River Water!" Ollivander took a deep breath, his expression settling into calm admiration. "That's remarkable! You've only finished your first year at school, haven't you?"
"With your curriculum, you'd only use Lethe River Water for brewing Forgetfulness Potion at most. How do you know so much about these herbs?"
"Forgetfulness Potion…" Wyzett couldn't help but grin, recalling how several Slytherins had practically gorged themselves on it during final exams.
He coughed, regaining composure. "Professor Snape taught me well, Mr. Ollivander. That's how I can recognize all these potion ingredients."
Ollivander considered this. "Professor Snape? The one at Hogwarts—Severus Snape?"
Wyzett nodded. "Yes, he's an excellent professor."
"I remember him—quite a singular wizard…" Ollivander's silvery eyes narrowed in recollection. "He once came to me to replace his wand…"
"Wizards don't usually seek a new wand unless theirs is broken. He's one of the few who did so voluntarily, which made him stand out in my memory."
He frowned, searching his mind for details.
"I remember that wand… ebony, dragon heartstring, twelve inches—an excellent choice for offensive magic. It suited him perfectly at the time."
"But then, one day in 1980, he suddenly appeared, saying his ebony wand no longer obeyed him, that he couldn't cast magic to his satisfaction."
"It was a sensitive time, so I didn't pry. I avoided asking questions that might touch on certain taboos, which made the replacement process unusually difficult."
"Severus Snape is a truly unique individual… He tried wand after wand, never satisfied, always keeping his true self hidden."
"Only after countless attempts did he reveal a glimpse of who he really was… and that gave me the inspiration to find the wand that finally suited him best."
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