The cobblestones of Diagon Alley were slick after a light afternoon drizzle as Garin approached the narrow, shabby storefront. Above the door, a weathered signboard with peeling, golden-worn letters proudly proclaimed the family's ancient wand-crafting heritage.
Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
Garin smiled, impressed at the old shop, dating the establishment back over 2.5 thousand years. In the dusty front window, a single wooden wand rested atop a faded purple cushion.
Garin pushed the door open, triggering a soft, melodic chime that echoed through the dimly lit interior. The shop was tiny and cramped, empty except for a single, spindly chair in the corner, smelling deeply of polished wood, old dust, and a new type of lingering magic that prickled pleasantly against Garin's skin.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves were packed with thousands of narrow, rectangular boxes containing wands, piled right up to the ceiling of the tiny shop, creating a labyrinth of timber and magical cores.
From the back emerged an older gentleman with pale but intelligent eyes and a measuring tape draped around his neck. This was Gervaise Ollivander, a master wandmaker and the patriarch of the current era of the business.
"Good afternoon, Sir," Gervaise said.
His voice was soft, with a raspy whisper that carried easily through the quiet and small room. Right behind the older gentleman, a younger man arrived, who stopped a bit behind, merely observing for now.
"I know every face that comes through my door, young traveller, yet yours is entirely new to me. You possess a... formidable presence... hmm, yes."
"My name is Garin," the Archmage introduced himself. "And I have come to see if your craft can accommodate my magic. I'm new in Europe, having been forced to flee by a particularly evil group of blood wizards."
"Fascinating," Gervaise murmured, stepping closer and waving a hand.
A silver measuring tape sprang to life, floating toward Garin's arm.
"Which is your wand arm? We use a variety of materials, you see. Dragon heartstring, unicorn tail hair, occasionally something more exotic like a kelpie hair or a kneazle whisker, though my son insists we must standardise..."
Before the silver tape could even take Garin's shoulder measurement, the air in the shop grew remarkably heavy. The ambient magic in the room, usually dormant and concentrated within each wand separately, suddenly surged and accumulated like a tidal wave in response to the full moon.
Garin hadn't even moved his mana, but his mere presence as the Archmage was impossible to hide inside so many magically conductive materials and focuses.
A low rumble vibrated through the floorboards and the shelves. Gervaise and his son gasped, stepping back as the silver measuring tape fell uselessly to the floor.
...
The noise started at the back of the shop and rapidly cascaded toward the front counter. The thousands of narrow boxes stacked upon the shelves were vibrating violently as each wand began to move back and forth inside them.
"What is the meaning of this?" Gervaise breathed, his eyes wide with an emotion hovering between sheer terror and absolute wonder. "I have never in all my years..."
With a simultaneous, deafening pop, the lids of dozens of boxes blew off. Then hundreds and then...
Out from the confines of their cardboard homes, the wands began to rise one after the other. Ash and elm, mahogany and yew, supple willow and rigid oak. They floated into the aisles, sputtering faint, multicoloured sparks from their tips. Like a school of fish drawn to a brilliant light, the wands swarmed out of the aisles and gravitated toward Garin.
They did not attack but hovered before him. All of the wands hung suspended in the air around the Archmage, creating a mesmerising bubble of carved wood and magic. They vibrated with eager anticipation; each core, be it dragon, phoenix, unicorn, or otherwise, expressed joy and longing.
They all wanted to be chosen, or they all had chosen Garin. They all recognised the apex of magical power and potential standing before them.
Garin stood at the epicentre of the floating arsenal, surprised but otherwise unbothered; he scanned the hovering wands. He reached out a hand, and the entire swarm shifted eagerly toward his palm, trembling like bees having found a particularly good batch of flowers.
Gervaise Ollivander slumped heavily into the single spindly chair in the corner of the room, clutching his chest.
"The wand chooses the wizard, Mr Garin," the old wandmaker whispered, his voice trembling with absolute reverence. "But it seems... it seems every wand in my shop has chosen you."
Garin looked at the older gentleman and smiled, exasperated. He didn't want to cause a scene, but for some reason he doubted that either the father or his son would ever forget what happened here today. So what was he to do? Couldn't he buy all of them... or could he?
"How much does a wand cost?" he asked.
"Huh? A-Ah, right, a wand. Well, that depends on the materials used, but in general, one wand can cost between 6 and 15 or 16 galleons. B-but you aren't really thinking of... no, you couldn't possibly... right?"
Garvaise had seemingly lost the ability to think normally after what he had just witnessed. There weren't exactly 1,000 wands here, but it was quite close, and if each cost roughly 10 galleons, it would get very expensive.
Garin thought about it. He closed his eyes and spread his magical senses outwards, having his mana spread through the air and touch each wand individually.
One had to remember that Garin didn't require a magical foci, and this was merely interest, but he wanted to try it because he thought about his home. The Rhoynar were almost all gone now, and only Nymeria and her progeny remained.
Although it hadn't happened yet, Garin could see himself coming to regard Dorne as his home and forming a close bond with Nymeria and her descendants. And for that, he might want to start teaching those of her descendants who have the talent to use magic how to use it.
So having a wand and knowing how to create one would come in handy in the future.
As his magic moved through the floating wands, they spoke to him. They revealed their secrets, components, creation process, and temperaments. While all of them submitted to his overwhelming presence, five distinct wands pushed their way to the very front of the ball.
With a flick of Garin's wrist, the hundreds of unselected wands gently floated back into their boxes, the cardboard lids snapping shut in a rippling wave of clicks and thuds.
Only five remained, hovering in a neat row before him.
Gervaise Ollivander slowly rose from his chair, his pale eyes wide as he approached the counter, leaning heavily against the wood to support his shaking legs.
"Incredible... to command them without a word. May I... may I see which ones you have chosen?"
Garin nodded, his eyes locked on the first wand on the far left. It was a stark, jet-black wood.
"Ah, Blackthorn and Thestral tail hair. A most unusual combination, Mr Garin. Blackthorn, which is a very unusual wand wood, has the reputation, in my view well-merited, of being best suited to a warrior. And the core... Thestral tail hair is regarded as an unstable, if not the most difficult, substance to use in wand-making. It is potent, but a tricky core to master; only a witch or wizard who is capable of accepting death could do so."
Garin felt the truth of it. It resonated with the blood he had shed, the people he lost and the battles he would inevitably fight to secure Nymeria's reign.
He moved his gaze to the second wand. It was a warm, attractive brown, humming with an eager, protective-like energy.
"Holly, with a core of Dragon heartstring," Gervaise noted, his voice regaining some of its professional tone. "Holly is one of the rarer kinds of wand woods; traditionally considered protective, it works most happily for those who may need help overcoming a tendency to anger and recklessness. Wood from Holly trees has magical healing properties and is thought to repel evil. Holly people make good leaders and thoughtful, loving and effective counsellors. Holly people should use their understanding of the dark, hidden side of humanity to guide others in their time of need.
Now, paired with Dragon heartstring, the core that produces the most powerful and flamboyant magic, and learns faster than any other. However, they are somewhat temperamental and more prone to accidents. They are the most likely to change loyalty, but would always bond strongly with its current owner. It is also the easiest to turn to the dark arts, though it would not turn on its own."
Garin smiled faintly. It seemed the wands were truly well suited for him. He would keep them secure on his person or in his home in the future.
The third wand was elegant, pale, and fine-grained, pulsing with a powerful, almost restless electrical charge.
"Alder wood," Gervaise whispered. "Alder is an unyielding wood, yet I have discovered that its ideal owner is not stubborn or obstinate, but often helpful, considerate and most likeable. Alder wood is well suited for making flutes and pipes, and for building bridges. Alder people are adventurous travellers and confident decision makers who trust their inner voices. Alder people should work hard to maintain a balance between work and play.
But the core... my father traded for that core from the Americas. A Thunderbird tail feather. The tail feather of the Thunderbird makes for an extremely powerful wand, though difficult to master. They can sense danger and are known to cast curses preemptively when supernatural dangers are near. They are also particularly good for Transfiguration."
This also seemed like a suitable wand for Garin. The perfect companion for a traveller guiding a displaced people across the world or across another world.
The fourth wand was wrapped in intricate, naturally spiralling carvings. It felt incredibly ancient, thrumming with a quiet, boundless ambition.
"Vine wood and Phoenix feather," the wandmaker said with profound respect.
"Vine wands are among the less common types, and I have been intrigued to notice that their owners are nearly always those witches or wizards who seek a greater purpose, who have a vision beyond the ordinary and who frequently astound those who think they know them best.
And the Phoenix feather... Ah, the Phoenix feather is the rarest of all cores. Phoenix feather wands are capable of the greatest range of magic, though they may take longer to reveal this. They show the most initiative, sometimes acting of their own accord, a quality that many witches and wizards dislike, actually. They are the most picky about potential owners; their allegiance is usually hard-won, and they are the most difficult to tame and personalise, reflecting the bird's independent, detached nature. You see, that's why this is so highly unusual to see such a reaction from a Phoenix feather core wand."
Finally, Garin looked at the fifth wand. It did not hum as eagerly or proudly as the others. It floated, radiating an almost cold superiority. It was a long, dark wand, adorned with carved clusters resembling berries.
Gervaise swallowed hard.
"Elder," he said. "The rarest wand wood of all, and reputed to be deeply unlucky, the elder wand is trickier to master than any other. It contains powerful magic, but scorns to remain with any owner who is not the superior of their company; it takes a remarkable wizard to keep an elder wand for any length of time.
This one houses the horn of a Horned Serpent; Horned Serpent horn wands are exceptionally powerful. They are sensitive to Parseltongue and vibrate when it is being spoken. Apparently, they can also warn their owners of danger by emitting a low musical tone."
The wandmaker looked from the elder wood wand to Garin, his pale eyes shining with awe.
"The Elder wand yields to no one but the apex of magical authority. It seems, Mr Garin, that you are this person."
Garin reached out, his fingers hovering over the five wands. Warrior, Teacher, Traveller, Visionary, and Magical Apex. Each one offered a unique piece of wandlore he could use, study and take back to the sands of Dorne. This was, in essence, a perfect foundation for the magical legacy of his Rhoynar.
.
In Paris, while Garin was away, the situation changed. Large black sheets, what looked like linen, moved through the air. The muggles went about their day without noticing what was happening, while the wizards and witches were all alerted by this.
The black linen wrapped around the buildings and billowed into the air from all over Paris. As they did so, they looked like thick streams of smoke.
The one responsible for this is Gellert Grindelwald, who has prepared his final move in Paris. Having understood that Garin was an unknown factor in his plans, he waited until Credence and Nagini were alone, then approached them.
In the attic, where Credence was feeding a young black chick, Nagini walked in.
"Credence..."
That was all she said, but her worried expression told Credence what he needed to know. They stepped out and found Grindelwald sitting on the roof. He put a finger to his mouth.
"Shhh."
"What do you want?" Credence asked.
"From you? Nothing."
"..."
"For you... Everything I never had," Grindelwald said. "But what is it you want, my boy?"
"I wanna know who I am," Credence replied.
Grindelwald flashed a brief smirk before standing up. He took out a piece of folded paper and held it up for them to see.
"This is where you will find proof of your true identity," Grindelwald says.
He releases the parchment, and it floats through the air towards Nagini and Credence, landing on the ground before their feet.
"Come to Père Lachaise tonight, and you will discover the truth."
The paper unfolded and showed a map of Paris with a raven at the centre, marking the spot where the Père Lachaise Cemetery of House Lestrange was located. Having delivered this message, Grindelwald disapparates.