Chương 13: Chapter 14 : Wand Selection II

Tyson caught the anticipation, and more importantly, the faint hint of expectation, in Ollivander's voice. He found that interesting. Tyson lowered his eyes to the wand and almost got lost admiring it again. It was just... too damn aesthetic! He took a steadying breath before finally reaching out. The instant his fingers closed around it—'Holy fuck!' Heat surged violently through his palm and up his arm! It was far stronger than before.

It didn't cause him any pain, but the intensity was nothing to scoff at—enough to make every muscle in his body tense in unison. Tyson felt the hairs on his neck and arms stand on end as a pulse of energy moved through the wood, gathering rapidly at the tip. Then a brilliant beam of white-gold light erupted outward! The entire shop was swallowed in blinding radiance! Tyson turned his head away on instinct, squinting hard as the brightness burned against his eyes.

Around him, shelves shook violently, wand boxes rattling in place while dust rained down from the ceiling. For one brief moment, the entire shop felt alive. Then, just as suddenly, the light vanished and everything stopped, as if it had all been an illusion. It wasn't. Tyson stood still for a moment, staring at the wand in his hand. Even now, he could feel the lingering heat in his arm. Across from him, Ollivander stood utterly still, his pale eyes gleaming with an intensity Tyson hadn't seen before.

Then his face broke into a genuine, delighted smile.

"Ah... excellent!" Ollivander said, almost sounding excited.

"I should have known it would choose you!" His eyes remained fixed on the wand.

"You've acquired yourself a formidable partner, Mr. Steward." Tyson didn't even have to ask for an elaboration. Mr. Chattyvander had already begun explaining, his gaze never leaving the wand in Tyson's grip.

"Aspen wood," he said.

"Eleven and a half inches. Supple, but not soft. Phoenix feather core. That is a very rare pairing."

'Aspen wood?' Tyson searched his memory of canon but couldn't find anything about it.

"Rare how, Mr. Ollivander? Because of the materials?" he asked.

"Rare because of what those materials demand," Ollivander corrected. He stepped closer, gesturing lightly toward the wand.

"Aspen is a remarkable wood. Highly refined by nature. It has a reputation for excelling in charmwork and precise spellcasting, but beyond that, it has long been known as a duelist's wood." Tyson tilted his head.

"As in combat?"

"In skilled combat," Ollivander clarified.

"Aspen tends to choose those who think clearly under pressure. Those who act quickly, but not recklessly. It values decisiveness, precision, and clarity of mind, and rejects any amount of hesitation or doubt." He continued, "For that reason, Aspen wand owners are usually accomplished duelists, or destined to become one. In the eighteenth century, there was even a rather infamous dueling club that accepted only Aspen wand bearers."

Tyson's fingers ran lightly along the polished white wood as he asked curiously, "So it likes fighters?" Ollivander shook his head.

"Not quite. A fighter often relies on force. A duelist relies on understanding. To them, precision matters far more than strength. Casting a powerful curse when the matter could be settled with a simple Expelliarmus is wasteful. Knowing why to cast a spell matters just as much as knowing how." If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"So it likes fighters who are... careful and frugal?" Ollivander's brows twitched.

"Well... that's one way to put it." Tyson nodded in understanding, absorbing the information dump. No matter how much he told himself that learning to fight was purely for self-defense, there was no denying the fact that he enjoyed it. There was something strangely liberating about beating assholes up. About testing himself against another person and proving, beyond doubt, who came out on top. That mindset sometimes made him wonder if he was an edgelord or something.

But then, he had never been fond of mindless brawling. Anyone could throw punches. What interested him was control, timing, and technique. Reading the other side. Knowing when to move, when to hold back, and when to end it. Were those the qualities Aspen recognized? Well, good for it. One thing was true, though—he was indeed destined to be a great duelist. Even if he weren't, Tyson would have made sure he became one. Who wouldn't!? It was the wizard's version of gunfighting, and guns were men's romance.

Anyone who disagreed with him needed a diaper change more than an opinion. And those who thought sword duels were better were just primitive bastards who needed to crawl back into their fucking caves.

"And then," Ollivander continued, his tone shifting slightly, "there is the phoenix feather." Tyson's focus snapped back as Ollivander continued, "Phoenix feather is the rarest core I work with, and perhaps the most difficult to understand. Where Aspen is precise, straightforward, and structured, phoenix feather is adaptable. It is capable of the widest range of magic among the three supreme cores. It learns quickly, changes easily, and often produces results even its wielder does not expect."

"But that flexibility comes at a cost. Phoenix feather wands are notoriously difficult to master. They do not simply surrender their full potential because they have chosen someone. Their trust must be earned." Tyson looked down at the wand.

"But what makes the combination special?" Ollivander nodded, as though waiting for that exact question.

"It is the balance." He gestured to the wand.

"Aspen empowers what is already there, making your magic sharper and more precise." Then he pointed toward the core.

"Phoenix feather does the opposite. It broadens what is possible. It allows variation, growth, and complexity." He leaned slightly forward.

"Most wands favor one quality. Either precision... or versatility." His pale eyes glinted faintly.

"Your wand has both."

"But why is that rare?" Tyson asked, genuinely confused. Wasn't it a good thing that the wand had both precision and versatility?

"Because most wizards naturally lean one way. The disciplined often become too rigid for phoenix feather. The imaginative often become too unfocused for Aspen." That... actually made sense. Ollivander looked into his eyes as he spoke.

"For both to choose the same person means something very specific."

"And that is?" Tyson asked, raising a brow. Though he already knew the answer. It wasn't hard to figure out. Ollivander's pale eyes lingered on him.

"It means you possess both qualities. Or at the very least, the potential for them. Enough discipline to shape your magic precisely, but also enough flexibility of mind to use it creatively and push beyond conventional limits." Tyson wasn't sure whether that was flattering or ominous. Judging by Ollivander's expression, probably both. The wandmaker smiled mysteriously.

"That combination often produces very capable witches and wizards. Not always the strongest at first, but almost always the hardest to predict."

"And in magic, Mr. Steward... unpredictability can be far more dangerous than power."... A few moments later, after paying the seven Galleons and receiving his wand properly boxed, Tyson stepped out of Ollivander's. His parents were waiting just outside. The moment his mother saw him, she straightened, her eyes immediately dropping to the box in his hands.

"Well? How was it?" she asked, unable to hide the curiosity in her voice. Tyson lifted the box slightly, a grin tugging at his lips.

"Spectacular," he said.

"The whole thing made me feel like I'm some sort of chosen one." The tension in her shoulders eased at once, and she smiled at him, soft and fond.

"That's because you are a chosen one, dear." Tyson resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Well, what did they say? A mother's love was blind. His father let out a quiet breath too, as though the entire wand-buying process had somehow been more stressful for him than for Tyson. Tyson glanced around.

"Where's Professor McGonagall?" He had noticed her absence the second he stepped outside. His father adjusted the bags in his hands before answering, "She left a little while ago. Said there was urgent business back at Hogwarts she needed to take care of." He shrugged.

"She seemed to be in a hurry." His mother nodded.

"She asked us to tell you she'll see you at Hogwarts." Tyson nodded once. That sounded about right. McGonagall had already gone above and beyond by escorting them here herself. Once the important part was done, it made sense for her to return. As they started walking again through the crowded streets of Diagon Alley, Tyson's thoughts drifted back to Ollivander. The old wandmaker's words still lingered in his mind. The whole exchange had left him with mixed feelings.

Ollivander had definitely placed him on some sort of pedestal, but Tyson couldn't tell how much of that was genuine and how much was simply the old man making the moment feel grander than it was. So he took it with a grain of salt.

'A wand chooses the wizard, but it is up to the wizard to decide what he becomes.' The thought surfaced in his mind. He couldn't remember whether that was canon or fanon, but he believed it. A piece of wood couldn't decide his future. That much was obvious. But of course... His gaze dropped to the box in his hand. It was a different matter entirely when that piece of wood could fire actual killing curses. Tyson's fingers tightened slightly around the box. It was a weapon. His first weapon. At last... He was armed!