Chapter 78 – Ollivander
After leaving Gringotts, Phineas made his way directly to Ollivanders. While the wand he'd obtained through the system worked perfectly, most people believed it had been stolen from the vampire who had kidnapped him—and it certainly wasn't seen as an ideal match for him.
Moreover, because that wand had been used to cast an Unforgivable Curse, Dumbledore had suggested he put it away permanently. The Headmaster didn't want the Ministry of Magic to use it as a pretext to cause trouble for Phineas in the future.
Phineas had agreed. He'd decided it was time to get a new wand—a proper one that suited him best.
He also had another goal in mind: binding the perfect wand to a ring. Of course, the system offered a highly advanced option for this, allowing full customization of wand wood, core, and style, with automatic compatibility and a signature enchantment binding it permanently to Phineas. But that luxury came at a steep price—100,000 system gems.
This premium wand, which first appeared in the system store after he escaped the vampire castle, would be the most powerful and perfectly attuned wand he could possibly wield. Unfortunately, he didn't yet have enough gems. For now, saving up was the priority.
Ollivanders Wand Shop was just as he remembered—old, dusty, and filled with teetering stacks of wand boxes. A single wand sat in the display window on a faded purple cushion.
Phineas pushed open the door, setting off the familiar chime of the bell above.
"Ah, Master Black! Long time no see," greeted Mr. Ollivander warmly as he emerged from the back room.
Phineas nodded. "Long time indeed, Mr. Ollivander. I imagine you've heard—I was kidnapped by vampires. They destroyed my wand, so I need another."
Ollivander sighed sympathetically. "Yes, yes, I heard. A terrible loss—that wand was quite special. But don't worry. You'll find another that suits you just as well. Remember…"
"It's not the wizard who chooses the wand, but the wand that chooses the wizard," Phineas finished for him.
The elderly wandmaker smiled, clearly pleased. That phrase wasn't just tradition—it was the founding philosophy of the Ollivander family.
Still, Phineas had always suspected the saying was a bit of clever marketing. Decades ago, Ollivander had accepted custom orders, crafting wands with all manner of bizarre or symbolic cores—bits of wizard hair, mountain troll beards, even dead magical creatures. Customization was once a mark of status among old wizarding families.
But as the belief in "wand chooses wizard" became widespread, custom orders vanished. Some pure-blood families, like the Blacks, still treasured heirloom wands from those days. Phineas's grandfather, for example, had owned a wand with a three-headed dog's whisker as its core—likely from one of the magical beasts the Black family once bred.
"Well then," Ollivander said, turning thoughtful, "Let's begin with something familiar. Your old wand—if I recall correctly—was hornbeam with a dragon heartstring core, thirteen inches, quite pliable. A very personal wand. I imagine you had a particular talent for focused, powerful magic."
"You remember correctly," Phineas replied. "It suited me well."
Ollivander nodded, pulling a wand box from a high shelf. "Let's see if it still does."
Phineas took the wand and gave it a casual wave. The tip glowed warmly, and a small stream of golden sparks issued forth. It felt good—very good—but not quite the same. Not like before, when it had felt like an extension of his own body.
Ollivander watched closely and then shook his head. "Still compatible, but not perfect. That's all right—it gives us a direction."
He handed Phineas another wand. "Hornbeam again, but this time with a unicorn hair core. Twelve inches. Slightly stiff."
Phineas tested it, and while the wand responded, the sensation was muted—less alive.
"No," Ollivander murmured. "Unicorn hair isn't right. Let's try phoenix feather."
He selected a third wand and handed it over. The moment Phineas touched it, he felt a subtle hum, a warmth in his fingers and a lightness in his wrist. It wasn't perfect, but it was definitely closer.
Ollivander frowned slightly, thoughtful again.
"Better," he said. "But still not quite right…"