Chapter 239: Seven Impossible Combinations
Inside Ollivander's wand shop, the old wandmaker spoke at unusual length — far more than he ever did with ordinary customers.
"Each Ollivander wand is crafted from a sliver of wood from a tree that yields magical properties — just as only a small percentage of humans are born with magic. Each wand also contains a powerful magical substance at its core."
"Every wand is unique, its nature determined by both the tree it comes from and the magical creature that lends its essence."
"Once a wand finds its ideal wizard, it begins to teach and shape its wielder, while also learning from them in return."
"That is why, if you hope to find a wand that feels exactly like your old one, I fear you won't succeed. Unless, perhaps, it is another hornbeam wand — a wood that might suit you. But even then, you would need to start anew, as if you were a beginner, and let it grow with you."
As Ollivander said this, his pale eyes locked on Riddle's, with a weight of meaning beneath the words.
For all his fear, Garrick Ollivander was still Britain's foremost wandmaker — his craft demanded courage, even before the darkest of customers.
"I've never used a wand," Riddle replied smoothly. "Don't look at me like that. I'm only eleven years old — I just happen to be a little taller than most."
The statement was absurd. And yet, coming from Riddle's lips, it carried an unsettling conviction.
"But what is so special about hornbeam?" he asked.
"Hornbeam chooses wizards with a single, pure passion," Ollivander explained. "It is like a blank parchment — adapting to its master's magic faster than any other wood. In no time, the wand becomes so attuned to its owner that no other wizard can properly cast even the simplest spell with it."
"Furthermore, a hornbeam wand absorbs the principles of its owner. It will refuse to perform any magic — whether good or evil — that violates its master's deepest convictions. It is a wand both perceptive and uncompromising."
"You may try this one — hornbeam and phoenix feather, thirteen inches."
He handed it across. In Riddle's hand, however, it was lifeless, no more than a stick.
Ollivander frowned, then respectfully took it back. He began rummaging through his shelves and boxes.
"Perhaps this — blackthorn with dragon heartstring, nine inches."
"No? Then cherry and phoenix feather, twelve inches."
"Still nothing? Try cherry with dragon heartstring, eleven and a half."
On and on it went. Nearly a hundred wands passed through Riddle's fingers, but none stirred to life.
The discarded wands piled high upon the bench. Ollivander grew increasingly unsettled. Instead of his usual excitement at meeting a difficult customer, he muttered under his breath, "Impossible… this should be the perfect match…"
"Why not try yew and phoenix feather?" Riddle asked with thin curiosity. "Unless you believe I've changed so much that it wouldn't suit me anymore?"
Ollivander hesitated. "Yew is rare and powerful, often associated with death — its sap is poisonous. Yet from the death of its outer trunk, new growth arises from within, making it a symbol of immortality and the soul's rebirth. The druids revered it as a tree of eternity.
"And phoenix feather is rarer still — the most independent of all cores, sometimes acting of its own accord, and choosy in the extreme. Together… in theory, they form a perfect match. Immortal wood and the flame-born bird of rebirth.
"But in my lifetime, only three creatures have ever yielded cores for truly legendary wands — phoenix, unicorn, and dragon. From them, only seven perfect combinations were ever made. Yew with phoenix feather is one of them."
Ollivander's pale eyes gleamed, all fear forgotten in his passion.
"It is one of the seven impossible combinations," he said softly.
"Seven impossible combinations?" Dumbledore finally asked, unable to contain himself.
Ollivander nodded. "Of the seven, three I will not describe further — their cores came from creatures no longer used: the spine of the White River Monster, the heartstring of the Trophinosaurus, and the tail hair of the Thestral."
"The White River Monster?" Dumbledore mused. "I recall that Tiago Quintana, the American wandmaker, used that core. His wands were powerful and elegant. But I also know he never revealed how he captured the creature. With his death, that secret vanished — no one has used the material since."
"As expected of you, Albus," Ollivander said with admiration. "I once traded some of my own craft to obtain a thorn from that beast. But indeed — its use has vanished from our craft."
Riddle, impatient with the exchange, cut in sharply. "And the remaining four?"
He could not bear to hear Dumbledore praised further. Besides, he knew his original wand had been one of these seven.
"One of them," Ollivander said carefully, "was the wand of the Dark Lord — a wand that followed him through great and terrible deeds."
At that, Riddle's expression tightened. He thought immediately of another. "…And another must be Harry Potter's wand."
"You are correct," Ollivander confirmed. "Eleven inches, holly and phoenix feather, supple. Holly, symbol of death and rebirth, married to the phoenix — itself death and rebirth incarnate. A twin wand. The phoenix gave two feathers only — one became Harry Potter's holly wand, the other became the Dark Lord's yew."
He paused, letting the truth hang heavy in the air.
"The remaining two? Oak and dragon heartstring. Elder and unicorn tail hair."
Both Riddle and Dumbledore spoke at once: "And who are their masters?"
If holly and yew had produced Harry and Voldemort — what legends might the other two herald?
"One remains unclaimed," Ollivander said quietly. His gaze then shifted to Dumbledore, eyes shining with strange meaning. "The other belongs to the Hogwarts gamekeeper — Rubeus Hagrid."
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