Chapter 4: The Savior, the Wand, and Fate
"Good afternoon." Ollivander immediately slipped into business mode.
Siron noticed that the moment Ollivander clearly saw who had entered, his eyes lit up instantly—like two bright moons shining in the dim shop.
"H-Hello…" The boy looked rather timid. After stepping inside, he hunched his shoulders, doing his best not to brush against anything around him, and kept glancing back now and then at the giant behind him.
"Oh yes, I knew I would be seeing you soon, Harry Potter. You have your mother's eyes. When she came here to buy her first wand back then…"
Ollivander sank into his memories. It was rare for him to say so much before announcing wand specifications.
But the more he spoke, the more nervous Harry Potter became.
While the two were interacting, Siron's gaze never left Hagrid. He noticed that inside the giant's open overcoat, half of a pink umbrella handle was faintly visible.
And when Ollivander mentioned the wand that had been snapped in half, Hagrid instinctively tightened his grip on that umbrella.
This kind of disguise was utterly meaningless—especially in front of Siron.
[Willow (Oak), Phoenix Feather, sixteen inches]
[Status: ???]
[Traits: Unbreakable. After undergoing some kind of alteration, this wand seems to have changed slightly. One thing is certain—no one would want to be stabbed by it.]
The status line was blank, likely because it had once been snapped and then repaired.
Perhaps Siron's gaze was too obvious. Hagrid grew a little guilty, tugged his coat tighter to hide the umbrella, and slowly shuffled toward the door.
"It's just… just an ordinary umbrella… nothing worth looking at…"
"I can help you fix it."
"What?" Hagrid froze in place. His legs, thick as pillars, actually trembled subconsciously.
"I don't understand what you're talking about… it's just… an old umbrella. It doesn't need fixing… yes, that's right."
"I don't think so." Siron shook his head and said thoughtfully, "Everyone believes that the most important part of a wand is its core, but in fact, it's the opposite. The seemingly ordinary wand body is the most important component—and it hides the wand's true secrets."
Hagrid's expression grew increasingly serious. Ollivander, talking to Harry from the side, paid them no mind, assuming Siron was simply explaining the mysteries of wandlore.
"Repairing the core isn't difficult. But the wand body is different. Even if you use magic far beyond common sense to restore it, it will never be the same as before. Over time, cracks may reappear. When that happens, you'll need to wrap another layer of magical tape around it—or encase it in another type of wood to stabilize it. For example… an umbrella handle."
"Then what should be done…" Hagrid blurted out, before hastily clutching his chest again.
"I—I was just curious."
"Completely fixing a wand is very simple," Siron continued as if he hadn't noticed Hagrid's reaction. "You just need to find a highly skilled wandmaker—like Ollivander."
Hagrid grew more and more intent, but at that moment, Siron suddenly turned around and returned behind the counter.
"You should be a professor at Hogwarts as well. It's a pleasure to meet you." Siron stopped there, not continuing further.
Even when Hagrid looked over, Siron merely lifted his head and gave him the bright, sunny smile unique to an eleven-year-old child.
But Hagrid was a different story.
Siron was absolutely right. After decades, the wand that had been repaired was now covered in cracks, forcing him to wrap an extra layer of willow wood around it for support.
Although Dumbledore's skill was extraordinary and the cracks didn't affect spellcasting, it was still a troublesome issue.
Hagrid had always wanted to fix it properly.
He never expected Siron to give him such an unexpected surprise—only to stop short at the most crucial point.
He stood there stiffly, staring at Siron, his expression painfully conflicted, and that look remained all the way until they left the shop.
The door opened and closed. Harry departed, carrying his longing for the magical world with him.
Through the dust-covered glass, Ollivander watched the two figures grow increasingly blurred, then let out a sigh.
"Is this fate? He still took that wand in the end."
Siron shrugged, noncommittal.
A few days earlier, Ollivander had rummaged through his shop and found a wand from ten years ago—the one he had labeled as a legendary, golden-tier masterpiece.
It seemed Ollivander knew Harry Potter would be coming to Diagon Alley soon, and had started preparing back then.
Tsk, what a sly old wandmaker.
Fortunately, Ollivander had no idea what Siron was thinking and continued,
"I also considered letting him try another option."
"Another option?"
Ollivander didn't explain. He simply pointed at the large pile of wands on the table that Harry Potter had already tried.
None of them were suitable.
Siron swept his gaze over them and narrowed his eyes slightly.
Beechwood, symbolizing wisdom, paired with the powerful dragon heartstring—only a wizard of both intellect and courage could earn its favor.
Maple, phoenix feather… constant growth and hope.
Ebony, unicorn hair… the pursuit of power without forgetting loyalty.
In the wand language passed down through generations of the Ollivander family, these combinations were all clearly tailored to the personality of a savior—yet not a single one fit.
In the end, Harry still took the wand bound to his destiny.
Holly wood: purity, rebirth.
Phoenix feather: hope, rebirth.
After studying wandlore, Siron realized that these two materials actually shouldn't be paired together, because they overlapped too much.
Only one who has died once can be reborn.
And purity—purity of the soul? What about that fragment of Voldemort's soul?
Siron suddenly felt a twinge of regret. Earlier, he shouldn't have spent all that time staring at Hagrid, a future supplier of materials.
He should have paid more attention to Harry.
"What are you thinking about?" Ollivander's voice pulled Siron back to reality.
"Nothing." Siron shook his head. "Just wondering which house I'll be sorted into."
"All of them are good, as long as it's Hogwarts," Ollivander replied without thinking. "I almost forgot—you still haven't chosen a wand for yourself."
As he spoke, his interest flared up instantly.
"Well then, how about it? Shall I help you pick one?"
"A new wand?" Siron blinked.
"Do I need one?" Before Ollivander could respond, Siron reached into his pocket and pulled out a whole handful of… things that could barely be called wands.
Unlike traditional straight wands, what Siron took out were all distinctly unconventional.
Curved, semicircular, perfectly round, right-angled, Z-shaped, lightning-bolt shaped… a whole bunch—around seven or eight of them.
And that wasn't all he had; his hands were simply too small to hold more.
Staring at those bizarrely shaped wands, several veins instantly popped out on Ollivander's forehead, throbbing visibly.
"At least they've been passed down… passed down…"
Ollivander took a deep breath, forcing himself to accept new things.
After all, he had tested them. They worked.
Whether they were good or not was another matter, but at the very least, they worked. They were genuine wands—that was enough.
Besides, when he was eleven, he had still been carving wood. Siron, at eleven, was already capable of making real wands—and more than one at that.
This kind of talent was unmatched. Even flipping through the Ollivander family lineage for centuries, one wouldn't find anyone comparable.
So what if he liked bending wands into circles? What's the big deal—just swing them around.
Before the next customer arrived, Ollivander finally managed to convince himself… more or less.
After that, however, he never brought up the matter of a new wand again, as if he had never mentioned it at all.
…
(End of Chapter)