PRE FIC RANTINGS AND A SPRINKLE OF DISCLAIMER: What's in a wand? It always did bother me that there seemed only to be three different types of wand core as far as Ollivander's went. So, therefore, I am writing this. It's hard to really explain what this is about. Um, just read.
I really don't own Harry Potter and you really already know that.
Neville Longbottom: Eight inches, weeping willow, springy with mandrake root at the core. His wand doesn't scream, however, but hums softly. It is soothing to plants and allows the bearer to excell at Herbeology. It is also excellent for rushed counter-curses, but not much else. Neville thanks goodness for this, because he hates curses with a passion but is always thinking, fearfully, about how his parents were unable to mutter their counter-curses quick enough to save themselves.
Minerva MacGonagoll: Ten and one quarter inches, birch, straight and ridgid with a Pheonix Feather heart. Not springy or knobby enough to be adept at transfiguration, but when Minerva was in her first year, she had a bit of an irratic crush on her strict Transfiguration teacher. Though her wand was much better for conjuring, the sharpness and inflexiability reminded her of the long gone proffesor and she became determined to excell in the art of transfiguration, eventually proving herself worthy by becoming an Animagius- the first in nearly sixty years to achive such a feat.
Peter Pettigrew: Seven and a half inches, pine and containing the tounge of an punished house elf (donated to Ollivander's cause some thirty four years earlier by Claudius Malfoy). Mostly balanced, but a bit more easily handled while conjuring or doing arithmancy. Always works better in the hands of anyone but the owner. Peter's wand was destroyed when he cast the spell that murdered thirteen Muggles and sent Sirius Black to prison. He never once regretted the loss of it when his Lord crafted him a new one, containing the finger he had cut off in the alley. This one worked much better.
Seamus Finnigan: Eleven and eight-tenths inches, red maple with the fingernail of a leperchaun at the tip. Everyone laughed when he told them this, and the insisted that it had absolutely nothing to do with him being Irish and everything to do with him being a halfbreed. Dean just rolled his eyes and continued tacking up his football posters with quiet determination while Ron fell off his bed laughing.
Hermione Granger: Ten inches exactly, fresh oak and smooth down it's length with just enough spring in it to be perfectly balanced for every possible type of magic. Unicorn hair. One of Ollivander's standards. He smiled broadly as he passed the wand to her and she clutched at it, eager, but still a little frightened of magic and the Wizarding world in general. Hermione sometimes wishes her wand were more interesting or exotic. There seems to be something unique or special about everyone else's wand- even Ron's, and his is second hand. But she realizes that her wand is safe and reliable, just like she is and maybe that in itself is special enough.
Charlie Weasly: Twenty two inches and made from some dark, knobby wood that he can't remember the name of. His wand is special because instead of the heartstring of a dragon, it contains a sliver of dragon horn given with the creature's consent. Norbert especially likes this wand because it means no dragons died just so Charlie could learn magic.
Ginny Weasly: Her wand is also special because it's made from some sort of mysterious driftwood and contains five mermaid scales, all strung together on a thread of hair. Ollivander could find no exact length for it, but when she holds it up to her forehead, she thinks that she can hear the ocean. She knows that her wand is good for everything and tells people that it works best with levitation charms, but the truth is that it picks up curses and counter curses faster than the DADA proffessor can teach them. She finds this frightening and silently blames it on Tom Riddle.
Pansy Parkinson: Nine and three quarters inches, white birch and very flexible with a long, blonde siren hair running down it's length. It's admittedly weak in curses and potions and arithmancy and all those other things Slytherins are supposed to be good at, but it casts a glamorie like no one's business. Now, if only it would produce a song to make Draco Malfoy actually LOOK at her when they're dancing...
Cho Chang: Fourteen and a half inches, oak, retina of a kappa in it's core and the only one of it's kind Ollivander ever made. He doesn't like to make wands using the parts of mischevious creatures like kappa, but Cho knows her wand is not unruly. In fact, it's gifted with the same sort of sharp intellect that sorted Cho into Ravenclaw in the first place. Although it does not particularily excell in any one subject, it is always quick and accurate on the draw.
George and Fred Weasly: Seven and fouteen inches. White pine and dark maple. Unicorn hair and pheonix feather. George's wand is good at Charms and Fred's at cursing, but their wands really work best when their power is combined over the brim of a bubbling culdron. Proffesor Snape begrudgingly wonders how in seven hells they managed to flunk their Potions OWLs.
Molly Weasly: Six and a half inches, carved from a mangrove and containing three eyelashes of a unicorn garnered from one of Ollivander's less successful expeditions. Her wand is good for all sorts of things- charms, potions, transfiguring- all of those things, but she finds it to be most useful for wacking George and Fred over the head when they waltz in at half past midnight, all innocent smiles and apologetic shrugging.
Gregory Goyle: His wand is not actually his own, but one that has been passed down in his family for generations. It's curiously thick and nearly twenty five inches long, made from an indetermined wood that looks as if it's been charred and blackened over an open fire. It is built around the spine of his great, great grandfather who also happened to be an Animagius. Fortinbas Goyle had died in his alternate form- that of a black adder. Goyle is very proud of his wand and it's rich history, but his friend just scoff at it. He knows that Vincent and Draco are just jealous because he picked up the Impeius quicker than they did.
Draco Malfoy: Thirteen inches, cherrywood, dragon heart string, ridgid and sharp to an extent that is almost threatening. Deadfully common, but Draco thinks his wand is very pretty. He can almost feel the string at it's core twitch and hum like a chord on a lute when he spell casts and wonders if it snaps and mends itself whenever he flicks the Avada Kedavra. His wand is very good at Arithmancy, but it is also adept at the dark arts. With this wand, he cannot counter-curse to save his life, but his father concedes that if he does his job properally, he will never have to. Sometimes he stares at his wand a bit wistfully wondering if it's really his, or just another one of his father's dreams beating on the inside of his head.
Severus Snape: His first wand was blood red mahogany, fifteen inches long and strung up with a dragon's heart-piece. His parents bought it for him at Ollivander's before he went to Hogwarts and he used to practice curses on spiders in the crawl space beneath the stairs whenever his father was on a rampage. When he became a spy for Dumbledore, he burnt his wand with foxfire and aquired a new one in a shady, backstore at the end of Knockturn alley. This one was sixteen inches, cherrywood and had the horn of a rare, Japanese oni in it's core. He thought it was strange that Draco Malfoy's wand should be cherrywood as well, since he remembered all too well that Lucius's was Mahogany.
Rubeus Hagrid: Only nine and a quarter inches, made from a big, knobby piece of a whomping willow. The core was a chunk of Centaur hoof, given to Ollivander by clan leader Seifius just before he passed away. He was glad to have a wand of such presteige because he was so sacred that Hogwarts would turn him away because of what his mother was. The Ministry of Magic destroyed Hagrid's wand when he was thirteen years old. The day his wand was burnt was they day all centaurs in the Forbidden Forest, with the exception of Frienze, ceased to have anything to do with him.
Sybil Trelawney: When Ollivander gave Sybil her wand, he told her that it was made with the feather of a Pegasus. When she told her dorm mates this, they all raised their eyebrows and asked her if this was the same as her "third eye", then snickered behind her back. Sybil spent the rest of her life wondering why people believed in Unicorns, but not Pegasuses.
Remus Lupin: Twelve and a half inches, oak and very bad with transfiguration. Remus still thinks that it's a bit ironic, but not so much as the leg-tendon of a wolf that rests in the wand's heart. He remembers shrinking beneath Ollivander's heavy gaze, as if the old, frazzled man knew just by looking that there was something wrong with him. With a nervous flicker of the eyes, he clutched the wand to his chest and ran. Now, Remus knows the wand is suited to him because although it has some problems with immidiete Accio's and can't turn water into wine with the ease of Minerva MacGonagoll, it makes one hell of a Patronous.
Sirius Black: Twelve and three quarters inches. He can't remember much else about his wand because he hasn't seen it in fourteen years. Luckily, Remus managed to save it along with the motorcycle, Muggle albums from Lily and other assorted things that the Ministry loaded him down with simply because he was the only one left in the world who seemed to give a damn about Sirius Black anymore. He is pacing in the kitchen of the Black manor, waiting, while Harry watches him with quiet, green eyes. Remus finally arrives, bursting into the kitchen with his robes askew, hair tussled and looking just as out of breath as usual. He is carrying a simple, leather-bound box riddled with a dozen or so locks. Sirius gives his old friend a incredelous glance
"You've got it pinned down enough. Were you afraid it was going to float upstairs and nibble on your toes in your sleep?"
Remus turns pink at this remark and fights his giggles with a severe expression, setting his mouth in a grim line. Harry simply widens his eyes as if he's trying to read into Sirius's comment too deeply. This isn't fair, because Sirius meant for them to laugh. Things are always easier when people are laughing.
"Well, you're not far off, Sirius." Remus answers, setting the box on the table, "I suppose I was a little frightened having it in my house. As far as I knew, the last spell your wand cast took the lives of fourteen people- it wasn't hard to imagine it coming for me to finish the job." Sirius likes Remus's smile much more than he likes the wrinkles under his eyes and around his mouth, "Actually, I always have wondered why they didn't just cast a Prior Incanteum on your wand in the first place."
"The Ministry are a bunch of wankers." Sirius cuts in, appraoching the box finally. He looks at Remus expectantly and the other wizard nods, and presses his own wand against the first lock. He whisperes a different charm for each ward until the last chain falls away and the box tumbles open. With long, uncertain fingers Sirius reaches down and grips his wand shakily.
Suddenly, he remembers:
"Twelve and three quarters inches, oak and the tail feather of a Hippogriff." he grins, feeling as if he's just regained something of himself in this act of rememberence. Harry looks up, eyes suddenly bright and alert.
"Feather of a Hippogriff? I'm sure Buckbeak will be thrilled."
Sirius's smile broadens, "Either that or he'll be byond insulted. Animals are funny like that sometimes. Right, Moony?" he shoots a long, meaingful look at Remus, who replies with an impatient narrowing the eyes. This translates to something along the lines of: "What, exactly, do you mean by that?"
Harry swallows loudly and asks in a small, hesitant voice, "Sirius, I was wondering... what was my father's wand made of?"
Remus and Sirius glance at Harry, then at each other, then back to Harry again. Sirius freezes up as he realizes that he doesn't know what James's wand had at it's core. Which is funny in a sad way, because he knows that Remus's is from a wolf and that Peter's was a house elf's tounge and he even knows that Snape used to have a wand made from a dead dragon's heart. He knows all this, yet he never bother to take a closer look at what James wielded. And they were supposed to be best friends.
Sirius searches his memory desperately for glimpses and faint flashes of James doing practicals, or tutoring Peter in transfiguration but in the end, he is actually searching for excuses before Remus clears his throat and attempts to come to the rescue.
"Some wizards don't like telling people what's at the core of their wand, Harry." he says finally, "It's an old superstition among pureblood families that if anyone knows your wand's heart, it will lose some of it's power. If you tell it to an enemy, they can cast the Imperius curse on you from one hundred miles away."
"Don't put foolish ideas into the boy's head." Remus clicks his tounge dissaprovingly, and begins redoing the locks on the box, "James would never have believed anything silly like that."
"Yeah, you're right Moony." Sirius sighs and closes his eyes, "Sorry Harry. I just don't know. I guess it's just one of those things I never thought important enough to ask about."
"Oh, okay." Harry hangs his head, "It's not a big deal. It's not like you can tell anything more about a Wizard based on their wand." he produces his own from his shirtsleeve and stares at it darkly. Remus pauses his task of refastening the box and fixes Harry with much the same concerned gaze as Sirius. The boy whispers: "Wands can't really be that important..."
Tom Riddle and Harry Potter: 11 and a half and 11 inches. Oak and Holly. Both alive with feathers ripped from the tail of Dumbledore's pet Fawkes. In a way, they are Dumbledore's pets too- the little villian and the even littler hero playing out the same drama over and over again until the sun dies. Sometimes Harry wonders if their wands have the same cores because they are mortal enemies; or if they are mortal enemies because their wands have the same core. He knows that Dumbledore will never, ever tell him so he guesses that he'll just have to kill Voldemort quickly and find out for himself.