Chapter 79: New Magic Wand
"That's not quite right… but it does seem phoenix feather suits you very well, Master Black."
Phineas nodded thoughtfully.
"Indeed, this wand feels much better, but it's still not the perfect match."
Ollivander nodded, rubbing his chin.
"Then let's try changing the wand wood."
He turned away and began rummaging through the tall stacks of wand boxes behind the counter.
"Dragon heartstring, unicorn hair, and phoenix feather are my most commonly used wand cores," he said as he searched. "But phoenixes are rare, so I craft very few wands using their feathers."
"If I get the chance," Phineas offered, "I'll help you find some."
Ollivander smiled, returning with several boxes.
"Thank you in advance, Master Black. Let's begin with this one: cedar and phoenix feather."
Phineas accepted the wand.
"Cedar often chooses wizards with great strength of character," Ollivander noted. "And clearly, you're not lacking in talent."
Phineas waved the wand. A gentle breeze stirred the dust in the shop. The wand acknowledged him—but it still wasn't quite right.
Ollivander frowned slightly.
"Hmm… still not perfect. Let's try another—English oak, phoenix feather, eleven inches. Especially loyal wood."
Phineas tried it, but there was no reaction at all. The wand clearly rejected him.
Ollivander sighed.
"Very particular, aren't you? No matter—we've seen pickier wizards. Oh! Wait here. I might have just the thing."
He disappeared into the back room. A few minutes later, he returned, holding a longer box with unusual care.
"Try this—rosewood and phoenix feather, fourteen inches. A little longer than your previous wand, but an exceptional pairing. Rosewood wands are known for their clarity, defense, and strength in duels. Combined with phoenix feather, it makes a powerful and responsive wand."
Phineas examined the wand as Ollivander continued excitedly.
"This combination is quite special. Professor Albus Dumbledore's first wand was also rosewood with a phoenix feather core. He used it to win numerous magical championships and built much of his early reputation with it."
Phineas's eyes lit up with interest. He lifted the wand and gave it a careful wave.
Warmth surged through his arm. His magic flowed through the wand effortlessly, as if it were an extension of himself. The connection was seamless—complete.
Ollivander's eyes gleamed.
"Extraordinary, Mr. Black! I daresay this wand will make a name for itself in your hands."
Phineas smiled. The wand had a clean, elegant look. No ornamentation or flashy carvings. Even the handle was modest.
"How much is it?" he asked. "And… you still sell wand accessories here, right?"
Ollivander rubbed his hands together.
"This wand was made by my father, not me. And phoenix feather is quite rare. Seventy galleons."
Phineas frowned—most wands ranged between thirty and fifty galleons.
"But," Ollivander added quickly, "as a distinguished customer, I can include wand customization—handles, protective sleeves, or even cane integration."
Phineas considered.
"Alright. I'd like to add a cane."
"Very good," Ollivander said cheerfully. "Now, do you have a design in mind for the head? I recall you're in Slytherin—perhaps a serpent? Lucius Malfoy has a snake-head cane. Or perhaps… your family's symbol? A wolf?"
He'd almost said dog-head, but wisely avoided it. Even the Blacks themselves weren't sure whether their crest was a dog or a wolf.
Feeney nodded.
"A wolf head. Silver, not gold—the gold ones look awful."
Many pure-blood wizards added canes to their wands, sometimes ordering gaudy house-themed versions. But Feeney preferred something simple yet elegant. Ollivander, a master craftsman, was known for these bespoke additions. Unlike common canes that needed sanding and fitting, his designs merged seamlessly with the wand.
In less than half an hour, Ollivander returned with a refined silver wolf-head cane. Phineas slid the wand into the hidden compartment. Perfect fit.
He handed over the gold. The deal was done.
Phineas didn't bother with other shops. He called Kreacher and Apparated home to 12 Grimmauld Place.
The house was massive, but empty. Quiet. A bit too quiet.
Puff had already unpacked his school trunk, washed and pressed his clothes, and cleaned the room until it gleamed. A pot of fresh white mulberry sat on the windowsill—the same plant Phineas had raised at Hogwarts, though Puff had cared for it all year.
The house smelled of sunlight and soap.