the gift of death

chapter two: holly and fire {year one: summer part two)

He looks in the windows, and sees dozens of types of wands, made from what seems to be hundreds of different woods. A small sign is in the corner of the window, and Harry leans closer to investigate it.

Wand woods!

Acacia to Yew!

Wand cores!

Phoenix feathers, unicorn hairs, dragon heartstrings!

From boggart skin to Veela hair!

Staffs, dragonhide holsters, and so much more!

He takes a deep breath and steps inside.

The inside of the store was made with stone. It was a lighter stone; not quite marble but not quite the gray of the cobblestones outside. It wasn't white, but it wasn't gray; not eggshell, nor the color of freshly washed white linen. It was an in between color; an impossibility.

But it exists here.

Harry steps inside, ignoring the bell tinkling, and looks around. No wood flooring, walls, or furniture in sight. The "wandshelves''—called this for the wandwood, wand cores, or finished wands that they held—were also made of stone. However, it was different colors; on the "shelves'' where the ebony wood samples rested seemed to be marble, and where the holly wood rested it was an onyx-colored stone. Harry could make a guess that this was to cancel out any wand and core properties, to neutralize them until they selected a wizard. This would help to make sure that the reaction was not only more obvious, but also so that no accidents would occur, similar to when you chucked in random ingredients into a cauldron.

A large man—close to 7 feet tall, but very fit—walked out from the back room. He was balding, and had an eyepatch over his left eye, "Hey'a. I'm Carva', staff or wand?" He asked, his gruff voice and odd accent (almost like—New York?) awakening Harry from looking around.

His viridian eyes blink, and he focuses on the man in front of him. "Wand only, for now."

Carver nods, and comes closer, "Let me measure you, then we can get to testing your wand wood."

"Alright."

The other man moves closer, towering over Harry even with his aging potion, "Try not to do any magic in here; we've followed Ministry protocol, unlike that fool Ollivander—" He pauses, a pinch in his expression,"Left arm or right arm?"

"I'm ambidextrous," —and wasn't that a nice trick he picked up from Avalon-based training?— "But I prefer my right arm."

He begins to measure both of Harry's arms, and then nods for him to go ahead, "That's all we need for wands. If you were doing a staff, it would've been more extensive. Now, start over here," Carver directs him towards a shelf labeled Acacia—Black Ironwood, "And grab any that feel warm to your magic. All you have to do is gather some of your magic into your hand—good, like that—and then go over the woods only. There should be three or four that's warm, so bring them over to the counter, and ring the bell once you're finished. Some of the cores can be a bit a bit more volatile."

Harry blinks, confused, "But shouldn't I only need one?"

Carver nods, "Naturally. However, some cores are incompatible with some woods, so we prefer to get many woods, so we can match together the cores and woods."

Harry sighs, and begins to gently go over the different woods. Almost immediately he gets a warm feeling; a wood with darker gray bark. He gently carries it over to the counter, and Carver nods, "Beech. You must be wise beyond your years." His words causes the other to stifle a snort, because the wandmaker really has no idea. He continues to go over the first shelf, but doesn't get any more of the pleasant feeling.