"Follow me," Garrick said, eager to continue. He slipped the photo into his pocket and turned away, disappearing behind a stack of wand boxes that hid the back of the shop from anyone not behind the counter.
Ted felt a small pang of disappointment as the old man's words about his mother stopped so abruptly, but he moved after him without delay. Stepping behind the counter, he found himself looking down a long hallway that had no right to exist inside the tiny shop.
It stretched on for more than twenty-five meters, lined on both sides with shelves of long, narrow boxes that radiated heavy waves of magic. At the far end stood Garrick, already waiting at the entrance to a small room.
He had crossed the distance far too quickly. Ted, even with his steady pace, had barely taken five seconds to reach the counter. Garrick should not have been able to walk that far so fast. The oddity did not bother him much. He had long learned to accept magical strangeness without wasting time on unnecessary questions.
Walking down the hallway, he let his gaze move across the boxes. Each one pulsed with magic in a way that seemed almost alive. This had always been strange for him. Ever since his first visit to Ollivanders, he had been able to see magic — literally see it, shining faintly around enchanted objects and spells.
At first, he assumed everyone could do it. But after asking Reynold casually and receiving only confused descriptions of magic as something felt rather than seen, he understood it was not common. A day spent reading at Flourish and Blotts confirmed it further. No book described magic the way he perceived it.
The same was true for his danger sense — another ability no one seemed to recognize or understand.
Another anomaly to add to the list.
When he reached the end of the long corridor, Ted stepped into a small circular room, half the size of his bedroom. The walls rose high above him, blending seamlessly into what looked like a real starry night sky. Cold, distant, yet somehow comforting.
Unlike the rest of the shop, this room was immaculate. Mahogany shelves circled the walls, divided into twelve neatly labelled sections. Elder. Pear. Pine. Fir. Lime. Dozens more. Even the empty shelves bore parchment signs marking the wood they once held.
"Magnificent, isn't it?" Garrick's aged voice drifted through the quiet. He stood in the center of the room, his back still turned. "This was your mother's workshop. Built by the finest dwarves. Enchanted by Elara herself. She adored the enchanted ceiling at Hogwarts. This one is smaller, but better crafted than the version I remember."
Ted stepped closer.
"Come here, young man. Have a look."
At the center of the room, a small circular table stood barely knee-high, hidden from sight until now. Upon it, resting on a grey cushion inside an egg-shaped glass container, was a single wand.
Black. Spiral-carved. Medium length. A silver handle engraved with a stylized Japanese tree.
Ted inhaled sharply. The wand radiated more magic than anything he had ever encountered — more than the Gringotts wards, more than any spell, more than any enchanted object he had studied.
"Her finest creation," Garrick whispered, gaze softening. "Ten and a half inches. Solid. Made from the branch of a cherry tree over a thousand years old. Harvested at full bloom during the night of a lunar eclipse."
Ted said nothing, but his eyes widened slightly. That alone would be considered an impossible find.
"And the core…" Garrick hesitated, as if savoring the memory. "A feather from a fully grown male thestral. A powerful one. Said to be able to turn invisible even to those who have already seen death." His voice carried a note of reverence. "It is the best wand I have ever laid eyes on."
Ted listened silently. He understood enough now to know that each element Garrick described was the kind of rarity that entire books were written about.
"Before she married, she left it here," Garrick continued. "Said that I would know when its rightful owner arrived. And I did. From the moment I saw you two years ago."
Ted's chest tightened.
"Elara's gift for wandmaking was unmatched," Garrick murmured. "But she had another talent. One far rarer."
Ted's head snapped toward him. "What was it, sir?"
"No titles," the old man said gently. "Call me Ollivander. Or Garrick." He rested his fingers lightly on the glass container. "Elara's raw magical ability was only above average. But her mind…" He shook his head with quiet wonder. "Her gift was one of the rarest of all. Prophecy. She could look into the future at will."
Ted stared. "'Is that actually possible? Most books say it's all fakes and madmen.'"
"Oh, it is real," Garrick said without hesitation. "Those who dismiss it do so out of spite or envy."
He lifted the glass cover with delicate care. The wand shimmered like something half-awake. The moment Garrick touched it with the tips of his fingers, a small blast of air burst outward, rattling the nearest shelf.
"Very dangerous, this one," he said calmly. "Extremely loyal. I must have disturbed its sleep."
"'Sleep?'" Ted echoed, doubtful.
"Yes. Sleep." Garrick offered him the wand with both hands. "Wands are alive, in their own way. They won't serve anyone they deem unworthy. And one like this…" His eyes sparkled. "It is half-sentient already. I would not be surprised if it achieves full sentience one day."
Ted's skepticism lingered. "'Alive…?'"
Garrick smiled faintly. "Anyone can make a wand. But very few can craft one. To create a great wand, you must know how to see, speak, and listen. Materials must match as if they chose each other. You cannot guess. There are too many combinations, most of them lethal."
He gestured at the shelves. "There are paths to wandmaking — logic, force, patience. But the greatest path is listening. That is what made the Ollivanders the best in the world. To walk that path, you must hear the materials." His gaze flicked to Ted. "Or see."
Ted felt something shift inside him.'So it really is an inherent ability… No wonder I never found it in any books. A family secret.'
With a quiet breath, he reached out.
He hesitated only a moment before closing his fingers around the handle, gripping it in the same precise way one might hold a knife.
The reaction was immediate.
Magic surged through him like a flood breaking through a dam. Heat spread from his stomach, rushing up his chest, his throat, down his arms and legs, and into his head. A warm wave — embracing, consuming, grounding him completely.
He closed his eyes.
He felt the magic circulate, then gather, then collapse inward as if drawn into a small, dense point at the center of his chest. For one brief moment, his heart felt impossibly warm, as though someone had cupped it gently in their hands.
And then —
It all vanished.
In its place lingered a faint silhouette: the figure of a woman riding a winged horse, shimmering like the afterimage of a dream. He could almost hear her voice.
"Happy birthday, son."
The image dissolved.
Ted inhaled sharply. His fingers tightened around the wand. When he opened his eyes, he felt something warm slide down his cheek.
For the first time since he was six years old —he was crying.