Right after the choosing of the champions...

The antechamber was a bit crowded, what with the official from the Department of Magical Games and Sports, the twelve champions, their Headteachers, members of the press and, of course, the wizened and stooped old Wandsmith Garrick Ollivander. 

He had a head of wild white hair and a face deeply lines as if he'd lived a thousand lives.  But his eyes were sharp and his fingers were long, knobbled and nimble. 

It had only been moments that these young witches and wizards had learned they would be champions and so there was a real air of confusion among them, tension and excitement.  Ollivander's task was traditional, ceremonial, and perhaps simple, yet it was totally vital.  He was to ensure that all wands were in perfect working order, and on another level, make certain that none of the champions were in danger.  In the hands of a wandsmith of Ollivander's calibre, casting but one spell could tell the man volumes, revealing the whole life of the wand, and the habits of the weilder.

"Adults, stand away and let the champions come forward," he said in his gravelled voice, beckoning the twelve students closer. 

"Wands out, let's see them, please."

The enthusiasm of his fellow students didn't die down, abating a little for the calling of names but flaring up again every interim. People clapped Erin the back, tugged at his shirt, threw arms around his neck, chanted his name. He was cheerfully half-strangled, kissed on the cheek, nearly knocked out of his chair, pulled back up again; some of the male students told him he'd better win (or else), and more than one girl dropped into his lap or ruffled his hair - wow, okay, being champion wasn't so bad. For a bloke who usually kept to himself, it was pretty overwhelming; Erin's mind was all in a daze. He grinned back and ducked his head under the attention but his gaze as it dragged across the other champions was uncertain. When the ceremony ended, helping hands levered him up and pushed him towards the trail of others headed for the weighing.

There was nothing doing now but to try to win, no matter how surprised he'd been when his name was called. Erin wasn't the type to dwell on insecurities; he knew his faults, but he wasn't going to bloody complain about them. He'd just have to act like he knew what he was doing or risk letting down his house (despite the internationals standing right there, Erin had yet to extend the concept of winning towards the honor of Hogwarts). And in the meantime, he'd train. They'd said to meet for the first task at the Quidditch field, after all. Maybe he'd get lucky and it'd be a task for flying.

"Wands out, let's see them, please."

He stepped forward with a confidence about half-pretend and held his wand out for Ollivander. Erin remembered the wizard from when he'd first gotten his wand; turns out that gimlet stare hadn't gotten any less unsettling over the years. It was like Ollivander could see into his soul, and on the whole the old man found it very amusing.

Though his grasp of the English language was sparse, he understood two words that the old man uttered. Wand and please. The boy shifted his gaze to the left, where one of the Hogwarts champions had stepped forward, holding out his wand without second thought. Ah. So they wanted to inspect his wand. He now knew what would be expected of him when his turn came down the line.

Even so, Teodosio doubted this... Ollivander's ability to properly deduce anything about a wand. He was old, and his wands seemed to be much different from the ones manufactured in his home country or elsewhere in the world. Though the Beauxbatons boy knew little about wand creation, the simple fact the man was not Italian lessened his opinion of the wandmaker considerably.

He clutched his wand at his side. It was a magnificent piece of work. Exactly thirteen inches long- made of a dark Padauk wood. The core was a phoenix feather. The wood of his wand was incredibly rigid. But the part that stood out most was the design. The shaft was decorated in intricate swirls, it was hard to tell where the pattern began or ended. The handle of the wand had multiple precious jewels inlaid. It was a true work of art. A very expensive work of art. Teodosio rarely let anyone else touch his wand. So handing it over to the old man was not something he was looking forward to doing.

Teodosio watched on curiously to see how the wand examination was to be performed. If the old man did anything to harm or scuff his wand, Teodosio would be most displeased. He took better care of his wand than he did of any of his other possessions. The wand made a wizard what he was- and without it, a wizard was nothing.

The first lad stepped up and Ollivander turned towards him to accept the wand with both hands. 

"You r name, sir?" he asked in his old way of speaking.  And quickly someone nearby provided it for them.  "Erin Harper."

Ollivander could see from his robes that he was from Slytherin, but he was less concerned about the boy than he was about the wand.  He held it up level in front of his watery, red eyes under bushy white eyebrows.

"Hmm....!" he said.  "A nice English ash... twelve inches... and what have I put in there...oh yes... a dragon's heartstring..."

Ollivander seemed to rememeber every wand he'd ever made, but at the same time it seemed impossible.

"Knobbly and rigid and well-used..."

Only then did old Ollivander take the wand up with a deftness and familiarity, and cast a spell into the air over the table.[1]

A bundle of tight tongues of fire came forth, danced, burned and disappeared.

"Very nice.  Perfect working order and I can tell there's a fire in you, Mr Harper."

He handed back the wand in the same manner he'd received it, carefully cradled in both hands.  "Trust your wand and not your knuckles when the time comes."


"Next...?"

1.	Bluebell Flames

Sasha still felt awkwardly out of place, standing on one side of the trio of Hogwarts champions.  More than likely, he was still as much of an unknown entity to the students from the other schools as they were to him but he knew the Gryffindor and Slytherin standing next to him from years of shared classes.  Were they as surprised and confused as to why Sasha was standing there with them as he, himself, was?  Or, were they still so distracted by their own euphoria that they hadn't really considered the implications of their designated co-champions? 

The Ravenclaw recognized the wizened man that awaited them in the antechamber though he'd only recently met him.  For the first four and a half years of his magical education, Sasha had made due with that old wand he'd found in the lost and found at the start of his first year.  It hadn't been until part way through his fifth year that Sasha had finally made his way to Ollivander's shop and met the man properly, when he'd acquired his first properly chosen wand.

That wand had died a very premature death a month later when his parents had discovered his magical ability and had tossed his wand and whatever other wizarding paraphernalia they'd found on him in the fireplace.  He'd purchased a second wand shortly before returning to school but that one had also met an untimely death less than a month later at the hands of Callum Knight.  He'd reverted to using his original, mismatched wand but it, too, was broken the night it had sealed Ava Grosvenor's fate. 

The wand that Sasha tugged from his pocket was the sole survivor of the previous year and one he'd, initially, avoided using until it had no longer been a choice.  He still didn't know the composition or traits of the wand he'd won when he'd killed that Ashford fellow but it proved to work more seamlessly for him than any of his previous wands.  He was certain it was not an Ollivander wand[1], but hopefully, the man would be able to tell him what it was made of. 

1.	Black Limba and Purpleheart Wand

A tall blonde boy came up next, also in Hogwarts colors.  And in the same way, Ollivander accepted the wand into his hands with open palms, like receiving some offering or handling a samurai sword. 

Once he had it, he held it carefully and gently.  But with this wand, there was a lack of familiarity in his hands.  The first thing he said was...

"Not one of mine..."  He didn't seem personally offended, but he did seem surprised.  It had a proper, traditional handle, and the wood was a bright purple color.

"Shaft of purpleheart and a handle of black limba, curious to find at Hogwarts."  Exotic, flashy woods and beneath his attentive fingers he perceived a volatile and strange core, again - not one of his powerful cores, but someone else's.

He did not yet grip the handle, instead, "Have you won this wand, young sir? It tugs for you yet, even as I hold it.  That kind of loyalty in a wand is not often seen in a wand that has not been won in a duel.  Careful that it doesn't run away with you."

Ollivander, as good at faces as he was with people, saw some flicker of conflicted acknowledgement on Sasha's face, and felt satisfied.  But still yet, he didn't much like this wand somehow.  Nevertheless, he took the wand by the handle and waved it over their heads. 

"Aguamenti!"   A spout of water erupted forth with vigor.  It curled in the air, a snake of clear clean water, before it lost it's form and fell onto the table cloth with the patter-pats of droplets hitting the hard surface.  "Ah...!  It makes sense now."

"It's a manticore's hair you've got in there.  Could be a Gregorovich.  Working order, safe to play!" he declared, and then handed the wand back.


As I said, feel free to NPC Ollivander yourself, or PM this account with your wand info and some nugget of interesting info, and I'd be pleased to do it for you.

Josh watched carefully as other students went up first, Sasha had a particularly interesting wand. That does sound like wand he would have won, rather than bought, although he could have gone to another wandmaker.. Fianlly, Josh walked up, drawing his wand from the holster he used. handing it over, he waited to hear the verdict, hoping it would be good. he was fastidious about caring for the wand, knowing it could be all that stood between him and death, especially in this tournament.

The third Hogwarts student came forward and presented his wand.  Ollivander gave him a look and could see this was a dedicated lad - and my, it even showed in his wand.  It looked nearly new.

"Ah ah ah...!" he breathed as he took it, immediately recognizing it as one of his own.  "Yes yes yes..."

He let it lay in his open hands for a moment, feeling its weight, its light heft. 

"Hornbeam wood and Phoenix tail feather - a solid combination, Mr. Harcroft," he said in his graveled voice, his face wrinkled in familiarity with the wand, like one looking on a nostalgic photography. 

"Feels as strong as the day it was wrought.  You've cared for it well."

He handled the wand almost as if it were his own and cast the Drought Spell on the dampened tablecloth.  The entire tablecloth fluttered up a few inches and the web spot disappeared. 

He handed the wand back to Joshua.  "Ship-shape and Bristol fashion this wand.  Tell me, young sir, how fares its brother?"

"I don't know how it's brother fares, sir, since you didn't tell me when I purchased it. I had assumed it's brother was unsold. Unless one of my classmates bought my wand's brother?" Josh asked, his face honestly curious, his tone respectful. It had been a mystery to Josh, and one he had expended quite a lot of effort in figuring out, since he knew that if his wand fought it's brother, the Priori Incantatem would occur. The Reverse Spell Effect.

"By Merlan, Mr. Harcoft!"  Old Ollivander seemed aghast that such an important detail had never been passed onto the boy.  What a brain he had.  He clasped his hands over his head and shrugged.  "The brother to this wand has been under your nose all along."

He winked at the teenage lad.  "The elder brother chose your father in oh ... 1968.  Quite satisfying was it to see the younger choose you...Good lad.  Next!"

He looked now to the students not of Hogwarts, who stood around the table nearest him.  Tidy lads from Beauxbatons, a towering maid from Salem, and a severe trio from Durmstrang - their wands were a great curiosity to him.   He eyed them curiously.

Corey hung back at the wand weighing ceremony, because he saw that the other boys all had impressive or ornately decorated wands that seemed to be kept in pristine condition, like his classmate, Teodosio's. And listening to the old Wandmaker assess them, Corey noted that their appearance seemed of great importance. It impressed him.

Instinctively, his fingertips curled around the knobs of his wand's handle. He didn't expect the piece of black palm to be at all impressive to this man.

It wasn't that Corey was less careful of his wand, but by nature, he was a more active lad, especially when compared to his pureblooded Beauxbatons brethren, Medici and Oliver. Neither looked like they had experienced a days worth of hardship -- be it courted or thrust upon them -- in their entire lives. They simply looked....perfect.

Gaubert saw his wand as an extension of himself in all of his adventurous endeavors. And that had often meant interacting with magical beasts in the wild. Even as part of a group and under the watchful care of supervisors with more experience than he could only hope to gain some day, Corey had spent his share of time sprawled in the dirt. His wand suffered similar treatment through the years, tossed about and accruing a fair share of dings and scratches in the quests to capture or subdue a beast to two. Despite his desire to work more exclusively with dragons, Corey did harbor a fantastical pipe dream to someday join an expedition team that ran off the dangerous Nundus in Africa. He'd read about them and it seemed to be the ultimate adventure for a lover of magical beasts such as himself, no matter the risk involved.

It was this kind of activity that provided Corey with a sense of pride in his wand's wear and tear but now he almost felt embarrassed by it. Would this wandmaster think that he was careless? Reckless? Or would he see the worth of a wand's owner who used it to the fullest? 

Seeing the old man's expectant gaze fall over the foreign students, Corey made the decision to get the assessment over. Corey straightened to his full height and stepped forward. "Voici, monsieur," he said quietly, with a bow of his head as he offered up the plain and worn wand that had been his constant companion for the past years.

Josh was shocked, and temporarily speechless. his wand was the brother of his father's wand. "My wand's brother... dad's wand?" was all he could get out, before unsteadily walking back to his seat. Then he remembered. "And Dad's wand is faring well. getting a bit worn, as you'd expect after over 40 years, but still works fine, last I heard." He called to Ollivander, the shock finally fading. He was, however, muttering under his breath about his lock and the fact he should have known.

Ollivander's smile was wide, deeply crevassed and warm, nearly crinkling his eyes shut, at hearing that both of the Harcroft brother wands were well.  He was also very amused that the father and son had not suspected after all these years.  But then, harmony was more often overlooked than dissonance.  It was, perhaps, a credit to the well-made wands that their harmony was as natural as drawing breath and therefore caused the family to become used to the tranquility.

A tall, strapping young man stepped forward next, in the pale blues and greys of Beauxbatons.  "Ah ah ah...!"  He took the wand perhaps more eagerly, hoping very eagerly to see a wand from abroad and understand the intents of its maker.  It was a curiosity, and a pleasurable one.

"Corey Gaubert." An adult in the crowded little room supplied his name, right after the boy greeted him politely.

Ollivander's face immediately changed to an expression he hadn't yet held in this ceremony.  And with this wand he handled it somewhat more casually, or like a misbehaving little boy. "Hmmm...!" he said deeply.  He rapped the wand stoutly against his palm as if he was trying to fix a stopped watch.

He looked up a moment at Mr. Gaubert.  He said accusingly.  "Kelpie Hair, hm?" 

It was an inferior core.  And judging by that and the state of it, it must be a very old wand.  No wand-maker of any repute, according to Ollivander, was still using the unruly Kelpie Hair core.  It required such brute force to wield. 

"What is this.  Black Palm."  He approved more of that wood, although it was garish.  And suddenly it revealed to him. 

"This, my boy, is an Ollivander wand.  I have the nearly infallable suspicion this was crafted by my father 90 years ago..."  This seemed to ruminate deeply for Ollivander, who almost said it more for himself than the wand's owner.

He suddenly took the wand and cast a spell.  A sparkle of green light appeared at the center of the table, and from it, sprigged a winding green sprout that grew, thickened and sprouted a little white flower. 

"The wand is sound.  And I take it the wand works well enough for you, Mr. Gaubert.  It's not the wand, but the wielder that shapes a wizard's own destiny."  It almost sounded like an apology as he handed back the instrument.

"Next."

Taryn didn't know too much 'bout this whole 'weighing of the wands' ceremony thing, but it seemed only right to let the host school go first, so she held back while the Hogwarts kids took their turns. In truth, she felt a little out of pace. Not with Tracey and Anderson -- unlike Hogwarts, Salem could make a team no matter where they spent the night -- but in comparison to the other female Champions. The three Durmstrang girls looked all tiny, feminine and elegant in their long school dresses. Next to them in her slacks and tie, Taryn felt even larger and clumsier than usual.

When the last Hogwarts kid wrapped up his Weighing, Taryn tried to brush her complexes about height and fashion sense aside, but was beaten to it by one of the Beauxbaton boys. When his was all wrapped up, she stepped forward. "I'll go, then. Name's Taryn Dickenson. Salem, of course. Nice to meet'cha, Mister O."

She flipped her wand from the holster at her waist and handed it to the old man grip-first. At eighteen-and-a-quarter inches, it was longer by half than those of her opponents and only just big enough around to contain the Peruvian Vipertooth heart-string inside.

"Ah," said Mister Ollivander, running his long fingers along the length. If he made any connection between the length of the wand and the height of its owner, he kept it to himself but for a few soft chuckles. He traced its shape and turned it over in his hand before coming to a conclusion. "This is a Crier creation. But it doesn't quite seem like Adrian's handiwork."

Taryn chuckled. "You do know your stuff. His niece made it. Part of the first batch she ever made as his apprentice." Adrian Crier came from a line of Texas wandmakers that stretched back to the Old Three Hundred. He'd initially scolded Melia, his niece, for wasting the potent heart-string on a wand no wizard could properly handle, but had apologized the moment Taryn took hold of it. "She said the wood wouldn't break into anything shorter. Not for this one."

Nodding sagely, Ollivander continued with his analysis. "Sycamore and dragon heart-string." He seemed much more satisfied with that combination than the kelpie hair of before. "Very active, this wand. I'd wager it's prone to being adventurous and temperamental, but it seems content in your hands. Perhaps such a dangerous game is right up your alley... Avis."

With a flick, three small blue-and-violet birds burst from the end of Taryn's wand. They twittered and fluttered around in a cluster before landing on the hand Taryn held out for them. Smiling, she scratched one under the chin with her finger.

"And an animal lover. " Ollivander sounded amused. He flicked the wand again, faded the conjured birds away, and returned it to Taryn as it had been handed to him. "Everything's in order. Enjoy your new adventure. Next?"