The Return

The check-in at the Leaky Cauldron was seamless, and Tom greeted Callan's arrival with unwavering enthusiasm, openly praising his masterful Levitation Charm.

"I dare say, among the first-year students, you're certainly the most adept spellcaster!"

To which Callan expressed his gratitude with characteristic politeness.

Arranged by Tom, Callan was given room number eleven on the second floor. Coincidentally, it was the very room Harry had occupied before his third year.

Within this room stood a mirror that spoke.

After neatly arranging his luggage, Callan surveyed the space—a stark contrast in tidiness to the bar below, which made Callan suspect its disorder was a deliberate nod to the pub's historical ambiance.

"Not too shabby," Callan murmured to himself.

"Everyone thinks so after seeing the first floor," the mirror remarked gently.

Callan glanced at the mirror, offering a light chuckle, then drew his wand, tracing it with eager fingers. He recalled the books from Snape's home, silently practicing the spells they contained.

For the entire day, Callan sequestered himself, even foregoing meals. He cast aside thoughts of Snape and Lily, focusing solely on mastering his casting.

It was well into the evening when Callan finally stretched with a series of satisfying cracks.

"You need more exercise, child," the mirror advised.

Callan quirked an eyebrow, "In time, I will."

With that, he donned his wizard's robe and made his way out.

Familiar with the path, he left the Leaky Cauldron for Diagon Alley, now quiet with dwindling crowds and shuttered shops.

Observant and wand at the ready in his sleeve, Callan found himself once more before Ollivander's door.

"Chime."

"Hello, oh, you are..." Ollivander, busy arranging boxes, paused in surprise, "Mr. Sunstrider, the courteous young man from earlier today. Is there a problem with your wand?"

"Not at all, Mr. Ollivander," Callan said, slightly uneasy, "Actually, after leaving, I pondered many things regarding wands."

"Please, have a seat," Ollivander invited warmly, "Curiosity is always a cherished trait."

"Thank you," Callan settled on the bench as Ollivander poured tea for them both before inquiring, "So, what concerns you?"

"Well," Callan began with a hint of confusion, "Coming from the non-magical world, I've been wondering why one can only have a single wand. And I noticed many boxes remained unopened during my initial selection. Hence, my return for another trial."

"I see," Ollivander, experienced in such matters, replied patiently, "In wandlore, the wand chooses the wizard, which is evident. Thus, there should be an ideal match, although not absolute, it generally holds true."

"However," Ollivander stood, "an occasional experiment isn't amiss."

Callan returned a grateful smile.

As Ollivander retrieved new boxes, he continued, "You're not the first young wizard with such thoughts. As a wandmaker, I'm open to exploration, though perfect results are unheard of."

Ollivander placed a series of boxes before Callan, "Best brace for the possibility of failure, Mr. Sunstrider."

"Thank you for your trouble," Callan said, before methodically testing each wand.

With his prior experience, the process was swift, leaving a pile of empty boxes. The remaining ones dwindled, but Callan didn't falter, and Ollivander watched with hopeful eyes.

Soon, only one box remained at the bottom.

"It seems we're down to our last chance."

With complex emotions, Ollivander handed the final box to Callan.

Callan nodded solemnly and gently lifted the wand within.

There was no need for further trials.

At the first touch, Callan knew.

This was his second wand.

Equally flawless.

"Remarkable, truly remarkable!" Ollivander, noting Callan's reaction, stood excitedly, his hands trembling as he took the wand.

"Incredible," Ollivander marveled, then turned to a perplexed Callan, "This is a success, yet perhaps a failure—a dream of my youth. It was never realized, but the wand was fully crafted."

"Child, this is a wand of elder."

A jolt ran through Callan at those words.

"Elder," Ollivander continued, his fascination clear, "Eleven and a quarter inches, dragon heartstring core."

"The dragon heartstring, as you know, is a symbol of strength, hence my choice."

Callan nodded silently.

"As for elder..." Ollivander's obsession was palpable, "They possess immense power and disdain companionship with the unremarkable. Those with elder wands are often celebrated, no matter the duration of ownership."

"It's like a dream..."

Callan listened, then asked, "How common are such wand bearers?"

"Not common at all, extremely rare," Ollivander shook his head, "I've wished to match an elder wand with its owner, but it seemed only a legend. As for you..."

He looked at Callan, "In all my time selling wands, you are the only one."

Callan's eyes narrowed, and after a brief silence, he spoke, "You know I've just purchased a wand today."

"Yes," Ollivander nodded, "Eleven and a quarter inches, unicorn hair, whitewood. A symbol of absolute loyalty."

"Is this a common occurrence?" Callan asked, "Whitewood and elder, is that normal?"

Ollivander closed his eyes, pondering before shaking his head, "I'm sorry, child, elder wand bearers are almost always drawn to those chosen by yew wands. But whitewood..."

Again, he shook his head, "Perhaps it's a new direction in wandmaking, but I'm sorry, child, I've never heard of a connection between whitewood and elder."

After these words, the two fell silent.

For Callan's whitewood wand was unknowingly aimed at Ollivander.

"I apologize, Mr. Ollivander, I merely intended to purchase an additional wand for backup."

As Callan reached for the elder wand in Ollivander's hand, the old wandmaker released his grip, avoiding any damage to the wand.

"What a pity," Ollivander expressed, not in fear but in regret, "Such a pity. But I must correct you, it is the wand that chooses the wizard."

Callan nodded, "I'll remember that, Mr. Ollivander."

"Do you have doubts, child?" Ollivander remained seated, questioning, "Are you worried?"

"Yes, sir," Callan's fingers were steady, "The dragon heartstring and elder wood—it's hard not to think of a predisposition towards dark magic. I am concerned about that."

"Excellent memory," Ollivander praised, "But as I've said, while the wand chooses the wizard, it does not control them. The greater choices are always made by the wizard himself. In this, you have nothing to fear. Being chosen by whitewood and unicorn hair signifies much, child."

Ollivander, like a teacher to his student, imparted his wisdom.

"Thank you for your clarity," Callan thanked him genuinely, whispering, "Is there anything else you wish to say, Mr. Ollivander?"

Ollivander's gaze returned to the elder wand, his eyes filled with a profound enchantment.

"Treat it well, child, take good care of it."

"I shall."

"Forget all else."

A flash of light passed, and Ollivander's expression turned blank.

Callan said no more, placing the elder wand back into its box and concealing it within his robe before departing.

Stepping out into the cool night air, a chill spread through Callan.

And yet, he couldn't help but think to himself, with a hint of scorn.

"Wizards, they're all mad!"