The chest opened once more with a groan, and the air in the shop thickened.
Dust and memory hung heavy, but beneath it was something else—a pulse.
A living heartbeat, ancient and patient.
Ollivander emerged slowly, his thin hands gripping a long box blacker than pitch.
It was bound by three silver clasps, each etched with sigils Cassius had only ever seen in all texts he purchased or given access to under his mentor.
The old man's expression was grave, almost reverent, as he set it down upon the counter.
Cassius didn't breathe.
"This," Ollivander whispered, brushing his fingertips over the lid, "was not made by me, nor by my father, nor his before him. It was the work of Antioch Ollivander, my great-great-grandfather. Forged during the years when witchfire still burned on every hill, when magic was feared, and wandmakers were hunted, for granding 'weapons' to witches."
His voice trembled—not from weakness, but awe.
"He built it as a defiance, to serve a lord or king who would help wizardkind resist the muggles onslaught, sadly he died before finding it's match."
Cassius's magic pulsed in response, restless, eager.
Ollivander's eyes flicked up, catching the boy's expression.
His tone darkened.
"A word of warning. This wand is… willful. It has not been touched by any hand in over two hundred years. And the last who tried was killed just for the attempt."
The wandmaker undid the first clasp.
The lights in the shop dimmed.
The second fell open, and the temperature dropped, the glass panes frosting from the corners inward.
The third gave way with a slow, metallic sigh.
When Ollivander lifted the lid, a single breath seemed to ripple through the shop.
Inside, resting on black velvet, was a wand unlike any Cassius had ever seen.
It was dark—deeper than ebony, more alive than shadow.
Veins of golden resin ran through it, faintly glowing, giving off a scent of something sacred and ancient: agarwood.
Even before it was revealed, Cassius's body reacted.
His magic flared unbidden, racing beneath his skin like fire in a network of veins.
He could feel it—calling him.
Ollivander hesitated, his fingers trembling.
"Agarwood," he said softly. "Extremely rare. Wood said to grow only when a tree is struck by lightning and wounded by time. It absorbs the world's pain, and in return, grants unmatched resilience."
He swallowed, voice barely a murmur now.
"And within it… a core of True Dragon heart."
Cassius's eyes widened.
"Not—heartstring?"
"No," said Ollivander. "Not the tamed fibers we harvest from dragon corpses today. This is… the smelted heart itself, molten and purified through alchemy. A single drop of the creature's essence, bound into the wood. It is not a core for the faint-hearted. Its loyalty is absolute—but only to its bloodline."
Cassius said nothing.
He didn't need to.
His chest burned with recognition.
"The records claim," Ollivander went on, "that this wand was made for a wizard whose blood carried the mark of an ancient bloodline. For all others, the wand remains inert. Silent. Many have tried to claim it. And some died being forceful trying to bend it to their will."
He looked up, eyes narrowing.
Cassius barely heard him.
The hum in the air was deafening now, resonating with his heartbeat.
It was as if the wand itself knew him—had been waiting.
He reached forward.
"Wait," Ollivander said sharply, but the warning came too late.
Cassius's fingers brushed over the wand.
The world changed.
The air rippled outward in a violent wave.
Shelves rattled, boxes toppled, glass cracked in spiderwebs.
A low, guttural roar tore through the room—a sound no human throat could produce.
It came from everywhere and nowhere, vibrating through the floorboards, through the bones of both wizard and boy.
Cassius didn't flinch.
His eyes widened, alight with golden light reflecting the wand's pulse.
In that moment, it was as if a second voice was overlapped with the low growl, 'Master' it called out to him.
Then silence.
When the light faded, Cassius stood perfectly still, his hand wrapped fully around the wand's hilt, as if it had jumped into his hand after a simple touch of his fingers.
Ollivander's chest rose and fell rapidly, his face pale.
Every hair on his arms stood on end.
He could feel the bond now too—it was undeniable.
The wand had chosen, but even before then the wizard had chosen it.
The wandmaker's voice was a hoarse whisper.
"Merlin's bones… You felt it, didn't you?"
Cassius opened his eyes.
They glowed faintly, black iris's like his fathers, but now ringed in gold, like dying embers.
"Yes," he said quietly. "It recognized me, and accepted me as it's master."
Ollivander stared, mouth slightly open.
"That wand has lain dormant for generations. It would seem young man that you possess a claim to a heritage possibly older than my own, just remember that a wand is just a focus point and that in the end it is what we do with our magic that matter most."
Cassius smiled faintly.
He afterall knew he was descended from two pure-blood lines though watered down a little with muggleblood but neither of these pureblood families were exactly mythical so to speak which confused him.
The wand pulsed once in his grasp, a gentle thrum—alive, alert, loyal.
Ready to serve its handlers command at a moments notice.
Ollivander stepped back, his curiosity giving way to apprehension.
"Be warned, boy. That wand is said to amplify magic beyond ordinary limits. Its bearer may cast spells that strain the boundaries of safety, even sanity. It does not serve the wizard—it tests him. If your will falters, it may consume you."
Cassius's gaze met his, steady and calm.
"Thank you for the warning, i will do my best to not falter."
For a long moment, the two stood in silence, the air humming faintly with the wand's lingering magic.
Finally, Ollivander exhaled and bowed his head.
"Then it seems the wand has spoken. I will not interfere with what destiny decrees."
He slid the empty box aside, though his hand lingered a moment longer on the velvet, as though mourning the end of a long vigil.
"May you wield it wisely, Cassius. Few wizards are chosen by such a companion."
Cassius turned the wand once in his hand, feeling the balance, the weight, the living warmth beneath his fingertips.
it thrummed faintly to his heartbeat, perfectly in tune.
"Seven gold galleons young man."
Ollivander stated as Cassius was still immersed in his new wand.
Cassius tilted his head at this, seven galleons for a near mythical tier ancient wand... had the old man gone senial?
"Don't worry this is an agreement wandmakers have for all young wizards first wands, it might be a loss but for centuries this wand had gone without a partner, to think that i would even charge to give it to you seems like an insult so worry not."
Cassius nodded his head in understanding, Olivander was afterall seeing the affirmation of his family legacy, almost as fufilling as getting his hands on the mythical elderwand itself.
But a wand wasnt all Cassius needed, after pulling the required galleons from his wallet, he also chose to get a black dragon leather holster, and wand cleaning kit.
Having strapped his new companion to his thigh, and putting away the cleaning kit and wandbox into his bag of holding (messenger bag with undetectable extension charm) cassius made to leave the shop.
The door chime dingling as he left.
Leaving Olivander to remain within the shop, watching as the young lad left with a wand that would surely do great deeds in service of its partner.
But the curiosity within him of just who Cassius really was knawed at him.
It did until he looked at the front desk, still littered with wand boxes from the recently tests, with a flick of his own wand these quickly returned to their boxes before floating through the air back to their places on the shelves, but once this was complete a pouch was spotted on the desk underneath them.
Seeing this the old man approached and opened the pouch only to find that it was filled to bursting with gold galleons, and if he were to tip it over and spill the contents he would find a hundred thousand galleons now in his possession.
Cassius afterall was not accepting of receiving such a valuable relic for such a low fee, even if its purpose was fufilled Olivander and his family had still created and cared for it until it found his hand.