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Chapter 23 – A Wand Worth Ten Thousand Galleons
Ollivander hadn't lied.
The wand really did cost ten thousand galleons.
Half of that sum would go to him, and the other half—so he claimed—was to be sent "back East," to whoever had provided the dragon's reverse scale.
To his credit, the old wandmaker almost looked guilty. He even suggested, quite earnestly, that Darren choose a cheaper wand instead.
Darren sighed heavily. He wanted to put the thing down.
But every time he pictured that magnificent dragon, pride prickled in his chest.
Fine. If this wand isn't worth it, I'll hunt that dragon down myself one day and demand a refund.
"Paggie," he said grimly, "pay the man."
The house-elf didn't even blink. She had once followed Master James on shopping trips that cost ten thousand galleons a day. And that was just for custom broom handles and impractical dress robes.
Compared to that, her young master's spending habits were downright saintly.
Still, as she counted out 9,999 galleons and 493 knuts, she decided it was time to put "earning money" back on her to-do list.
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When the last coin clinked into Ollivander's till, the wandmaker cleared his throat.
"Oh, there's one more thing the dragon asked me to give you."
He produced a thin, battered book.
Journey to the West.
Darren blinked. "A… book?"
"That's what my friend said," Ollivander replied with a shrug. "I studied it myself—apparently an ancient Eastern novel. I could never make heads or tails of it. Probably some poetic con to make the buyer feel the ten thousand galleons were worth it."
His smile was unmistakably smug.
Darren's eye twitched. Please. As if a Westerner could grasp the depth of Chinese literature.
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A few minutes later, Darren stumbled out of the shop, clutching his ten-thousand-galleon wand and looking like he'd just been mugged by destiny.
Behind him, Ollivander was already at his desk, scribbling two letters.
One was sent East, with a neat pouch containing five thousand galleons.
The other flew straight toward Hogwarts.
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Hogwarts — Headmaster's Office
An owl swooped in through the open window, dropping a sealed envelope onto Dumbledore's desk.
The old wizard adjusted his half-moon spectacles and opened it eagerly.
> Dear Albus,
As you might have guessed, your boy caused quite the scene. Every wand in my shop reacted to him—all of them. Even the ones tied to rather unpleasant former owners.
I can't tell whether that's good or bad; I'll let you be the judge.
To my surprise, he ignored every dark wand and gravitated toward those symbolizing purity and goodness. Perhaps he's building a wholesome public image? (Ha! Who would give up power for the sake of mankind? Even you wouldn't—ah, forgive me, old friend, I'm ranting.)
In short, this child will cost me nearly a hundred thousand galleons in the long run. My poor heart can hardly bear it.
And yes, he bought that dragon-scale wand—the one I once showed you—for ten thousand galleons. The thing isn't worth a tenth of that! Yet the wand chose him.
Yours, in financial ruin,
Garrick Ollivander
Dumbledore chuckled softly, laid the letter down, and began to write his reply in slow, measured strokes.
When he finished, he tied it to an owl's leg and sent it off into the evening sky.
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"Albus, is there something wrong with that child?"
The question came from a portrait above the desk—Dylis Derwent, the former Headmistress and famed healer.
Dumbledore looked up, smiling faintly. "No, Dylis. Darren is perfectly fine. I simply don't want news of what happened in Ollivanders to spread."
He tapped the desk thoughtfully. "From what I know, not even Merlin ever caused every wand to resonate."
He said it lightly, but Dylis caught the weight beneath the words.
Rarity meant danger. If people found out, Darren would become a target.
"Then lock him up before anyone else can!" another portrait barked.
Dylis spun around. "Phineas Nigellus Black, you're impossible! The boy hasn't done anything wrong!"
Phineas sniffed. "Wrong or not, I never liked troublesome children. In my day, anyone who broke the rules spent a night hanging upside-down in the Black Cellar. Those two Gryffindor twins running around now? I'd have expelled them already!"
Dumbledore smiled patiently. "Thank you for the advice, Phineas," he said, which was his polite way of saying please stop talking.
He turned back to his desk, his expression thoughtful once more.
"Ollivander is an old friend, but he loves to gossip. I may need to visit him soon."
Behind his glasses, his blue eyes gleamed.
An Eastern dragon… a wand… and Journey to the West.
Could it truly be coincidence?
And there was another question nagging him.
He had expected Darren to choose the cypress wand with the phoenix feather core—the one Dumbledore had sent him, believing it would suit the boy as it had suited his godfather, Remus Lupin.
Instead, Darren had chosen the dragon.
How could the dragon of the East be better than his phoenix?
This kid made the wrong choice!
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