Ollivander remembers making and selling every wand that does him harm while he’s in the Malfoy basement.
It’s a matter of status in the castle, who the House team players trust to keep their wands during matches. Madame Hooch, by tradition, keeps the Captain’s wand, but usually the person the players trust the most keep their wands.
James and Sirius were so close, they could use each other’s wands interchangeably, with no adverse effects on their magic.
Wixen tend to be buried with their wands. Cremation, though can’t apply to wands. They won’t burn. Urns are typically sold with a slot on the side for the wand of the deceased.
Luna’s wand, an occamy feather core, was a family heirloom, something her father’s family line had kept until it chose someone. It chose her when she was eight, the day after she learned about occamies from a moving picture book, and passed the bookshelf where the wand box was kept. It jumped off the shelf towards her.
Fred and George have wands of the same wood and the same length, with different cores. The wands look the same, but have a different feeling to them.
After the end of the war, and after using borrowed wands for a few weeks, Hermione spent a few hours in Olivander’s shop looking for a new one. It took just as long to find her a second wand as it did to find the first, but the fit was just as right.
Parvati Patil is teeny tiny, but her wand is the longest in her year.
Fenrir Greyback used to own a wand, but it snapped during a skirmish with some Order members during the first war. He realized that day that he didn’t need one.
My Padma and Parvati for this week’s Harry Potter Design Challenge! When I looked up their book descriptions pretty much all you get is they were called the prettiest girls in their grade, they wore their hair in braids, and apparently they wore silver “P” necklaces (I don’t particularly remember this part but Oh well). You never hear much about Padma but Parvati always came off as a giggly fun loving girl to me. Although they were identical twins I didn’t want to just essentially make them the same person as twins are often portrayed as in media. I figured since they were sorted into different houses they must have very different distinct personalities. So I decided to make Padma a bit more serious and preppy than her sister. Hope you enjoy!! :D (PS since I went with book descriptions for characters I also went with the book version of the ravenclaw colors: blue and bronze instead of blue and silver like the movies.)
Let’s tell a story about
Voldemort’s death, but it won’t be the story in which a green eyed boy comes
back from the dead to defeat his enemy with his own wand. In this story, Harry
dies and doesn’t come back. When Narcissa stands up, her tangled words are not
a lie. The body Hagrid carries, trembling hands and shaky knees, his face wet
with tears– does not wake up. Did he just give up, decide not to fight anymore?
Or was he not given a choice this time?
Maybe he simply died, like that
redheaded boy did just before him, his last laugh still schoing in the air.
Because, in this story, death comes and strikes and opens wounds and leaves
scars. In this story, death is not a privilege nor a punishment. And it is
definitely not a choice.
But let’s get back to our story–
Molly’s light still hits Bellatrix right in the chest, her laughter spinning
around madly after her body falls to the ground. Neville still stands up, a
defiant look in his eyes. He still cuts off the snake’s head. He’s still a
hero. Even though he wouldn’t like being called that.
What about Ginny? She is finally
facing the monster who whispered in her head, alive in her nightmares. That
monster who killed her brother. That monster who killed Harry. That monster who
tried to eat her from the inside, slowly stealing her life until she became a
ghost. Well, you didn’t do a very good job. Would a ghost fight back? Because
she fights– she shouts and hits and hurts and kills– because right now she’s
made of rage and fury and desperation and she can’t hold it back anymore, so
she explodes and blows up the world.
Ron is there too, and his best
friend is dead and he is trying, so hard, to be good enough.
And Hermione is crying, whispering spells that hit their targets with precission,
her voice caught in sobbing but her hands steady with ruthlessness. Do you see
that blond girl over there? She’s named after the brightest light in the night,
and she’s the only thing that remains in all this madness.
In this story, there’s no trick and
no decepcion. There’s not a triumphant return from the dead, there’s no wand
refusing to kill its true owner because its true owner has already died.
In this story, there’s Neville
stepping forward, straight shoulders. There’s Ginny standing by his side, tears
running down her cheeks and fire in her eyes. There’s Ron, who has always been
quite good at being a hero, even though he hasn’t realized that yet. There’s
Hermione, who knew this could happen all those long nights when she couldn’t
sleep back in the woods. There’s Luna, and she’s still believing; and Dean and
Seamus, just behind her. There’s Parvati, and she’s not sure she’ll be able to
cast a proper spell ever again. There’s George, and he is ready to try.
In this story, there are kids, and
when a single curse comes out of their mouths and the whole world turns green
for a second, none of them feel like one.