Chaos and Order - A Multiverse Fanfic

Mr. Ollivander filled his lungs with a direly needed breath. "You must be familiar with the Law of Contagion, Darcie?"

Darcie's brows stood up on their ends. She nodded. "The belief that once two people or objects have been in contact, a magical link persists between them."

Mr. Ollivander smiled. "Good," he praised.

"In Core Resurrecting, we strengthen this magical link by letting the ingredient interact with an alive magical being. Or, a magical tree capable of giving wand woods in this case.

"When such a tree is found, preferably a plant, we cut a branch near the node on the stem. Then we hollow both parts of the branches in such a way that when the wand core is put there, half will remain on one side and half on the other.

"The middle of the wand core, now within the branch, will roughly align with the place where the cut was made. The current principle of Grafting has evolved from the Core Resurrecting method."

Darcie felt awed. "Then…"

Mr. Ollivander's smile broadened.

"You are good at inferring details, I knew," he commented. "Yes. Then we let the plant grow, nourishing the wand core, awakening it.

"Meanwhile, the wand core interacts with the wand wood, becoming something more than the individual parts.

"This is the resurrection of wand core, Darcie. At its core, we resurrect the wand core, making it behave as the magical creature from which it had been taken."

Darcie put a hand over her mouth.

Mr. Ollivander stood up.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" he said, his eyes gleaming. "The wands created in such a fashion possess a might like none before or after them.

"They are unique, formidable, and, in the right hands, a symbol of power and peace.

"In the wrong hands, a tool of death and destruction."

Darcie felt her breathing going awry. "But…"

Mr. Ollivander frowned.

"You are guessing right, child," he said. "Time. It is time that makes this method impractical.

"The more time you leave the wand core within the magical tree for nourishment, the greater the link. But beyond a limit, the link will begin deteriorating.

"A wandmaker must know when to graft the wand core inside the tree and when to collect it.

"Each magical tree and wand core is unique. So is the time needed. Some take dozens of years. Some decades.

"But the truest wands, the ones which can rival its ancestors in might, take centuries."

A wand which could rival scepters and staffs? Darcie thought, shocked. Hundreds of years…

"No such wand exists, now," Mr. Ollivander said. "One, almost none knows the spells and potions needed in the process. Two, there are few wizards or witches who can Cultivate such a wand. Three, you need to prepare for such wands; decades ahead.

"What makes us Ollivanders stand out in Wandmaking is this method, Darcie.

"An Ollivander carefully and secretly grafted wand cores into magical trees, and then the grandchildren collected them in their times. My grandfather did this, too. So did my father. So have I.

"And today, I will show you the Core Resurrecting method using one of these wand logs."

Darcie gaped. "You must not," she protested. "Why waste…"

Mr. Ollivander laughed.

"It's not a waste if you get to learn it, dear," he said, nodding to himself. "Which I am sure you will, given your brilliant mind. Now come. I have already made preparations."

"Preparations?" Darcie asked.

A rueful smile lingered on Mr. Ollivander's face.

"Hmm," he grunted. "It takes months to years to prepare such a wand log for carving. I have been preparing for this moment for a long time."

Darcie was stupefied. "Since when?"

Mr. Ollivander's eyes gleamed again, impressively red, like an obsessed, mad wizard.

 "When you came to visit me that evening… Since then. I knew such a time would come. Even if it hadn't, I had rather gambled on it just in case. Prudent, no? Blimey! Here we are!"

Darcie didn't know.

How could she have ever known or guessed the implications of a chance visit during an uneventful evening?

She didn't get to think over it, either.

Mr. Ollivander brought Darcie behind the shelves with the cases of wand cores.

There was nothing here but an empty floor.

The old wizard waves his wand, casting dozens of spells.

The air rippled and fumed. A grand, arching trunk materialized, laced with gold, silver, and lead.

With another wave of the wand, an eerie clinking noise came out of the trunk, gears spinning and locks opening.

Bang.

The trunk opened, revealing the treasures stored in it.

Three 3 ft long wooden logs were resting on a purple, sparkling cloth, each the width of a palm.

At one glance, there was nothing special about them. At another, one could taste the old magic rippling within and about them.

The old wandmaker had done something to them.

The preparation, he had called, Darcie noticed.

No matter how she observed or scrutinized the wooden logs, she couldn't tell the nature of the woods.

"Well," Mr. Ollivander said, "would you like to select one?"

"Can I?!" Darcie jumped, excited. "But how to choose?"

The old wizard chuckled.

"Just select one at random," he said. "The preparation procedure is lengthy and exorbitantly demanding of wealth. I couldn't afford to do it for all.

"So I selected three of the best from my collection. These should suffice, for there's no demand for them anymore, anyway. Perhaps you will not have to worry about prices, eh?"

Darcie blushed and looked down at the wooden logs.

If her master wanted to show her the complexity of spells involved in the Core Resurrecting method, then it didn't matter which particular wooden log she chose, right?

Darcie bent and touched the rightmost one.

And her ears exploded with a cry.

The cry was like the booms and rumbles of thunder, awing the heart.

The cry was like the crisp buzz of electricity, numbing the mind.

The cry was like the crack of a lightning bolt, blinding the eyes.

Mighty. Stupendously magical.

Arrogant, but Wise.

Darcie had heard it before, a very diluted and weak version of this cry.

It had happened in the Valley of Endless Rumbles.

It was the cry of a... Thunderbird!

Darcie had heard two Thunderbirds that time.

One had come from a Thunderbird fledgling, who had imprisoned her in its claws.

The other had come from a mature Thunderbird after she had escaped, falling into the valley.

None of those cries could hold a candle to the cry rumbling in her mind.

Even hundreds of adult Thunderbirds couldn't hope to match its majesty, it seemed.

The cry seeping into Darcie's mind through the wooden log felt… regal.

The cry belonged to no ordinary creature, but a King.

Darcie jerked her hand back as if shocked by the current, her face paling.

"What happened?!" Mr. Ollivander shuffled on his feet, concerned, but shocked the most.

Darcie looked up.

"You didn't tell me they would affect me upon touching them," she complained. "And didn't you say Ollivander's Wandlore concerns with only three wand cores; the supreme ones?

"This one has a Thunderbird King feather within it, no?"

Mr. Ollivander pulled Darcie back, sending her behind him, and looked at the wooden logs.

His mouth opened and closed several times, his lips going dry.

He bent and touched the rightmost log, closing his eyes.

After several breaths, he lifted the wooden log, turned around, and smiled at Darcie.

"Sorry about that," Mr. Ollivander apologized, a hidden mystery brewing in his old eyes. "Let's go."

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