Chapter 84: The Elder Wand — Replica
"Russell, give me a hand," Wednesday said after making a full circuit of the wand shop, gesturing for him to come over.
"What is it?" Russell walked over and followed the direction of her finger.
"This one… or that one?"
The shelves were packed tight with wand boxes. Russell couldn't tell which she meant.
"Why don't I just help you reach it?" he said, crouching down and letting Wednesday step onto his shoulders.
She stretched out her hand and, with uncanny precision, pulled out a black box that looked unusually ornate. Its surface seemed to be made of some kind of stone, and it was sealed with a lock.
Had she really found something special?
"This is…" Ollivander's expression turned complicated.
"What, is it not for sale?" Russell asked.
"No. It's just that this wand wasn't made by me," Ollivander replied. "It was left behind by my grandfather."
He took the box from Wednesday, raised his own wand, and lightly tapped the lock.
Click.
The lock sprang open.
The moment Russell saw what lay inside, his pupils contracted.
Resting on a bed of purple velvet was a wand segmented with knotted joints—its shape unmistakable.
It looked exactly like Dumbledore's wand.
"That isn't the El—"
Ollivander nodded. "Yes. It's a replica of the legendary wand."
"My grandfather once harbored great ambitions. He wanted to create a wand that could rival the Elder Wand itself."
"Following the legends, he cut a branch of elder wood by a riverbank, then went to extraordinary lengths to find a Thestral and obtain one of its tail hairs."
"But on the very day the wand was completed… he died under mysterious circumstances."
Russell sucked in a sharp breath.
Classic Ollivander family craftsmanship. A tragic masterpiece. A protagonist-grade artifact.
And it wasn't even meant for him.
"Can it be used?" Russell asked.
"Unfortunately, no," Ollivander said with a regretful shake of his head. "Perhaps elder wood and Thestral hair are fundamentally incompatible. This wand is… dead. It cannot channel magic at all."
If that weren't the case, this wand would have been sold long ago.
A replica of the legendary Elder Wand—crafted by a famed wandmaker who died mysteriously during its creation. What an irresistible sales pitch. Who wouldn't be tempted?
"Wednesday… how about we choose a different one?"
Russell lowered his head and spoke to her gently.
"No," Wednesday replied flatly. "I want this one. I feel that it suits me."
She stroked the wand, then placed her hand on its tip.
To Ollivander's horror, she snapped it in half with a sharp twist and tossed it onto the floor.
Just as Ollivander bent down in anguish to retrieve the broken tip, he witnessed a scene he would never forget in his lifetime.
The snapped tip regenerated—growing back seamlessly, as if it had never been broken at all.
"Th-this… this…"
He stammered, utterly at a loss for words.
Russell, on the other hand, felt that this was entirely fitting.
After all, who could love death more than Wednesday?
Some might argue that Voldemort loved death too—but that was different. Voldemort loved bringing death to others; death itself was something he could never endure. If he weren't terrified of dying, he would never have created Horcruxes in the first place.
Wednesday was different.
She loved death itself—impartially, sincerely, in all its forms.
Perhaps that was why this imitation Elder Wand acknowledged her.
"Mr. Ollivander," Russell said, "could you disguise this wand a little? I'm worried it might attract too much attention."
"Of course—of course!" Ollivander replied at once.
Wednesday looked displeased. She genuinely liked the wand's appearance, but Russell suppressed her objection with a single word.
"Be good."
She gave a short response and stood off to the side, frowning quietly.
As for Ron—ever since he got his new wand, he'd been grinning like an idiot. Russell could barely stand to look at him. What kind of life had the kid been living before?
Using his exceptional craftsmanship, Ollivander added a concealed outer layer to Wednesday's wand. It now looked completely ordinary, without adding noticeable weight.
For that service alone, Russell paid an extra ten Galleons.
Considering the wand itself only cost seven, it was outrageous.
Damn profiteer, Russell thought. No wonder you're rich.
He led them out of the shop.
The moment they stepped outside, Russell felt as if he'd bumped into a soft wall. He rebounded backward—only to be caught by a massive hand at the last second.
"Y'alright there?"
The deep, familiar voice rumbled beside him.
Russell looked up. Sure enough—Hagrid's huge face was filled with concern.
"Russell! So it's you," Hagrid said cheerfully. "Don't worry—Ice Cream's doing just fine with me."
"That doesn't really worry me," Russell replied, his eyes already drifting past Hagrid.
Just as he expected, there was a timid-looking boy standing nearby.
"Harry Potter," Russell murmured.
"Hagrid… is this Professor Dumbledore's assignment?"
"You guessed right," Hagrid said nervously. Though he was trying to whisper, to Russell it sounded like someone shouting through a megaphone.
"Don't tell anyone—this is top secret."
"Of course, of course," Russell said with a smile.
Honestly, once Dumbledore entrusted a secret to Hagrid, it stopped being a secret altogether.
Though now that I think about it… Hagrid eats a lot too, Russell noted idly.
"See you at school, Harry Potter," Russell said, waving as he slipped past.
Wednesday scanned Harry up and down with a blank expression, then lost interest.
Ron was still basking in the joy of his new wand, completely oblivious to everything around him.
Once they'd gone some distance, Wednesday tugged lightly at Russell's robe.
"So that's Harry Potter?" she said. "He doesn't seem very remarkable."
"You can't judge people by appearances," Russell corrected her. "Harry's the quietly impressive type."
"But aren't you impressive both inside and out?"
A faint smile tugged at her lips.
"Low profile," Russell said solemnly. "All I can say is—low profile."
Despite his words, his grin nearly reached his ears.
"Huh? What were you guys talking about?" Ron finally asked, snapping out of his daze.
"Nothing," Russell said calmly. "Ron—your family's here."
"Oh no… I'm dead," Ron said, his face instantly draining of color.
Because charging toward them wasn't the Weasley twins—
—but a furious Mrs. Weasley, with Percy and Ginny close behind.
"Ronald!" she panted. "Do you have any idea how worried you made me?!"
"I'm sorry, Mum, I—"
Before Ron could finish, Russell smoothly cut in.
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