Birthday Gift: The Wand
I meant to post this as soon as I got back, but time slipped away from me.
Title: The Wand
Rating: G
A Gift For: willowwand
Word Count: 1,056
A/N: The belated birthday present for willowwand! She asked for a short about Ron’s wand. I have to say, this is a perfect example on how you can go in thinking you’re going to go in one direction - then when you start writing, and the plot-bunny decides to takes sudden u-turn in a completely new direction.
It had once been one of the thinner branches of a large willow tree overlooking a lake. Though It did not know which lake, or even remember what it had looked like, the memory of what if felt like to be there was clear.
Protected, because the small, fierce guardians made sure the willow was safe from the sharp pain of an ax or the hateful burning fire. In return, It let the creatures crawl among its branches and raise their young.
Strong, because the lake had water to that kept It strong so It could stand against the beating rain and frigid winters. From Its first planning, the willow knew water meant survival, and it was always thirsty.
Aware, because willows felt more than other trees. It knew what need was-all trees did-but willows also knew anger and sadness and fear and joy. The lake and the forest surrounding it were full of things that were needed of Its awareness.
The morning was warm when everything changed. It felt the ground tremor faintly as footfalls wandered over the leaves-not the quiet steps of hooves and paws, but the something hardier, taller than the forest creatures.
Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch-
It was man. The willow immediately quivered in anger at the sound It recognized too well. Why did it have to be here? Man brought fire. Man brought the ax. Man brought destruction.
The guardians must have known it was angry, for the willow felt them chatter threateningly at the man, but soon they left without warning to feast hungrily on something the man threw on the ground, and the willow suddenly felt very vulnerable.
It waited for the pain on Its the trunk, but none came as long slender fingers touched Its bark, and the willow was surprisingly soothed. It knew this man to be very old, for the way it gently felt along the willow’s branches was with a reverence rarely shown in the young.
“Lots of magic here,” the Old One muttered. “It seems a shame to disturb it, but one should be enough.”
There was not as much pain when the small branch was sliced off from the rest of the tree, but It knew instantly It was no longer part of the larger tree. It did not feel protected as It was taken out of the light and into the warm of a sack. It did not feel strong as It was carried away from the lake. But It was still all too aware - aware of the fear and confusion and anger, and aware that the branch would never be at that special place again.
The willow branch remembered little about the many days that was spent created It into a wand. It did remember the strange sort of magic flowing through It as a long unicorn hair was place inside the core-though It could not recall how it go there-and the way the gentle hands had carefully carved and whittled It into perfection.
It felt a strange, almost sluggish power within as the Old One put It in the box and placed It on the shelf.
Willows define time by the seasons, but though there was no such thing in the box, the wand knew It stayed upon that shelf for a long while.
There were instances, however, where the wand was taken out of the box and placed in the hand of a young girl or boy. Yet every time, the willow wand did not like the way their fingers felt around It’s base, and the magic remained sluggish within.
Though It did not know how long It sat there, It did remember that much of that time was spent next to a powerful vine wand with a dragon heartstring core. Vine did not feel like willows did, but instead had a knowing quality that came from seasons and seasons of growing and watching, and there was a goodness the willow wand liked.
But one day when It heard the eager chatter of a girl outside its box, It felt the vine wand taken off the shelf.
It was never put back.
The wand continued to be taken out of the box, but was put back in every time.
It had just about give up the hope of leaving its imprisonment for good, when something unexpected happened.
“Ah, a Weasley,” the Old One said. “You’re a tad later than other students, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I-er-kind of snapped the wand I had, so-” The wand realized that the boy was alone and vulnerable, like It had been long ago.
“Hm, birch and unicorn hair-thirteen and a quarter. Belonged to Bilius Weasley. Poor fellow.”
“I know he’s past eleven, Mr. Ollivander-but it’s obvious he needs an new wand and-”
“Mum-”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Weasley. I have no doubt that Ronald’s real wand is still waiting for him.”
Something about this boy brought a strange interest to the willow wand, and for the first time, it called out-pleaded-to the Old One that It would be taken out of the box.
As always, a few wands left the shelves, though it wasn’t long before they were put back. Then, at last, the willow wand felt the light shine upon It as the top was open.
“How about this one? Fourteen inches, unicorn hair and the wood of a rather fine willow.”
The cold fingers of the Old One picked it from the confines of the box, and gently gave it to the boy.
It was as though It were at the lake again. It felt protected and strong and aware all at once, and the magic within ignited like a small fire. It was the connection It had secretly longed for without realizing it, and when It was slashed through the air, it seemed perfectly acceptable to show Its joy by spurting out blue sparks.
“Ah, a fine wand Mr. Weasley-a very find wand,” he Old One said, and to the wand’s dismay, it was placed back in the box. It wanted-needed-to feel that magical connection again.
Yet, It did not go back onto the shelf. It kept moving within the confines of its box, and somehow it knew that the boy-Ronald, the Old One had called him-was near.
A/N: I hope this made as much sense to you as it was in my head.
I figured that since Charlie wouldn’t just give his wand to Ron if it was really his, he must have gotten it from someone who didn’t need it. Bilius seemed right to me for some reason.
This was probably one of the most interesting fics that I’ve gotten to write-I’m looking forward to what you guys think.
I’m glad to hear you had a good birthday, Willow! I wish I could’ve posted this earlier!
Title: The Wand
Rating: G
A Gift For: willowwand
Word Count: 1,056
A/N: The belated birthday present for willowwand! She asked for a short about Ron’s wand. I have to say, this is a perfect example on how you can go in thinking you’re going to go in one direction - then when you start writing, and the plot-bunny decides to takes sudden u-turn in a completely new direction.
It had once been one of the thinner branches of a large willow tree overlooking a lake. Though It did not know which lake, or even remember what it had looked like, the memory of what if felt like to be there was clear.
Protected, because the small, fierce guardians made sure the willow was safe from the sharp pain of an ax or the hateful burning fire. In return, It let the creatures crawl among its branches and raise their young.
Strong, because the lake had water to that kept It strong so It could stand against the beating rain and frigid winters. From Its first planning, the willow knew water meant survival, and it was always thirsty.
Aware, because willows felt more than other trees. It knew what need was-all trees did-but willows also knew anger and sadness and fear and joy. The lake and the forest surrounding it were full of things that were needed of Its awareness.
The morning was warm when everything changed. It felt the ground tremor faintly as footfalls wandered over the leaves-not the quiet steps of hooves and paws, but the something hardier, taller than the forest creatures.
Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch-
It was man. The willow immediately quivered in anger at the sound It recognized too well. Why did it have to be here? Man brought fire. Man brought the ax. Man brought destruction.
The guardians must have known it was angry, for the willow felt them chatter threateningly at the man, but soon they left without warning to feast hungrily on something the man threw on the ground, and the willow suddenly felt very vulnerable.
It waited for the pain on Its the trunk, but none came as long slender fingers touched Its bark, and the willow was surprisingly soothed. It knew this man to be very old, for the way it gently felt along the willow’s branches was with a reverence rarely shown in the young.
“Lots of magic here,” the Old One muttered. “It seems a shame to disturb it, but one should be enough.”
There was not as much pain when the small branch was sliced off from the rest of the tree, but It knew instantly It was no longer part of the larger tree. It did not feel protected as It was taken out of the light and into the warm of a sack. It did not feel strong as It was carried away from the lake. But It was still all too aware - aware of the fear and confusion and anger, and aware that the branch would never be at that special place again.
The willow branch remembered little about the many days that was spent created It into a wand. It did remember the strange sort of magic flowing through It as a long unicorn hair was place inside the core-though It could not recall how it go there-and the way the gentle hands had carefully carved and whittled It into perfection.
It felt a strange, almost sluggish power within as the Old One put It in the box and placed It on the shelf.
Willows define time by the seasons, but though there was no such thing in the box, the wand knew It stayed upon that shelf for a long while.
There were instances, however, where the wand was taken out of the box and placed in the hand of a young girl or boy. Yet every time, the willow wand did not like the way their fingers felt around It’s base, and the magic remained sluggish within.
Though It did not know how long It sat there, It did remember that much of that time was spent next to a powerful vine wand with a dragon heartstring core. Vine did not feel like willows did, but instead had a knowing quality that came from seasons and seasons of growing and watching, and there was a goodness the willow wand liked.
But one day when It heard the eager chatter of a girl outside its box, It felt the vine wand taken off the shelf.
It was never put back.
The wand continued to be taken out of the box, but was put back in every time.
It had just about give up the hope of leaving its imprisonment for good, when something unexpected happened.
“Ah, a Weasley,” the Old One said. “You’re a tad later than other students, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I-er-kind of snapped the wand I had, so-” The wand realized that the boy was alone and vulnerable, like It had been long ago.
“Hm, birch and unicorn hair-thirteen and a quarter. Belonged to Bilius Weasley. Poor fellow.”
“I know he’s past eleven, Mr. Ollivander-but it’s obvious he needs an new wand and-”
“Mum-”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Weasley. I have no doubt that Ronald’s real wand is still waiting for him.”
Something about this boy brought a strange interest to the willow wand, and for the first time, it called out-pleaded-to the Old One that It would be taken out of the box.
As always, a few wands left the shelves, though it wasn’t long before they were put back. Then, at last, the willow wand felt the light shine upon It as the top was open.
“How about this one? Fourteen inches, unicorn hair and the wood of a rather fine willow.”
The cold fingers of the Old One picked it from the confines of the box, and gently gave it to the boy.
It was as though It were at the lake again. It felt protected and strong and aware all at once, and the magic within ignited like a small fire. It was the connection It had secretly longed for without realizing it, and when It was slashed through the air, it seemed perfectly acceptable to show Its joy by spurting out blue sparks.
“Ah, a fine wand Mr. Weasley-a very find wand,” he Old One said, and to the wand’s dismay, it was placed back in the box. It wanted-needed-to feel that magical connection again.
Yet, It did not go back onto the shelf. It kept moving within the confines of its box, and somehow it knew that the boy-Ronald, the Old One had called him-was near.
A/N: I hope this made as much sense to you as it was in my head.
I figured that since Charlie wouldn’t just give his wand to Ron if it was really his, he must have gotten it from someone who didn’t need it. Bilius seemed right to me for some reason.
This was probably one of the most interesting fics that I’ve gotten to write-I’m looking forward to what you guys think.
I’m glad to hear you had a good birthday, Willow! I wish I could’ve posted this earlier!