Chapter Text
Choi Beomgyu walks inside Ollivanders for the first time as an eleven years old, much like any witch or wizard that has been accepted into a magic school.
Gervaise Ollivander was a cadaverous man, with weather-beaten, freckled skin stretching thinly over bones. He had half-moon glasses, perched low on his nose, with brown string wrapped behind each ear, and his long thin hair was grayed over, wrapped neatly into a single braid falling on his back. The suit he was wearing looked old yet well-kept, not a single speck of dirt on the brown tweed vest or his white shirt. He was a tall man that towered from behind his desk, wood-carving knives peeking from his vest pocket, and that sight alone was enough to petrify Beomgyu as he walked for the first time through the doors of the infamous wand shop.
"New student at Hogwarts?"
Beomgyu could only nod, mesmerized by the bookcases filled to the tops with stacks and stacks of rectangular boxes, thousands of wands right before his eyes.
“Any idea what you could be looking for? Any customs in your family about the core, or any tradition to be kept up with in relation to the wood of the wand perhaps?” the old man asked, scratching at his chin “Though, none of that ever matters in the end, does it? The wand chooses the wizard. That much has always been clear to those of us who have studied wandlore... If you are any wizard at all you will be able to channel your magic through almost any instrument. The best results, however, must always come where there is the strongest affinity between wizard and wand. These connections are complex. An initial attraction, and then a mutual quest for experience, the wand learning from the wizard, the wizard from the wand. The wand does pick its owner, after all, and the magic within it does not care about things such as customs”
Beomgyu stared at the man owlishly, fidgeting on the spot. He had no idea what Ollivander could be talking about.
When Beomgyu received the letter in the mail on his eleventh birthday, he had no awareness of magic whatsoever; his mother was petrified at the sight of the white parchment paper, sealed with crimson wax, and she refused to even look at her second son for a week straight after its arrival. When asking his brother about it, the fourteen year old seemed just as clueless, and he was quite perplexed about their mother’s behaviour as well. The woman finally came forward about it eight days later, when she sat Beomgyu down at the dining table, pushing an old dusty box into his hands.
“When your brother’s eleventh birthday passed and he never received his letter, I cried out of relief. I thought that since he never got his, you wouldn’t either, but I should’ve known you will. You were always so close to your father”
Your father. Beomgyu hadn’t heard about the man since they found the news about his death, six years prior. His mother refused to talk about him, and cleared the house of any of his belongings in the first week following his death. Beomgyu was five when he lost his best friend, but that didn’t seem to matter to anyone else.
“What about him?” eleven years old Beomgyu asked, scraping his fingers along the edges of the box. His mother sighed, suddenly looking much older.
“What you read in the letter is true. Magic is real, and since you received the letter from that school, that means you can use it as well. Your father was a wizard, Beomgyu-yah. You could be one as well, if you wish to go to the school” his mother couldn’t even look at him as she spoke. “I won’t stop you if you wish to go”
Beomgyu wished to go, yet his knowledge about magic remained minimal. Any time he mustered up the courage to ask his mother anything about it, she would start crying, so he deemed that a dead end. He wrote a letter back to the school to express his gratitude and willingness to join the school program, but he updated them about his situation as well; when he received a letter from them again, it included very thorough instructions about what he neeed to acquire before he came to school, including how he could travel to Diagon Alley to buy said things.
Before leaving to London, his mom pressed a pouch of tarnished coins in his hands.
“I am not quite sure how much is in there, but that was all the wizard money your father kept in the house. I hope it will cover at least some of the things you need”
Beomgyu looked through all wands that Ollivander presented him, yet he couldn’t find prices on any of the boxes. He clutched the pouch of coins tighter in his fist.
“How much for a wand?”
“Depends on the wand. You can’t pick one based on the price of it, young man. The wand always picks its owner, like I said” Gervaise Ollivander looked him up and down skeptically. “Are your parents Muggles perhaps?”
“I don’t know what that means, sir” Beomgyu felt his cheeks redden with embarrassment. The shop owner turned soft all of a sudden.
“They must be, then. A Muggle is a non-magic person”
“My mother must be one then. A Muggle that is. My father was a wizard, but he died when I was young”
“May I ask the name of your father?”
“Choi Gyusik” Beomgyu responded, the name tasting foreign on his lips. Ollivanders eyes widened, as he looked Beomgyu up and down with much more interest than before.
“Ah, not only a wizard, young man, but a great one. I remember when he first walked into my store, many years ago, with his own father in tow. I also still remember the wand that picked him, you see. I remember all the wands I’ve ever made, and all the wands I’ve ever sold. His was of rowan wood, with a dragonstring core. A beauty, thirteen inches long, with a dark lacquer. That unyielding wand casted such powerful spells”
“Do you happen to have another wand like that one, sir?” Beomgyu asked, suddenly feeling shy. Maybe, just maybe, the magic would fit, and he would be able to have another little bit of his father with him, if they were to use the same type of wand.
“We can try, young man, but don’t be disappointed if it doesn't work”
The moment the very tips of Beomgyu’s fingers touched the wand, it flew out of the box, purple sparkles crackling behind it as it knocked away everything standing before it. Beomgyu crouched to the ground, his hands flying to cover his ears, his eyes shut tight. He only dared open them again as Ollivander touched his shoulder gently.
“It’s okay little one. It just doesn’t seem to be a fit after all” the shop owner placated him. He withdrew what seemed to be his own wand from inside his vest coat, and casted a quick spell that had the store cleared and backin pristine condition in mere seconds. Beomgyu was mesmerised.
Ollivanders disappeared into the back of the shop, causing a ruckus in his way. When he returned, he did so with an armful of wooden boxes, at least fifteen in number. Setting them down on his desk, in front of Beomgyu, he opened the first box to reveal a thin, gray-coloured wand.
“Perhaps an ash-wood, with a unicorn core? It is quite swishy, this one, twelve and three quarters long” Gervaise Ollivander prompted him to pick it up. Beomgyu reached for it with shaky fingers, though nothing happened when he touched the wood. “Go on, son, give it a little swish!” the store owner encouraged him, and Beomgyu followed suit.
Nothing happened. Not even a small movement from the plant pot he pointed at.
“Not that one either, it seems. Worry not, young man. No one has ever entered my store and left wandless before” Ollivander grabbed the ash wand and placedit back in its box, beforepicking up another one. “How about this one? Ebony wood, phoenix core, nine inches long. Perhaps you’re to be our next Transfiguration master?”
Beomgyu tried to grab the coal black wand, though it burned his fingers at the mere first touch.
He felt tears starting to gather in his eyes. Would it be possible that the letter was wrongly sent? Did he even have any magic in his bones, even a bit of it to connect him with his father, the supposed great wizard Choi Gyusik?
“Fret not, young man. I have a great wand for you to try. Just one of those in my shop, as the wood is quite hard to come across” the old man opened yet another box, to reveal a piece of warm browned wood, with a beautifully carved braided holder. “Cherry wood, with a dragon heartstring core, fairly bendy. Twelve inches and a half, a perfect size, really”
Beomgyu eyed it anxiously, his heart close to jumping out of his chest. This was it, he decided. If this one wouldn’t choose him either, he’ll return back home, and keep his mother carefree. No reason to keep trying for more; how good of a wizard could he become anyway, if not even a wand would choose his magic within? He’d just-
Oh.
This must be it. This is what magic must feel like.
The moment his hand grabbed the wood, warmth surged through his whole body. The tip of the wand emitted soft, golden sparkles, twinkling around him like a protective halo. He moved it from one hand to another, giggling as the magic licked at his skin, as the bond between them forged properly. Beomgyu felt the exhilarating rush surge through his fingers; it felt as if the wand awakened a dormant power within him, a sense of belonging washing over his whole body, like a rite of passage of some sort, a marker of his identity as a wizard.
“I think this is the one” he whispered, momentarily having forgotten about his whereabouts. Gervaise Ollivander smiled at him softly.
“I think so as well. I should’ve known, it would be a rarer wand. It’s owner has such powerful blood surging through his veins, so it would only be fit. Your father would be proud, young man”
Beomgyu could only smile back. His wand had nothing in common with his fathers’; not its core, not its wood, its length or flexibility, but maybe that was okay. Maybe he could still do great things with this wand, to make his father proud indeed.
“I can register it for you at the Central Wand Archive. That way you won’t have to bother with the registration number of it. Just remember, young man: a cherry wand is capable of lethal power, and this wand is tied to you forever. Use it wisely” the old man reached a hand towards him, petting his hair gently. Beomgyu deemed it an unusual action for the somber man, so he allowed it to happen- After all, he would be leaving this shop with an extra bit of magic, which wouldn’t have happened without the shopowner’s help. “I’ll just get it wrapped up for you” Ollivanders stated cheerfully, and disappeared into the back of the shop again.
Right.
Beomgyu suddenly felt the weight of the coin pouch in his pocket once again.
“How much for the wand? I’m not sure if I can afford it or not”
“Its eight galleons for this one” Ollivanders emerged from the back, with the wooden box wrapped in a cream cloth, a knot tied into a makeshift handle atop. “Come by my shop again this summer, and I’ll teach you the currency before you start school” the old man pushed the box in his hands. “This shall be a gift from me, however. It’s the least I could do for your late father”
Beomgyu opened his mouth in protest, but the old man ushered him to leave, his wrinkled hands dismissing him.
“I will hear none of it. Leave now, and come back another day with that coin pouch. And do tell this old man what your name is, won’t you now?”
Choi Beomgyu walks inside Ollivanders for the first time as an eleven years old, much like any witch or wizard that has been accepted into a magic school.
Choi Beomgyu walks inside Ollivanders for what seemed as the millionth time as a twenty-one years old, as the dutiful, one and only employee of Gervaise Ollivander.
“You’re late again”
“Let me be, old man”
“I should have never hired you”
“You wouldn’t have half the sells you have now if it wasn’t for me and my charms”
“Don’t even dare come to my funeral when I die”
Beomgyu rolled his eyes. As if the old man would do such a human thing, as simply die. Gervaise Ollivander was more of a myth than a man at this point. Beomgyu was sure he would become immortal somehow, if he didn’t already have a sorcerer’s stone in his possession.
He did look worse for wear these days, especially decrepit, compared to when Beomgyu saw him for the first time a decade ago. He cut his long gray hair to a lenght above his ears, a family tradition to be followed after the person closest to him passes; the sole Ollivander heir, Garrick, passed away in a dementor attack, leaving the old man inconsolable.
Beomgyu finished his wizarding studies at Hogwarts at eighteen years old, yet he never got good enough grades on his N.E.W.T.s. to make it into any proper training programs: Receiving a measle A on his DADA exam took away his chance at becoming a Healer or an Auror, despite the fact that all his other grades were E’s. He had the potential to become a professor with his grades, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn't picture himself in that sort of position.
It was on one of his regular visits to Ollivanders, that the old man decided to drop the question on him.
“I'm opening a new shop, in Hogsmeade. The location will be fruitful, and maybe like this the students will stop complaining about having to floo all the way to Diagon Alley to get their wands fixed. You finished school, didn't you Beomgyu? Would you care for the new shop for me?”
Beomgyu cried, because of course he did. He didn't even call the old man money-hungry for opening a new store at his dying age, and just accepted the work offer. He wouldn't be fit for the Muggle life anymore anyway.
“What are you even doing in my shop?” Beomgyu shouted from the back of the store, where he entered the deposit to grab a broom. He could easily use a spell to keep the shop clean, but he found a certain peace in the action of cleaning with his own hands. Gervaise never understood it, but he never commented on it either.
“Making sure things are in order over here. I clearly have to pop by sometimes, since you keep forgetting who the real owner of the place is” the old man looked around, pretending to check that the stock was in order (he taught Beomgyu everything he knew, so there was no way anything would be out of place or of unsatisfactory quality, though he liked to pretend he was a serious employer) “But I'll leave you be. Do come visit this old man more often, you never know when you'll see me last” Gervaise muttered and dramatically made his exit through the floor connecting the two shops.
Beomgyu tutted, setting his broom aside to pick up a duster, brushing it over the rectangular wand boxes. He did happen to be late this morning, a whole six minutes later than the opening hour, though it was a Wednesday morning in the middle of summer, so Hogsmeade was as empty as it could get. He would be surprised if he had five customers by the end of the week, though the number would definitely grow over the weekend, when many young wizard and witches would come visit with their tired parents, to buy their first wands before the month of September when the new school year would start.
Looking over the boxes, Beomgyu mentally noted a stock of what he should be working on next. Over the past three years, he'd memorized every wand in the shop, and everyone he ever sold one to, much like he was an Ollivander himself; his work bench in the back of the store was scratched and packed full of clutter, yet never dirty. He had an extensive collection of carving knives, some inherited or gifted by the old man, and some that he bought himself. Most of the storage room was filled with crates of all sorts of pieces of wood ready to be carved, and jars packed with cores, some more uncommon than others.
It wasn't the life he expected to live, yet it was one he wouldn't change for anything, no matter what anyone said about it.
After dusting every wand box he could lie his eyes on, he grabbed a handful of elm wood from the storage room, ready to carve into some pieces; elm always gave him trouble, and as much as he hated to admit it, it must've just been because it was mostly matched to pure-bloods. So rarely did he sell an elm wand to anyone that wasn't even distantly related to The Sacred Twenty-Eight, and even when he did, the witch or wizard would be at least half-blooded like himself.
Being part of The Sacred Twenty-Eight himself, the old man Ollivander never even thought about the possibility of a type of wood giving him trouble as he mended it.
Mostly lost in thought, Beomgyu didn't even recall the sound of the door of the store opening. His attention was grabbed by the bell that sat on his front desk, and he rushed to emerge from the storage room and greet the young wizards and witches of the day.
Except- that was not his customer of the day. Beomgyu stopped in his tracks at the sight of a tall man, whose magic he could feel radiating even outside of his body.
He had jet black hair, cut neatly at the sides. A pair of rounded silver specks were perched upon his nose, taking away the attention from his scarred left eye and cheek, the two healed cuts passing through his eyebrows and entering his hairline. His left eye must've turned blind after the scar was produced, yet the iris of it glowed a dark brown, mimicking the right, healthy eye, in what seemed to be a successful attempt at a complicated healing spell. His lips, plump and reddened, matched the colour of his flushed cheeks, likely an aftermath of the warming up August weather.
That, combined with the fact that he was wearing a heavy, blood red cloak, adorned with silver embroidery, circling an unfamiliar family sigil on the right front pocket. The detailing seemed somewhat royal-like, in a way that Beomgyu never saw anyone wear outside of the heirs of the Black and Rosier families, the richest of the families that came into the Slytherin houses.
The man in front of him remained unknown to Beomgyu, though, as he couldn't even recall seeing his face in any grade above or below his at school. Maybe it was just a visiting wizard, searching for another store.
“Welcome to Ollivanders” Beomgyu finally mustered “How may I be of service to you today?”
The man looked him up and down, eyes squinted in confusion.
“You're not an Ollivander” he spoke in a gruff voice, as if unused in a long time, a strange accent laced at the end of each word. Perhaps just a visitor indeed.
“I'm the closest you'll get to an Ollivander unless you're searching for the old man himself. His location stays in Diagon Alley, we have a floo connection if you wish to see him in particular” Beomgyu spoke from habit, having encountered this exact problem before. “I can assure you, though, that you'll get the same quality service at this location as well”
The man continued to look him up and down, large body completely frozen in space, no expression painted on his rough features. He looked like a painting.
“Very well” the man finally decided. “My wand has wilted, and I wish to get another”
“Noted. I'll just need the registration number of the wand and I'll fetch you the same model right away. If we don't happen to have the exact length in store right away, I'll mend it to what length it needs to be on the spot”
“My wand has no number”
“Pardon me? Is it a wand that's not registered at the Central Wand Archive? You know you could get in trouble with the wizarding law if that's the case, right?”
The man swore under his breath in annoyance, in a language completely foreign to Beomgyu’s ears.
“I will not, I am not a British Citizen. Only your pretentious country would invent such things as wizarding laws and forbid magic from being used for free”
That shut Beomgyu down. He looked the stranger over once again; the thick robes, the harsh accent and gloomy demeanor - he’d seen it before one time, at Hogwarts, at one of the visits from other wizarding schools. Was this man in relation to the Durmstrang Institute?
“Are you perhaps looking for Mykew Gregorovitch? He did open a wand store in Diagon Alley as well, Wands by Gregorovitch at Carkitt Market, but once again, that one’s also all the way in London. I wouldn’t usually do this since it promotes our direct competition, but you can still use our floo connection to get there faster. Do at least pretend to look through Ollivanders when you get there, to appease the old man,will you?”
“I’m not buying any wand from that Gregorovitch rat ever again. I want an Ollivanders wand. It’s finer work anyway, no matter what Mykew’s sympathizers claim”
“Very well” Beomgyu sighed. He assumed he could make an exception to the rule, and obliviate himself after the interaction with the man today, just in case. “Any customs in your family about the core, or any tradition to be kept up with in relation to the wood of the wand? I’m not sure how Gregorovitch sells his wands, but at Ollivander’s, the wand chooses its owner. Some wand cores or woods do tend to match with genetics, occasionally, but in too little cases”
“No costume ” the man mispronounced, licking his lips after, as if frustrated about saying the word wrongly. “You give me the wand I want, I use it. Powerful wizards can use any wands, or no wand at all”
Beomgyu fought the urge to roll his eyes to the back of his head. He’s just never going to get rid of the man unless he gives him what he wishes, will he?
“Very well. Let me bring some different types of wands. You can try them all, see which one you like best”
“No”
Beomgyu finally snapped, his fists banging on the desk impatiently.
“No? Why not this time?” the wandmaker retorted, annoyed. He didn’t even care if he lost the customer at this point, just wanting to get this all over with. He didn’t even care if he got in trouble with Gervaise over the issue.
The man finally made any sort of movement, bringing his hand in front of Beomgyu, to count on three thick fingers, each adorned with rings, large precious stones centered upon silver.
“Dragon heartstring core, of rowan wood, thirteen inches long. That’s the wand I want”