"Aha! Silver lime! How extraordinary indeed! Try this one!" Ollivander thrust a wand into Tony's hands with barely contained excitement. Without waiting for instruction, Tony gave it an experimental wave—the crystal vase on the counter exploded in a shower of glittering fragments. Tony carefully set the wand back on the mahogany surface, his expression rueful. "I get the distinct impression it doesn't care for me."
"Quite right, exactly so. Another, then." Ollivander repaired the vase with an absent flick of his own wand, already turning back to rummage through towering shelves that seemed to stretch impossibly high into the shop's shadowed recesses.
Gemini lounged in the worn leather chair by the door, lazily turning pages of that morning's Daily Prophet. The parchment crackled softly in the dusty silence. "Just a friendly reminder," she said without looking up, her voice carrying a note of mischief, "he's an inventor."
Ollivander's searching hands stilled among the wand boxes. "Of course I'm aware of that. From the moment he crossed my threshold, his curiosity has been practically humming through the very walls of my establishment—like a tuning fork struck against magical resonance itself."
Tony spun around, his dark eyes sharp with interest. "What exactly are you two discussing?"
Gemini continued perusing her newspaper with studious indifference, as though he hadn't spoken at all. Ollivander emerged from the depths of his inventory, cradling a new box with reverent hands. "Quickly now, let's try this beauty!"
The second wand proved no better than the first. Tony obliterated the vase again, brought down an entire shelf in a cascade of boxes and parchment, and sent the rolling ladder crashing to the floor in a symphony of destruction. After nearly demolishing half the ancient shop, Ollivander found himself sitting amid the wreckage, dust coating his wild silver hair like premature snow.
"Truly remarkable," he murmured, brushing debris from his robes. "In all my years serving customers—and I've fitted wands for three generations of some families—I've never encountered anyone quite so... particular. Willful and proud, certainly, yet brimming with insatiable curiosity and blessed with a genuinely brilliant mind."
Tony surveyed the devastation surrounding them, his throat working as he swallowed hard. The shop looked as though a small hurricane had torn through it. "I'm terribly sorry about all this. Please, let me compensate you for the damages."
Ollivander waved away the offer with surprising grace. "Think nothing of it, my dear fellow. I believe custom work is your only option—nothing in my current inventory seems remotely compatible with your... unique magical signature."
Tony's brow furrowed with impatience. "How long would that take? I'm rather eager to get my hands on a wand as soon as possible."
Gemini's eyes sparkled with barely contained mischief. While Ollivander busied himself collecting the rejected wands, she leaned forward conspiratorially, her voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carried more weight than a shout.
"Listen carefully—there are still dozens of wands here you haven't even touched. What if your perfect match is hiding among the untested ones? I'll let you in on a little secret." Her grin turned positively wicked. "Stand right there in the center—yes, exactly by the counter. You remember how to channel your magic, don't you? Ollivander's always saying the wand chooses the wizard. So stand there, let your power flow freely, and any wand that fancies you will absolutely respond!"
Tony had never been one for following conventional wisdom. Though Gemini's suggestion bordered on the reckless, his desire for a wand burned too fiercely to ignore. After all, what child hadn't dreamed of wielding magic? Even brilliant scientists were allowed their fantasies.
Seeing his agreement, Gemini couldn't suppress her delighted grin. She slipped out while Tony was distracted, positioning herself just outside the frost-etched window to observe the impending chaos.
Tony, completely absorbed in gathering his magical energy, remained oblivious to her departure. He planted himself before the ancient counter, arms spread wide and raised toward the ceiling. As his power began to surge, his expensive clothes rippled without any earthly wind, his dark hair lifting as though he stood in the eye of an invisible storm. Every wand in the shop began to tremble—softly at first, then with increasing violence, emitting sounds like whispered secrets and half-remembered songs.
Ollivander burst from behind the towering shelves, his pale eyes wide with something approaching terror. "Stop! Stop this instant! Are you attempting to reduce my life's work to splinters?!"
But his warning came a heartbeat too late. Tony's magic had already saturated the air like thick honey, clinging to every surface, seeping into every crack and crevice. The ancient shop itself seemed to groan under the weight of such raw, unfocused power.
Every wand launched itself from its resting place with the force of small cannons—boxes exploded like fireworks, shelves collapsed in thunderous crashes, centuries-old parchments swirled through the air like autumn leaves in a gale. The entire establishment transformed into something resembling a battlefield, as though a particularly vindictive giant had used it for target practice.
As the magical maelstrom finally began to subside, only one wand emerged from the settling chaos. It flew through the debris-filled air with purpose, cutting a clean path toward Tony like a homing bird returning to its nest. Just before it could reach his outstretched hand, Ollivander snatched it from the air with reflexes honed by decades of wandlore.
The wandmaker sat among his ruined life's work, trembling—whether from rage or shock, it was impossible to tell. "I have never," he said, his voice barely controlled, "in fifty years of wandmaking, never witnessed such... such..."
Tony opened his eyes to survey the apocalyptic scene. His shoulders hunched defensively as the full scope of destruction became clear. "Well," he said weakly, "I suppose I really should insist on paying for all this..."
"Miss Black!" Ollivander's voice cracked like a whip as he ignored Tony entirely, his attention fixed on the figure outside his window. "I absolutely must inform Mr. Potter about your little... contribution to today's events!"
Gemini pressed her face against the glass and stuck out her tongue with unrepentant cheekiness. "Oh, don't be such a spoilsport, Ollivander! Look what I've brought you—presents from across the Atlantic!"
She sauntered back inside, casually restored the counter with a negligent wave of her wand, and placed several small wooden boxes on its surface. Each opened with a soft click, revealing their precious contents. "These are genuine American specialties—I had the devil's own time smuggling them back through customs!"
Ollivander forced himself to breathe deeply, counting to ten in several languages before approaching to examine her offerings.
Inside the boxes lay treasures that made his wandmaker's heart sing: pristine American oak with its distinctive grain, deep red cherry wood that seemed to glow with inner fire, and rich hickory that practically hummed with potential. These were premium materials, clearly purchased from the finest specialty suppliers. But the real prizes lay nestled in silk-lined compartments—genuine thunderbird feathers that still crackled faintly with electrical energy, and a single wampus cat tail hair that seemed to shift color in the lamplight.
At the sight of such magnificent materials, Ollivander's fury evaporated like morning mist. He gathered each component with the reverence of a priest handling sacred relics, then turned his attention to the wand he'd intercepted.
"Cypress," he breathed, running knowing fingers along its length. "Phoenix feather core. Thirteen inches precisely." His voice took on the cadence of ancient ritual. "Truly extraordinary—cypress wood is intimately connected with nobility of character. My great-grandfather once told me he felt honored whenever he placed a cypress wand, for he knew he was meeting a witch or wizard destined to die a hero's death."
The wand seemed to pulse gently in his weathered hands, as though responding to his words.
"Phoenix feather wands," he continued, "are notoriously selective about their owners. The phoenix, you see, is among the most independent and detached of magical creatures. These wands resist taming, resist personalization, and their loyalty must be earned through deed rather than desire." He extended the wand toward Tony with something approaching ceremony. "Treat it with the respect it deserves."
Tony accepted the wand with hands that trembled slightly. Its surface was flawlessly smooth, unmarked by any decorative flourish—a study in elegant simplicity. He raised it experimentally, and the gentlest of breezes stirred through the devastated shop. In the distance, faint as a half-remembered dream, came the liquid gold notes of phoenix song.
Tony's face transformed with wonder as he gazed at his wand, fingers tracing its perfect length. "This is... incredible. What do I owe you? And please, name your price for the shop repairs—I insist on making this right."
Ollivander shook his head with surprising warmth. "My dear fellow, these are merely material objects—easily mended with the proper spells. But if the cypress wand has chosen you, then destiny itself has marked you for greatness. I could hardly profit from such a momentous occasion." His eyes twinkled with something like paternal pride. "Besides, this is your first wand purchase from Ollivanders. We'll honor the traditional Hogwarts rate: seven Galleons, if you please."
Gemini immediately produced an elegant dragon-hide pouch, counting out seven gleaming gold coins with practiced efficiency. "Perfect. Farewell, Ollivander—and do try not to mention my visit to certain parties. We'll be departing shortly anyway."
She strode toward the door with the confidence of someone accustomed to making dramatic exits. Tony offered Ollivander a grateful smile and hurried after her, his new wand clutched protectively against his chest.
Ollivander called after them with a knowing chuckle. "I certainly won't breathe a word to Mr. Potter—but I may find myself in need of a restorative drink at The Leaky Cauldron. The landlady does so enjoy a good story..."
"We've acquired everything on our list," Gemini announced the moment she stepped onto Diagon Alley's cobblestones, immediately pulling her hood up to shadow her distinctive features. "Time to make our exit."
"Already?" Tony caught up to her, his curiosity clearly piqued. "You're acting like you've got enemies lurking around every corner. Afraid someone might recognize you?"
Gemini stopped so abruptly that Tony nearly collided with her. "They're not enemies," she said quietly, her voice carrying undertones he couldn't quite decipher. "It's... complicated. You wouldn't understand the politics involved. Stop asking questions and just trust me—we need to leave. Now."
She resumed walking with increased urgency, her boots clicking against the ancient stones like a countdown timer.
Only when they were safely ensconced in the leather luxury of Stark's private jet, engines humming with reassuring power, did Gemini finally allow her shoulders to relax.
"Listen carefully," she said, settling into her seat as the aircraft began its ascent. "When you return home, don't even think about using that wand. MACUSA monitors all foreign magical implements with paranoid intensity—they'll detect it the moment you cast so much as a Lumos. Practice sessions will have to happen exclusively in my shop until I can arrange... alternative accommodations."
She gazed out the window as London fell away beneath them, her expression thoughtful. "I'll need to reach out to some contacts, test the political waters. See exactly how much trouble we might be walking into."
The wand rested in Tony's lap, still humming faintly with residual magic, a tangible bridge between the world he'd always known and the impossible realm he was only beginning to discover.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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