HP: What, You've Never Seen a Symbiote at Hogwarts?

"Oh, seems this isn't the one!"

Ollivander snatched the white wand from Tiger's hand and retrieved another box from the shelf behind him, a flicker of anticipation dancing in his deep, clouded eyes.

"Try this!"

"Fuck..."

Tiger spat with obvious irritation.

He extracted a brown wand bearing spiral patterns from the box and waved it with agitated movements.

The scene unfolded almost predictably.

Like the previous wands, the sharp tip sparked briefly—resembling damaged, short-circuiting wires—before dying completely.

"This one doesn't work either?"

A glimmer flashed through Ollivander's murky gaze as he found himself scrutinizing Tiger once more with renewed intensity.

[This little fellow is quite the puzzle...]

Those volatile amber eyes hadn't strayed from his vulnerable throat since the third wand trial.

The crude movements so utterly incompatible with wizarding sensibilities.

And those relentless "damn" and "fuck" expletives undoubtedly reflected his violent nature's true colors.

This was quintessentially Shelby.

Even Lawrence in his day had been marginally more restrained.

Yet confronting all this, Ollivander remained serene. Throughout his lifetime, he'd encountered every conceivable character type. Tiger represented merely another day's work.

This was his profession.

And equally, his passion.

Rather than selecting wands for young wizards worldwide, he was exploring each young wizard's deepest secrets through wands as conduits, satisfying his own insatiable curiosity.

[Wizards' self-deceptions and concealments sometimes escape even their own awareness.]

This constituted the Ollivander family creed.

Consequently, despite Tiger's crude and appalling demeanor, Ollivander maintained tremendous interest and focus throughout the wand selection process.

He'd tested over a dozen wands that appeared most suitable for Tiger.

Both to discover that magical companion capable of connecting with Tiger's soul.

And to glimpse Tiger's authentic inner self concealed beneath his violent exterior...

Hornbeam symbolizing resilience and toughness, cedar favoring exceptional duelists.

Ambitious yew, independent ebony, contradictory hawthorn.

Ollivander had even reluctantly produced holly—sacred wood capable of restraining anger and irritability.

Though Tiger's outward manifestation practically insulted the very concept of "sacred"...

The results proved universally disappointing.

"Tommy!"

"Do I absolutely need this bloody thing?"

"Mother of Christ!"

"I can't even imagine how ridiculous I'd look waving a chopstick around while muttering incantations!"

Tiger whirled toward his brother with an expression of utter absurdity. Tommy spread his hands with barely suppressed amusement, indicating complete helplessness.

"Oh, don't rush, child."

"This will be your lifelong companion..."

"Please permit me another moment's consideration..."

Ollivander murmured softly.

As though possessing mystical properties, Tiger's agitation gradually subsided. He slowly pivoted, his gaze wandering among the cluttered shelves.

Eliminating all seemingly appropriate options, whatever remained—however incredible...

His mesmerizing eyes gradually settled upon a shelf row in the upper left corner.

Highly adaptable aspen, helpful alder, chestnut suited for herbology.

Loyal and passionate oak, cypress unafraid of shadows, willow favoring geniuses.

Vine wood that selected only those possessing lofty ideals and visionary wisdom...

These wand materials proved more peaceful, trending toward wise and positively-natured individuals—Tiger's complete antithesis.

"Very well, let's attempt this one first."

Ollivander reached toward a particular box.

This represented the most improbable answer, yet he felt inexplicably expectant.

The Shelby Family's history.

Half comprised suffering under pure-blood aristocratic discrimination, half constituted self-reliant struggle written in blood and tears.

Ollivander understood this intimately.

Therefore, in his assessment, Tiger entering the magical world would definitely not prove helpful, considerate, or beloved by most people.

Yet that inexplicable thrill and intuition compelled him to extract this wand from its box.

"Alder, ten inches, dragon heartstring—quite a sturdy specimen."

"Mr. Shelby, I sense we're approaching the genuine answer."

Ollivander regarded Tiger with profound intensity.

"Five minutes..."

"If we don't find one within five minutes, I'll rip out your bloody spine and ram it up your arse."

Tiger accepted the wand, completely ignoring Ollivander's slightly twitching mouth corner.

After all, for "artistic" professionals like himself, extraordinary imagination proved virtually innate.

Following Tiger's declaration, Ollivander actually experienced phantom pain.

Unlike other wands' coldness, Tiger detected subtle warmth the instant he grasped this one.

Ollivander noticed simultaneously. Before Tiger could wave it, he snatched the wand back.

"It's alder! Actually alder!"

"How extraordinary!"

"Ha! Little fellow, you're quite fascinating."

Speaking thus, Ollivander pressed another alder wand into Tiger's bewildered hands.

"Alder, unicorn hair, ten and one-quarter inches—quite a gentle specimen."

Is this your true self?

Ollivander didn't voice this final thought, merely staring intently at Tiger's hand.

The moment the wand was waved, brilliant light flashed briefly at the tip. No longer resembling broken cables like before, Tiger even sensed faint disappointment emanating from the wand itself.

"No, not this one!"

"Poor little thing!"

The wand was reclaimed again.

Ollivander somewhat regretfully returned the wand to its box before producing yet another alder specimen.

Tiger examined the obsidian wand in his grasp—resembling a three-edged military blade—and his lips involuntarily curved upward.

This sensation differed completely from previous experiences. The instant he gripped the wand, heat surged rapidly throughout his body, ultimately concentrating at the razor-sharp tip.

The dark crimson radiance intensified brilliantly.

Given The Shelby Family's magical characteristics, this luminescence didn't explode outward.

Instead, it dripped slowly like molten lava, burning successive charred holes through the floorboards.

"Truly magnificent."

"Mr. Shelby..."

The wrinkles across Ollivander's features relaxed somewhat, his meaningful tone carrying both satisfaction and complexity.

"Alder, Thestral tail hair, twelve inches—quite an unusual pairing. It's a cold little creature, yet your perfect companion."

Alder constituted hard wood symbolizing lofty ideals that would rather break than bend.

It favored masters who proved helpful, considerate, and beloved by most people.

Thestrals—also called Winged Skeletal Horses—remained visible only to those who'd genuinely witnessed death.

Consequently, Thestrals also symbolized ill omens.

Legend claimed wands crafted with Thestral tail hair could command life and death, though Ollivander remained skeptical.

But such a combination...

Observing Tiger grip the wand in reverse like a dagger, slashing rapidly through air with tearing sounds, Ollivander sighed silently.

This variety of "helpfulness" would likely prove quite painful indeed.

"Hey, Tommy!"

"I love this thing!"

"Once it pierces internal organs, they definitely can't be stitched up. It'll be my excellent partner."

Tiger gazed at the wand with complete satisfaction.

Suddenly, as though remembering something, he snapped his head up toward Ollivander with expectant eyes.

"Hey, old man!"

"Can you carve some blood grooves for me?"

"And add a proper grip."

Ollivander's complexion immediately darkened to coal-black.

"Absolutely not! Mr. Shelby!"

"This is your wand, not your murder weapon! Please treat it with respect!"

"Now deposit seven Galleons and leave these premises immediately! Go!"

His curiosity utterly extinguished, Ollivander could no longer summon pleasant expressions for such a crude bastard as Tiger...

The story isn't over...

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