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Summary: Pretty much anything that survives my mind long enough for me to write it out. That means a good many crack!fics and drabbles. Ye be warned! Rating is just to be safe for future chapters.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Multiple Crossings > General(Past Donor)halfbloodpuffskinFR1862,166062,4101 Jul 077 Jan 08No

Ollivander's Wands Crack!Fic

Disclaimer: Three cheers for Joss Whedon & JKR...and Ollivander since he's such a good sport in this one.

Note: Welcome to the terrifying inner workings of my mind! I got kinda tired of forgetting all these weird ideas because I didn't have anywhere to put them, so I made them a home. I hope the world can forgive me one day. Or at least call off the hounds.

Another Note: This fic is a direct result of reading about so many weird 'coincidences' about the Scoobies and their wand cores.


“Ahh, Miss Summers, Miss Rosenberg, Mr. Harris, I’ve been expecting you for some time. I must say that I expected you much sooner, of course, but here you are, so no harm done.”

“Um…sorry?” Willow asked, somewhat nervously. This Ollivander guy looked like Doc’s creepy older cousin…or perhaps the Gnarl’s.

Buffy shrugged, looking around the dusty shop with disfavor. “We would have come sooner but, you know, apocalypse season.”

“And it’s in no way creepy that you were expecting us, by the way.” Xander chimed in.

“Quite. Well, Miss Rosenberg, you first. If you’ll just step up please? I need to get your measurements.” Ollivander started measuring around the witch’s head, then the height of her ankles, and the width of her smallest toe. Leaving the measuring tape to finish up, he turned around to go through some of the boxes.

An angry shriek and the smell of brimstone made him turn back towards his customers. What was left of his measuring tape, passed down generation to generation for the last seven centuries, was starting to seep into the carpet. The flushed witch glared at him, daring him to complain. With a sigh, Ollivander went back to his boxes. It was bound to happen sooner or later; the measuring tape had gotten rather lewd these past few decades.

“Ah, yes, here we go. Ash, 12 ½ inches, core of unicorn hair. Good for your various household spells, but tends to transfigure teacups a shade irregularly. Give it a wave.”

Willow did so, and the occupants of the store ducked quickly as the glass windows were blown out. While Xander looked these over and started mumbling about window treatments, Willow tried out four wands made of oak, two of willow, one of an undistinguished driftwood, and finally settled on an 9 ¼ inch ebony with the ‘active magical component of a werewolf.’

As Willow puzzled at this wording, Buffy stepped up, simply grabbing one of the rejected wands and shaking it. The resulting fire only took a few minutes to put out, but took a good part of Ollivander’s 12th century stock with it. Without the measuring tape to give him a general idea, the poor shopkeeper had to keep the ever more impatient slayer busy with 57 wands, nearly giving up before handing her a 10 inch larch with a bone graft of a ‘keeper of balance.’

Buffy joined Willow in her pondering of the shopkeeper’s phrasing while Xander took his turn. While discussing the rival merits of the picture window versus the multi-lit, Xander tried out a record 84 wands. While the resulting debris was swept away with a few dozen cleaning spells, Xander joined his friends with his unique wand core.

A short whispered argument later, Xander sighed and walked back over to Ollivander, who had taken out a headache potion and was currently wondering if he could mix it safely with a cheering charm.

“Hey, wand guy! We were wondering if you could be a bit more specific about what you put in these things.”

“I’d be delighted too, only it’s just about closing, so I—“

“Hey, Willow, I’m allowed to slay evil magic users, right?”

“Only if they’re not cooperative, Buffy.”

“—but I’m sure I can stay open for a few minutes longer. Miss Rosenberg’s wand core came to me from a young American werewolf that passed through here once. As for Miss—“

“Wait! I’ve got a bit of OZ in my wand?! Was this werewolf from Sunnydale?”

“Yes, I believe that’s where she moved after she was kicked out of England. Refused to lock herself up, you see. Never did catch her name, though she was kind enough to give me some of her saliva before she left. Miss Summers’ wand core was collected by my father from a being named Whistler.”

As Willow turned a sickly sort of green, Buffy turned red with rage.

“Whistler! You gave me a wand with DEMON in it?!”

“Quite right. A graft from a rib bone, in fact.”

Xander looked a little worried, but he asked about his core, ‘the Fameless One’, anyways.

“Ahh, yes. A young American wizard who, with his brothers, became a comic in the early part of the last century. Early in his career he was cursed by a vengeance demon to never be as famous as his brothers. And now, if you’ll excuse me.”

With a pop, Ollivander apparated to the relative safety of the back room. While bolting the door to the front and casting wards, he heard the young man burst out laughing. He promptly added another ward to keep the madman at bay.

Willow and Buffy took his amusement much less peacefully. Rounding on their friend, they asked him what in the Hellmouth was funny about this.

“Willow, you’ve got Veruca-drool in your wand, Buffy’s got Whistler’s rib and I am the proud new owner of part of Zeppo Marx. Giles’ gypsy-housekeeper-with-a-troubled-past has NOTHING on this!
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