kathierif_fic: (fandom:avengers:cap)
[personal profile] kathierif_fic
Title: Wand makes the Wizard
Fandom: Avengers, (Harry Potter)
Rating: FRT
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, just fun :)
Summary: Five wizards and their wands. Plus Thor!
A/N: A sort-of-snippet for the "30 Days of Infinite Earth", and definitely something I'd like to revisit later...

The first real, adult wand Tony got was when he was fifteen and finally allowed to go to the Salem Witches’ Institute in Massachusetts. He had had one before, of course, but that one was just child’s play, not as sophisticated and elegant as this one.

It was sleek and black, ebony with a core of Pegasus-hair, something that his father would have approved of.

Obadiah had, when he’d dropped Tony off, and Tony had kept that particular wand for years after he’d grown out of it, after he’d left the Institute and after his parents’ death.

This wand, he always felt, was like a tangible connection between the debonair wizardry of his father and himself, the next generation. His father would have approved of this wand, and therefore Tony could tell himself sometimes, in his weak moments, that he would have approved of him.

He was too smart to believe it for long, but he kept the wand, until Afghanistan and the kidnapping and the long, horrible months spent in a cave with a box of scraps and an impossible mix of magic and science keeping him alive.

(Yinsen had kept him alive with a car battery, but Tony knew better than anyone else that technology and magic did not exactly mix, and that one or the other would short out sooner or later; with his luck, it would be the battery keeping him alive.

He had no plans to die in that cave, and he used his intelligence to mold magic and arc reactor technology together into something that could withstand even the strongest hexes and curses and still power a suit of armor for several minutes.)

When he’d come home, he had needed a new wand, because he didn’t want to live without the spark of magic, and in typical Tony-Stark-fashion, he simply built himself one.

It was gold and red, like the Iron Man suit, with an experimental core that nobody but him had, and he guarded the secret as to what it was very jealously.

Mr. Ollivander, when he found out, refused to talk to him for almost a year.

Until Loki.


Bruce’s wand broke when he got chased away by the combined efforts of the US military and the wizarding authorities. He had hoped to mix muggle science and magic in an attempt to recreate Dr. Erskine’s serum, but it had all blown up in his face and it had cost him everything he had.

He’d barely noticed the loss while he was hunted across the globe. He was long used to wandless magic, and the areas where he’d tried to hide had mostly followed the doctrines of nature-magic and the flow of magical energy through the human body and therefore had no need for a wand.

The Other Guy, the manifestation of the modified amplabor-curse he’d used, didn’t have any need for magic, only for brute strength, and Bruce felt that he didn’t have the right to a wand anymore, not with the way he turned into a giant green rage monster.

One of the first things Tony did when the battle was over and the dust settled was to drag him through the floo network and to London, to Diagon Alley, and shove him into Mr. Ollivander’s shop.

Mr. Ollivander had nothing but complaints about Tony, but after almost an hour, he found the perfect wand for Bruce – birch and dragon heartstring.

(He insisted that the wand found Bruce, and that he himself had very little to do with it. Bruce, happy with the wand’s smooth wood against his palm, didn’t try to argue.)

Tony himself had walked in an hour later as if he owned the place; his own, unusual wand hidden somewhere on his person. He’d paid Mr. Ollivander as if there was nothing to it, and dragged Bruce to get a burger before he could even think about protesting.

(When Bruce left, a few weeks later, he only took the wand. He left everything else behind – the new cell phone, the lab, the security and the money – but he took the wand. He wanted to leave it, as a sign that he would be back, but he couldn’t bear leaving it behind, even if he feared he would break it.)


Steve Rogers had inherited his father’s wand when he was old enough to learn magic. His mother had kept it for him, through all the years, in a small wooden box. It was old, unadorned and sturdy in a way Steve was definitely not, and it was almost grey with age, but it was one of the few things that had belonged to him and not to the army and that he could bring with him wherever he went.

(Howard Stark had dropped a few not so subtle hints about wanting to take Steve to the best wand-shops in the world, New York, London and Paris, but he had done already so much for Steve, and Steve had always refused. He didn’t want to replace his old wand, even if it wasn’t modern, elegant or in style.)

When the plane went down, Steve had his shield with him and his wand stuck safe in his left boot.

They were the only things that had made it to the future with him, and because of that and the memories connected to them, they both meant even more to Steve.

He agreed to a lot of things in this brave new world, but he would never give up any of those two items.


Russian-style wands, Natasha thought, looked more sophisticated than any other in the world, hands down. Especially the ones made before the Russian Revolution did. There was a sort of elegance to them, a lightheartedness mixed in with gravitas that was hard to describe. It was whimsical.

(She didn’t remember where she got hers, but she knew it was old – she didn’t know what was in it, but the outside was dark wood, with a barely visible flower pattern etched into it.

The centers of the flowers were tiny ambers, almost invisible to the casual observer.)

It wasn’t sentimentality that had made her keep it.

Sentimentality was for children.

She kept it because it was a very good and fine-tuned wand.


The swordsman broke the wand he’d given Clint when he’d taken him on as apprentice.

He also broke both of Clint’s legs.

After that, Clint stayed away from magic and focused on the things he could control without using it.

Until Coulson.

(Phil Coulson had taught him to trust his magic again. He had taught him spells, hexes and self-defense charms the swordsman had never bothered with. Only under Phil Coulson’s patient and careful tutelage did Clint become a well-rounded magic user.)

Coulson gave Clint a new wand.

It wasn’t anything special – a basic model, a simple core, cheap wood, but it was a subtle shade of purple.

It was perfect.

After Phil’s Death

(after Loki)

Clint tried to stay away from magic again, but it soon became obvious that the others wouldn’t allow him to waste his talents like that.


Thor had never had the patience for spell-weaving and enchantments.

That had been Loki’s specialty.

He still didn’t have the patience for doing any magic work himself, but he was more than willing to help any of his fellow brothers-in-arms, stir cauldrons, carry materials, and watch them as they practiced their spell-weaving every day.

He hadn’t done so for his brother when Loki had been learning and eager to show him, and he was determined not to repeat past mistakes.


None of them had really gone to a traditional Witchcraft and Wizarding School, but living together in Avengers-Tower and being Avengers was a little bit like living in a dorm room together and learning about new facets of magic every day.
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