Percy's wand was used, as the Weasleys were poor. This constant having to settle for the lesser things in life and make do with hand-me-downs and cast-offs ate at Percy's craw. Was it so bad to aspire to the better things in life?
The used wand was plain and conservative, in appearance, but not inelegant. It was of a straight, narrow, and squarish design, charcoal colored, and highly inflexible. It had a mature, grownup look. He liked that. He had once seen a man in the Ministry—a very important man—carrying one much like it. He liked to think that his wand had once belonged to a V.I.P.—perhaps a Ministry head.
Percy's wand was exactly twelve inches long, which pleased him. He liked things that fit a conventional pattern. Exact. One foot. Period. As a matter of fact, it was the very wand he would have chosen for himself had the wand not chosen him. He only resented it because it was used. And he kind of wished the core was dragon heartstring--not cheap old kelpie hair. Percy felt that shape-shifters were somehow suspect. He felt a little uncomfortable, knowing his wand had such a thing at its core.
He had some trouble learning to use it. Ollivander had warned him that hawthorn wasn't easy to master. But Percy, like his brothers, was smart and capable. He eventually became much better, and the hawthorn wand became truly his.
Harry Potter Fanfiction
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