With a bit of a sigh, Archer held out his wand so that Annie could fully see it. It was about twelve inches long and made of redwood. It had a handle with a few lines that swirled around it, but it was otherwise fairly plain. He was a boy with simple tastes. Honestly, he had just been pleased a wand had selected him at all that he hadn't even entertained the passing thought to have it appear more decorative.

"It isn't terribly interesting," he stated, though he seemed at the ready to snatch it away if Annie decided to try and make a grab for it. He didn't want to explain to his mother, or possibly the aurors, how his wand had ended up in the wrong hands or damaged. He was already dreadful at doing spells under pressure, what would a broken wand do to him?