A wand of grass, a wispy twig, have has much magic as the entire oak tree, for magic is not confined by matter, yet flows through it perfectly when resistance is reduced to zero.
Magic is not matter, yet it matters very much. Magic prefers not the hand held wand, yet the heart and soul - for magic must live within and be accepted by the matter that makes you so very good.
Let the wand be a bold strand of your hair that plays in the wind, embracing gales and calm breezes all the same, altering its dance yet keeping its magic as strong.
Your wand is your heart strings, and it will play its magic as any good harp as long is it beats strong and true.