Worn out wand of the wizard [closed]

Harley sits cross-legged on his bed, back hunched, elbows on knees and wand lying flat on his two palms which were placed side by side in front of him. The poor thing had seen better days. A dim glow emitted from the end, illuminating his soft hands and bed sheets. This was the light he’d been working under. The wearing tip showed a few strands of unicorn hair and the handle had worn in groves where the hands of himself and his grandfather had clutched. A small pile of orange coloured shells sat beside his leg. He’d been sorting… again. This time however, he’d decided to organise his collection by colour; not size as he had before. His eyes ran along the slender mahogany wand once more then he dropped it onto his bedside table, his tired muscles didn’t agree when he stretched over. It clattered then settled. Silence fell. After scooping up the shells and tipping them into their wooden box, he flopped back onto the bed with a groan.

He’d speak to Flitwick tomorrow about going to get a new wand. His current one was indeed faithful, but Harlow liked things to look nice. That wand was beginning to look more and more like the ugly branch it had once been before going through Olivanders crafting.

Within the next ten minutes he had fallen asleep, sprawled across the bed with the covers tangled in his ankles. He was dreaming; sharp voices and luscious curves, falling into mathematical problems then developing from there into the constellations of the sky. A crease appeared between his eyes even in his slumber, as though he were still concentrating hard.