New chapter is live.
Settle in, take your time, and let’s see what waits in the dark 🖤
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It was time for a rest.
During his lunch break, Mr.
Ollivander was pleasantly surprised to meet the young wizard who had bought a wand yesterday, Callan Ashworth, outside the ice cream parlour.
He sat down with him.
“Are you planning to study Divination, Mr. Ashworth?”
Ollivander pointed to the copy of Unfogging the Future and the crystal ball on the table.
“For Muggles, Divination has always seemed mysterious and very attractive,” Callan answered politely.
“Yes. Quite so.” Mr.
Ollivander smiled.
“Curiosity should always be encouraged. I hope you learn something useful.”
In Ollivander’s eyes, Callan’s expression seemed to freeze for a moment, though it quickly returned to calm.
During the conversation that followed, Mr.
Ollivander mentioned the cypress wand he had sold that morning.
Callan showed great interest.
“Are owners of that kind of wand rare?” Callan asked.
After thinking for a moment, Mr.
Ollivander replied, “Yes, they are not common. Though they are not the rarest either.”
Callan froze again, but this time he covered it well enough that Ollivander did not notice.
“I hope you become friends,” Ollivander said, describing a little of what he had observed about Remus.
It was only a passing remark, a small bit of help for that child.
“Perhaps we will.”
Callan raised an eyebrow and gave no definite answer.
After their chat, the two parted ways.
Mr.
Ollivander returned to his shop in a cheerful mood and waited for the next customer.
The bell rang.
The first visitors of the afternoon had arrived.
“Good afternoon.”
Mr.
Ollivander appeared suddenly once again.
For once, the little trick failed.
This time, there were four visitors: a couple and their two sons.
All four wore extremely fine robes and looked far more aristocratic than most customers.
The father was arguing fiercely with his handsome elder son.
The mother occasionally added support for her husband.
Only the younger boy jumped at Ollivander’s appearance and hid behind his mother.
Ollivander gave the boy a gentle smile.
He had already recognized the family.
The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.
Toujours Pur.
After waiting silently for a while, Ollivander had to cough twice to remind them of his presence.
“How may I help you, Mr. Black?”
Orion Black seemed only then to notice him.
He stopped arguing with his son, rubbed the gold ring bearing the Black family crest on his finger, and said with politeness that could not quite hide its pride, “Yes, Mr. Ollivander. We have come to buy a wand.”
Then he glared at his elder son again.
“I assume you have already seen my elder son, Sirius Black.”
Sirius glared back without fear.
“And this young gentleman?” Ollivander asked, turning to the other boy rather than involving himself in the quarrel.
“Oh, Regulus is not old enough for Hogwarts yet,” said Orion’s wife, who was also his second cousin, Walburga Black.
Her tone carried the same pride.
“He will need his wand next year.”
“Very good.”
Ollivander said the words out of habit, then took out his tape measure and asked handsome young Sirius, “Which hand do you usually use, Mr. Black?”
Sirius was noticeably less arrogant toward Ollivander than his parents were.
He was even more polite than he had been with his father.
“Right hand, sir.”
“Very good.”
Ollivander smiled and repeated the phrase.
This child felt entirely different from most members of pure-blood families.
After measuring him carefully, Ollivander returned with a large stack of boxes just in time to prevent another argument between father and son.
He handed them to Sirius one by one.
It did not take long for the result to appear.
The wand had chosen its wizard.
“Twelve inches, phoenix feather, red oak. Splendid.”
Mr.
Ollivander praised it warmly.
“The ignorant may assume a red oak wand indicates a hot-tempered owner.
“In truth, the witch or wizard truly suited to red oak possesses extraordinary reaction speed. It is an excellent duelling wand, and its ideal owner is usually quick-witted, adaptable, and unusually deft in a crisis.”
As he spoke, Mr.
and Mrs.
Black, though still angry with their elder son, showed pride despite themselves.
Clearly, only such an excellent wand was worthy of a noble member of the Black family.
Regulus’s face was full of envy.
“Of course,” Ollivander added with a smile as he placed the box in Sirius’s hands, “I also consider it one of the most beautiful wands. Much like you, child.”
Sirius gave him a strange look.
“I am a boy, sir.”
“I think beautiful and handsome can overlap at times, don’t you, Mr. Ollivander?”
Walburga rubbed Sirius’s hair.
Her attitude was entirely different from before, plainly still proud of her elder son’s appearance.
Orion smiled faintly too.
Sirius frowned.
He was clearly still angry, but in the end he said nothing and followed his family out.
Ollivander shook his head with a quiet laugh.
But before he could return to the back room, the bell rang again.
“Hello, Garrick, my old friend.”
The newcomer was obviously different from the customers before him and even addressed Mr.
Ollivander by his given name.
The instant Ollivander heard the voice, he thought of that smooth, well-kept hair.
He knew who it was.
“Good afternoon,” Ollivander said, turning with a smile.
“Fleamont, Euphemia. I see this must be your son, James?”
“That’s the lad.”
Fleamont Potter shook Ollivander’s hand warmly, then said loudly and without the slightest shame, “Took us quite a bit of effort to get him, I can tell you.”
“Fleamont!”
Euphemia jabbed her husband sharply, though a smile still lingered on her own face.
They had nearly given up hope as they approached old age, yet in the end, they had received this hard-won gift.
Their only son, James Potter.
The boy was completely different from every child Ollivander had seen that day.
He had clearly been deeply loved, and when he heard his father’s words, he showed no embarrassment at all.
If anything, he looked proud.
“A fine lad,” Ollivander said with a smile.
Ollivander had known the Potters for many years.
Back then, Fleamont Potter had invented Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion and opened a shop in Diagon Alley, multiplying the family fortune several times over.
Afterward, Fleamont had retired without hesitation, sold the company for a handsome profit, and devoted himself to the far more personal project of starting a family.
Seeing his old friend’s success made Ollivander sincerely happy.
“Now, young James, tell me which hand you usually use.”
After another round of testing, Ollivander’s face lit with pleasure.
“Splendid.”
He took the wand from James’s hand.
“Eleven inches, phoenix feather, and mahogany.”
Ollivander smiled as he explained to the Potter family, “This is an exceptionally pliable wand, best suited to Transfiguration, which is one of the most difficult subjects at Hogwarts.
It seems James may become exceptionally talented at Transfiguration.
“Phoenix feather is also very rare, and it is extremely demanding of its owner.
“Interestingly, in these two days I have met three owners of phoenix feather wands, and all of them are Hogwarts first-years. Perhaps you will become friends.”
Ollivander placed the box in James’s hands.
James looked as if owning such an excellent wand were only natural.
“A fine weapon for a formidable young wizard. Gryffindor, I think!”
The Potter parents laughed indulgently.
After leaving the wand shop, the three found an empty table outside the ice cream parlour.
James glanced curiously at the strange boy sitting alone at a nearby table, then lost interest and turned to his father.
“Can I buy a Nimbus 1001?”
“Of course…”
Just as Fleamont was about to agree lovingly, Euphemia interrupted while checking the shopping list.
“Not yet, James. First-years aren’t allowed to bring their own broomsticks unless a professor makes an exception.”
James looked to his father for help.
Fleamont spread his hands.
“That has not happened in nearly a century.”
“Ah…”
James sighed listlessly.
Fleamont gave him a sympathetic look.
Then, after sneaking several glances at his wife, he leaned closer and whispered, “But I heard Professor McGonagall, Gryffindor’s Head of House, suffered a concussion and several broken ribs because of a Slytherin foul in a Quidditch match during her seventh year.
Ever since, seeing Slytherin lose badly has been a lifelong wish of hers.
“If, and I only mean if…”
Fleamont lowered his voice further.
James had to lean in to hear.
“If you show extraordinary talent in flying class, for example by performing a Wronski Feint, it might not be impossible…”
Plainly, father and son both treated James entering Gryffindor as a settled fact.
“Fleamont!”
Euphemia had not meant to interfere in their father-son conspiracy, but once she heard that, she could not sit still.
She swatted her husband with the list.
“James is only a first-year. How can you encourage him to attempt something as dangerous as a Wronski Feint?”
Fleamont hurried to soothe his wife.
He gave James a helpless look, but still raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly.
James understood and nodded in secret.
Clearly, there were things between father and son that Euphemia did not know.
At that moment, James noticed that no one had joined the nearby table.
Only the strange boy sat there alone.
Curious, he asked his father, “Do students usually come by themselves?”
“Rarely.”
Fleamont looked back, then frowned slightly at his wife.
“He seems to be a first-year.”
Euphemia nodded with pity.
“Yes. Poor child.”
Callan suddenly felt uncomfortable.
He could not quite sit still.
Plenty of witches and wizards had passed by that day, but very few were like the Potters.
He looked up at the time and decided it was nearly enough.
He picked up his things, stood, and gave the Potter family a friendly nod.
Euphemia asked with concern, “Would you like another ice cream, child?”
With Callan’s clean appearance and courteous manner, it was hard for her not to feel fond of a child with such a pitiful background.
“Thank you, but no, ma’am.”
Callan politely refused Mrs.
Potter’s kindness and walked away.
“Odd fellow,” James muttered, watching him leave.
The moment he noticed his mother’s eyes growing stern, he dropped his head guiltily.
By then, Callan had reached the wand shop door and stepped inside without hesitation.
“Welcome. Ah, it is you, Mr. Ashworth.”
Ollivander smiled.
“Is something wrong with your wand, child?”
“No, sir,” Callan said, looking a little uncomfortable.
“I still have some questions about wands.”
“Of course. Of course you would.”
Mr.
Ollivander did not reject him in the slightest.
He understood very well how interested Muggle-born children could be in magic.
“Now, what questions do you have?”
Callan sat obediently and spoke politely with Ollivander about wands.
Half an hour passed before he rose.
“Thank you for answering me, sir.”
Ollivander liked this polite child and watched him leave with a smile.
Night deepened.
Another day had come to an end.
Ollivander closed the shop as usual, passed through the long corridor, and carefully checked the wooden boxes holding the wands.
For a man with his memory, the process did not take long.
Soon, he was nearly finished.
Just before he completed the inspection, Ollivander froze.
He looked at a tall stack of boxes and stepped closer, his expression puzzled.
‘Did I forget something?’
It did not take long for him to dismiss the thought.
His memory could not possibly be wrong.
Unless it was a surprise he had already experienced once.
Ollivander considered himself to have lived long enough, but he could never have enough surprises, even repeated ones.
If they were about wands, all the better.
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Want to keep going?
I hope this chapter gave you another reason to stay with the story.
There’s still plenty ahead, and things are only starting to unfold.