After leaving Gringotts, I checked my pocket.
The pouch was still there.
I walked a few steps and checked again.
Nothing had changed.
I knew I looked foolish, but it was hard to get used to carrying more money than I’d ever owned and barely feeling its weight.
At least the signet had some heft to it.
I turned it on my finger as I stepped around a wizard bent over an open crate.
My eyes no longer itched.
Since leaving the bank, the ring had behaved like ordinary jewellery.
Hopefully, it would stay that way for at least the next hour.
I had something more important to do.
I found Ollivanders a little further along, squeezed between two buildings that looked much better maintained.
An old sign hung above the entrance, and behind the dusty window a single wand rested on a faded cushion.
I stopped in front of the display.
I’d imagined this moment so many times.
I would go in, the shopkeeper would measure my arms and hand me the first wand.
Something would explode.
The second would be even worse.
Then he’d find the right one, and everything would fall into place.
I looked at the window.
Perhaps it would be best not to start by blowing up the shop.
I straightened my shirt and pressed the handle.
A bell rang above my head.
Inside, it smelled of wood and dust.
Light from the window reached only the first few shelves.
Beyond them, narrow aisles ran between shelves stacked with long boxes.
Hundreds of them.
Perhaps thousands.
Some lay in neat rows.
Others had been crammed into gaps at angles that made it difficult to believe they hadn’t fallen already.
I approached the nearest shelf.
Faint strands of magic seeped between the boxes.
Around some, I could barely see them; around others, they trembled more clearly.
As I moved my hand along the shelf, something tightened faintly beneath my fingers.
I didn’t touch any of the boxes.
I wanted to.
Very much.
“Good morning.”
I turned so quickly that my elbow caught the shelf.
One box slid dangerously close to the edge.
I caught it before it fell.
An elderly man standing a few steps away watched me with mild interest.
“Careful. That shelf doesn’t need any encouragement.”
I put the box back.
“Sorry. I didn’t hear you.”
“It happens.”
Garrick Ollivander was thin and grey-haired, with eyes so pale they looked almost silver in the dim light.
He looked at my face.
His gaze lingered a little longer than was polite, then moved to my right hand.
The signet.
“What is your name?”
“Oliver Peverell.”
He repeated the surname quietly, as though testing its sound.
Then he nodded.
“I see.”
I waited for him to produce a tape measure.
He didn’t.
“I’d like to buy a wand,” I added.
“Yes. I rather thought that was why you had come.”
Fine wrinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes.
“There is one you should try first.”
I looked at the shelves.
“Which one?”
“I keep it in the back. Your father left it with me.”
For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.
I’d expected him to ask which hand I wrote with.
“My father?”
“Elias Peverell. He entrusted me with a wand for his son.”
Elias.
I repeated the name in my head, trying to connect it to someone real.
I had no face, no voice, no memory to help.
Ollivander glanced towards the door.
“One moment.”
He waved his wand.
The sign in the window turned over, and the lock clicked softly.
“I won’t hear customers from downstairs,” he explained.
“This way.”
He set off between the shelves.
I followed, keeping an eye on my elbows.
The stairs were narrow and turned so tightly that I ran a hand along the wall to keep my balance.
At the bottom was a small room.
A table, a cabinet, a few shelves.
The cooler air smelled of stone.
Ollivander placed a lamp on the table, opened a drawer, and took out a black box.
It had no label.
He set it in front of me.
“He brought it in at the end of July, ten years ago. He asked me to keep it until you came for your first wand.”
I looked at the lid.
“Was it his?”
“It belonged to your family. Your father used another, also inherited.”
Ollivander opened the box.
I leaned closer.
The wand was long and almost black.
It had no ornate handle or carved patterns.
Its surface was smooth and matte, and the wood tapered evenly towards the tip.
I’d expected something more decorative.
After a moment, I decided I was glad to have been wrong.
I liked this one.
Very much.
I reached out, then stopped with my hand above the box.
“May I?”
“In a moment.”
Ollivander lifted the wand and turned it beneath the lamp.
“Elder wood. Fourteen and three-quarter inches.”
I looked at him.
Elder.
The association was immediate.
Ollivander noticed my expression.
“You’ve heard of the wood?”
“I think everyone’s heard of one wand made from elder.”
He smiled faintly.
“Indeed. It is not, however, the only wand ever made from it.”
I examined the dark wood again.
Of course.
If every piece of elder produced the Elder Wand, magical history would look rather different.
“I rarely use it,” Ollivander continued.
“It can be difficult to match. It does not suit every wizard, nor is it willing to work with every one.”
“Will it work with me?”
“We shall see.”
He ran a finger along the handle.
“The wood alone tells me only part of what I would like to know. In this wand, the core is considerably more interesting.”
I instinctively leaned forward.
“What’s it made of?”
“According to the surviving records, phoenix blood and a thestral’s tear, bound by a runic arrangement within the wood.”
For a moment, I waited for him to list something else.
He didn’t.
“Blood? Not a feather?”
“Blood.”
“And it works?”
Ollivander regarded the wand with evident pleasure.
“That is what makes it interesting.”
He returned it to the box but kept his hand beside it.
“Most of the wands I make have a core of a single material. This one was constructed differently. The runes are part of the structure, not decoration. They hold the two substances in an arrangement that allows them to work together.”
I looked at the smooth wood.
Nothing suggested that something so complicated lay inside.
“Did you make it?”
I looked up.
“It’s five hundred years old?”
“More.”
I rested my hands against the edge of the table with even greater care.
Until now, I’d thought of it as the new wand I was about to receive.
Apparently, it was only new to me.
“Isn’t it too old?”
Ollivander looked almost reproachful.
“The wood is in excellent condition.”
“I didn’t mean to insult it.”
This time, his smile was clearer.
“I have examined it many times since it came into my care. I have found no cracks or signs of damage to the core. Age alone does not disqualify it.”
“What does that combination do? A phoenix and a thestral?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
He lifted the wand again, as though considering his words.
“I know which materials were used and how their combination was described. I do not have the complete notes from its making. Nor have I watched its previous owners use it.”
He looked at me.
“I could offer you several theories. I would rather not convince you that your wand has particular abilities before you have cast your first spell with it.”
It was less spectacular an answer than I’d expected.
But at least it was clear.
Ollivander held the open box out to me.
“Now, try it.”
I took the wand.
The wood was cool, and the handle a little thicker than it had appeared.
My fingers settled around it without needing to find a more comfortable grip.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then I felt warmth.
It began in my hand and spread along my forearm.
The magic I’d been struggling to direct all morning suddenly found an easier path.
I let out a breath.
I hadn’t even noticed I was holding it.
“Oh.”
Ollivander watched me closely.
I turned my wrist.
The wand tip followed my gaze.
It felt so natural that I smiled before I’d even decided what I wanted to do.
“Do you feel resistance?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“That’s just it. I don’t.”
That morning, I’d had to search for my magic, concentrate on it, and try to give it direction.
Now I only had to think of letting it flow towards my hand.
I raised the wand.
“Towards the wall,” Ollivander said, indicating a spot beside an empty shelf.
I gave it a light wave.
A streak of red shot from the tip.
It struck the stone with a bang.
I drew my hand back.
For a moment, all I could hear was my own breathing.
A dark mark remained on the wall, a thin wisp of smoke rising from it.
I looked at the wand.
Then at Ollivander.
“That was supposed to be smaller.”
The elderly wizard examined the scorched stone.
“I suspected as much.”
“Sorry.”
“That is why I indicated the wall.”
Only then did I notice it wasn’t the only mark there.
Several others looked much worse.
That reassured me a little.
“Again,” he said.
“Without the swing this time. Do you know any simple spells?”
I glanced at the wand.
That question had come at the right moment.
“Lumos.”
Light appeared at the tip.
Not a spark.
Not a flash that vanished before I had time to enjoy it.
A small, steady ball of light illuminated the tabletop and Ollivander’s hands.
I watched it for several seconds.
It was still shining.
I moved the wand sideways.
The light moved with it.
I laughed quietly.
“I wasn’t quite as good at that this morning.”
“Were you practising with a borrowed wand?”
“Without a wand. I could make a spark. Sometimes it glowed for a moment.”
Ollivander looked up at me.
“I see.”
For a moment, he seemed about to ask something, but instead he indicated the tip.
“Try putting it out.”
“Nox.”
The light disappeared.
I felt a pang of regret.
I could have looked at it a little longer.
“It responds well,” Ollivander said.
“You don’t need to push it. Begin with simple spells and pay attention to how much magic you put into each one.”
I looked at the mark on the wall.
“Yes. That sounds like a good idea.”
He held out the box so I could put the wand away.
I didn’t want to let go of it.
Eventually, I laid it down carefully, making sure the tip didn’t strike the edge.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing. Your father paid for its safekeeping. The wand itself already belonged to your family.”
I nodded.
For a moment, I ran my thumb along the edge of the box.
“Did you know him well?”
Ollivander closed the drawer.
“Not particularly. He came here, but he was not a frequent customer. As I mentioned, he had his own wand.”
“Did you recognise me by my eyes?”
He looked at my face, this time without his earlier surprise.
“They caught my attention. Your father had the same eyes. Then I noticed the signet.”
I touched the ring.
That explained his reaction better than assuming wandmakers simply knew everything about everyone who entered their shops.
“I don’t remember my parents,” I said.
“I grew up in an orphanage.”
His expression changed a little.
“I see.”
He didn’t say he was sorry, and I was grateful for that.
I didn’t feel like explaining something I barely understood myself yet again.
“Did you ever meet my mother?”
“Yes. Aria Selwyn. After she married, she used the name Selwyn-Peverell.”
Aria.
Another name I couldn’t put a face to.
“She didn’t grow up in Britain,” he added.
“She came here as a teenager. I don’t remember whether she told me where from.”
I waited, but he seemed to have little more to add.
“We weren’t close acquaintances,” he explained.
“I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.”
I shook my head.
“You’ve already told me more than I knew this morning.”
Ollivander nodded and picked up the lamp.
We headed towards the stairs.
I glanced once more at the closed box.
My father had left it here for me.
I didn’t know what to make of that, or even what I ought to feel.
He was a stranger whose name I’d learned a few minutes earlier, and yet ten years ago he had made arrangements for something I was now carrying under my arm.
I ran a finger along the lid.
For now, at least, I could learn to use it.
Upstairs, Ollivander unlocked the door and turned the sign over.
The light from the street seemed much brighter than before.
“Please don’t leave it loose in a bag with heavy objects,” he said as I stopped at the exit.
I looked at the box.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Many customers aren’t.”
He glanced towards one of the drawers.
I preferred not to know what he kept in there.
“Thank you,” I said. Find the original chapter at novelping.com.
“For the wand. And for keeping it safe.”
“Good luck, Mr Peverell.”
I stepped out into Diagon Alley.
For a moment, I stood beside the window, looking at the box.
I had my own wand.
I took it out again, just briefly.
In daylight, the wood wasn’t entirely black.
I could make out subtle variations in its colour and the smooth surface of the handle.
My fingers closed around it as easily as they had downstairs.
I wanted to cast another spell.
I looked at the passers-by.
Then I remembered the scorched wall.
I put the wand back in its box.
Books first.
Before I reached them, though, I had to solve a much less magical problem.
I had nothing to carry them in.
Thimgrin’s pouch worked perfectly as a purse.
Cramming books, a wand box, and everything else I bought in among the coins didn’t seem particularly convenient.
I needed a bag.
Perhaps a second pouch for smaller things too.
I stopped a passing wizard.
“Excuse me, where can I buy a bag with an expanded interior?”
The man glanced at my face, hesitated, then pointed to a shop across the street.
“There. Next to the trunks.”
“Thank you.”
He was already moving on.
I didn’t particularly mind.
Through the window, I could see a shopkeeper putting a folding chair into a rucksack.
That was much more interesting.
Inside, the selection turned out to be larger than I needed.
Shoulder bags, rucksacks, pouches, trunks with drawers.
One open trunk looked as though it could accommodate my bed.
I wasn’t planning to move house just yet.
I chose a simple bag with a wide strap and a small pouch that could be attached to a belt.
The shopkeeper showed me the interiors and explained how to retrieve stored objects.
This time, I tried to listen carefully instead of simply enjoying the fact that something was larger inside than out.
I paid twenty-four Galleons for both.
I stowed the wand box separately, where nothing would press down on it.
The money stayed in Thimgrin’s pouch.
I slung the bag over my shoulder and went outside.
Now the bookshop.
I spotted the Flourish and Blotts sign from a distance.
I quickened my pace.
It was true that, since arriving in Diagon Alley, I kept finding something that seemed like the most interesting thing in the world.
But books full of spells had a considerable advantage.
I pushed open the door.
Inside, it was busier than Ollivanders.
Customers wandered between the shelves, stacks of textbooks crowded the counter, and somewhere at the back someone was trying to convince a shop assistant that the copy he’d ordered shouldn’t be biting him.
I stopped.
Looked that way.
The assistant apparently disagreed.
I decided to start with books that didn’t require negotiating terms before opening them.
I got stuck at the first shelf for a while.
Then at the second.
The titles alone were enough to bring back that familiar excitement.
Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, history.
Further along, I saw a shelf devoted to magical creatures and another holding books whose titles I didn’t even understand.
I could buy dozens.
I had the money.
That was a dangerous thought.
I pulled out the first volume and opened it halfway through.
After three sentences, I closed it.
I understood almost nothing.
Fine.
I’d start at the beginning.
Finding the beginners’ section took a few minutes.
Things were much better there.
More explanations, fewer words the author apparently expected me to have known since birth.
I chose *Simple Spells for Beginners*, *Magical Theory*, *A History of Magic*, and *Spells and Their Structure*.
I put the last book back once, then returned for it.
I wanted to know why spells worked.
Especially after what I’d done with the banknote.
I also flicked through a Potions textbook.
It soon became clear that, besides the book, I would need a cauldron, ingredients, and somewhere no one would ask what I was cooking.
Reluctantly, I put it back.
Four books to begin with.
That was sensible.
Besides, I could always return.
An older witch sat at the counter, spectacles hanging from a chain.
She examined my chosen titles.
“Just starting?”
“Yes.”
She opened one of the volumes to check the price.
“Read this one before you start trying things.”
She pushed *Magical Theory* towards me.
“Especially the first few chapters.”
I thought of Ollivander’s wall.
“All right.”
“Twenty-one Galleons, three Sickles, and seven Knuts.”
I reached for the pouch.
I’d got the hang of Galleons.
The other coins took me a moment.
The witch accepted the gold and gave me change, which I put away with the rest of my money.
Then she wrapped the books with a single wave of her wand.
I opened my bag.
Four thick volumes vanished into it without the slightest difficulty.
I put the strap over my shoulder.
Almost no difference in weight.
I remembered my school bag from my previous life.
Two worlds.
Both made you carry textbooks, but only one had solved the most important problem.
Only after leaving the bookshop did I realise I was hungry.
Not a little hungry.
The kind of hungry that suddenly made it difficult to think of anything except food.
I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
In the meantime, I’d explored a bank, travelled beneath London, collected a wand, and spent far too long among bookshelves.
I looked further down the street.
The brooms were still there.
They’d be there next time too.
With some effort, I headed towards the Leaky Cauldron.
On the way back, I checked my bag several times.
The box was still there.
So were the books.
Each time, I wanted to take one out and start reading right there on the pavement.
Given my previous experiences with watching where I walked, I decided not to risk it.
I reached the orphanage tired, hungry, and very pleased with myself.
I slowed at the entrance.
All day, I hadn’t come up with a reasonable explanation for the bag.
Or for where I’d been for so long.
Fortunately, I met no one.
I took my purchases to my room and went to find something to eat.
No one asked about my absence, and I felt no need to start that conversation.
Only after eating did I return upstairs.
I closed the door.
I arranged the books on the desk.
Beside them, I placed the box and carefully took out my wand.
For a while, I sat looking at everything.
Yesterday, I had still been trying to squeeze a little magic out of myself, uncertain whether anything would happen this time.
Now a spellbook lay on my desk.
A real one.
I reached for *Simple Spells for Beginners*, then stopped halfway.
Theory first.
The witch in the bookshop had sounded quite firm.
I opened the volume she’d indicated.
I laid the wand right beside it, within reach.
This time, no one had to persuade me to study.
(dancing cow meme)