The wizarding business seemed surprisingly easy to run.
Ariana stared at the tiny, pitch-black, ancient, dirty little shack squished between a bookstore and a record shop, unable to fathom how anyone could ever associate a place like this with the word “delightful.” Honestly, if this was what it took to run a shop, she was pretty sure she could do it too.
She made a quiet note of this as a potential career path for the future.
While she was still secretly sizing up the place, Dumbledore briskly pushed open the door.
“Come along inside, Ari,” he called back.
The chattering inside instantly ground to a halt.
Ariana quickly realized that almost everyone here seemed to know Dumbledore.
Her suspicion was confirmed moments later—and if anything, it was an understatement.
Dumbledore appeared to be a very famous man indeed.
“Mr.
Dumbledore!” Ariana barely caught a blur before the bartender, who had been lazily wiping down tables behind the bar a second ago, zipped right up to them.
“What wind brings you here?
Can I get you a glass of mead?
On the house!” Ariana noticed every eye in the pub swiveling toward them.
The patrons smoking, chatting, and drinking all paused what they were doing, and quite a few were already raising their hands in greeting.
In the farthest corner, she even spotted a pale young man wearing a turban who nearly tumbled out of his seat before scrambling away like a startled rabbit.
Ariana figured he had to be a troublemaking student with terrible grades.
Why else would anyone be so terrified of seeing their headmaster?
“No, thank you for your generosity, Tom,” Dumbledore declined with a warm smile, bowing and nodding to the rest of the room.
“I must take this young lady to fetch her school supplies.” The bartender looked genuinely disappointed.
“Ah, well.
I won’t hold you up then.” Dumbledore led Ariana out into the small walled courtyard behind the pub.
He counted three bricks up, then two across, pulled out a wooden stick, and tapped the wall.
The bricks immediately scrambled and rearranged themselves, opening up like a slowly opening stone doorway to reveal a bustling street lined with magical shops.
Sunlight poured down, turning the dust floating in the air to shimmering gold.
“Welcome to Diagon Alley,” Dumbledore said.
“Keep close to me, please.
We’ll get your wand first.” A wand!
Ariana felt a jolt of excitement.
Dumbledore was tall with impossibly long legs, forcing short little Ariana to trot to keep up.
She pinched a corner of his robes with one hand while craning her neck, looking around in wide-eyed wonder.
They turned into a small shop with a golden sign over the door whose paint was peeling off.
A tinkling bell rang as they opened the door.
Unlike the spacious window display, which held only a single wand on a purple cushion, the inside was narrow, dim, and hushed, with thousands of slender boxes stacked neatly all the way to the ceiling.
Suddenly, a man riding a rolling ladder slid out from behind the shelves, his voice soft and airy.
“Good morning.” His two wide, silvery eyes glinted in the dim light like floating lightbulbs.
Ariana almost kicked him.
What was the difference between this and a half-dead voice floating out of a quiet graveyard, complete with two eerie ghost-fires when you turned around?
“Mr.
Dumbledore.” Ollivander recognized him instantly.
“This doesn’t seem to be a child of your family…
Are you guiding a new student yourself?” His pale eyes locked onto Ariana, as if trying to discern what made this little girl so special.
Ariana silently stood up a little straight.
Dumbledore said gently, “Before I became Headmaster of Hogwarts, I was a teacher, was I not?
Let us pick out a wand for this child.” “Oh, naturally,” Ollivander murmured, before correcting gently, “though remember, sir—the wand chooses the wizard.” He snapped his fingers.
A silver tape measure floated in the air and automatically began measuring her—elbow to fingertip, shoulder to floor, even the distance between her eyes.
Ariana felt this was entirely unnecessary, especially since Ollivander turned his back and started rummaging through the shelves before even looking at the numbers.
“Since she was brought here by Dumbledore…
perhaps you might try this one.” He pulled a box from a pile near the bottom.
“Ten inches, laurel and dragon heartstring.
Quite powerful, very strong, but it has a bit of a temper.
Picky—exceptionally picky—” Ariana took it.
The instant her fingers touched the wood, a dull shower of sparks burst from the tip.
Ollivander’s eyes widened in thought: *Bruiser, didn’t you say you hated humans?* Another brighter shower of sparks popped out, forming tiny stars in the air before fading away.
Ollivander’s jaw dropped further: *Bruiser, didn’t you swear you’d never serve a master?* “Ah, this wand seems to like you,” he said, taking it back anyway.
“But it is not the most suitable match.” “Every wand is unique, but only when the wood, core, and wizard are in perfect harmony can a wand truly perform at its best.
No, my child, this is not the one.” The laurel wand in his hand promptly spewed a puff of black smoke right in his face.
Ollivander coughed in mild embarrassment.
“Ah, well…
every wand has its temper.” He tucked it back into its box.
For some reason, Ariana got the feeling that the wand was looking very indignant.
Soon, wand boxes covered the floor.
Ariana picked up wand after wand, only to put them back down.
Some spewed fireworks like the first, while others lay stiff and unmoving like dead turtles.
Yet without exception, Ollivander declared that none were a true match.
Ariana wasn’t sure what “the best match” was even supposed to feel like.
Still, her inner pride was practically wagging its tail.
*Ha!
I really am special—even the wands are fighting over me!* “An unusual customer, favored by wands that appreciate strength and potential…
but not enough, still not enough.
Here at Ollivanders, you shall find your ideal, most perfect match.” Ollivander grew increasingly animated as he searched.
“Now, let me think…
what did I forget?
Ah!” He slapped his forehead and pulled a long, dusty box from a dark corner.
“Try this one!” He handed her a wand that looked remarkably plain—smooth, straight, tapering evenly from handle to tip, colored a light, fresh branch-brown.
Ariana gave it a gentle wave.
Like a raging flood suddenly guided into a clear riverbed, a warm current surged through her body and flowed straight into her right hand.
Instinctively, she raised the wand high.
A dazzling shower of golden sparks erupted from the tip like a fountain.
The wand trembled in her grip, sending a pulse of pure excitement right through her fingertips.
“A magnificent combination!” Ollivander declared triumphantly.
“Eleven inches, willow, dragon heartstring.
Generally speaking, willow wands favor wizards with great potential, possessing remarkable healing abilities, though their owners often suffer from a subtle lack of security.” At those words, a flicker of sympathy washed over Dumbledore’s face—no doubt thinking of her background at the orphanage.
Ariana didn’t care much about that, however; she felt fine.
She was far more intrigued by what Ollivander said next: “However, this one is slightly different.” Ariana’s eyes lit up.
She loved feeling unique.
“Crafted from the toughest branch of an ancient Whomping Willow—not an easy thing to acquire, I assure you,” Ollivander shuddered at the memory.
“Fierce temper.
Exceptionally fierce—” Before he could finish, Ariana’s right hand felt a violent tug.
She watched in horror as the wand whipped forward like a leather strap and slapped Ollivander right across the face.
*Thwack!* “Ouch!!!” Ollivander was hit so hard he spun halfway around.
“I’m sorry, sir!
It wasn’t me!
The wand moved on its own!” Ariana panicked.
*Holy crap!
I just assaulted the shop owner while buying supplies!* Worse yet, this seemed to be the only wand shop in the entire alley.
Would he jack up the price out of spite now?
Scout’s honor, she really hadn’t meant to hit him!
Could wand grudges please not extend to the wizard holding them?
Clutching the red welt on his cheek, Ollivander took a few sharp breaths.
“I know it wasn’t you…
it was this feisty little fellow.” Far from being angry, he looked positively thrilled.
“A fascinating experience!
The wand chooses the wizard…
Little girl, you are going to become a remarkably powerful witch.” Ariana looked at him with a thoroughly bewildered expression.
*Did this guy break his brain making wands?
He gets hit by his own product—completely turning the natural order upside down—and he smiles about it?* She cautiously took a step to the side.
*Best keep her distance so whatever he has doesn’t rub off on her smart little brain.* After paying seven Galleons, Dumbledore led Ariana out of the shop.
“Next, textbooks and robes,” he said, unfolding a piece of parchment to check the list.
Noticing Ariana craning her neck to look, he chuckled softly.
“Oh, my memory!
Did I forget to give you your letter?” It was a letter written in emerald-green ink.
Ariana naturally gripped a fold of Dumbledore’s robes with one hand to keep pace with him while unfolding the letter with the other: *Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry* *Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore* Her eyes lingered on the lines beneath: *(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot)* Ariana shot a quick sideways glance at the old man beside her.
She had no idea what any of those titles meant, but they sounded terrifyingly impressive.
The rest of the letter was standard enough—welcoming her to the school and providing a checklist of required items.
“I am sorry, little Ari,” Dumbledore said apologetically.
“Hogwarts’ financial assistance fund is somewhat limited, so we may need to buy a few second-hand items.” “That’s fine!” Ariana nodded cheerfully.
“I don’t mind at all!” Free stuff was free stuff.
New or old, whatever landed in her hands was real value.
If she actually cared about that, she wouldn’t have thrown a tantrum on the floor earlier to blackmail—er, *passionately negotiate a donation with*—Mrs.
Smith.
Second-hand textbooks, a second-hand cauldron and brass scales, second-hand robes…
Ariana even specifically requested the robes with the most patches to save a few extra coins.
By the time they finished buying everything, the sun was dipping toward the west.
With another familiar, dizzying swirl of spatial distortion, the two of them landed back in the alley beside the orphanage.
Dumbledore handed the paper bags to Ariana.
“Little Ari, remember to keep that letter safe.
Your train ticket for September first is inside.
Don’t miss the train.” “Got it.” Ariana patted her pockets, making sure everything was where it belonged.
The kindly old man then produced one last paper bag.
“This is your matriculation gift.
Congratulations on becoming a witch.” Ariana accepted it in a slight daze.
Inside was a set of brand-new wizard robes.
“Well then, I shall see you at Hogwarts.” With a loud *crack*, Dumbledore vanished into thin air.
Ariana snapped back to reality as if waking from a dream.
She looked up at the empty alley, then lowered her gaze back to the new robes in her hands.
She decided right then and there that she was going to become the absolute greatest witch in the world.
Maybe by then, Dumbledore would have long forgotten her, but she would stroll up to him, wave her wand, and conjure a mountain of gold wrapped in shimmering jewels: *”You helped me immensely when I was just a poor orphan.
Please accept this humble token of my gratitude.”* —Forgive young Ariana, for a mountain of gold was the absolute grandest thing her imagination could conceive.
Fired up by her own dramatic mental theater, her blood boiled with ambition.
Ariana looked down at the stack of textbooks in her arms with fierce determination.
*Right then!
Step one: memorize every single textbook ten times before school starts!*