Shopping for all the supplies did not take as much time as I expected. That was mostly because Professor Sprout knew exactly where to go, what to ask for, and how to stop shopkeepers from trying to sell me anything unnecessary.
At Madam Malkin’s, I stood on a little stool while enchanted measuring tapes whipped around me and fabrics pinned themselves into place. Madam Malkin clucked over my shoulders, muttered something about growing room, and in about half an hour, I had my uniform.
At Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, the smell nearly knocked me backwards. Powdered roots, dried insects, something rotten, something sweet, and something that smelled distressingly like old socks boiled in water. Professor Sprout seemed perfectly at ease. I tried not to breathe too deeply while jars of beetle eyes and bundles of dried herbs were packed away for me.
At Potage’s Cauldron Shop, I bought a standard pewter cauldron, size two, and watched a self-stirring copper one polish itself in the corner like it knew it was out of my price range.
At Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment, we picked up brass scales, a telescope, phials, and other bits that made my trunk heavier with every stop.
And then came Flourish and Blotts.
Books.
Rows and rows of them. Shelves rising high above me. Stacks on tables. Books floating down ladders. Books snapping shut when someone came too close. Books with titles in gold, silver, and ink that shimmered as I passed.
As I waited for my school books to be packed, I found an entire display devoted to Harry Potter.
A whole section.
There were children’s books, illustrated books, and little adventure stories with bright moving covers. Harry Potter standing on a mountain with a sword. Harry Potter riding a phoenix. Harry Potter riding a dragon, too.
I stared at the titles.
Harry Potter and the Phoenix’s Secret
Harry Potter and the Mermaid’s Palace
Harry Potter and the Nundu’s Secret
There were a lot of secrets, apparently.
One cover showed Harry facing down a dragon while lightning flashed dramatically behind him. Another had him standing beside Merlin himself.
I picked one up and flipped it open.
Within three pages, Harry had apparently been trained in secret by Merlin, lived in a palace hidden in the clouds, and defeated twelve dark wizards before breakfast.
Poor Harry. The real one was probably sleeping in a cupboard at Privet Drive while the wizarding world thought him some sort of tiny Merlin-level war god.
After paying for my books, I met Professor Sprout outside the shop. She took one look at the pile I was carrying and smiled.
“Off to Ollivanders, then.”
I shifted the books in my arms.
“What about a pet?”
Professor Sprout paused. “A pet?”
“It said on the list that students can bring an owl, a cat, or a toad.”
“Ah. Yes, that is allowed. It isn’t quite mandatory, but if you would like one, we can certainly go and buy one.”
“Yes, please.”
She smiled. “Very well. Eeylops first, then.”
We walked through the busy street towards Eeylops Owl Emporium. The moment we stepped inside, I was hit by the smell of feathers, straw, and owl pellets.
Owls sat everywhere. Tiny owls, huge owls, brown owls, white owls, speckled owls. Some slept with their heads tucked under their wings. Others blinked down at me as if judging me. One particularly grand-looking owl turned its back on a wizard trying to inspect it, clearly insulted by his existence.
And then I saw him.
All black. His feathers were glossy and deep. He sat near the back of the shop, perched higher than the others, watching me with bright, intelligent eyes.
The owl stared at me.
I stared back.
Something about him felt right.
Professor Sprout noticed. “Found one you like?”
I nodded slowly, still looking at the owl. “How much for that one?”
The witch behind the counter followed my gaze. “Oh, him? six Galleons.”
“I’ll take him.”
The shop witch opened the cage.
The black owl stepped out onto her gloved hand, then spread his wings.
Then he flew straight to me.
I barely had time to lift my arms before he landed there, claws gripping my sleeve with surprising care. He was heavier than I expected. Warm, too. His head tilted, and he blinked once, slow and satisfied, as if he had made the purchase rather than me.
“Well,” Professor Sprout said, eyes twinkling. “That seems settled.”
I smiled. “I think so.”
I spent a one and half more Galleons on a cage, owl treats, gloves, and the other supplies the shop witch insisted were necessary. Some probably were. Some probably were not. I did not care enough to argue.
When we stepped back out into Diagon Alley, the owl stayed perched on my arm rather than in his cage.
I looked at him. “I suppose I’ll call you Poe.”
The owl gave a soft, pleased chirrup.
Professor Sprout laughed. “He approves.”
“Good,” I said. “I’d hate to start off by offending him.”
Poe clicked his beak quietly, as if agreeing that would have been unwise.
Professor Sprout adjusted the parcels in her arms and glanced down the street.
“Come along, then. One last stop.”
I looked where she was looking.
A narrow, shabby shop stood ahead, its peeling gold letters reading:
Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
Professor Sprout smiled.
“You can finally get your wand.”
=======
We walked into Ollivanders.
My first thought was that the place looked as if one careless sneeze might bring the whole shop down.
Thin boxes were stacked everywhere, from floor to ceiling, piled on shelves so high they vanished into shadow. Dust hung in the air, glittering in the narrow beams of light that slipped through the front window. The shop was narrow, quiet, and somehow older than the street outside.
Poe shifted on my arm, feathers ruffling.
“Pomona,” came the voice of an old man from somewhere deeper inside the shop.
“Garrick,” Professor Sprout called back. “I’m here with a first year.”
There was the soft scrape of movement, then Garrick Ollivander appeared from between two towering shelves with several wand boxes balanced neatly in his arms.
He was an old man with pale eyes that seemed far too bright in the dusty light. They fixed first on Professor Sprout, then on me.
“Mr Adrian Adler,” Professor Sprout said.
“Yes,” Ollivander said, still looking at me.
“Wand arm?” he asked.
“Right,” I said.
A tape measure snapped off the counter and flew at me.
I jerked back before I could stop myself. The tape measure ignored my opinion completely. It stretched from shoulder to fingertip, wrist to elbow, elbow to nose, then wrapped itself briefly around my head like it was measuring me for a coffin.
Poe gave an offended little hoot.
“Hm,” Ollivander murmured. “Quite.”
The tape measure slithered away as Ollivander turned to the shelves with a thoughtful expression. After a moment, he selected a long, narrow box from near the counter and opened it with a soft click.
“Beech and unicorn hair,” he said. “Eleven inches. Supple. A fine wand for a young wizard.”
He handed it to me. The moment my fingers closed around it, the tip spat a weak shower of grey sparks, and one of the shelves rattled.
Ollivander plucked it from my hand before I could react.
“No.”
“No?” I repeated.
“No.”
Right.
Another box appeared in his hand.
“Maple and dragon heartstring. Twelve inches. Springy.”
I held it.
A wand box fell off a shelf and struck the floor with a sharp crack.
“No.”
“Right,” I said. “Good start.”
“Excellent start,” Ollivander corrected, already moving. “A wrong wand tells us almost as much as a right one.”
The next wand made the lamps flicker.
The one after that heated in my hand until I nearly dropped it.
A silver lime wand produced a mournful whistle from somewhere deep in the shelves.
An ash wand did absolutely nothing, which somehow seemed to offend Ollivander more than the ones that had misbehaved.
“Hm.”
He took it back and stared at me.
I stared back.
Professor Sprout had gone quiet.
Ollivander’s mouth curved into a small smile.
“A difficult customer.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
“They rarely are,” he said. “Wait here.”
Then he vanished into the back of the shop.
So we waited.
At first, I thought it would only take a minute or two.
It did not.
The shop settled into a strange silence as somewhere behind the shelves, Ollivander moved about, pulling boxes and muttering to himself.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Professor Sprout clasped her hands in front of her and looked around the shop with polite patience. Poe blinked slowly from his perch, apparently deciding the place was beneath his concern.
Twenty minutes passed.
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other.
At half an hour, Ollivander finally returned.
This time, he carried three boxes. He placed the first one on the counter and opened it.
“Hazel and phoenix feather,” he said. “Ten and three-quarter inches. Flexible.”
I touched it.
For half a second, warmth rushed up my arm. Then the glass in the front window gave a faint, dangerous hum.
Ollivander’s hand closed over the wand at once.
“No,” he said, but softer this time.
He did not put the wand back immediately. Instead, he looked at it, then at me.
“Phoenix feather,” he murmured. “But not hazel.”
He went into the back again. Professor Sprout looked at me. I looked at her.
“Does it usually take this long?” I asked.
She gave a small, helpless smile. “Sometimes.”
That was not reassuring either.
This time, Ollivander was gone for only a few minutes.
When he returned, he carried one box. It was older, for one thing. Dark wood instead of the usual cardboard, with tarnished brass hinges and a thin line of pale inlay along the lid. Ollivander held it carefully, almost respectfully.
He set it on the counter.
“This wand,” he said, “has been in my family’s keeping for some time.”
“How long is some time?” I asked.
“Long enough.”
Ollivander opened the box.
The wand inside was dark.
All black. A rough, natural grain twisted along its length. It was not smooth or elegant. The surface was ridged and uneven, carved by nature more than by hand, with grooves that caught the light in thin silver lines.
I stared at it.
Then I reached out and took it. The moment my fingers closed around the handle, I felt something settle.
Comfort.
That was the only word I had for it. A deep, strange comfort. Like putting on clothes that fit properly for the first time. Like stepping into a room and knowing it was yours. Like breathing out after holding your breath for far too long.
I had never felt anything like it.
Professor Sprout drew in a quiet breath beside me.
Ollivander watched my face.
“Blackthorn,” he said softly. “Twelve and a half inches. Rigid.”
I turned the wand slightly, watching the grooves catch the light.
“The core is phoenix feather,” he continued.
“The handle is inlaid with thunder-struck rowan. Not common practice. Rowan is protective. Lightning changes the character of the wood. Makes it more reactive, less gentle, but better at grounding violent surges of magic.”
I looked up. Ollivander’s pale eyes were fixed on mine.
“Blackthorn does not choose gentle lives, Mr Adler,” he said. “It favours those who survive what should have broken them.”
I swallowed.
“Well,” I said, because someone had to say something, “this one seems less terrible.”
“No,” Ollivander said quietly, with a small smile. “Not terrible at all.”
“That will be seven Galleons, Mr Adler.”
I paid him and thanked him. Then Professor Sprout and I walked back out into Diagon Alley.
Professor Sprout glanced down at me.
“Well,” she said, “that was quite something.”
“That is one word for it.”
She smiled. “How about I buy you an ice cream, and then I’ll return you home?”
I nodded.
That sounded nice.
Really nice, actually.
========
The ice cream tasted brilliant.
There was no other word for it.
Florean Fortescue really knew what he was doing, because the thing I had bought, a Double Chocolate Cauldron Crunch, was possibly the best thing I had ever eaten. It came in a little black cauldron-shaped bowl, with thick chocolate ice cream, crunchy bits that popped faintly against my tongue, and a warm ribbon of fudge that somehow stayed warm without melting the whole thing into soup.
I ate quickly at first, then forced myself to slow down.
I was scraping the last bit of chocolate from the bottom of the bowl when I saw Professor Sprout speaking with someone near the edge of the tables.
He was a teenager. Indian, I thought, and around sixteen. Tall and slim, with dark hair that fell slightly into his eyes. He wore rectangular spectacles. He had a package folded over one arm, and in his hands he held something flat and grey.
A clay tablet.
Except it was glowing.
Soft blue-white light pulsed under the surface, and symbols moved slowly across it like fish beneath water.
I picked up Poe’s cage with one hand, carried my empty bowl to the nearest bin, then walked over.
Professor Sprout noticed me first.
“Ah, Mr Adler. Finished already?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It was very good.”
“I’m glad.” She turned slightly towards the older boy. “This is Rowan Khanna. He’ll be a sixth year this September.”
I looked at him.
“Hello.”
Rowan smiled politely. “Well met, Mr Adler.”
Professor Sprout looked rather proud. “Mr Khanna is one of the best students in his year. One of my best students, certainly. He has a way with plants.”
Rowan’s smile turned embarrassed.
“I try my best, Professor.”
My eyes went back to the tablet in his hands. The symbols were shifting again, rearranging themselves into spirals, then straightening into lines.
“Nice glowing tablet,” I said.
Rowan went still.
Professor Sprout seemed confused.
They both looked at me.
Then they looked at the tablet.
Then back at me.
“What glowing tablet?” Professor Sprout asked slowly.
I pointed. “That one. In his hands. See? With all the symbols.”
Rowan held it out a little.
Up close, the glow was even clearer. The symbols looked like Norse runes now that I had a chance to look at them more closely.
Rowan’s face had gone carefully blank.
“It is not glowing, Mr Adler.”
I frowned.
“Yes, it is.”
“To me,” he said, voice quieter now, “and to everyone else, this looks like a regular stone tablet.”
“Oh.”
That was not good. Or maybe it was very good. It was hard to tell with magic.
“Adrian,” I said after a second.
Rowan blinked.
“Sorry?”
“Call me Adrian.”
A startled laugh escaped him, but it died quickly. His eyes remained fixed on me with a strange intensity.
“I mean, Adrian,” Rowan said, and his voice cracked slightly over the word, “you say you can see the tablet glowing?”
“Yeah.”
“And there are symbols?”
“Yes.”
“What symbols?”
“They look like Norse runes, and they are kind of moving around.”
“Should I not be able to?” I asked. “Is this some kind of prank?”
“No,” Rowan said at once. “No, it is not a prank.”
Rowan swallowed.
“Can you…” He stopped, then started again. “Can you describe them?”
Before I could answer, Professor Sprout stepped in.
“I think, Mr Khanna, that we can do that another time. I still need to return Mr Adler home.”
“Oh. Yes, of course. I’m sorry. A thousand apologies, Professor, I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s fine,” I said.
He looked at me.
“Maybe we can talk when we get to school.”
Rowan’s face brightened with something that looked like relief and excitement fighting for space.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, we should.”
I gave him a small nod, though my mind was already racing. A glowing tablet no one else could see glowing but me. It was kind of exciting.
I followed Professor Sprout away from Florean Fortescue’s, glancing back once.
Rowan was still watching me.
On the journey back, Professor Sprout gave me my Hogwarts Express tickets and answered my questions about the castle. When we reached the Hargraves’ house, she helped me get everything inside without making too much of a scene. Mrs Hargrave asked a few suspicious questions. Professor Sprout answered them all with the same pleasant firmness she had used earlier. Mr Hargrave looked at the trunk, the parcels, the cage, and the owl, then decided, wisely, not to involve himself.
A few minutes later, Professor Sprout was gone.
And I was alone in my room with all my new things.
My uniforms hung from the wardrobe door. My school books were stacked on the desk, and I was going to start reading them tomorrow. My cauldron sat beneath it. The telescope, scales, phials, parchment, ink, and quills were arranged as neatly as I could manage. My wand lay on the bed in its wooden box.
Poe sat in his cage near the window, watching me with calm black eyes.
I sat by the window as night settled over the city.
Nothing felt ordinary anymore.
My mind raced with what to do in the coming months.
Learn magic, obviously.
Voldemort was out there, and the second war was on the horizon. And if I wanted to survive it considering I was a muggleborn, I needed power.
Then, after that?
The world.
The magical world was larger than Britain. I wanted to see all of it. I wanted to travel the world and learn every form of magic I could find.
The stars were beginning to appear.
I stared at them for a long moment.
Then I smiled.
You know what?
I was going to the bloody moon too, because why the hell not.
.
.
Wand
Poe