The crooked little shop looked like it had been squeezed into the space between two larger buildings and then left to sulk about it. The peeling gold letters over the door read: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
Harry slowed as they approached, tilting his head. "So this is it? The place where you buy a stick that decides your entire magical career?"
Technically, it chooses you, Hedwig said.
Even better, Harry muttered. A sentient stick lottery.
Nyx's voice was sly. I'm picturing a game show. 'Step right up, folks, and see which wand ruins your life today!'
Harry eyed the narrow windows. "Looks like the kind of shop where you either get a wand or a curse."
Why not both? Nyx offered.
They stopped in front of the door. The wood was worn smooth, the handle polished by centuries of nervous hands. Harry imagined all the people who'd stood here before him, wondering if they'd walk out with something elegant and powerful… or something that shot bubbles every time you sneezed.
"Ready?" Hagrid asked.
"Define ready," Harry said. "Because if this ends with me accidentally setting my own hair on fire, I'd like to mentally prepare."
It's already white, Nyx said. You could pass it off as a style choice.
Focus, Hedwig said.
Harry took a breath, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.
A bell chimed somewhere in the shadows, and the air smelled faintly of dust, wood shavings, and something sharper—like a thunderstorm caught in a bottle. The shop was narrow, with shelves stacked to the ceiling, each crammed with long, thin boxes. It felt less like a store and more like a library where all the books had decided to become mysterious and judgmental.
They're staring at you, Nyx murmured.
They are inanimate objects, Hedwig replied.
That's what they want you to think, Nyx said.
From the back of the shop, a man appeared as if he'd been waiting just out of sight for years. His pale eyes seemed to take in everything about Harry in a single glance.
"Ah," he said softly. "I wondered when I'd be seeing you."
Harry resisted the urge to check if the man was talking to someone behind him. "Right. Well… here I am."
Ollivander stepped closer, gaze lingering on Harry's hair and eyes. "Unusual," he murmured. "Very unusual."
He's talking about your face, Nyx said.
He is assessing magical compatibility, Hedwig corrected.
"Let's find your wand," Ollivander said, moving toward the shelves. "Every wand is unique, as is the wizard it chooses. We shall see what suits you."
He returned with a slim box, opened it, and handed Harry a wand of pale ash. "Give it a wave."
Harry did. A stack of boxes on the far wall promptly collapsed.
"No," Ollivander said, snatching it back. "Not that one."
The next wand was darker, heavier. Harry barely lifted it before a nearby chair burst into flames.
I like this one, Nyx said.
No, Hedwig said.
Several more wands followed, each with its own brand of chaos—sparks that scorched the ceiling, a sudden gust of wind that knocked over a ladder, a loud quack from somewhere in the shop that no one could explain.
Finally, Ollivander brought out a box unlike the others—black wood polished to a mirror sheen. "This," he said, "is something… rare. Rowan wood, core of thunderbird feather. Eleven inches. Responsive to those who walk between worlds."
Harry took it. The moment his fingers closed around the handle, warmth spread up his arm, and a faint hum filled the air. A swirl of gold and silver sparks burst from the tip, dancing like tiny fireworks before fading.
Ollivander's eyes gleamed. "Yes… yes, I thought so. A wand for one who stands apart, yet belongs to both sides. Curious… very curious."
Harry tilted his head. "You keep saying that like it's supposed to mean something."
"It will," Ollivander said. "In time."
I like it, Nyx said. Feels… dangerous.
It is balanced, Hedwig said.
Harry paid for the wand, still feeling the faint thrum of magic in his hand.
They stepped back into the late afternoon bustle of Diagon Alley. The sun was dipping lower, painting the cobblestones gold. Hagrid shifted his armful of packages. "Best get you settled for the night."
The walk back to the Leaky Cauldron was a blur of shopfronts and chatter. Inside, the pub was warm and dim, the air thick with the smell of roasting meat and something sweet.
Tom the innkeeper looked up from polishing a glass. "Back already? Room for the lad, is it?"
"Aye," Hagrid said. "One night, maybe two."
Tom handed over a brass key. "Room three. Supper'll be along in a tick."
The room was small but clean, with a narrow bed, a desk, and a window overlooking the alley. Harry dropped his packages and sat on the bed, the wand still in his hand.
Feels like it's watching you, Nyx said.
It is attuned, Hedwig replied.
Downstairs, supper was a plate piled high with roast beef, potatoes, and something green that wobbled when Harry poked it.
It's alive, Nyx said.
It is gelatin, Hedwig corrected.
Harry took a cautious bite. "Tastes like lime… and regret."
Hagrid chuckled. "You'll get used to wizard food."
"Not sure I want to," Harry said. "If breakfast starts moving, I'm out."
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the low murmur of the pub wrapping around them.
"So," Harry said, "what's Hogwarts really like?"
Hagrid's eyes twinkled. "Big. Old. Full o' magic. You'll love it."
"That's… vague," Harry said. "You're not secretly avoiding telling me about the dragon‑wrestling class, are you?"
I hope there's dragon‑wrestling, Nyx said.
It is unlikely, Hedwig replied.
Hagrid grinned. "No dragons in class. Not for first‑years, anyway."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "That's not a no."
"You'll see soon enough," Hagrid said, clearly enjoying keeping the details to himself.
Harry leaned back, letting the warmth of the fire seep in. "Feels weird, you know. Yesterday I was just… me. Now I've got a wand, school robes, and a shopping list that includes 'bat spleen.'"
"That's magic for yeh," Hagrid said. "Changes things."
Harry glanced at Nyx and Hedwig. "Yeah. I noticed."
We'll keep you alive, Nyx said.
And on schedule, Hedwig added.
Hagrid drained his mug and stood. "Best get some sleep. Big day tomorrow."
Harry followed him upstairs, the floorboards creaking underfoot. In his room, he set the wand on the bedside table, its polished wood catching the lamplight.
For a moment, he just stood there, listening to the muffled sounds of the pub below.
You're thinking too much, Nyx said.
He is preparing, Hedwig replied.
Harry smiled faintly. "Yeah. Preparing."
He blew out the lamp, the room falling into darkness, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like tomorrow might actually be worth looking forward to.