Garrick Ollivander stepped into view—pale-eyed, silver-haired, with a purposefully slow gait that made him seem part ghost, part genius. His eyes locked instantly onto us.
"Which one first?"
Blake nudged me. "You go!"
Before I could argue, Ollivander shook his head.
"No, no… ladies first."
He smiled kindly at Blake. "Step forward, Miss Smith."
Blake did so, hands trembling.
Ollivander measured her arm length, murmuring to himself as he paced the shelves.
"Let's try… eight and a quarter inches, maple, unicorn hair."
He placed the wand in Blake's hand—
—And a blast of warm wind exploded, rattling shelves and sending parchment swirling.
Blake shrieked in delight, almost dropping it.
"Oh my! Not that one…" Ollivander chuckled, snatching it back. "Promising, though!"
Three tries later—
"Ah! Hazel, ten inches, unicorn hair. Flexible."
The moment Blake touched it—
A soft golden glow enveloped her fingers, warm and gentle.
The room hummed.
Blake's breath caught.
Her smile bloomed.
"Yes," Ollivander said softly. "Hazel wands are drawn to those with warmth and healing within them. Unicorn hair is loyal—very loyal. A pure wand for a pure heart."
Blake almost burst from happiness.
McGonagall even smiled.
Then Ollivander turned to me.
"And now… you."
His gaze sharpened, studying me like a puzzle.
"Curious… very curious," he murmured. "Powerful magic. Strong self-control. And something… old."
A chill crawled up my spine.
He didn't know.
He couldn't know—
—but he sensed something.
Ollivander fetched the first wand.
"Ebony, phoenix feather, eleven inches."
I barely touched it before the tip sparked violently—a crack of red light shot upward, scorching a hole in the ceiling.
Blake squeaked.
McGonagall snapped her wand up to shield her face.
Ollivander snatched the wand back, delighted.
"No, no, definitely not that one. Too reactive!"
The next wand fizzled.
The third nearly knocked a stack of boxes over.
The fourth sent a cold breeze sweeping the room so sharply Blake shivered.
Ollivander paused.
Then he slowly walked to the very back shelf—the one coated in the thickest layer of dust.
"This one…" he whispered. "I've had for many, many years. Never found a match."
My heart pounded.
He handed it to me.
"Blackthorn. Eleven and a half inches. Core… dragon heartstring."
The moment my fingers wrapped around the handle—
The world pulsed.
A deep thrum of power surged up my arm, into my chest, my head, my veins.
Wind curled around me—not violent, but focused—pulling inward, gathering.
The air vibrated.
Light shimmered faintly around the wand.
Not gold like Blake's.
Silver.
Cold.
Sharp.
Like moonlight.
Ollivander sucked in a breath.
McGonagall's eyes widened.
Blake took a step back, staring.
I felt it.
The wand settled into my hand like a long-lost part of me.
Perfect. Balanced. Right.
Ollivander whispered, almost reverently:
"…Blackthorn is a warrior's wood. Rare… and not easily tamed."
McGonagall's eyebrows knit.
"And dragon heartstring," he continued, "is powerful. Temperamental. It demands strength of will. Passion. And purpose."
His pale eyes locked onto mine, shining with recognition—or was it fear?
"A wand for one who will face conflict," he said softly. "Or perhaps has already faced more than most."
My throat tightened.
Blake whispered, "Alastair… it's beautiful."
Ollivander stepped back, folding his hands.
"Yes. It is. And it chose him."
He bowed his head slightly.
"Treat it well, Mr. Alastair. Blackthorn wands do not forgive betrayal."
A shiver ran through me.
I closed my hand around the wand, feeling its quiet thrum.
This was mine.
This was real.
This was the first step toward everything I would become.
____________________________________
After paying for our wands—Blake still grinning like she'd swallowed the sun, me still trying to understand the soft thrum of power in my palm—we stepped back out into Diagon Alley.
The sunlight felt different now.
Brighter.
Sharper.
More alive.
Magic hummed everywhere around us, and for the first time, I felt like I was part of it.
We walked toward the Leaky Cauldron so McGonagall could send us back to the orphanage.
But—I had plans.
Plans that required time.
And privacy.
So I turned to her.
"Professor… would it be alright if we explored Diagon Alley for a bit? The orphanage is close to the Leaky Cauldron. We can walk back ourselves."
Blake blinked at me, surprised.
McGonagall stopped walking.
Her lips thinned.
"I'm afraid that is not an option," she said sternly. "You are both underage and new to the magical world. You must not wander alone."
My stomach tightened.
I needed time.
I needed a place.
I needed—
McGonagall sighed.
"But…"Her expression softened slightly."I do have to bring another family here today. They are expecting me shortly."
Blake perked up instantly.
"So… can we stay?"
McGonagall gave us both a stern, piercing look.
Then:
"You may explore for three hours. No more."
Blake practically levitated with joy.
I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
"But," McGonagall added sharply, raising a finger, "you must stay together at all times. And you will meet me in front of Gringotts at exactly two o'clock. If you are even a minute late, I shall bring you back to the orphanage myself—by broomstick if I must."
Blake giggled.
I nodded quickly.
"Yes, Professor."
She gave one final, assessing look—lingering on me a bit longer, as though she sensed I had more on my mind than sightseeing—but said nothing.
A moment later—
POP
She Disapparated.
Leaving Blake and me standing in the middle of Diagon Alley, clutching bags of second-hand supplies and our new wands.
Blake rounded on me instantly.
"Okay," she said, narrowing her eyes, "what are you planning?"
She knew me too well.
Too well for comfort.
I forced a neutral expression.
"Nothing dangerous."
"That's not a denial," she muttered.
But she couldn't hide her excitement.
She bounced on her toes.
"We have three whole hours! We can look at broom shops—oh, or the pet store! Or the ice cream place! Or—"
"We'll explore," I said, smiling faintly. "I promise."
I meant it.
But I also meant to use the time to do something important.
Something tied to my locket.
My mother.
My heritage.
Three hours.
Plenty of time to find what I needed.