Diagon Alley felt even more alive as I stepped out of Gringotts.Perhaps it was because the sun had managed to pierce the heavy clouds for a brief moment. Or maybe I was different now — carrying something I hadn't held before.
I didn't stop. I had another destination — Ollivander's.
The shop was exactly where it should be. Wedged between two townhouses, leaning forward as if it had been struggling against its own weight for years. At first glance, it looked like nothing special — a wooden facade with a dusty, matte window, behind which a single wand lay on red velvet. And yet... even from the outside, I could feel the place. I felt magic. Old. Silent. Like something sacred. Something dormant, but watchful.
I pushed the door open.
A soft, metallic bell rang — unpleasant, grating, as though warning that things here had rules of their own.
The shop's interior was darker than I expected, but not dead. Wand boxes lay everywhere — on shelves, in piles, stacked all the way to the ceiling. Some shelves looked like they could collapse at any moment. Others stood so perfectly straight they resembled altars.
Despite the chaos... nothing seemed out of place. Everything was where it was meant to be.
And everything... was watching.
Not literally. Not visually. But I had this feeling — that the boxes were breathing. That the wands knew I was here. I felt something move among them. As if thousands of pupil-less eyes were following my every step.
The wands weren't lifeless. They weren't just objects. They were waiting. Choosing.
I wasn't meant to choose a wand.
The wand was meant to choose me.
I stopped, observing everything with care. The air smelled of dust, wood, and... something else. Like ozone after a storm. Or magic trapped in wood long ago.
Then I heard footsteps. Soft, nearly silent.
"Ah, and who has graced my shop so early?" came a voice — dry, melodic, and old. From between the shelves emerged a man — older than I remembered from the books. Silver hair cascaded over his shoulders, and his eyes... his eyes were like mirrors. As if they saw not only the outside, but everything within.
Garrick Ollivander.
His gaze passed over my figure, paused on my face... and then on the signet.
"What's your name, young man?" he asked with a note of solemnity, but also something else — as if he already knew.
"Oliver Peverell, sir," I replied calmly.
Silence. His eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn't say anything right away. After a moment, he nodded.
"Ah. Peverell." There was something strange in his voice. A memory? Respect? Perhaps all of it. "Now everything makes sense," he added quietly, more to himself than to me.
"So, can I buy a wand from you?" I asked, slightly impatient. I could feel the place pulling me in, but I didn't want to linger forever.
Ollivander looked at me with a strange smile.
"You don't have to. Your wand has already been paid for. Long, long ago."
I froze.
"I don't recall paying for anything."
"Of course it wasn't you," he said with a hint of amusement.
He pointed his wand at the door. I heard a soft click. The lock had sealed shut.
"Come with me."
He turned and walked between the shelves. I didn't protest. I felt like this was part of something bigger.
We walked for a long while in silence. Then — a narrow door, barely visible, hidden behind a bookshelf. Spiral stairs led us downward, deeper and deeper, until the scent of old wood gave way to the chill of stone and mildew.
We reached a small room. One shelf. One cabinet. And a table.
Ollivander walked to a drawer, opened it, and pulled out a simple black box. Unlike all the others in the shop — this one had no label. No markings.
He slid the lid off. The wand inside was dark. Almost black. Its surface had a soft, matte gleam, as if it absorbed light. There was nothing flashy about it. No engravings. And yet... it was beautiful.
"Elderberry wood. Fourteen and three-quarter inches. Rare wood. Difficult. Unpredictable. But immensely powerful if it finds the right wielder."
He touched it gently, almost affectionately.
"The core... something truly unique. A rune — ancient, complex. Within it: phoenix blood and a thestral tear. Life and death, woven in balance."
He paused. His voice became almost a whisper.
"This wand was made over five hundred years ago by my great-grandfather for your great-grandfather."
Ollivander offered me the box.
"Go ahead, try it," he said, though he didn't step back right away. He kept looking at me for another moment, thoughtful. His gaze landed on my eyes again.
"Your father..." he began softly, almost hesitantly, as if speaking of someone who wasn't supposed to exist — and yet did. "He was the one who brought this wand to me. Asked me to keep it safe. Ten... maybe eleven years ago. No, exactly ten. The end of July. The day was heavy, the air thick and tense. I remember the silence — so dense you could cut it with a knife."
He fell silent for a moment, then looked me straight in the eye. His silver irises shimmered in the dim light of the basement.
"Asking for your name was merely a formality. Your family..." — he paused briefly — "in the entire magical world, only your family has eyes like yours."
He chuckled softly, without joy.
"But even Elias... your father, didn't have a gaze like yours. His eyes were stern, full of secrets. But yours... yours are far more mysterious, unfathomable. When you looked into my eyes for the first time, I felt a slight trace of fear."
He turned, touching the wand lying in the box.
"Your father never came back to collect it. Nor did he send anyone. I assume... he's no longer of this world," he added, quieter, almost with compassion.
"I don't know if he's alive," I replied calmly, with a hint of feigned sadness. "I've been raised in an orphanage for as long as I can remember. I never knew him."
"I'm sorry," Ollivander whispered respectfully. "I shouldn't have asked. But I had a duty to pass this wand to you. It's been waiting... all this time."
I took the wand into my hands.
And immediately... I felt it.
It wasn't a jolt of electricity, nor a flash of light or thunder. It was like taking the first true breath after being underwater for too long. Like returning to something I'd always known, even if I'd never held it before.
As if something inside me whispered: finally.
My fingers closed naturally around the handle. The elder wood was smooth, but cold in a way that didn't scare — it soothed. It pulsed faintly. As if the wand was breathing with me.
I didn't hesitate for long. I gave a slight flick, allowing the magic to flow. No spell, no words — just... let it be.
Fsshhhht. A red streak burst from the wand's tip, slicing through the air like a whip and hitting the wall with a heavy thud. A faint wisp of smoke rose from the stone, and the scent of something scorched hung in the air.
I froze.
I looked at Ollivander. I wasn't sure what to expect — anger? Surprise?
But he simply smiled faintly, as if that was exactly what he'd hoped to see.
"Don't worry about it," he said with a hint of amusement in his voice. "It seems the wand suits you perfectly."
He nodded, as though confirming something he had long suspected.
"Now that everything's settled... it's time to return upstairs."
Ollivander turned toward the stairs, his footsteps echoing quietly against the stone floor. I followed him, but before we reached the exit, the words left my mouth on their own:
"Do you know anything else... about my parents?"
I don't know why I asked. Maybe it was the echo of his words. Maybe it was the way he had looked at me before.
Ollivander stopped. He turned slowly and looked at me — not as a wandmaker, but as something else. With humanity. With care.
"Not much," he said quietly, as though every word carried weight. "Your father didn't buy his wand from me. He received it from his father. An heirloom."
He hesitated, then added:
"Your mother... she wasn't from Britain. She moved here as a teenager. Her name was Aria Selwyn. After marrying your father, she became Aria Selwyn-Peverell. I don't know exactly where she came from. I never asked. I didn't see them often." He took a deep breath, as if trying to steady himself. "You see, Oliver... back then, times were turbulent. Dark times. People rarely left their homes."
He fell silent again, then nodded once more — not as a shopkeeper, but as someone who had witnessed something greater.
"Thank you," I said softly. The words lingered between us, and I felt unwanted, uninvited thoughts start circling beneath the surface of my mind.
We left the basement. The light in the shop suddenly seemed brighter, and the stacks of wand boxes quieter.
I crossed the threshold and stepped out of Ollivander's.
Diagon Alley greeted me once again — this time brighter, warmer. The sun had finally broken through the clouds, as if it had been waiting for me to emerge from the shadows.
The wand rested in my hand. I still felt it. Not as a weight — as a presence. Like a quiet whisper in my ear. Like a promise.
I carefully closed it in its box and slid it into my inner pocket. I needed something more than a simple bag — something that could hold everything I might need. And wouldn't slow me down.
I looked at the shop windows. Everything was in place. Everything... was waiting.
I moved on slowly. The plan was simple. Two pouches with extension charms — one for quick-access items, the other for the rest. And books — knowledge is important. Basic spellbooks, some magical history.
I didn't know where to buy those pouches, so I decided to ask one of the passing wizards.
"Excuse me, sir, do you know where I can buy pouches with extension charms?" I asked politely.
The wizard gave me an uncertain look, but replied, "Yes, you'll find them in that shop over there," he said quickly, pointing to a store across the street. Then he walked off without another word.
I didn't have time to thank him. I made my way to the shop he'd indicated.
The shop was simple and small. I quickly bought one pouch with an extension charm and a slightly larger bag enchanted the same way. I paid twenty-four Galleons for the lot — it seemed cheap.
Next stop: Flourish and Blotts. I already knew where it was — I'd read about it. I headed there with confidence.
The sign above the entrance swayed gently in the breeze — golden letters gleaming against the dark wood: Flourish and Blotts – The Oldest Magical Bookshop in London. The air smelled of parchment, ink, and... something else. Something ancient and powerful. Knowledge.
I pushed open the door.
Inside, I was greeted by soft light and the rustling of turning pages. Shelves towered up to the ceiling — some shifting slightly, as if occasionally rethinking their place. A few books floated lazily above customers' heads, others growled softly, as if they didn't want to be opened.
Quietly, almost reverently, I moved between the shelves.
I didn't have a specific list — but I knew what I was looking for.
Basic magical theory books: Simple Spells for Beginners, The Theory of Magic, A History of Magic, Spells and Their Structure.
I approached the counter. An older witch with a sharply pointed nose and glasses on a chain looked at me over her lenses with such intensity I felt like she was weighing me.
"A good choice for a start," she muttered, glancing over the titles.
I didn't respond. I simply handed over my coin pouch.
"Twenty-one Galleons, three Sickles, and seven Knuts," she said flatly. I paid without hesitation.
With a flick of her wand, she packed the books into the larger bag — the extension charm worked perfectly. I felt the weight of knowledge, though the bag itself was light as a feather.
When I stepped out of the shop, the sun had once again vanished behind the clouds.
But I was content.
With everything I needed in hand, I began the walk back to the orphanage.
Nothing unusual happened on the way back — only the sun had shifted in the sky. I'd spent more time on Diagon Alley than I'd intended.
I entered the orphanage and went to get something to eat — I'd completely forgotten. No one asked where I'd been or why I'd left without permission. After finishing my meal, I headed to my room.
At last, I had some new books to read.
AN:Just one chapter today, unfortunately — I didn't have much free time. I'll try to post two tomorrow! (Depending on your time zone, my "today" might already be your "tomorrow"… or something like that)