Chapter 8
Chapter 8
A short while later, all four ladies in the party emerged onto Diagon Alley carrying ice-cream cones.
“Shall we buy our books first?” Hermione spotted the bookshop nearby, and her eyes lit up.
Suer knew the girl had absolutely no restraint where books were concerned. If they visited the bookshop first, they would likely spend the rest of the day hauling dozens of pounds of books through every other shop. He shook his head.
“No. The most important thing right now is buying our wands.”
“All right.” Hermione nodded in disappointment, only to brighten again a moment later. “Professor McGonagall told me that a good wand makes casting magic much easier. And when I asked where we should buy one, she recommended Ollivander.”
“Mrs. Granger and I would like to look over there,” Mrs. Ellison said, apparently with other plans.
Suer followed her gaze.
Ah, a clothing shop. Fair enough.
“Then Hermione and I will meet you there afterward, Mum?” he offered tactfully.
“All right.”
The seven of them divided into groups of two and five at the junction.
Suer and Hermione followed the cobbled lane for quite some time before they found a tiny, shabby shop.
The gold lettering above its door had begun to peel. It read:
**Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC**
“This is it.” Suer stopped.
Hermione regarded the little shop with open suspicion.
“Are you certain?”
“They’ve been making wands for over two thousand years. Of course the shop looks a little worn. Anything would after that long.”
As he spoke, Suer pushed the door open. Hermione followed him inside.
A bell chimed somewhere in the depths of the shop, announcing their arrival.
They stood beside a bench near the entrance and surveyed the interior. Countless boxes were stacked in perfect rows all the way to the high ceiling. A lone rolling ladder stood beside one towering wall of them. Anyone afraid of dense patterns would probably have fainted on the spot.
The atmosphere was solemn and mysterious. Neither Suer nor Hermione dared breathe too loudly.
“Good afternoon,” said a soft voice.
Both children jumped.
Turning toward it, they discovered an old man standing before them, though neither had heard him approach. He wore simple but immaculately clean clothes. His pale silver eyes gleamed like twin moons in the dim shop.
This had to be Ollivander–the magical equivalent of an equipment master in a game.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Ollivander,” they said in unison, both unusually restrained.
Ollivander stared at Suer as though trying to recall something.
“Ah, yes,” he said at last. “Mr. Bones. I remember. I remember your father’s wand. Thirteen and one-third inches, cypress, unicorn tail hair.”
“And Mrs. Bones’s–cherry wood, wonderfully supple. A fine wand indeed. Now it is your turn, young Mr. Bones.”
Hermione gave Suer a startled, questioning look.
“My name is Suer Ellison, sir,” Suer replied softly.
The magical world might know him by another surname, but Mr. and Mrs. Ellison had raised him from a helpless infant. If the choice was his, he did not want his magical surname to replace theirs.
“No, I am not mistaken. You look very much like both your father and your mother. Have they come with you?”
Ollivander walked closer and studied Suer carefully, only growing more certain. He rose on his toes to peer toward the door.
“They didn’t come. They passed away.”
“Oh…” Genuine sadness crossed Ollivander’s face. “Mr. and Mrs. Bones were good people. I am sorry, child. I did not know.”
“It’s all right, Mr. Ollivander. What I want now is a wand of my own,” Suer said.
“Of course, of course.” Ollivander nodded repeatedly. “I understand. Every young wizard has great hopes for that first wand.”
“Now then, Mr. Bo–Mr. Ellison, which is your wand arm?”
Ollivander beckoned, and a measuring tape flew from a nearby table into his hand.
“My right, sir.”
“Hold it out.”
The tape sprang into motion at Ollivander’s gesture.
“People often assume that a wizard’s power governs the wand.”
After measuring the length and circumference of Suer’s arm, the tape continued from shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and everywhere in between.
“But my ancestors established long ago that the wand chooses the wizard. A wand will always faithfully reflect its owner’s qualities.”
Ollivander retreated into the shelves, leaving the tape to flutter around Suer.
“For many centuries, we have used dragon heartstring, phoenix feather, and unicorn tail hair. All possess extraordinary magical properties.”
Noises sounded from the place where Ollivander had disappeared. Before long, he returned carrying several boxes.
“Dragon heartstring, twelve and two-thirds inches, fir. Give it a try.”
He removed the wand from its box and offered it to Suer handle-first.
Suer took it, but before he could even test its balance, a streak of red light shot from the tip and struck a nearby tower of boxes. Several tumbled to the floor in a series of thuds.
Entirely unconcerned, Ollivander plucked the wand from Suer’s hand.
“This ill-tempered fellow plainly does not care for you, Mr. Ellison. Let us try this one. Willow and phoenix feather.”
The instant Suer closed his hand around the next wand, Ollivander snatched it back.
“Not quite right either. Try this one–unicorn tail hair, and cypress like Mr. Bones’s.”
As soon as Suer took it, a soft glow formed at its tip.
“Oh, that looks promising,” Ollivander said.
For a moment, Suer thought they had found his wand.
Then Ollivander shook his head.
“But not the best.”
The pile of discarded boxes rose higher and higher. Wand followed wand, yet Ollivander showed no impatience. On the contrary, he became increasingly excited.
“A discerning customer. Never mind… Let me think. I may have one…”
He clapped softly.
“Ah, yes. That one…”
Muttering to himself, Ollivander vanished into the rear of the shop. A sequence of crashes and thumps followed.
Then came a faint, “Ow…”
Apparently, a box had fallen on him.
Hermione had already sat down on the bench. Leaning against the wall, she was beginning to nod off.
“Ah… here it is.”
A layer of dust covered Ollivander’s shoulders when he returned, but he was smiling.
“Try this.”
He drew out an exceptionally beautiful wand. The grain along its length seemed almost alive.
It carried the breath of life. One look at it immediately brought that word to mind.
“An extraordinary combination. One of my father’s early works.”
Ollivander gently caressed the wand, running his fingers along its grain again and again.
“Sycamore and Thestral tail hair. Two profoundly opposed materials, yet they exist together in harmony. I can think of no wand better suited to you.”
Suer took it.
A certainty rose within him at once.
*This is the one.*
The wand trembled gently in his hand. Threads of glowing motes spilled from its tip, quickly filling the air until the entire shop seemed fresh and renewed.
“Wonderful.”
Ollivander applauded softly, though an unreadable expression had entered his eyes.
“Life is the most wondrous thing in this world. Death, too, is a question of tremendous significance…”
“It has chosen you. I hope you will prove worthy of it.”
“Now, it is this young witch’s turn.”
“Huh…?” Hermione lifted her head blearily. “Are you finished?”
“Wipe the drool off your chin, Hermione.”
Suer tightened his hand around his new wand and smiled.