August 20th, 2022
Alora J. Graves & Ursula Graves-McTavish

Growing up, magic had been a thing of fairytales, a way for authors to move a plot along or some fantasy to explain the unexplainable. It was fiction and faith, mixed and separated for good measure. A few times, her brother had tried to speak of what he did, or why he carried a stick, and Ursula had certainly tried to say her fair share, but until that morning in the kitchen, she might as well have lived a muggle life filled with disappointment and resentment, always yearning for something without comprehension for what it was.

"Now don't be shy, here are two gallions, just go in there and find your wand," her aunt had said, giving the young girl a push towards the door of the dark store.

"Y-you're n-not coming in with me?" Alora asked, not used to stuttering, but she'd been caught off guard, and even she couldn't stop the tremble from her bottom lip at the prospect of entering Ollivanders by herself. Had she not been taught to stay with an adult? To not trust adults that weren't family? How would he know which stick was right for her? She was only eleven, how would she know what stick would work for her? There were so many questions, but she knew better than to counter the stern face she met, and reluctantly she took a step forward.

Mr Ollivander was an interesting man, quirky and odd. Not the type that made her shirk away, but she wasn't willing to lean in either as he seemed to know who she was.

"Ah, Miss Graves... I had a feeling you would come here soon enough....Yes, I think I know what you need..."

She stayed several feet behind the counter as he seemed to mutter and mumble to himself about woods and cores before returning with a slender box and opening it to show a length of red colored wood.

"34,1 cm chestnut wood, and unicorn hair. Pliable, rather powerful, but requires to be firmly handled and expects conviction from its owner. Here, give it a wave," he said handing it to her by the hilt.

Taking in her hand she stared at it with intent. It was polished and certainly shiny, in hand it felt cool.

"Well don't just stand there, give it a wave, child."

Alora did just that, and with a wave of the length of wood in her hand an entire shelf came crashing down, causing her to jump back and brace herself.

"Definitely not." His voice was calm, it lacked the anger and chide she was used to when she caused a mess even half that size.

With a few calculated movements of his own piece of wood, everything was back in place, and his hand was reached out expectantly for the wand, which she gave back without second thought. Good riddance she thought.

"Let's try this one instead..." This time, he placed a box on the counter and offered her a brown wand before saying "21,1 cm, cherry wood, and unicorn hair. Bendy, very powerful but hard to use, very selective of the wizard it chooses..."

Reaching over with a bit of a shaky hand, the young raven-haired girl took the intricate hilt with admiration. Though it certainly sounded nice, when she gave it a wave, the screech of the gramophone in the corner told a different story.

"Certainly not!"

Ollivander was quick to mute the offensive machine and place the wand back in its silken bed where it would await its true wielder.

"Maybe we'll have more luck with this one." There was something almost soothing about his tone, and she appreciated that, despite the stark contrast to his outbursts. What an odd man.

"34,2 cm, mayhaw wood, and dragon heartstring. Swishy, attracted to energetic wizards, and will become easily wooed by another if its owner becomes lazy."

It was gorgeous. Sleek, dark, with a beautiful orb in the handle. The blade was thin and dainty. Though the description had certainly been appealing, the prospect of changes of loyalty did not. Before her hand even wrapped around it, he was already speaking.

"No, no, and no!"

As if the wand were hot metal, she released the grasp she had barely begun, and stepped away as he turned away with the box to set it in its place. His finger scanned the shelves a few more times before looking at her with is piercing blue eyes.

"A difficult customer! But we'll end up finding it!"

She didn't think she was difficult in the slightest, but it didn't stop her cheeks from flaring a bright shade of pink all the way to the tip of her nose. She nodded in agreement, used to fawning in such circumstances.

With his back turned her began pulling boxes and shoving them back until he returned with one and said: "34,6 cm, chestnut wood, and unicorn hair. Rather bendy, particularly effective for transfiguration, but a bit less effective for charms."

This time, when her small hand wrapped around the hilt, it felt different. There was a warmth, like that of an embrace with an old friend. She could feel a tingle through her slender body, her hair felt like it stood on edge, and she swore a bit of light seemed to envelop them.

"Yes, excellent, it's exactly what you need!"

But Alora barely heard the words, or the bell for that matter when her aunt entered the premises to set two gallions on the counter and thank the man that had helped her with her wand so many years before. It took coercing to separate witch from wand, but eventually, Alora agreed to set it back in the box and into the bag so they could continue their shopping for the rest of her supplies. In only a few weeks she'd be walking the halls of a castle learning magic. It almost felt like she was joining a cult or something.