The atmosphere in Ollivanders felt heavy with dust and anticipation for Rhea. Dust motes swirled, settling on shelves stacked with rickety columns of wands looking like they might fall at the slightest shift in the air as she passed by them. Standing behind his old counter was the seemingly just as old Mr. Ollivander, and something in her gut made her feel as if he was waiting exactly for her. It must be just nervousness, she dismissed the idea logically. His eyes, moon-pale, pinned her like a specimen. “Doetails,” he murmured, as if naming a rare fungus. “Your family’s wands favour dragon heartstring. Volatile. Hungry. Let’s see…”

Rhea's pulse picked up with each new wand she tried, sank as each rejected her—cedar, ebony, yew. Why did they shudder in her hand as if startled? She felt confused. None of the inner roller-coaster of emotions showed on her face except focused, neutral confusion. Please, let it be dragon heartstring or phoenix feather... Please.

The next wand came: chestnut, 10¾ inches, unicorn hair. As she picked it gingerly the wood warmed and a faint hum vibrated up her arm. She was so appalled by the idea of it accepting her that she dropped it without thinking, as if burnt. A spark leapt, carving a thin scar across the wall.

No way..! she groaned internally.

Ollivander inhaled sharply. “Fascinating… Chestnut. Drawn to integrity and justice. A noble wand to possess, miss Doetail.”

Rhea looked as if she had eaten a lemon-flavoured Bertie Bott's bean while trying to keep an open mind about it. Integrity? Justice? Were those the things she valued most? It seemed too… virtuous. What she consciously craved was power, as much as possible. At least that's what she thought she needed.

She reached out and picked up the wand from the heavy wooden desk, fingers tightening around it cautiously as she paid for it and quietly wished Ollivanders a good day.

Students swarmed the alley as she stepped back out—they were laughing, gaping at broomsticks, trading coins for sugar quills or looking like they were seeing Diagon Alley and other wizards for the first time in their lives. And they probably were, being Muggleborns, she mused absent-mindedly as she walked. The wand hummed in her hand barely noticeably, prickling her skin. The list of all necessary items for the school year was waiting in the pocket of her mantle, but her mind was elsewhere.

And then she bumped into someone, suddenly pulled out of her thoughts. Rhea looked up surprised, an apology already on her lips.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"