11 Aug 2025, 15:19
A Wand To Begin
Part 1 -Fear of change
“Oh, don’t make such a drama over a simple stick,” Estelle O’Brian sighed audibly, and Olivia could not fathom how this woman managed to make the day—one she had already been dreading—even much worse.
When the list of items that Olivia would need for Hogwarts arrived, her mother examined the words with a critical glance. “One might think that this school would have invented something new in the past two decades,“ she simply grumbled.
Olivia had hoped to use her mother’s old books, but those had long since been turned to firewood. So the only option left was a trip to Diagon Alley. To her surprise, even her father had found the time and now stood—along with Billy, her mother, and Olivia—in front of the old-looking building. Adventure burned in his eyes, something missing in everyone else in the family; in Olivia’s gaze, on the other hand, only rebellious defiance was visible.
It wasn’t as if her mother had burned every one of her former books. On her shelf, hidden among far too many manuscripts, still stood novels about the wizarding world—but they had long since turned to dust, just like the memories of them and, if you asked Olivia, just like Estelle herself.
Of course a student would write a book about Hogwarts and sell it as an incredible story—and of course Estelle would buy such a book to mock everything in it... even though everyone knew she read the works with a longing that only someone who had truly lived that world once could feel. Oh, Estelle was certainly not sentimental, yet magic had something about it that she could not let go. Her memories of a time long past still seemed to tug at her like invisible threads that she loathed, no question, but could not unravel.
In any case, thanks to her mother’s sentimentality—which really shouldn’t have been there—Olivia knew exactly how this would now go: an old, eccentric man would approach them, measure them, and then let the magic take its course. That was the catch—the wizard doesn’t choose the wand; the wand chooses the wizard.
Fundamentally, it didn’t bother Olivia whether people talked about her, negatively or positively. They might say she was a bit chubbier, that her curiosity would get her killed one day, or that she dreamed too much and should finally try to become part of the real world. Olivia knew how her teachers and parents saw her, and she didn’t care. Their image of her was pleasant, and she fit right in.
It got more complicated when people tried to get to know her, or worse, to understand her. Olivia was open and followed her heart, no question, yet she was not the obedient, childlike, and above all stupid girl her parents liked to see. She knew she was quite capable of drawing clever conclusions and actually thinking. Her parents didn’t know that—and good for them. The image of the dumb little child was so much… more comfortable than that of the thoughtful artist, which she secretly preferred. So she happily remained in her dreamer’s world, staying friendly, honest, and “dumb,“ but kept her real thoughts to herself, thank you very much.
Of course she couldn’t preserve the image of the naive dreamer forever. Part of her longed to finally open up at Hogwarts—but the fear of the new expectations waiting there made her hesitate. She knew she’d probably never meet those expectations—so she refused to expose herself to them at all. That worked with her friends, with her teachers, with her parents. The problem was, it didn’t work with magic. If the wand saw that the girl was obviously not a hopeless fool, her parents would see it too, and the beautiful image built up over the years would vanish.
So yes, Olivia had no desire to let the wandmaker practically dissect her, and she made that clear on her face. Her father grinned; her mother—less so. Plain frustration etched her features as she realized once again that her daughter was indeed still a stubborn child—Olivia was sure Estelle had cold-bloodedly skipped that stage of growing up herself.
Unexpectedly, it was David who saved the situation. “Estelle, darling,“ he said gently—and oh, Olivia could practically taste the lie in that one word—“for Livi, all of this is new. Besides, the shop really does look unwelcoming from out here.“
And well—it was exactly that. The shop looked unwelcoming, Ollivander was a creepy man, and Olivia feared buying a wand as much as anything that pulled her away from her safe home—chiefly: magic. And the wand, the first thing they checked off the list, seemed to carry finality, like a sly voice whispering, “Now, Olivia, everything will change. Accept that what you’ve built will soon be gone. Oh, and here’s a stick that knows more about you than you do—to remind you of your pitifulness. Enjoy!“
Rationally, Olivia knew it was utter nonsense. Of course she knew who she was, and of course her parents did too, even if they chose to ignore that fact. And there was no doubt that a lousy wand wasn’t the end of the world.
Outings with her parents—mother and father—always left a film of bitterness on her tongue that too often climbed into her head, so she naturally exaggerated wildly. And yet…she didn’t want to go in. She didn’t want a wand.
“Mom, Mom,“ she wanted to cry, “can’t we just forget that I’m a witch—like you’ve forgotten? Mom, Mom, can’t we just sit in the garden and listen to music—your playlist, if you like? Mom, Mom, can’t we just pretend again that you really love Dad? Mom, Mom—“
“Well, of course the shop is unwelcoming; have you seen this Ollivander?” Estelle pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. “But that doesn’t change that Olivia needs a wand.”
She cast an appraising look through the dusty window. Olivia followed her gaze, wondering what her mother expected to see. The glass was so grimy she couldn’t even tell if a light was on inside.
“How about this, Livi,” David turned to his daughter—and yes, Olivia could have hugged him for it.
One could say whatever one liked. For example, that Estelle was smarter than her husband. Olivia would have been the last to contradict that. And yet – David had an incredible sense for other people. David was never at home; he worked late into the night, and when evening finally came, he tried to stay out of his wife’s way. But his children—yes, his children—he knew inside and out. Estelle was always at home, writing her novels, and was a raging beast, yet her children’s needs were as foreign to her as the secret to success as a writer.
Her father had noticed that Olivia’s sole intention was not to drive her mother mad—no, she genuinely felt uncomfortable—and David probably sensed it had something to do with her parents’ presence.
“How about this, Livi: you and Billy go in by yourselves while your mother and I look for your books. Is that a deal?“
At the mention of his name, Billy brightened and gave her a mischievous thumbs-up behind David’s back. Olivia, more relieved than words could express, nodded hastily and turned to her mother, almost expecting an objection. There was none.
“All right, you two,” Estelle sighed wearily. “Then handle it yourselves.“
So Estelle turned back and fixed her gaze on the shop—which Olivia had assumed was a bookstore—while Billy took Livi‘s arm and pulled her toward the door.
“See you later!” Olivia called, now in a better mood, over her shoulder.
“See you soon, my darling. Love you both.“
With that, Estelle and her husband vanished inside.
Had she really just called her mother a raging beast? She wasn’t. A storm? Oh yes, a dreadful storm with all its destructive fury—but in the eye of that tempest, in Estelle O’Brian’s heart, there reigned a loving calm that no amount of gold in the world could outweigh.
“Oh, don’t make such a drama over a simple stick,” Estelle O’Brian sighed audibly, and Olivia could not fathom how this woman managed to make the day—one she had already been dreading—even much worse.
When the list of items that Olivia would need for Hogwarts arrived, her mother examined the words with a critical glance. “One might think that this school would have invented something new in the past two decades,“ she simply grumbled.
Olivia had hoped to use her mother’s old books, but those had long since been turned to firewood. So the only option left was a trip to Diagon Alley. To her surprise, even her father had found the time and now stood—along with Billy, her mother, and Olivia—in front of the old-looking building. Adventure burned in his eyes, something missing in everyone else in the family; in Olivia’s gaze, on the other hand, only rebellious defiance was visible.
It wasn’t as if her mother had burned every one of her former books. On her shelf, hidden among far too many manuscripts, still stood novels about the wizarding world—but they had long since turned to dust, just like the memories of them and, if you asked Olivia, just like Estelle herself.
Of course a student would write a book about Hogwarts and sell it as an incredible story—and of course Estelle would buy such a book to mock everything in it... even though everyone knew she read the works with a longing that only someone who had truly lived that world once could feel. Oh, Estelle was certainly not sentimental, yet magic had something about it that she could not let go. Her memories of a time long past still seemed to tug at her like invisible threads that she loathed, no question, but could not unravel.
In any case, thanks to her mother’s sentimentality—which really shouldn’t have been there—Olivia knew exactly how this would now go: an old, eccentric man would approach them, measure them, and then let the magic take its course. That was the catch—the wizard doesn’t choose the wand; the wand chooses the wizard.
Fundamentally, it didn’t bother Olivia whether people talked about her, negatively or positively. They might say she was a bit chubbier, that her curiosity would get her killed one day, or that she dreamed too much and should finally try to become part of the real world. Olivia knew how her teachers and parents saw her, and she didn’t care. Their image of her was pleasant, and she fit right in.
It got more complicated when people tried to get to know her, or worse, to understand her. Olivia was open and followed her heart, no question, yet she was not the obedient, childlike, and above all stupid girl her parents liked to see. She knew she was quite capable of drawing clever conclusions and actually thinking. Her parents didn’t know that—and good for them. The image of the dumb little child was so much… more comfortable than that of the thoughtful artist, which she secretly preferred. So she happily remained in her dreamer’s world, staying friendly, honest, and “dumb,“ but kept her real thoughts to herself, thank you very much.
Of course she couldn’t preserve the image of the naive dreamer forever. Part of her longed to finally open up at Hogwarts—but the fear of the new expectations waiting there made her hesitate. She knew she’d probably never meet those expectations—so she refused to expose herself to them at all. That worked with her friends, with her teachers, with her parents. The problem was, it didn’t work with magic. If the wand saw that the girl was obviously not a hopeless fool, her parents would see it too, and the beautiful image built up over the years would vanish.
So yes, Olivia had no desire to let the wandmaker practically dissect her, and she made that clear on her face. Her father grinned; her mother—less so. Plain frustration etched her features as she realized once again that her daughter was indeed still a stubborn child—Olivia was sure Estelle had cold-bloodedly skipped that stage of growing up herself.
Unexpectedly, it was David who saved the situation. “Estelle, darling,“ he said gently—and oh, Olivia could practically taste the lie in that one word—“for Livi, all of this is new. Besides, the shop really does look unwelcoming from out here.“
And well—it was exactly that. The shop looked unwelcoming, Ollivander was a creepy man, and Olivia feared buying a wand as much as anything that pulled her away from her safe home—chiefly: magic. And the wand, the first thing they checked off the list, seemed to carry finality, like a sly voice whispering, “Now, Olivia, everything will change. Accept that what you’ve built will soon be gone. Oh, and here’s a stick that knows more about you than you do—to remind you of your pitifulness. Enjoy!“
Rationally, Olivia knew it was utter nonsense. Of course she knew who she was, and of course her parents did too, even if they chose to ignore that fact. And there was no doubt that a lousy wand wasn’t the end of the world.
Outings with her parents—mother and father—always left a film of bitterness on her tongue that too often climbed into her head, so she naturally exaggerated wildly. And yet…she didn’t want to go in. She didn’t want a wand.
“Mom, Mom,“ she wanted to cry, “can’t we just forget that I’m a witch—like you’ve forgotten? Mom, Mom, can’t we just sit in the garden and listen to music—your playlist, if you like? Mom, Mom, can’t we just pretend again that you really love Dad? Mom, Mom—“
“Well, of course the shop is unwelcoming; have you seen this Ollivander?” Estelle pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. “But that doesn’t change that Olivia needs a wand.”
She cast an appraising look through the dusty window. Olivia followed her gaze, wondering what her mother expected to see. The glass was so grimy she couldn’t even tell if a light was on inside.
“How about this, Livi,” David turned to his daughter—and yes, Olivia could have hugged him for it.
One could say whatever one liked. For example, that Estelle was smarter than her husband. Olivia would have been the last to contradict that. And yet – David had an incredible sense for other people. David was never at home; he worked late into the night, and when evening finally came, he tried to stay out of his wife’s way. But his children—yes, his children—he knew inside and out. Estelle was always at home, writing her novels, and was a raging beast, yet her children’s needs were as foreign to her as the secret to success as a writer.
Her father had noticed that Olivia’s sole intention was not to drive her mother mad—no, she genuinely felt uncomfortable—and David probably sensed it had something to do with her parents’ presence.
“How about this, Livi: you and Billy go in by yourselves while your mother and I look for your books. Is that a deal?“
At the mention of his name, Billy brightened and gave her a mischievous thumbs-up behind David’s back. Olivia, more relieved than words could express, nodded hastily and turned to her mother, almost expecting an objection. There was none.
“All right, you two,” Estelle sighed wearily. “Then handle it yourselves.“
So Estelle turned back and fixed her gaze on the shop—which Olivia had assumed was a bookstore—while Billy took Livi‘s arm and pulled her toward the door.
“See you later!” Olivia called, now in a better mood, over her shoulder.
“See you soon, my darling. Love you both.“
With that, Estelle and her husband vanished inside.
Had she really just called her mother a raging beast? She wasn’t. A storm? Oh yes, a dreadful storm with all its destructive fury—but in the eye of that tempest, in Estelle O’Brian’s heart, there reigned a loving calm that no amount of gold in the world could outweigh.
11 Aug 2025, 15:21
A Wand To Begin
Part 2 -Ollivander
In an instant, she stood amidst towering stacks of wand boxes, where an old man crouched—his hair a wild halo of white, his expression distant. The air smelled of aged wood and talcum, and each breath stirred tiny clouds of dust.
When the siblings stepped inside, the wizard looked up, curiosity lighting his gaze. Almost before she could register it, he stood before them; Olivia wondered how someone so old could move so swiftly.
With a bony finger, he pointed at Billy, who tried to straighten up but only grew more uncertain. “Muggle, or obtained elsewhere?“ the wizard asked. Billy chuckled nervously. “Not a wizard, sir,“ he said, pulling Olivia close. “But she is. The letter says she needs a wand.”
Ollivander’s eyes seemed to pierce straight through her, and his features softened as if he felt her fear. Can wizards read minds? Olivia thought.
“A first-year, then?“ His voice was softer, thinner than his appearance suggested, and somehow the sound eased the knot in her chest. “Yes, sir,“ she answered, lifting her chin.
Moments later, the wandmaker measured her from head to toe, shoulder to wrist, nose to brow. Billy’s nervous laughs echoed around her, and Olivia fought the urge to hush him. By the time she looked up, Ollivander had slipped back between the stacks.
Carefully—almost reverently—he drew a box forward and presented its contents with trembling fingers. “Try this one,“ he said, eyes bright. Olivia hesitated, then lifted the wand. It was long and nearly bowed beneath her grip.
Before she could wave it, Ollivander snatched it back. Olivia jumped. “No,“ he murmured to himself, “definitely not.” A lump rose in her throat. Did she do anything wrong?
He turned his head suddenly, his gaze fixating on another. Wordlessly, he handed her a new wand. Olivia studied it, feeling her pulse quicken. She raised it, flicked her wrist—and a spiral of blue, purple, and gold burst into the air.
The old wizard’s eyes glowed. “Aspen wood, unicorn-hair core,“ he said. “Just under thirteen inches. Flexible and pure. Once you master it, it will grant you great power.“ Olivia nodded solemnly, as if he had entrusted her with a profound secret.
In an instant, she stood amidst towering stacks of wand boxes, where an old man crouched—his hair a wild halo of white, his expression distant. The air smelled of aged wood and talcum, and each breath stirred tiny clouds of dust.
When the siblings stepped inside, the wizard looked up, curiosity lighting his gaze. Almost before she could register it, he stood before them; Olivia wondered how someone so old could move so swiftly.
With a bony finger, he pointed at Billy, who tried to straighten up but only grew more uncertain. “Muggle, or obtained elsewhere?“ the wizard asked. Billy chuckled nervously. “Not a wizard, sir,“ he said, pulling Olivia close. “But she is. The letter says she needs a wand.”
Ollivander’s eyes seemed to pierce straight through her, and his features softened as if he felt her fear. Can wizards read minds? Olivia thought.
“A first-year, then?“ His voice was softer, thinner than his appearance suggested, and somehow the sound eased the knot in her chest. “Yes, sir,“ she answered, lifting her chin.
Moments later, the wandmaker measured her from head to toe, shoulder to wrist, nose to brow. Billy’s nervous laughs echoed around her, and Olivia fought the urge to hush him. By the time she looked up, Ollivander had slipped back between the stacks.
Carefully—almost reverently—he drew a box forward and presented its contents with trembling fingers. “Try this one,“ he said, eyes bright. Olivia hesitated, then lifted the wand. It was long and nearly bowed beneath her grip.
Before she could wave it, Ollivander snatched it back. Olivia jumped. “No,“ he murmured to himself, “definitely not.” A lump rose in her throat. Did she do anything wrong?
He turned his head suddenly, his gaze fixating on another. Wordlessly, he handed her a new wand. Olivia studied it, feeling her pulse quicken. She raised it, flicked her wrist—and a spiral of blue, purple, and gold burst into the air.
The old wizard’s eyes glowed. “Aspen wood, unicorn-hair core,“ he said. “Just under thirteen inches. Flexible and pure. Once you master it, it will grant you great power.“ Olivia nodded solemnly, as if he had entrusted her with a profound secret.