Date: August 1st, 2025
Setting: Ollivander's, Diagon Alley

The August sun shined down onto the cobblestones on which Nevan and his mother were walking as they made their way through the crowds gathered around Diagon Alley. The place felt cramped with how busy it was, and it was making Nevan feel vaguely uncomfortable being surrounded by so many people.

His mother was walking a few steps ahead of him, graceful as she always was. "We were meant to shop late July" she murmured, but her tone held no regret. Nevan knew why they hadn't shopped when they were meant to — the trip to Wales had lasted longer than his parents expected, and it hadn't even been that informative. When they had first told him they'd be taking him to meet with some wizard that would prepare him further for his first year at Hogwarts, Nevan had expected something a little bit more than long lectures about the history of the school. But his parents had insisted that it was worth it.

Still, he couldn't find himself to complain right now. Today was finally the day he'd been waiting for, the day he'd get his wand.

They soon came to a stop in front of a shop with peeling gold letters across the doorframe: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.. The shop seemed slightly more mysterious than some of the other, more bright and bustling, and that made Nevan even more intrigued.

His mother placed a hand on his shoulder, turning to look at him. "You'll manage on your own, right? I'll wait for you over here."

Nevan nodded. "Of course."

He stepped inside and closed the door behind himself. It made a soft creak.

The shop smelled of dust and old books. Rows upon rows of boxes with wands towered up the walls. One of those could become his. The light inside was muted, dust particles drifting lazily in the air.

Nevan's eyes caught on the tall, pale man that emerged from the back. His gaze was piercing in a way that made Nevan straighten unconsciously, but he met it without flinching, gazing right back at the silver-haired man.

Ollivander seemed to look him over until he came to some conclusion. "Ah," he said softly, as if speaking more to himself than to him. "Nevan Easton, yes? I remember when I gave your mother her first wand. She was brilliant." His eyes flickered over him once more, sharp and assessing. "Let's see what wand chooses you, then."

Nevan said nothing, he didn't need to.

Ollivander moved with surprising quickness as he took a box from the shelves, handing Nevan the wand. "Beech wood, unicorn hair, ten inches. Rather springy. Try it."

Nevan took the wand carefully, fingers curling around the beech wood. He gave it a measured swish, precise as he had seen his parents do when they used magic. But the result was underwhelming. It gave nothing more than a faint, uneven fizz of sparks which sputtered out before falling uselessly to the floor. Nevan frowned, but he didn't let it affect him. It seemed this wand just wasn't for him.

Ollivander shook his head and took the wand, putting it back in its box. "Not quite. Perhaps something with a bit more... conviction?"

He turned again, eyes glinting as he grabbed another slim box from the shelves. When he opened it, the wood had a slightly reddish hue to it.

"Cherry, dragon heartstring core, twenty-eight point four centimetres." He held it out and Nevan felt a faint prickle in his chest, as though something was pulling him forward, urging him to take it.

So he did, closing his hand around the wand. Warmth spread through his fingers and up his arm to his whole body. When he flicked his wrist this time, instinctive, not careful or calculated like the first time, a ribbon of scarlet sparks burst from the tip, scattering beautifully through the air before vanishing with a shimmer.

Ollivander nodded his approval. "Yes, yes indeed. It seems this wand is perfect for you, a wand ought never to be teamed with a wizard without exceptional self-control and strength of mind. Prove yourself worthy to the wand while you have it, young Easton."

Nevan felt a subtle smile tug at his lips, though he kept it hidden. The wand fit perfectly in his hand, as if it was always made to be there. He held it tightly, unwilling to part with it and determined to prove that he was worthy of it. "I'll take it."

"Of course you will," Ollivander murmured.

When Nevan stepped out of the shop, the wand still held tightly in his hand, his mother looked at him expectantly. He gave her a small nod, showing her the wand. She smiled faintly, satisfied and gestured for him to follow her.

As they melted back into the crowds of Diagon Alley, Nevan made sure to put the wand back in the box, so it would be safe. Because this wand, his wand, would be the beginning to his magical journey. He couldn't wait to get to use it.

It didn't take long for his mother to get interested in something in one of the shops and tell him to continue his trip by himself. He didn't mind, he'd been to Diagon Alley before, he knew the place. But he had to admit, the crowds were annoying...