I’ll never forget the first time I stepped into Diagon Alley — the sights, the sounds, the smells. But this trip was more than just a quick shopping trip with mum. This was the day I picked up my school supplies. I was practically bouncing with excitement, and Mum could tell.

One minute, we were standing in the back of the Leaky Cauldron — just a quiet brick wall and the smell of old wood and butterbeer. The next, she tapped a pattern across the bricks with her wand, and the wall rippled open like a portal to the great beyond. Very melodramatic, I know.

Diagon Alley — there it was, in all its wondrous glory.

Every inch of it buzzed with life: owls hooting from shop windows, cauldrons gleaming in heaps taller than me, robes fluttering from doorways. The air was warm with the scent of parchment, baked goods, and something faintly metallic — maybe potion ingredients, who knew. Mum smiled at me.

“Calm down. This isn’t your first trip,” she said.

“No, but it’s the most important,” I grinned, my feet almost floating off the ground.

“Wand first, school supplies second — and if there’s time, and you don’t drive me mad, then ice cream,” Mum said, her tone bringing me back down to earth.

After a few moments, we reached Ollivanders. The shop stood narrow and crooked between two taller buildings, its dusty windows a portal into something truly magical. Mum’s expression softened the second she saw it.

“I got mine here,” she said quietly. “Same man, same shop. He’ll remember.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded and followed her inside.

The door bell chimed and the atmosphere was almost electric with the rows upon rows of wand boxes stretched up the walls. Mum rested a hand on my shoulder as my eyes adjusted to the dim light.

Then, from behind a stack of boxes, a soft voice said, “Ah… good afternoon.”

“Ah… good afternoon.”
The voice echoed from the back.

“Hello, sir. I’m Cane Gordon,” I introduced myself to the voice.

From behind the counter, between the rows of shelves, a man appeared — a pale-haired, sharp-eyed older gentleman. He seemed to go still when he looked at me, all except for his eyes, which flickered between me, my mum, and all the shelves surrounding him, as if he were already searching for something.

“Cane Gordon…” he repeated, tasting the name. Then his expression softened.
“Ah, of course. Lizzy Gordon’s boy.”

Mum smiled — that familiar half-smile that meant she was both proud and embarrassed.
“It’s been a while, Mr. Ollivander.”

“Indeed it has,” he said warmly. “I remember your wand well — walnut, twelve and three-quarter inches, unicorn hair core. Loyal, steady, and a touch fiery, if I recall.”

Mum laughed softly. “Still fiery, I’m afraid.”

“Excellent,” said Mr. Ollivander with a twinkle in his eye. “Let’s see if her son takes after her.”

He began moving along the shelves, fingers running over various boxes. He seemed to be talking to himself — I only made out a couple of sentences:

“Not you...”
“Maybe, but you can be a bit temperamental...”
“How do you feel... hmmm…”

He took a box from one of the higher shelves and handed it to me.

I opened the box. A wand sat inside.
“Cedar with unicorn hair,” Mr. Ollivander explained.

I looked at Mum. She mimed picking it up and giving it a wave. So I did — and promptly set fire to the counter.

Mr. Ollivander frowned slightly, waved his own wand, and the fire vanished.

“Not that one, then,” he said, removing the wand from my hand and replacing it with another — birch and dragon heartstring.

All this one did was hiss and spit a spark that made me jump back.

Mum raised an eyebrow.
“Definitely not that one.”

“Quite right,” Mr. Ollivander said, amused.

Then came the disaster.

He handed me a wand of dogwood and dragon heartstring. The moment I wrapped my fingers around it, it jerked like a startled cat. Before I knew it, the wand sprang from my grip, shot over my shoulder, and struck the bell above the door with a triumphant ding! before clattering to the floor.

Mum tried not to laugh.
“Well, it’s got spirit.”

“Never mind,” said Mr. Ollivander, retrieving it with a small, approving smile.
“Dogwood wands are quite quirky and mischievous... aren’t you?” — the last bit addressed to the wand itself.

Finally, he drew a narrow box from the very top shelf.
“Try this one — walnut, thirty-three point two centimetres, dragon heartstring core. A strong and determined combination. Demanding, but steady.”

The instant I held it, everything else faded. Heat surged up my arm — wild, but sure — and the air stirred faintly around us.

Mr. Ollivander’s eyes lit up.
“Yes,” he whispered. “That’s the one.”

“Cane, why don’t you say thank you and head outside? I’ll settle up with Mr. Ollivander.”

My voice was still soft and full of awe.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Ollivander. I’ll take good care of it.”

Mr. Ollivander smiled.
“I have no doubt.”

I headed outside to wait for Mum, the rest of my school supplies waiting for me to come and get them.