** of July, 2025	Solo
Ollivanders, Diagon Alley, London	Word Count: 624

Ellaine entered Ollivanders quietly. The conversation she had going on with her mother slowly tapered off as she let Ellaine drink up the entirety of the shop, before heading off to wait outside — something about how she perceived it as a sacred act. Ellaine suspected that she didn’t really fancy meeting Mr. Ollivander again, but she couldn’t be sure.

Ellaine stood still just past the door. It was quite small, and yet a drunken feeling swept over her as she inhaled the scent of parchment and books and wood, entranced by the otherworldly feeling ensnaring her. Dust motes swayed in the dimly lit air, a heaviness permeating the atmosphere. Her eyes greedily swept from side to side, up and down, as she gazed upon the looming shelves, each packed to the ceiling with dozens... hundreds… perhaps, even thousands of wands. And— to think that one of them would be hers. Forever, if Fate willed it be.

“Ah... Miss Weatherby.” Mr. Ollivander emerged, seemingly from the depths of the shadows; his voice low and raspy, a breathy exhale following his sentence. “I thought I’d be seeing you soon.”

Ellaine paused a little, somewhat disconcerted that someone knew her name, before deciding that the business of omniscient wand makers were not hers to know. Her head dipped in a bow.

“Mr. Ollivander,” she greeted, rising up to meet his eyes. Well. She’d always felt more comfortable in the presence of old people... especially the elder, wisened kinds. They always carried an all-knowing air, their knowledge collected through their long decades of living. “…I am looking forward to buying my wand today.”

He responded with an odd kind of smile. “Quite so. I still remember your mother well. Nine inches... rowan wood...”

His voice soothed the thrumming dread that had been sweeping through her mind. Whatever happens next would not affect her wand. Ellaine stepped forward to follow.

***

Her first attempt was made of chestnut wood, almost twelve inches, with a phoenix core. Ellaine was perplexed at first, but really, what did she know of wands? In the end, that one didn’t work out, nor did the other one... Mr. Ollivander still looked just fine, as if it was a daily occurrence, so Ellaine couldn’t find it in herself to fret.

“Nine inches, holly wood, and phoenix feather... Yes. This matches well,” the old man said, “don’t you think so?”

Oddly enough, Ellaine got the impression that it was a rhetorical statement. Certainly not one inviting a response from her. She blinked as the wand was handed over to her.

“Quite rigid. Perfect for wizards who are able to stick with their own convictions and are brave to be themselves.”

Ellaine cradled it in her hands. A feeling enveloped her... a protectiveness, she decided after much thought, not unlike... who?

‘Never mind that. This is a good feeling,’ she decided. She took it and gave a swish— not too much, and yet… Warmth swept over her as a burst of sparks flickered off from the tip of the wand. It was a soft yellow-green, and Ellaine felt absurdly glad.

“Yes, yes…” muttered the man. “You’ll have to take care of it well. It will do great things, Miss Weatherby.”

Ellaine left the shop seven galleons lighter, and with a wand held in her hands. Holly wood— notoriously protective, wasn’t it? And with phoenix feather as well! …Ellaine hoped dearly that she wouldn’t get dragged into any ridiculous spiritual quests. That was the last thing she wanted. Ellaine pointedly ignored Mr. Ollivander’s remarks of the “great things” it’d do.

A smile playing on her mouth, Ellaine took her mother’s hands and dragged her off to the next shop. The rest of her school supplies awaited her, after all.