The cauldron clattered to the ground with a deafening clang. Jo swore and shifted her textbooks to one arm, leaning down to grab it. Just as suddenly her robes slipped from her other arm onto the ground, and the 11-year-old sighed in embarrassment and defeat as she bit the cauldron handle, lifting it up with her teeth as she scooped up her robes and dumped them unceremoniously into the heavy pot, which she transferred to her right arm - her left being occupied at the moment. This was remedied with a careless addition of the aforementioned books into the cauldron (directly against Lady Aithne’s orders that the books be placed UNDER the robes as to not wrinkle them). She felt as if she were making some sort of hellish first-year potion already. Now all she needed was a wand.

A whistling noise caught her attention, and she looked up to see a multitude of translucent worm-like creatures (A-ha! Jo exclaimed in her mind. So those are Jelly Slugs!) wiggling around in a bin as well as marvelously colorful bubbles rising from a shimmering purple brew, in which several lollipop wands seemed to move around of their own accord, stirring the mixture unceasingly.
Would they have Takis? No, of course they wouldn’t have Takis. Jo scrunched her face as she heaved yet another melodramatic sigh. What the girl wouldn’t give for some spicy Muggle happiness right now! She swallowed her saliva and continued on, stopping at a sign with a name she recognized - “Ollivander’s”, though the O was styled in a strange way to mimic a spell being cast.

A short, black-haired boy exited the store, laughing with his mother as he waved around a box.
A wand, she though breathlessly. He’s a first-year just like me! She stifled a giggle as the boy’s mother angrily snatched the box from his hand and tossed it into her purse.

She stood awhile in front of the door, realizing just how wholly unprepared she was for the daunting task at hand. Perhaps yew or cypress would be best, she thought. Then again, she did like the idea of a cherry wand, especially if she was going to return to Japan one day.

Another student exited the shop as she stood there pondering uselessly, giving her no more than a sideways glance as she stepped aside and apologized awkwardly. It was now or never. She grabbed the door as it closed, pushed it back just a tad bit, and hopped inside, trying in vain to quell her frantic heart. This was it. Jo Elizabeth Morgan was finally going to get her wand.

Chimes jangled as the slightly hyperventilating soon-to-be first-year entered, and the door shut quietly behind her. Jo coughed at the musty scent that invaded her nostrils. It took a while to get used to, but after clearing her throat a few times she decided that “wood shavings and dusty old paper” was actually a quite pleasant scent, and she decided there and then that she’d try to remember it for as long as she could.

Hello? She asked, her voice much louder than she expected, as she peered up at the towering cabinets filled with slender boxes of differing lengths.

Good afternoon, young lady. A sedated, elderly voice bounced off of the walls as Jo searched for the sound’s origin. Finally her eyes rested on a tuft of grey hair, soon replaced by a wrinkled and kindly face belonging to a man precariously perched atop a wobbling ladder. He scampered down with surprising agility and in no time faced her, his hand outstretched towards her own.

Jo fumbled with her cauldron.
Please…please wait a moment. Finally her hand brushed a small muslin bag, and she nearly tore it open trying to push out the Galleons. One clattered to the floor.
I’ll get it… She started, but when she looked up he was already holding the gold coin out to her with a yellow smile.
I meant to shake your hand, actually. He confessed, laughing heartily.

Bobbing her head in acknowledgement, Jo took the coin from his wrinkled palm and added it to a pile, which she gingerly dropped onto a small silver dish on his desk. The coins clinked, and he smiled at her. She noticed a cataract half-formed in his left eye, and tried to look in his right.

I see you’re shopping alone today.

Jo’s face fell abruptly. Yes, I’m sorry. Is there any paperwork that my…

I’m glad to see it. The old man beamed. It shows responsibility! Besides, mothers always want to choose their child’s wand nowadays. It’s perfectly disgraceful how they tell me, ‘No, no, Mr. Ollivander, you see, my child goes best with hazel - I’m her mother, and I know her best', or 'Now wait just a minute, Mr. Ollivander, his father used dittany stalk and I won’t be having any of that in my home!' The man flashed his tongue at her mischievously. They seem to think they know better than the wands themselves! I’m glad to be able to escape all that fuss for once. Now, shall we begin, Miss…

Morgan, Jo added helpfully.

Miss Morgan! Mr. Ollivander raised his eyebrows as he headed towards the vast array of boxes, most likely remembering another customer from years long past.

I’d try a pine wand first…yes, with Kelpie hair, of course! 22 and 3/4 inches, unyielding - perfect for a curious, imaginative little girl such as yourself! Do you like Kelpies, young miss? He raised his eyebrows again, this time inquiringly.

Yes! Jo smiled as she took the caramel-colored stick in her hand. The unvarnished wand was beautiful in its simplicity, and fit nicely against the groove of her hand. She had to admit, she really did like Kelpies.

Are the cores “ethically sourced?"

Hmm?

Jo muttered incoherently as she sifted through the cauldron’s contents.
Lady Ai…my, my, uh, parent wants me to ask if…
At last she found the crinkled paper and held it up for him to see.
Does a violent core harvesting method affect the wand’s ability to produce healing or defensive magic in any way? Mr. Ollivander read aloud, squinting to decipher the haphazard quill scrawls. He chuckled. Never had that question before!

She just wanted me to ask. Jo mumbled defensively, staring at the ground.

No worries. Wild phoenixes have become rather rare, so you’ll mostly only find farm-raised phoenix feathers now. Dragon heartstrings are no different - breeders raising them for their scales and tears will mostly wait until they die - otherwise they would lose quite an amount of profit! I can’t say the same for unicorn or Thestral hair. And it’s be hard to image a White River Monster willingly parting with his spine! Mr. Ollivander chortled at the thought. Kneazle whiskers and Veela hair are usually clipped, so it doesn't hurt them. I also wouldn’t worry about jackalope antler or Basilisk horn- you’d be lucky to even come across one! Now, is that satisfactory, Miss Morgan, or should I go into detail about Rougarou hair harvesting? Mr. Ollivander gave her a wry smile, and Jo understood with a tinge of disappointment that she was not meant to actually inquire about the aforementioned hair, curious though she may be.

Just give it a little wave, please. He gestured at the wand in her hand.

Jo shook the wand up and down.

Merlin’s sake, Miss Morgan! A little wave will suffice!

I’m sorry! She held it still. A steady stream of brown, muddy water beads dripped from the tip onto the wooden floor, and foul-smelling smoke blew out of the tip in puffs. Jo cupped her hand beneath the wand, attempting to quell the stream of murky guck. Mr. Ollivander exhaled slowly.

Just… Just give it to me, please.

Jo winced as she returned the wand.

I..I don’t think it likes me.

The old man snorted. I dare say I hadn’t noticed. It's a shame, I can tell you'd have been a lovely pair. Let us try another, and this time, please be gentle!

Attentively watching as Mr. Ollivander tried in vain to push two boxes apart just far enough to squeeze the wand between them, Jo felt prompted to ease the awkward tension she had created.

What if none of the wands like me? She meekly asked the man upstairs, knowing full well that Mr. Ollivander never let even the toughest of first-years walk away from his shop without the perfect one.

Mr. Ollivander’s smile faltered momentarily as he glanced towards her, a sleek black box in his hand. Suddenly he smirked again, clambering back down to the first floor while maintaining freakishly perfect eye contact.

He plopped a beautifully engraved, honey-colored stick in her hand. Jo examined the ornate handle, embellished with black tree bark.

Blackthorn. The elderly wand maker declared. Phoenix feather, too. Careful now, she’s quite old, and she’s been wasting away on the shelf for quite some time now, but I couldn’t help but wonder…. has it finally found its match? It's a feisty wand, and extremely finicky about its owner. I wouldn't blame it for choosing wisely -left in the wrong hands, nothing is deadlier than a blackthorn wand. You seem quite the warrior, Miss Morgan. Well? Give it a flick!

Jo moved the wand in an upwards slashing motion.
A jet of icy blue light shot backwards out of the base, narrowly missing Jo’s torso and burning a hole cleanly through a cabinet near the door.

No, no, and no! Mr. Ollivander spluttered as he ran to inspect the smouldering book-case, confiscating the offending “blackthorn” wand from Jo’s hands with a careless flick of his own which sent it floating gently back to its velvety box. He clicked his tongue twice in rapid succession. Tsk, tsk. Too hasty a conclusion by far!

You seem quite the warrior… the wand may have only lasted a few seconds in the brash young witch’s hand, but its maker’s words would stay with her forever.

Wipe that sulky look off your face, young lady - we’ll find you the perfect companion yet! Now, what about rowan, hm? I’d say it’s quite an adaptable wood. This one has a coral core, so if you’re looking for an “ethically harvested” wand, this just might do it!

No such luck. A single wave sent the wand rocketing into oblivion.

I’ll search for it later. How about this one now, pear wood and Thunderbird feather?

Even worse! The pear wand absolutely refused to produce even the faintest wisp of smoke, hanging limply in the melancholy witch’s hand.

Oh my! You certainly are a difficult cust…

No sooner had the exasperated wandmaker uttered this exclamation than a large, velvety blue box clattered to the floor upstairs.

My apologies. A moment, Miss Morgan.

Mr. Ollivander’s white head bobbed as he jogged up the stairs. Jo was impressed - even at the top, he showed no sign of fatigue. In fact, if anything the old man’s voice seemed stronger - loud enough that a barely audible chorus of echoes answered his question. Had he asked a question? He definitely had - I’m sorry? Jo answered him, hoping he would ask again.

Excuse me… A muffled voice, a few shuffling noises, and Mr. Ollivander all but skidded down the stairs. He clapped his hands together, sending a fine shimmer of grey dust swirling into the air.

I said, what sort of magic are you interested in performing?

What sorts are there?

Well, first of all there’s Healing, Transfiguration, and Divination. some wands can be more suited to Potions or defensive…

Another thump from above, followed by a clatter. The old man groaned and jogged up the stairs once more, leaving his sentence unfinished.