Given the large size of Mairwen orphanage, it took several trip for Mrs. Mairwen and several helpers to assist everyone in buying their school supplies. Callisto was among the first to go shopping and he spend the entire afternoon bragging about his wand. If I wasn't called called away first, I would've turned that wooden wand of his into wood chips.
I find myself standing in a group of five kids, each one taller than the last. The only one noticeable is a short girl with brown hair. I remember her vaguely because I often see her staring at Kaiser from across the room.
If I were to judge based on how many people I see walking around with wands in their hands I'd estimate that this would be the last trip, Kaiser already having departed.
as I watched the person ahead of me disappear in the green flames of the fireplace, I take a moment to mentally prepare myself.
"diagon alley!" I call, throwing a handful of floo powder at the ground.
.
.
.
"magical." I mutter to myself as I dust soot and ash off my already quite poor clothing.
Standing at the head of the group is Mrs. Mairwen, the wrinkles that adorn her face are unable to hide the undeniable beauty underneath, she wears a crinkled blue-ish grey witches hat, and a pretty grey dress robe.
she claps her hands twice before making role call.
"Phil."
"Isaiah."
"Penelope."
"Helga."
"Seren."
Mrs. Mairwen claps her hands once again before speaking.
"move out." she says in a clear tone. as she strides towards the exit we all funnel into line. we had all, already been briefed about this. first books, second robes, and third wands.
we all move with peak efficiency, though we are all inwardly racing. Half an hour in and we've already gotten all our stationary and collected our second hand robes. I watched curiously as the tallest boy in our group collected a different pair of books. apparently he was going to Durmstrang. Though that fact is irrelevant to me, anything is entertainment if you want to do anything besides stare at books all day.
.
Ollivanders.
I watch the boy Infront of me finally leave the shop, it was finally time. I smile involuntarily claws it's way onto my face, I looked utterly possessed at this moment. I take a brief moment to compose myself before marching in.
I stare at the dilapidated shop presented before me, cracked wood, cracked windows, but the sign withered with time still stand strong.
The shops interior, to it's credit was nicer than the outside. though it wasn't much of an accomplishment. the shelves crooked and narrow, stuffed to the brim with boxes. crates and various magically items almost line the floor.
With the soft chime of the door, an elderly mans head whips towards me, still hunched over his wands.
"Good Afternoon, young miss." he speaks, his eyes glints with curiosity. "I believe you are also from Mairwen?" he says half rhetoric. Before I can get a word in he continues. "How unique, Heterochromia. I haven't had a case since... Ah look at me I'm droning on. Now then, which hand is your wand hand."
"It's Seren Mairwen, Mr. Ollivanders."
"My wand hand is my left." I quickly follow up, cutting off any chance to be interrupted.
"Nice to meet you miss Seren." he says mid turn, grabbing a nearby wand of a shelf.
"Hazel wood, dragon heartstring core, 9 inches.
The moment I touch it he pulls it away. "no, no, this isn't it."
"Red oak wood, dragon heartstring, 10 inches."
he pulls it away yet again, this pattern continues multiple times before Mr. Ollivanders is left standing utterly defeated hunched over a ever increasing pile of wands, muttering to himself quietly.
"AH, HA." He shouts in a sudden moment of inspiration.
I watch as he disappears into the back of shop, and for several minutes, I stand there. Accompanied only by the strained grunts of an old man with a wand fetish.
"This, this is an ancient wand found in Egypt. It's origins are almost entirely unknown... But the man that brought it here, you remind me of him greatly."
The wand has a quite simple appearance being entirely brown and straight as an arrow. If Ollivanders didn't explicitly mention that it's a wand, it could be mistaken for firewood. Reaching out and grasping the wand in my hand, I feel a strange kind of resonance. Not the kind found in novels, no instantly gaining enlightenment, but the feeling of regaining a part of me.
"A perfect match." he states.
.
.
.