"Wake up, Lucas! Today is the day of shopping with your father!" I heard my mother call out as she knocked on my door.
"Very well!" I answered back while getting up. As I did, our house elf appeared with my clothes for the day. I smiled a bit and patted his bald head.
"Thank you, Nalby," I whispered, making sure no one else could hear me. He gave me a huge smile and bowed deeply.
"Of course, master! It is my pride and joy to serve you!"
My heart stung a bit at the hypocrisy, but I simply nodded as he disappeared.
I quickly got dressed on my own, trying to spare Nalby from doing unnecessary work for me. I knew I couldn't stop everything while living with my parents, but doing whatever little I could eased my conscience. I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the day ahead. Then, I left my room and made my way through our mansion toward the living room, where my father waited.
"Good morning, Father," I greeted him as he finished putting on his leather gloves.
He nodded at me with his usual scowl. My father was always the quiet type, but when he got mad, he was very vocal. The first time I talked back to him was also the last. I had learned a very important lesson that day.
"Follow," he spoke sternly and darkly, grabbing a fistful of Floo powder near the fireplace. He stepped into the flames and spoke the destination.
"Diagon Alley."
He threw the powder on the ground, vanishing in a puff of smoke.
I took a handful and followed right behind him while my mother waved goodbye with a loving smile.
"Diagon Alley," I said, transporting through the Floo Network that connected the wizarding world. I emerged from the fireplace into a bustling marketplace. Crowds of people rushed between shops and stands, which held all kinds of magical wares.
"The list," my father said, holding out his hand.
Silently, I pulled the list from my pocket and handed it to him.
"We shall get your cauldron first," he declared, striding forward. I quickly followed in his wake.
He walked briskly, avoiding contact with anyone passing by, and used his overcoat to shield his nose and mouth, as though the air itself were beneath him. My father was a pure-blood wizard and believed he was superior because of it. My mother shared his views, considering anyone they deemed beneath them as sub-human.
My father continued leading me through the multitude of stores, selecting only the finest goods the shop owners had to offer. Despite his cold demeanor and lack of emotion, I knew he cared for me—if only because he assumed I shared his beliefs.
As we left the bookshop with my Hogwarts texts, a Ministry of Magic worker approached my father.
"I'm sorry, sir, but there is an emergency. We need your help," the man said, panting heavily, clearly having run to find him.
My father frowned and let out an irritated sigh at the interruption. He glanced down at me and handed me a pouch of Galleons.
"You must finish the rest without me. I trust you know how to find your way home."
I nodded and replied confidently.
"Of course, Father."
Without another word, he left with the Ministry worker. I checked my list: 'A wand and a pet.'
I nodded to myself and decided to save the best for last, heading toward Ollivander's wand shop.
I entered the store, and the bell on the door chimed softly behind me. The door closed, muffling the noise of the street. I walked to the empty counter and glanced around at the countless wand boxes stacked high on the shelves. Setting my things down, I rang the bell to get someone's attention.
"Hello?" a cheery voice called from right behind me.
I jumped slightly and spun around to see an older man chuckling as he made his way behind the desk.
"You must forgive me. It's just one of my hobbies," he teased.
I let out a sigh but allowed him to continue his work.
"My name is Ollivander. Now, let us see which wand will suit you best."
I nodded, and he quickly moved around the crowded shop, searching the shelves.
"I remember both of your parents getting their first wands—almost like it was yesterday," he said with a wistful smile, remarking on how quickly time passed.
He pulled a box from a lower shelf, carefully removing it to avoid toppling the others.
"Perhaps one similar to your father's?"
He presented the wand to me, only to snatch it back before I could even get a feel for it.
"Nope!" he declared, returning it to its box and storing it behind the counter.
He disappeared into the back of the store and returned with another wand. This one was a lighter shade of wood. When I held it, I managed to grip it for a few seconds before Ollivander took it from me.
"Definitely not!" he exclaimed.
This cycle continued for what felt like ages. We were both getting tired, and I was about to ask him to simply give me any wand. But Ollivander, despite his exhaustion, seemed thrilled by the challenge. The more wands he tried, the more fascinated he became with finding the right match.
After he plucked yet another wand from my grasp, he stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"Come with me," he finally said, leading me into the back room.
We passed through several doors, each lined with shelves stacked to the ceiling with wand boxes, until we arrived at a small workshop.
The space was filled with half-made wands and scattered ingredients at every workstation. Ollivander directed me to an empty table and presented several blocks of wood.
"Tell me which one feels right to you."
I examined the blocks, observing their textures and shades. My eyes were drawn to three in particular: one a deep, dark brown, another a light, dry bark, and the last a stark, pure white.
"I like all of these," I said, feeling a connection to each.
Ollivander looked at me with amazement. He could sense the strange aura I carried—the same one that had caused so many wands to reject me. He had come close with a few, oh so close, but none were quite right.
Now, seeing me drawn to multiple woods, he was intrigued.
'A wand with more than one core is rare enough,' he mused. 'But a wand with more than one type of wood? I've never heard of such a thing in all my years.'
It baffled him. Wood was the wand's foundation, requiring a strong connection to its wielder. Introducing another type of wood should have weakened the bond, making spell-casting more difficult. Yet, somehow, he sensed harmony rather than conflict.
Swallowing with anticipation, he set the blocks aside and placed various wand cores on the table.
"Now, how about these?"
He carefully laid out the cores, holding his breath as I inspected them. My bright blue eyes, tinged with a hint of green, studied each core with keen interest.
Then, one caught my attention.
"The horn of a horned serpent…" Ollivan
der whispered, his voice filled with awe.
I looked up at him, equally astonished by the pull I felt toward it.