A Real Magic Wand

Minerva recognized the sign on the door of the wandmaker's shop immediately, for it was nearly the same as the lovely narrow box her mum had shown her on the morning of 4 October. The sign was wood, with gold letters that read Ollivander's and beneath it, in purple letters, it read, Maker of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C. Isobel held Minerva's hand in hers and she said, "Come along, Minerva, let's replace that switch you've been playing with." And together they stepped through the door into the dusty space within.

Inside Ollivander's wand shop was dark and smelled of dust and wood polish and Minerva could feel the age in the air, as though the very oxygen in Ollivander's spoke of how long it had been a shop. There was only a small space between the door and the counter, which stretched the width of the shop so that nobody could go behind it. Beyond it, there were rows and rows of high shelves that reached to the very ceiling, crammed with narrow boxes, none of them labelled at all. The boxes were all different. Some where gold and others purple, she saw brown boxes and red boxes and silver boxes and grey boxes... they stretched off as far as the eye could see and there were rolling ladders on each of the aisles, great wood things attached to poles and wheels and an upstairs that hung over with a railing and the steps were lined with stacks of the narrow boxes, too.

Minerva trembled. There was a greatness in this store, a feeling like there was a presence of power. Magic, Minerva thought. She had heard her father speak of the church this way - except he would say he could feel The Spirit there. She wondered if The Spirit was here as well.

God is everywhere, her father's voice trickled through her mind.

Even in wand shops, she thought.

Suddenly a face peered over the railing above her - wild, dark auburn hair and wide eyes, a ruffled collar at his throat and a thick purple velvet jacket with ruffles at the cuffs - the man stared down at Minerva and Isobel for a long moment. Then, "Isobel Ross. Well - McGonagall now, isn't it? It's been a long time. Oak. Unicorn hair core. Swishy."

"Yes," Isobel breathed, her eyes dancing.

His eyes flickered to Minerva. "This must be your daughter." And he ducked back over the railing, disappearing from sight for a moment.

"Yes, this is Minerva."

The man appeared again, coming down the curved staircase. He came up to the counter and leaned against it, staring into Minerva's face for a long moment. "Hullo Minerva," he said, and then he ducked behind the counter, disappearing again, only to emerge a moment later with a thick spool of measuring tape in his hand. He flicked his wrist and the measuring tape streched along from her toes to her head and her shoulder to her fingers and across her collar bone and the width of space between her eyes and the length of her nose and her ears and from her elbow to her wrist and then it spooled back up, flew into his palm, and disappeared with a puff of purple smoke.

A smile crossed the man's face and he said. "Ah yes. I know just the ticket." And he turned, leaped onto one of the rolling ladders, and swept down the length of the shelf it hung before, holding onto the ladder with just one arm, his other pointing at the boxes, mumbling names of wood and funny things like unicorn, phoenix, dragon... as he went.

Isobel knelt beside Minnie and she whispered reverently, "That is Garrick Ollivander. He's been a wand maker for time untold, and his father was a wandmaker before him and his grandfather and great-grandfather and so on." She put her hands on Minnie's shoulders, "He's brilliant."

The wild haired man came back, carrying a grey box, which he blew dust off of and he plopped it onto the counter and opened it up with a flourish. "Rowan, dragon heartstring, ten inches." He lifted the wand from the box gingerly, his fingers holding the two tips and he looked it over - it was much more like an ordinary stick than her mother's and Minerva took it in her hand a moment, looking it over, unsure what to do. Mr. Ollivander motioned for her to give it a flick. So she did.

A jet of bright white light shot from the wand and shattered a window.

"No." Mr. Ollivander took the wand back quickly, shoved it into the box and zipped away again.

Minnie stared at the broken glass on the floor with wide eyes - and even wider eyes when Isobel drew her wand from her skirts and said, "Reparo!" and the glass shards unshattered and returned to the window as good as new.

Mr. Ollivander was back - quicker this time. "Birch, unicorn hair core, eight and three-quarters inches. Bit bendy." He held it out to her - this one looked as though it had been carved with detailed vines and flowery details all about the handle and she took it, a bit more carefully than she had done the first one, and she flicked it and a hissing steam came out of it, but nothing more.

"No certainly not," Mr. Ollivander said, and he took it up and put it back in it's box, casting the box aside. He turned and looked around the shelves, rubbing his chin for a moment, contemplating... then he was off to another shelf.

They tried wand after wand after wand -- "holly, phoenix feather core, nine inches, switchy", "oak, dragon heartstring, eight and a half, stiff", "rowan, unicorn hair core, nine and a half inches", "ash, phoenix feather, nine and a half inches" -- until he finally returned with a purple box and rested it on the counter. "I think we've narrowed you down," he murmured, and he opened the box and lifted the wand. "Ash, dragon heartstring, nine and a half inches, stiff." He held it out.

Minnie took the wand. It was dark, nearly black, smooth through the body of it with a handle that was made up of an array of knobs of different sizes and a tiny gold cap at the very end. Her fingers wrapped naturally around the knobs, as though they'd been made just for her, and a warmth went through her arm, a sweeping warmth that tingled all the way up to her shoulder and seemed to spill over into her heart. She gasped quietly at the feeling and a smile spread across Ollivander's face.

It was that quiet gasp that he loved most about his job. That little breath of connection when the wand had found the child whose arm it belonged to.

"Give it a swish," he whispered.

Minnie waved her hand and a little bell on the counter before her changed into a mouse and scurried away.

Mr. Ollivander watched it go - unconcerned with the fact that his bell was running off - and then turned back to his little customer and said, "You're a strong young lady, Minerva. You'll do many brilliant things in your years." And he hit a button on the register, "Six galleons, Mrs. McGonagall." And Isobel eagerly stepped forward with her coin purse as Minnie stared at her very own magic wand.

Isobel didn't want to go home. It felt too good being among her people again, being able to do magic and carry her wand. Diagon Alley was familiar and the thought of going back to the McGonagall farm misted her eyes. And so it was that she decided to stay a night at the Leaky Cauldron's inn. Minnie asked, "Shouldn't we tell Da? Won't he worry where we are?" but Isobel didn't want to, and said that the Reverend Robert would be far too busy writing his sermon for the next day to hardly notice his wife and daughter had not come home. "But we'll miss church," Minnie pointed out and this, too, did not concern Isobel.

They took dinner in the pub that night, sitting at a wood table. Minerva held her wand, looking it over in excitement as she sat, kicking her feet over the side of the too-tall chair and eating the fish fingers her mum had ordered her from the barman. Isobel saw people she recognized from school and had gone to say hullo and Minnie sat eating, absently looking about the room at the moving pictures on the walls and the glow of the fire flickering over a funny chess set that two old men were playing with.

"Hello again, Minerva."

She looked up to see Florean Fortescue, his freckles much more pronounced in the darkness of the pub. He was standing beside the table, his book tucked under one arm, and behind him hovered another boy, with thick black hair that stuck up in the back and dark brown eyes. The other boy was carrying a broomstick.

"Hullo, Florean," she answered.

"You got your wand, I see," Florean said. "What was it like? Getting your wand?"

"Brilliant," she answered with a smile, "Mr. Ollivander's really smart and funny. And I tried loads of wands before we found this one."

"May I see it?" Florean asked.

Minerva held it up for Florean to look at and he looked and smiled, "It's really cool!"

"It's shorter than mine." The other boy reached into his trousers pocket and pulled out a wand. His was a reddish wood, thicker at the handle end than it was at the tip, with a two twists - like a cork screw - just above where the handle ended. "Mine's got a dragon's heartstring inside it."

"So does mine," Minnie replied. She looked the boy over - he had much nicer clothes on than Florean, and he was a smidge taller. "What's your name?" she asked him.

Florean smirked.

"It's Fleamont," he said.

"Fleamont?" asked Minnie.

The boy's face curved with displeasure, "Yeah, Fleamont Potter. It's a stupid family name. Everyone calls me Charlus. That's my middle name." He paused then, "So you're going to Hogwarts next year, 'ey? So's me and Florean."

Minnie said, "That's lovely."

Charlus asked, "Do ya know what house you'll be in?"

Minnie felt stupid, "What house? Isn't Hogwarts a castle?"

Charlus guffawed, "What? Are you muggle-born?" he asked, as though asking are you stupid?

Florean rolled his eyes at Charlus and turned to Minnie, "He means Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, or Slytherin? Do you know?"

Minnie stared at them. "What?"

"Oi, she's hopeless," said Charlus.

Florean glared at Charlus, then turned back to Minnie. "They sort the students into sets, I s'pose you could say, called houses, and you belong to that house for your time at Hogwarts. Sort of determines who your classmates are and where you sleep and that sort of thing. Each house has a really distinct personality, and loads of families pass down the traits. Generations of families will go to one house or another based on inherited traits."

"I'm going to be a Gryffindor," said Charlus boldly. "It's for the bravest! And I'm loads of brave." He grinned.

Florean continued, "Ravenclaw's for the creative bookish people, and Hufflepuff's for the kind hearted hard workers, and Slytherin's for the chess players."

"The chess players?" Minnie asked.

"Cunning folk who are smart enough to know how to work the world to their advantage," Florean explained. "They sort of think three moves ahead of everyone else in order to win."

Charlus looked Minnie over, "You're probably a Hufflepuff."

Minnie didn't like the way he said it. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oi, don't say that like an insult," Florean said quickly, "You know I'll probably be Hufflepuff myself."

"Oh I'm certain you will be," Charlus said. "You're the best at hide-and-go-seek in our entire school."

Florean shoved Charlus.

Minnie laughed. Florean sort of reminded her of Dougal McGregor.

Charlus grinned, "Sorry, mate, you know I'm just taking the mickey out of ya." He looked at Minnie. "So you've no idea, have you, then? Are you muggle born?" he said it kinder this time.

"I don't know what that means," Minnie admitted.

Florean said, "Born to non-wizards. Non-magic people."

Minnie said, "My dad's a Reverend. But my mum's a witch, though. She's over there, talking to some people she went to school with."

Charlus and Florean both looked over their shoulders. "Hey, that's my mum and dad she's talking to," Charlus said. "Small world after all, ain't it?" He smiled. "If she knew them, she was probably either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor - that's what my mum and dad were."

"So you'll probably be either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor," deduced Florian, looking a bit disappointed.

Minnie pointed to the broomstick Charlus held - curiosity finally getting the best of her, "What are you carrying that thing around for? Do you work here? Are you a floor cleaner?"

Charlus looked at the broomstick, then back to Minnie, "This is a Quidditch broom, idiot."

Florian said, "Don't call her an idiot, that's not very nice."

"Well it's obviously a Quidditch broom," murmured Charlus, "I mean, obviously."

Minnie flushed.

"It's for sports," Florean explained. "This nutter thinks he's going to be an international quidditch player someday but he can't even fly a straight line."

"I can, too. I'm ruddy brilliant at flying, really," Charlus said defensively. He said the second part to Minnie, then added, "And I am going to be a quidditch player someday. A brilliant one."

Minnie nodded because she didn't know what else to do.

"Florean!" came a voice from across the pub and they all looked up to see a woman with dark brown curls waving for him to come.

"That's my ma. I gotta go." Florean punched Charlus's arm playfully, "See you at league, then. See ya 'round Minnie." And he ran off.

"League?" Minnie asked.

Charlus turned to look at her. "Yeah. Young Wizards Quidditch League. We play together on the same team."

"Oh that sounds fun."

"Yeah." Charlus said, "I just got a new broomstick so Florean's going to take my old one, which is better than his old one... twice as fast." He watched as Mrs. Fortescue wiped Florean's face with a handkerchief she'd drawn from her pocket, then looked back at Minnie. His eyes flickered to her plate. "Fish fingers?"

"Aye," Minnie nodded.

Charlus stole one off her plate. "Tom makes good fish fingers." He took a bite. "Anyway. Guess I'll see you at Hogwarts next year." He stuffed the rest of the fish finger in his mouth and wiped his hand on his chest.

"Yeah. Maybe you and Florian could show me how to play Quidditch," she suggested.

"P'haps. First years can't bring broomsticks though." Charlus said, mouth full of fish finger.

"Oh," Minnie said. She had a lot to learn about Hogwarts still, she realized.

Isobel returned to the table and smiled, "Your mum wanted me to send you back over to their table, Fleamont," she said, looking down at the boy. "It's nice to meet you. You look such a lot like your dad."

"But with my mother's eyes, yeah," Charlus said. He'd heard this a hundred times. Then, "Bye Minerva McGonagall."

"You can call me Minnie."

"Bye Minnie." Charlus ran off.

Isobel smiled as she sat down and took a sip of the peppermint tea she'd left behind when she'd gone to greet the Potters across the pub. She watched the boy join his family, then turned to Minerva. "So you're making friends already."

Minerva nodded. She wasn't sure if Charlus Potter would be a friend though. He seemed a bit full of himself.