Wand, huh? Why do wizards need wands anyway?

“Why do wizards use wands?” Is it an amplifier? Or a precision instrument? Or perhaps a fashion statement.

“Wizards use wands because we are not barbarians. Now, come along now.” McGonagall seemed stunned at my curiosity about the wands. The wands were, after all, integral to wizards. Everybody used them. Everybody. It would be preposterous to be without a wand.

Alright, no questioning of wands anymore from here. I was just curious…

“Magic needs to be channeled elegantly and controlled with firm will and wrist. That cannot be done with no wand. A magic without a wand is like a troll in an apothecary.” Aha, more reasonable explanation. So, a precision instrument it is. There was a reason books were written with pens and not fingers.

In a few moments we arrived in front of a shop, much more presentable than Second-hand Robes, but far more subtle than Gringotts. The feeling I got was like from an old, maybe ancient, man that was sitting in a rocking chair and watching the world flow by. Where other buildings were at least actively acknowledging the world and changed by it, this one didn’t bother anymore. Too stubborn and old to change its way, only watching, waiting for something. Where most of the street was starting to fill up with a noise of eager haggling, and kids yelling outside a candy shop, there seemed to be a muffle of sorts as I got closer to wand shop.

The façade of the building was black. Not dark black, but dirt black like all the light that had ever shone on it long gone, leaving just dust and crackling old wood darkened from a fire. Over the door there were peeling gold letters, which read “Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.”.

“Come on now, Mr. Reed, You’ll get your wand inside, just remember to tell him your name, so you don’t have to worry about payment.”

I quickly went for the door, only to need both hands to open the stiff door. I stepped inside only to be greeted by stale air, so stale I could swear there was a whiff of death in the air. Small rectangular boxes were stacked everywhere chaotically. In fact, no walls could be seen as all of them were covered by the boxes. Long narrow boxes from with differing colors. Some from some wood so newly harvested, it had grown leaves to coil around the box. Some which seemed to glitter with starlight as I turned my head away, only to be normal brown when I turned back. Some which seemed to creak occasionally, but as I held my breath to listen closely, I could not make out anything.

It was unsettling. And magical.

I noticed the unassuming, much too small table for a normal shop, which had a small bell. I didn’t want anyone to think I was stealing anything, so I hurriedly rang the bell. Other than the bell, even the table was stacked full of boxes, so haphazardly I was surprised a few hadn’t fallen over. Most things were covered in dust, in so many layers that just ringing the bell caused a small dust cloud to form and roll forward, slowing every second. Full of curiosity, I put my hand through it just to see vortices forming like smoke liking the fire until it released, sending ripples in the dust cloud.

“Good morning” My heart jumped, as I turned my head. I was so absorbed in the dust I hadn’t heard an old man come behind me. Grey hair, perhaps two heads taller than me, quite a scare I tell you.

Deep breaths. I told myself to calm down. After a small moment with my heartbeat calming down, and a more throughout examination, I realized the old man was not so scary or old as I first thought. The man was maybe in his fifties, but with a long poorly kept gray to silver hair, so the first impression was much scarier than after a while. In fact, not just his hair, everything about him seemed a little unkept, clothes wrinkled and small layers of dust in covering his face. But his eyes were sharp, sharp like a razor blade with metallic silver color. I realized, just like I was watching him, he was watching me.

“Good morning, Mr. My name is-” I hurried to introduce myself, only to get interrupted.

“Mr. Reed… Yes. A curious one, surely.”

But how did he know my name? I am sure I was supposed to introduce myself, not the other way around.

“But how did you know?” I asked warily.

“Wizard sees many things, some more than others.” He seemed a bit amused, like he had just construed a clever pun.

“I am Garrick Ollivander, the current owner of Ollivanders, and a wand maker extraordinaire. I trust you come here for your new wand. That is what most do.” Where at first his eyes were sharp, they were also void of any real interest. However, as soon as he started talking about wands, his eyes were positively glowing with a desire so dazzling I never thought they would be the eyes of an old man.

“Yes, I am here for my wand.” I confirmed, a little nervous at the emotional outburst.

“Marvelous! Usually, I take measurements of the physical dimensions of the wand arm, and the carrier to know what wands would feel suitable, but in your case I don’t think I need to. I’ve got a pretty good read on you.”

The conversation felt more like an interaction where both participants were Mr. Ollivander. If there exists no input to give in the conversation, is it even a conversation?

“Yes. Yes. I wonder… “He seemed to stop like the old library computer, processing unknown things.

Suddenly, he moved. Suddenly, like a marionette who just had someone to move him. He went to one of the stacks near the front to take out a box, with an unassuming appearance. A light brown wooden box, which could have been an old wooden pencil holder if not for the greater size.

“Yes, this should do fine…” He opened the box and took a similarly unassuming wand.

“Hornbeam, 6 and a half inches, quite bendy, and one of the smallest wands I have ever made and most certainly the most petite. Usually, dragon heartstrings are incompatible with wands as small as this, but the heartstring came from a special dragon.”

“Old dragon heartstrings are not usually available, but I was lucky and managed to get one from a Swedish short-snout that was waiting for its end. I doubted I could even make any wand from such dispirited material, but with some luck, the wand came to be. Every decade I have had doubts whether the core has already died, but the wand will still send a few sparks.”

“Try it, it should suit you well.” He was presenting the wand to me. Now that I had more time to observe it, I came to observe how small it was. No, graceful would be the right word. The wand was substantially smaller than McGonagall’s, but also far sleeker. The wand was uniformly brown, in this shop full of boxes with personalities more explosive than another, this wand didn’t belong here. Nevertheless, I liked it. I didn’t specifically want a noticeable wand, if it works, it’s enough for me.

I took the wand nervously.

I didn’t know what I was waiting for, but nothing happened. A little disappointed, I started turning the wand in my hand, funnily it felt a little like a pen. That thought made me smile a little, as I could just imagine writing my own book with the wand.

Gradually, like a cloud rolling towards you in the sky, I started to feel satisfaction. Not a strong bright emotion, but a light touch of satisfaction, a cool breeze which made me relax. Like I was suddenly in the library again. If I closed my eyes, I could swear I was in the library just from the smell of books.

“I like it. Thank you for the wand.” I was truly grateful; I didn’t know the wand could bring me the feeling here.

“Hah, interesting. I had a feeling that the wand would suit you. You seemed like someone who already has a clear goal. That wand will help you achieve it.”

“Still, you better give it a flick, so it can show you what it can do.”

I gave a flick. And a small, soft white light appeared at the tip of the wand. The light was pure white, pure as fresh snow, but also gentle as a soft caress. It did not hurt my eyes at all, and after a few seconds it faded a way like a dream at night.

I was flabbergasted. I had done magic. For the first time in my life, I had done magic.

“Not the most spectacular show, but a show, nonetheless. The wand chose you, so take good care of it.” Ollivander presented his hand to take the wand back, and I returned the wand after a moment.

After a few moments, Ollivander had packed the wand back in the box and presented it to me.

“Congratulations on your new wand, Mr. Reed, I hope you grow up to be a fine wizard with your goals fulfilled. I look forward to where you can grow the child.” Hi seemed genuinely happy, like watching his child growing wings and leaving. I assumed the child he was referring to was the wand. Although, he might have been talking to the wand instead, and I was the child. Nevertheless, I answered with heart-felt gratitude.

“Thank you, Mr. Ollivander. I will take care of the wand. And all the best for you too.” I left, embarrassed, before any more compliments came in my way.

Outside, I had a deep breath to clear the mood. Onwards again.

McGonagall seemed a little amused at my showing, but didn’t mention anything. I was embarrassed, nonetheless.

“You were quite a bit faster than most. Congratulations on the new wand, Mr. Reed. However, I don’t have time to lose. Next, all the astronomy and potions equipment.”

McGonagall led me to a one of the main shops we had gone past earlier. The shop had all kinds of metallic and glass devices in the window. From telescopes that were turning and moving slowly by themselves as if searching for something and scales of different colors and designs, in one corner were crystal clear vials and potion bottles. Some were put on a small pillow and seemed to glitter the most. The building itself felt like a lady dancing in starlight, blowing kisses with almost celestial elegance.

We went inside through a mosaic door of different color tiles, of which some even seemed metal. The inside was well lit with mostly soft white, but with some speckles of reflections and refractions from colored crystals and metal objects.

McGonagall swiftly walked to the counter and said: “Hogwarts first year, second-hand”. The shopkeeper disappeared behind the counter through a door to presumably a storage room. After a few moments, she came back only to disappear again a moment after, leaving behind a brass telescope. After a few such trips, the shopkeeper was finally finished and proudly presented her wares, with a speech so fast I was having trouble processing all that was said.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“One brass telescope from an old student, optical condition good, turning squeaks. Fastenings do not hold stable for longer than a minute. Price One galleon, five sickles.”

“Then. One old set of glass phials, cheap from a death estate. Price one galleon.”

“Finally, a set of brass scales, from the same old student. Condition excellent. Price two galleons.”

“What do you think, good deal, right?” The shopkeeper finally calmed down. I'm not too savvy with the prices, so I trust your judgement, Professor. I turned to watch McGonagall.

“Yes, we’ll take them all” McGonagall seemed satisfied and handed over a few golden and silver coins from a brown pouch on her waist. With a flick of her wand all the supplies disappeared somewhere.

… I hope you don’t lose them.

After a similar visit to a cauldron shop that was near the entrance to Diagon alley, it was finally time for the main course. The books.

McGonagall led me to Second-hand Books, a similarly unassuming shop as Second-hand Robes, but based on its name it should deal with books. The shop had over double the traffic compared to Second-hand Robes, although that is not much, as that meant just a single customer before we arrived.

Inside, the shop was full of long shelves full of books, old books. I was reminded of the archive section in my local library, which I was only allowed to look at. Unlike in the archive, the condition of the books varied greatly. Some books were cared for and preserved from the time, like old Madams dancing in a mansion, full of elegant aging. Some, however, had clearly been dealt a worse hand, but still carried their marks from small scratches in the spine to nearly detached spines.

I held my hand to brush against the books when I was interrupted by McGonagall.

“This shop has been a self-service shop since madam Björnpil became the owner 40 years ago. The Hogwarts schoolbooks are found on shelf one, and you should try to find a few of them.”

Alright, I can manage that. I nodded and went to shelf one, just besides the counter, behind which an old lady sat and seemed to be knitting some piece of clothing.

Based on very short observations, the books on the first shelf seemed, an average, much newer if a little less cared for compared to other shelves. I went to start from the left side, just in case they were ordered based on school year.

Well, at least I learned the books were not, in fact, ordered based on year.

To the best of my knowledge, the books were ordered in some amalgamation of same books and the average pricing of the books in question. I can appreciate it from the point of view of a price limited book collector, but I was only price limited, not a collector.

Although, if it was up to me (and unlimited wealth) I would take one of each.

The books themselves seemed a little bit different compared to non-magical books. If I had to pinpoint the difference, I would say that these were livelier. Books in the library gave me warm support, like a passive goodwill from a friendly pet. However, the books in here were like enthusiastic small children telling all of their contents like they were important golden nuggets of information they had collected. Far more active, but also demanding, competing against each other to show how important only they were, and how only they would have the answers.

I immediately ruled out choosing the loudest of the books. I’m sorry, but I have never been one to tolerate emotional outbursts for long. And I would not be changing my principles for books, either. It wasn’t that I started loving books because I wanted attention. I loved books because they had always been that ethereal light comfort. Caring, but full of freedom, and always supportive. I did not need a demanding book in my life. Or if I did, I would take it in, in my own terms.

I did find a few quieter books. They were a little older than the others, and a little bit worse for wear, but they seemed nice. Polite in a way to give time to read, and think about the information by myself, but to also give a push in the right direction if I truly got stuck. Even then, I noticed a peculiar thing.

The topic of the book determined to a high degree the overall personality. Some authors seemed to be outliers, but an average, transfiguration books were strict with rigid personalities. Herbology books were adventurous, kind, and understanding. Potion books, on the other hand, seemed tempting, but also a little judgmental.

How fabulous and entertaining. Maybe the subject determines the personality?

“Professor, I found everything.” I notified McGonagall, who was exasperatedly searching for the books on the other side of the shelf. There must have been some magic at play here, as I am certain I had gone through at least 20 feet of the shelf, but I could swear I was only half way, and the total length of the shelf must have been under 15 feet.

The possibilities one could use such magic with libraries and books! Infinite shelves! Infinite books! Infinite stories!

After a short, impressed look, McGonagall answered.

“Superb, Mr. Reed. You seem to enjoy books.”

“Yes, I am very much waiting to visit the school library.” I answered with a smile. I do love books, and it wasn’t a secret.

“I think you will enjoy Hogwarts then, there should be a place just meant for you.”

Thanks, I guess. I smiled little awkwardly. What am I supposed to say to that?

However, I didn’t seem like she was waiting for an answer. She took the books I presented to her and gave them a quick glance. She frowned a little and said:

“The quality is quite low. Most of these are not far from falling apart.”

I can very much understand the concern. I hurried to placate her:

“They are fine. I have an experience of taking good care of books. I won’t mistreat them.”

She didn’t quite seem convinced, perhaps due to not trusting me, or maybe there were other factors at play. However, she didn’t bother to correct me and accepted my decision.

“Your books, your decision. “

I followed McGonagall to the counter, where she placed all the books. After a small look at the books by the old lady and an exchange, I had acquired my schoolbooks.

McGonagall waived her wand to again vanish the books from my sight. Afterward, she took the brown pouch she had taken coins from her waist and gave it to me.

“These are the remainder of the grant funds for this year.” She looked at me strictly, as if to give a grave importance to not spend the money recklessly.

“There is a bit more remaining than usual due to your choices, so I hope you will not waste the rest.” She gave a strict, but well-meaning small speech to warn me.

“I will be responsible!” I said with my bravest face. I would never spend them recklessly, never.

She didn’t seem to believe me and was slightly amused, but nevertheless gave me the pouch.

Yes! Now I can get more books. It cannot be reckless spending if it’s for the books, right? I mean, I am a responsible, well-read child; this is an investment in my future!

McGonagall just shook her head with a small smile and left the shop. While leaving, she called out to be ready for departure at the latest in an hour.

That should be plenty of time for me to find interesting books.

The pouch had 4 galleons and 6 of those silver coins, sickles. Including my own savings, my current assets totaled to 6 galleons 6 sickles. Given the price of the books from half a galleon to galleon depending on the condition. In the best-case scenario, I could get 12, maybe 13 books.

Let’s get searching. I hurried to other shelves to find some treasures I could take with me.

It wasn’t bad to look for a specific book, but in my opinion, the best feeling was freely browsing books, without any underlying agenda and ending up with a book. So let the flow of the books beneath your fingertips lead you to the destination. If the resulting book was not pleasant enough, start again. Not all paths were guaranteed successes, but in my experience the chances grew greatly. That way, the process, and the journey give most meaning, and the result is a happy coincide, a by-product.

No time like today. I started my search on a shelf in the back that had the oldest and most decrepit books.

Before I even noticed, I had experienced so many astonishing journeys, stories stitched up from the small short pieces of text from each book along the journey. Whenever I resonated with an excerpt of text, I chose the book.

In the end, I had gathered 12 books I could afford. Each much more spiritual than the schoolbooks. Where the schoolbooks seemed more similar to kids competing for attention, these were much more mature. Some were so loud I was surprised I chose them. Some even cold and judgmental. But they were not obnoxiously loud or cold. They were full of boisterous laughter instead of seeking one. I guess the main reason for approval was the intrinsic feeling of self, rather than a child searching for a lost parent. I did not like books because I felt the need to raise children properly and give them attention, that is the reason I found the local library in the first place. I did not come to raise them; I came to converse with them. Maybe one day I would find the patience, but that day would be faraway in the future if it ever came.

I am very pleased with my collection.

The first book was some kind of travel journal of a world travelling witch. The second was a collection of household spells with some notes left from the previous owner. The third book was a big but deceptively light book about levitation spells. The fourth book was an adventurer’s journal about magical animals in Northern America. The fifth book, an astronomy book, twinkling with starlight. The sixth book was a philosopher’s diary, daily musings about magic. The next two were a pair. One large diary from an owner of a book publishing company. Beside it was a small, forgotten book, little thicker than a leaflet, full of memos and notes from day to day business. The ninth book was notes left from a very unlucky witch who loved astronomy. The tenth book was research notes about some curse. And the last two books were part of a series of history books going through the magical history of England.

I went to the counter while holding the massive pile of books, at least a foot in height. I wasn’t the strongest… no, scratch that. I was physically weak. I mean, I am not embarrassed about it, I don’t need any strong muscles, I need just enough to get by. Anyway, after hobbling and struggling with the books, I managed to get them to the counter without major problems.

“Excuse me. I’ll take these, please.” I said aloud to get the old lady’s attention. She paused her knitting to go through the books and state with a disinterested voice:

“Six galleons and one sickle.”

I took coins from the pouch, and carefully counted everything on the table. The shopkeeper didn’t seem that interested and just took the coins and muttered her thanks.

I was grateful, nonetheless.

“Thank you for the books” I called out as I left the store, still hobbling. Luckily, the door worked like the non-magical motion sensor doors that automatically opened, so the exit was not a disaster.

Outside, I was a little puzzled what I should do, as I didn’t see McGonagall anywhere. After a few moments of waiting and observing the bystanders the best I could, I found her. I was just beginning to lose my strength, even after balancing the books against my chest with an overall undoubtably ridiculous looking banana shape to preserve the center of gravity and not fall over. I hurried inside to safe the books from falling, with a strength and speed I didn’t know I had.

“Professor. Please. The books.” I gasped in front of her.

“You should get more muscle, Mr. Reed.” She answered as she flicked her wand and the books disappeared.

I took a minute or two to catch my breath and the ache of my arms to reduce. I am not meant for this kind of physical labor. I need to learn that vanishing spell to put my books away so that I don’t need to carry everything with me.

After pulling myself together, I looked around to see where we were. The shop was full of parchments, different inks, and stationery. It suddenly occurred to me that the admission letter did not speak anything about stationery.

“Professor, does the school provide stationery and pencils, maybe even notebooks?” I asked with a hopeful gaze. Hopeful to hide the fear, as I don’t have many coins left for anything else.

“Yes, stationary will be provided for the first five years. Although, as sophisticated wizards, we use quills, ink, and parchment for assignments. You might find some empty nodes here, for a few sickles, though. Come to mind, you should also try to get familiar with writing with quills.”

I smiled wryly. I hope I have enough money left for a notebook, a quill, and a small ink bottle. I mean, that should be enough.

As it turns out, it was enough. In fact, I still had 15 Knuts, the small bronze coins, left over. They were the cheapest options, but I still got everything.

I smiled happily at McGonagall as she led me outside from the shop. After a quick walk, we arrived back at the Leaky Cauldron, where we apparated back to the same quiet alleyway we left. God, it felt like ages ago.

After a quick walk back to the orphanage, we arrived in my new room. Singular rooms were unheard in the orphanage, so it must have been something to do with magic, that I got a whole room to myself. It might also be because I would only use it in summer that it was accepted. Magic is so unfair. Not that you’ll ever hear me complaining.

“As a gift, I would like to give you a trunk I found. It’s not enchanted or anything, but we, the school staff, like to give some encouragement to all the orphan students we come across. It should provide useful when moving all your belongings, but try to obtain a small bag for lessons also.” She brought out a large, at least four feet long, trunk and flicked her wand to fetch all the supplies we had previously bought from who knows where.

“Thank you. For everything. Thank you. Thank you so much.” I was beyond grateful. I was probably quite annoying, sounding like a broken record. How embarrassing. I would have been annoyed just listening to that. I stealthily wiped a few tears from my eyes and cleared my throat to be presentable. I would not cry; I am not an emotional wreck.

McGonagall just smiled softly and whispered good luck, after which she left.

I took a while just to initially process what had happened in the few hours I had been gone. I had never been on a rollercoaster, but this experience was probably close to it. I emptied my bed to lay there and look at the ceiling and wondered just what would the future hold for me.