Change of Heart

Wand of Beginnings

"Ollivanders?" I muttered under my breath as I wiped the heavy raindrops from my cheeks and continued to look at the sign as it gently swayed. The late August chill was starting to slither through the gaps of my scarf and gloves; I frantically moved toward the shop door after searching the entire street for my mother and siblings, whose presence had vanished within the crowd.

Numerous long cardboard boxes laden with tiny pigeonholes covered the two story store. A giant oak-wood ladder was positioned behind the store's counters and leaning on the shelf berms. A cosy-looking workbench stocked with carving supplies and numerous piles of wood shavings was located at the back of the store, hidden by a shroud of darkness.

The only light source battling the encroaching shadow were two lanterns, and a few candles flanked the high wall at the entrance to the shop. The aromatic fragrance of polish, worn-old inkwells and burnt wood filled my heart with a feathery feeling.

An immediate scuffling sound jolted me out of my trance, my eyes immediately looking towards the small doorway near the work bench. With a peculiar smile, a strange man appeared from the shop's storage area, "Miss Warwick, ah! Unfortunate you showed up on such a dismal day." His greeting calmed my jittery nerves, and I had a chance to study his appearance.

He had messy, grey hair that echoed his old age. Still, his piercing blue eyes, hidden behind aged, half-moon glasses, encapsulated a burning passion only to be found in a young bull of a man. His ruby-red ascot cravat effortlessly draped around his neck, its silk shining endearingly under the candlelight and flattered his pale button-up shirt, dark indigo blazer adorned with gilded buttons, and icy-blue, fluorescent waistcoat. His welcoming, wrinkled hands delicately held an incomplete wand between his fingers. Within that moment, it dawned upon me who was in front of me.

I quickly took his extended hand, relishing in its warmth, "Wow, it's lovely to meet you, Mr Ollivander."

Quickly, his once large smile turned into a simple one as he let out a light chuckle. "You're the spitting image of your father; you've got the same smile as him." He placed down the unfinished wand behind the counter. I couldn't let my eyes off him as the way he glided across the shop floor replicated a calm lake, effortlessly flowing across a marble rock bed.

"You speak about my father as if you know him. Are you a regular customer?" I asked, raising my eyebrow as I searched through my memories of the many dinner parties and the people who attended, yet through the many faces crossing my mind, I could not pinpoint the unforgettable, strikingly blue eyes. "I don't ever remember meeting you at one of our dinner parties, Mr Ollivander."

"You could say I once knew him, but it feels like such a long time ago. He was standing in the same spot you are right now, sparkling wide eyes. His wand was befitting him: ten and a quarter inches of apple wood." I stood there slightly shocked, wondering how old Mr Ollivander truly was.

"But, of course, everyone knows your father in some way or another. He's truly a visionary man of his age," Mr Ollivander continued.

I gave a curt nod in agreement; of course, everyone knows him. I would often get halted in the middle of the street during a shopping trip by elegantly gloved hands on my shoulders, ladies telling me how pretty I have gotten over the years. After complimenting my appearance, they would drag their annoying sons forward to spark an awkward conversation. Grumpy, bearded older men often stood behind them, asking me how my father was and complimenting his intelligence as I watched the other children freely shopping in the sweet shop and looking through the Quidditch gear shop window.

They would suddenly change the subject to my father potentially being free to visit their lovely abode and fix any shortcomings of a current product. It was a grand scheme to avoid the inflated repair price at my father's company. Finally, their snotty-nosed brats of children would often bug me about the next dinner party while I tried to buy some sweets in peace; they all loved the Warwick Estate and its fireworks.

"What's your wand arm?" Mr Ollivander asked, pulling me once again from my deep thoughts.

"Right, sir," I said, extending it slowly out to him as he suddenly produced a small roll of tape measure from his robe pockets. He measured from my shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, shoulder to my toes, knee to my armpit and around my head. Noticing my confusion at his sudden study of my physique, Mr Ollivander cleared his throat, "No two Ollivander wands are the same, Miss Warwick. You'll never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Suddenly, leaving the tape measure to record its findings on its own, he turned to the large oak wood shelves and began taking down the colourful boxes. "That'll do," he said, waving his hand dismissively towards me. The tape measure suddenly fell into a crumpled heap on the floor.

"I want you to try these," Mr Ollivander continued, taking off the lids of three separate boxes and revealing wooden wands. They all looked as majestic as the next; it was hard to choose which one to pick up. I looked at him, confused and waiting for him to tell me which ones I should try, but all he did was a nod towards the boxes.

"Urm, okay," I said hesitantly, picking up a wand with a sleek brown texture. It's perfect shine was handsome to the eyes, but its floral design around the handle was what enticed me to pick it up. The wand felt light within my hand; however, incredibly cold.

"That's a Beech-wood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Go on, give it a flick," he said with a smile. I pointed the end of the wand towards the floor, muttering a minor incantation, but a lantern abruptly exploded right before us. We both ducked for cover as the glass shards dispersed over us. An excited laugh escaped his lips, scaring me slightly, "Oh well! Next one."

I picked up another wand similar in colour to the previous one, but it had a plainer handle. It felt remarkably smooth within my hand and the same bitter feeling. "Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches." "Another one!" I gave it a simple flick, and this time an entire shelf of wand boxes flew out of the pigeonholes behind us.

I picked up the final one, and something about it felt perfect. Its weight was ideal, its handle was the perfect length to wrap my fingers around it, and its magical essence surged through my limbs, resembling a calm river. "Elder wood with unicorn hair. Eleven inches." Its handle was a simple spiral with small dots cut within the indent of the ring while the rest of its body was perfectly sanded down.

"Urgh, Mr Ollivander; I think - I think this is the one," I said, looking up at him with a nervous but eager smile.

"Well, we won't know till you give it a flick," he said with a wide smile as he marvelled at the wand within my grip as if a kid looking at all the delicious sweets within a sweet shop's display case. After giving it a small flick, a small, feathered quill began to levitate slowly before falling back to the book it belonged to. "Impressive. You've got your work cut out for you, Miss Warwick," he said.

"This feel amazing." the soft warmth filling my hand as I held its handle felt incredible. The wand felt almost like an extension of myself, and I could never part with it.

"Pairing with a wand is an incredibly feeling, Miss Warwick. It's a one in a life-time experience never to be found again." I placed the wand back into its box carefully and let Mr Ollivander bag the box.

After a minute of haggling with the store owner, I reluctantly left the store without parting him with the full Galleons owed for this beautiful wand on the shop counter. I had given him many thank yous, hoping to repay him the future for the generous prize he had given me. "There you are. We've been looking all over for you!" Mother shouted, panting as if she had been running to find me. "What you have in that bag?" she asked, pointing towards the brown paper bag.

"My wand," I said, holding the handle towards her so she could inspect the contents, but all she did was wave it away dismissively. She seized my wrist, dragging me along the cobblestone street towards the nearest fireplace. She took a large grip of shimmering powder before whispering into her hand and blowing it towards the raging fire. I felt her drag me forward into the flames, pulling me away from the crowded street and the most fantastic shop ever.