Novocain

Olivander and Ambrose

The trip to Diagon Alley was vastly different from his first time, in the sense that he only lied all of 2 times. Once, was when Draco asked him whether or not he was enjoying himself, and the second when his mother had asked him if he had bought anything. He had said no. It was easier than explaining that he just spent 100 galleons on a particular Dark Arts tome. Garron's father would be happy though, Lucius loved seeing what the boy was researching.

Getting their supplies for the school year seemed rather dull to him, purchasing textbooks and cauldrons had never appealed much to him. He'd rather spend the day wasting away inside of Flourish and Botts. However, he couldn't deny the sheer joy and excitement he felt the moment they approached Ollivander's. The last hurdle to overcome before he could perform magic, at least, legally perform magic. Hecate would be so proud to see her young champion so astute and wise before his time.

The shop was musty and covered in centuries old dust, the sunlight was tinted amber here. In the rays, Garron could see every particle of dust swirling around the air with no intent other than to simply exist. The shop smelled of earth and fire, a hint of spice in the back of his throat as he breathed in.

"Mr. Potter!" A voice rang out from behind him. The serene peace of the quit shop broken instantly, he scowled.

"Lord Black, actually."

"Apologies, my boy, the years are creeping up on me." As Garron turned around he was faced with the most ancient character he had ever seen. His skin was paper, frail and torn. His teeth were almost rotted out of his head with white hair that defied gravity. Ollivander was the most hideous creature he had ever seen. But, if one were to look for longer than they felt comfortable with, they would find more. They would find that his eyes were sharp and clear, moving with every piece of dust that floated by. His hands were callused and were topped with deft fingers that twitched ever so slightly. Ollivander was a clever old man, no doubt about it. "You are here for your first wands." It wasn't a question.

"Yes Mr. Ollivander, sir. There's no budget." Draco popped up next to him.

"Right away then. Young Mister Malfoy, you first. An easy job if I ever saw one," the old man croaked.

Ollivander left and came back instantaneously, a long dark box in hand. "Hawthorne wood, 10 inches, with a unicorn hair core. Reasonably springy and excellent for healing magic."

Draco took the wand in hand and immediately, a golden aura sprung out from the tip of the wand. Garron's brother smiled and began to laugh lightly, soon Draco's smile widened and encompassed his entire face. Sometimes, my brother is not a dimwit. I mean, he's still a dimwit but at least I can enjoy his presence like this. "I'll take it!"

The old man turned to Garron and frowned. Oh, this is just going to be lovely. What is it about him that just prohibits things being easy. Why, in Merlin's name, can't he have just been normal. Actually, scratch that. Normal people are so incredibly dim and gullible. Thank the Gods we aren't normal. What? Nothing. Ollivander left once more, this time considerably longer than the last. This time he brought back with him six different boxes and laid them out in front of Garron.

"Run your hand over them and pull out that which draws you to it." Garron did, or, he tried to. Nothing was jumping out at him, not even a little bit. The boy shook his head. "Curious. Very curious."

"What is?"

"It seems, Lord Black, that you require a different approach. Those boxes held every type of wood that is almost every wizard's wand. None of the cores stuck out to you as well. All pointing to the assessment that you require a custom wand." Draco murmured beside him in awe. "Stay put." He left for an immeasurable amount of time afterwards, leaving the two boys to contemplate their purchases. Mentally, Garron was as bored as ever. He needed something to do. Someone to torment or maim. A maiming sounds lovely right now. Physically, Garron morphed his face into an emotion. Whether or not it was the correct emotion, he would never know, but at least it was something. His brother didn't look at him strangely, so it mustn't have been too off. Ollivander came in finally, holding boxes upon boxes of materials.