Merlin trailed behind Professor McGonagall, his eyes darting around every shop in Diagon Alley with curiosity. There was so much to take in — cauldrons, brooms, books, owls in cages, and countless other strange things he had never seen in either of his two lives.
"Let's get your robes first," said Professor McGonagall, leading him toward a shop with a neat sign above the door: Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions
A small bell tinkled as they entered. The air smelled faintly of fabric and chalk dust. A plump witch in mauve robes looked up from behind the counter and smiled warmly.
"Are you here to buy Hogwarts uniforms, dear?"
"Yes, Madam," Merlin replied.
"What a polite child," she said approvingly. "Come along then, let's get you measured."
As she spoke, a measuring tape, pins, and scissors sprang to life, circling him as they took his measurements on their own. Merlin tried to stay as still as possible while the enchanted tools worked.
When it was over, Madam Malkin gave a satisfied nod. "All done! Come back in half an hour to pick up your robes."
From there, Professor McGonagall led him to purchase the rest of the items on his school list. They bought a pewter cauldron from Potage's Cauldron Shop, a brass telescope and weighing scales from Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, potion ingredients and glass vials from the Apothecary, and textbooks from Flourish and Blotts.
Professor McGonagall also purchased a small enchanted briefcase for him to store everything in. It looked a bit old-fashioned, but the space inside was much larger than it appeared from the outside, easily fitting all his supplies. She didn't use his loan funds for it either—saying it was a congratulatory gift for getting into Hogwarts.
Warmth bloomed inside Merlin at her kindness. He thanked her sincerely and made a mental note to give her a return gift someday.
By the time they finished their shopping and collected his robes, the sun was already dipping low in the sky.
At last, they stopped before a narrow, timeworn building squeezed between two taller ones. The windows were dusty, half-hidden behind towering stacks of wand boxes. Above the door, a hand-painted sign read:
Ollivanders – Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C
Merlin stared at it in silence for a moment before following Professor McGonagall inside.
---
The bell above the door chimed softly as they stepped in. The shop was narrow and dimly lit, filled with the faint scent of old wood.
Towering shelves lined both walls, stacked high with countless slim boxes that reached the ceiling.
Merlin's eyes wandered over the clutter. It looked more like an attic than a shop, though there was an odd sort of order amidst the chaos.
"Ah, Professor McGonagall," came a gentle, aged voice from somewhere behind a stack of boxes.
An old, thin man appeared, his silver-gray eyes sharp and bright. He nodded politely to McGonagall before turning to Merlin. "And this must be our new student."
"Yes," McGonagall said. "This is Mr. Merlin Graves. First year. Muggle-born."
"Muggle-born," the man repeated thoughtfully. "Splendid. They often bring unexpected surprises."
Merlin wasn't quite sure what that meant, so he only nodded politely.
"What's your dominant hand, Mr. Graves?" the man asked, reaching for a floating tape measure.
"My right hand, sir," Merlin replied.
"Good. Hold it out straight."
The tape measure sprang to life, darting around Merlin and taking his measurements—arm length, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit.
"People think the wizard chooses the wand," Ollivander said absently as he watched the tape move. "But it's the wand that chooses the wizard. A proper match reflects the owner's nature."
He picked up a box from a nearby shelf. "Let's begin."
Inside was a wand of pale wood. "Ash. Eleven inches. Unicorn hair. Flexible."
Merlin took it and gave it a small wave. A few sparks came out, faded quickly, and… that was it.
"No, not that one." Ollivander took it back and handed him another. "Try this—holly and dragon heartstring, ten and a half inches."
Merlin tried again. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the tip before disappearing. Ollivander didn't seem disappointed—if anything, he looked intrigued.
"Hmm. Not quite right," he murmured, scanning the shelves. "But there's something… wait."
He moved to a side shelf, searching for a while before pulling out a small, older-looking box. "Holly wood, phoenix feather. Let's see how you respond to this."
Merlin took the wand. The moment his fingers touched it, a faint warmth spread up his arm. The tip gave off a soft golden spark that flickered once before fading.
Ollivander nodded slightly. "Good. Phoenix feather suits you. They're rare cores—loyal, but independent. Let's see which wood it favors."
He brought out wand after wand—maple, oak, cherry, ebony—all with phoenix feather cores. Each gave Merlin that same mild warmth, but none felt quite right. Ollivander grew more thoughtful as he went, until finally, he turned to the top shelf and brought down a thin, worn box. Inside was a wand of pitch black color.
"Let's try this," he said, opening it. "Yew. Pheonix feather core. Twelve inches."
Merlin took it carefully. The moment his hand closed around the handle, a stronger warmth spread through his arm, and a dazzling beam of light lit up at the tip.
Ollivander watched in silence for a moment. Then he said quietly, "Yew and phoenix feather. An uncommon match." His tone was mild, but there was something about it that made Merlin look up.
"The yew," Ollivander continued, "is a wood of transformation. The phoenix symbolizes rebirth. Together, they hold potential for both creation and destruction."
At his words, Professor McGonagall's expression tightened slightly. "Yew?" she asked. "Are you sure?"
Ollivander nodded. "It has chosen him freely, Professor. Yew is not a wood to fear—only to respect."
She hesitated, then gave a short nod. "Of course."
Merlin looked between them, unsure what to make of the exchange.
'Maybe some dark wizard once had a wand of similar combination.' he thought. It was the only reason he could imagine for their tone. He made a mental note to inquire later.
Ollivander turned back to him. "Don't worry, Mr. Graves. The wand chooses the wizard, yes—but it's the wizard who decides what he becomes. Treat it well, and it will serve you faithfully."
Merlin nodded, agreeing with him. No what wand he used, his life choices were decided by him.
McGonagall placed a hand on his shoulder. "Well done, Mr. Graves. You've got your wand. Let's get going."
After Professor McGonagall paid, they stepped out of the shop, and she escorted him back to the orphanage. Merlin bid her farewell at the door before scurrying off to his room with the briefcase, eager to try magic for the first time.