Roger pushed open the small shop door, and the bell hanging inside gave a clear little ring, announcing their arrival. He followed Professor McGonagall into Ollivanders, where the shop felt even more cramped than he remembered from the films. Wand boxes were stacked from floor to ceiling, and the shelves leaned at odd angles as though the whole room had grown around centuries of wood, dust, and magic.
The floorboards creaked beneath their feet. A single wand rested on a faded purple cushion in the window, while the air inside smelled faintly of old parchment, polished wood, and something sharp that made Roger's fingertips tingle. For a child who had spent most of his life with damp stone and rusted iron, even the dust here felt alive.
"Minerva McGonagall," said an elderly man behind the counter, his pale eyes shining in the dim light. "If I remember correctly, fir, dragon heartstring, nine and a half inches. A reliable wand for a witch with great discipline and inner strength."
"You have an excellent memory, Mr. Ollivander," Professor McGonagall replied with a small smile. "I've brought a new student to be fitted for his first wand. This is Roger Williams."
"Oh, a newcomer." Ollivander's eyes brightened at once, and his gaze settled on Roger with unsettling intensity. "Come here, young man. Let us see which wand has been waiting for you."
He picked up a measuring tape, and before Roger could react, it sprang into the air and began taking measurements. It measured his arm, forearm, shoulder width, height, head, and even the distance between his nostrils. Roger looked helplessly at Professor McGonagall, because this was already the second time he had been measured today, and Ollivander was even more thorough than Madam Malkin.
"Mr. Ollivander," Roger asked carefully, "I'm still growing. Will these measurements really be useful?"
"Oh, of course, my child. Very useful indeed." Ollivander sounded delighted by the question. "Matching a wand is a complex magical art. To find the wand best suited to a wizard, understanding the user's physical traits is an important first step."
The measuring tape darted around Roger like a curious snake, while Ollivander wrote down the numbers on a slip of parchment. "Your body will continue to grow, yes, but certain characteristics and skeletal structure can reflect personality, temperament, and talent. A wandmaker must look beyond the surface and pay attention to the essence beneath."
"I understand," Roger said, nodding. "Thank you for explaining it, Mr. Ollivander."
After two lives, he was finally about to own a wand of his own. Even though he tried to remain calm, excitement still rose in his chest. Wandless magic had kept him alive, but a wand meant entry into the wider wizarding world, into spellwork, study, and possibilities he had only watched from a distance.
Based on Roger's measurements, Ollivander disappeared among the shelves and returned with several narrow boxes. He opened the first one and held out a wand with the care of a man presenting a sleeping bird. "Try this one first. Hawthorn, phoenix feather, twelve inches, reasonably flexible."
Roger took it and gave it a tentative wave. A small gust of cold wind blew across the shop, stirring dust from the counter and making one stack of boxes tremble.
"No, no, not quite right." Ollivander took the wand back with a shake of his head. "Interesting response, but not a match."
He replaced it and opened another box. "Then this one. Cherry, dragon heartstring, ten inches, rather firm."
Roger waved the second wand. A vase near the counter shattered with a sharp bang, scattering pieces across the floor.
"My vase!" Ollivander exclaimed, then gave a soft laugh and flicked his own wand to sweep the shards aside. "No matter. It clearly does not suit you either."
Next came boxwood, then yew, then several other woods Roger did not immediately recognize. Some produced no reaction at all, while others sent sparks in the wrong direction, knocked a measuring tape from its hook, or made the shop's bell ring wildly though no one had opened the door. Professor McGonagall watched with growing interest, while Ollivander only became more excited.
"Hmm," he murmured, tapping one long finger against his chin. "A picky customer. A very picky customer indeed."
Roger lowered the latest failed wand, not sure whether to feel proud or embarrassed. "Is that bad?"
"Not bad," Ollivander said at once. "Only revealing. A wand that chooses too easily often has little to say. A difficult match can be far more meaningful when it finally appears."
He turned and vanished deeper into the narrow shelves. "Do not worry. I believe I have one that may be perfect for you."
When he returned, he carried a brand-new box with unusual care. Inside lay a wand that made Roger pause before touching it. "Here we are. Holly, phoenix feather, eleven inches, flexible and resilient."
Roger stared at it. This looks like Harry Potter's wand, he thought. Did I almost take it first?
Still, he reached out and accepted it. Professor McGonagall noticed his hesitation and mistook it for worry that another wand would fail. "Go on, Roger," she encouraged gently. "The wand chooses its wizard."
Roger nodded and gave the wand a light wave. Nothing happened.
Relief flashed through him before he could stop it. Good. Let Harry Potter and Voldemort continue their dramatic little destiny without me.
Ollivander, however, frowned. "Curious," he murmured. "Very curious. That should have produced something."
He scratched his wild white hair, which reminded Roger faintly of an old composer from a Muggle portrait, then crouched and pulled a long box from the bottom shelf. The box was plainer than the others, as though it had been placed there years ago and then quietly forgotten.
"This one," Ollivander said, almost to himself. "Perhaps this one."
Inside was a twelve-inch wand with an elegant spiral shape. Its polished wood had a deep rose-brown sheen, warm and smooth, and the moment Roger saw it, he felt as if the room had gone slightly quieter.
"As soon as you are ready," Ollivander said.
Roger wrapped his fingers around the wand. A dazzling golden light burst from its tip, and beautiful sparks exploded through the shop like tiny fireworks. Warm magic flowed through his hand and up his arm, not fighting him, not testing him, but recognizing him.
"Wonderful," Ollivander cried happily. "This is it. Rosewood, Qilin heartstring, twelve inches, exceptionally durable."
"Qilin heartstring?" Professor McGonagall asked sharply. Her eyes moved from the wand to Ollivander with clear concern.
"Minerva, calm yourself," Ollivander said, raising one hand. "It does not belong to Newt Scamander's Qilin, nor does it have anything to do with Grindelwald. The core came from the remains of an adult Qilin provided legally by the Ministry sixty years ago. There is no cause for alarm."
Professor McGonagall still looked uneasy, but she allowed him to continue.
"Now, let me explain the wand properly," Ollivander said, turning back to Roger. "Rosewood is rare and refined, chosen here because it harmonized unusually well with the Qilin heartstring. It often suits a wizard with firm will, deep instincts, and goals that may grow more noble with time."
He pointed to the wand's shape. "The spiral form suggests continuity, renewal, and possibilities that do not move in a straight line. As for the Qilin, it is an ancient magical creature associated with peace, good fortune, and the ability to perceive true character. A heartstring core of this kind gives the wand strong protective qualities and unusual sensitivity to the wizard's intent."
Ollivander's eyes gleamed as he spoke. "The twelve-inch length offers balance and reach, suitable for a wizard who must learn harmony between strength and restraint. To be honest, this wand was not made according to my usual traditions. It came from my hands, yes, but it has always seemed to be waiting for a rather unusual wizard."
He had not expected the wand to truly choose Roger. That made the moment even more satisfying.
"In any case," Ollivander concluded, "this is a wand with great potential. It should handle complex magic with agility, combining flexibility and strength. It is suited to a wizard who can adapt, endure, and create new paths where none are offered."
Professor McGonagall accepted the explanation, though the Qilin heartstring still worried her. Roger, however, gripped the wand happily. Magic flowed through it so smoothly that more golden sparks danced at the tip, bright enough to reflect in his eyes.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Ollivander," Roger said, unable to hide his excitement. "I'll use it properly and make good use of its power."
"Of course, child," Ollivander said with a smile.
Roger took out a small leather pouch and placed a heavy bag of Galleons on the counter. "Thank you for all your trouble, Mr. Ollivander. I think this wand must be very valuable."
"Ah, no need, no need." Ollivander waved his hand amiably and took only seven gold coins. "That is enough. I believe this wand will be a good companion to you."
He pushed the rest of the money back toward Roger. "Take it home and try it carefully. If there are any problems, come back to me."
Roger nodded and put the new wand carefully into his pocket. Led by Professor McGonagall, he walked out of Ollivanders with a lightness in his steps he had never felt before. From this day forward, he finally had a wand.
"Mr. Williams, congratulations on obtaining your own wand," Professor McGonagall said. She sounded genuinely pleased for him, but after a moment, she adjusted her glasses and took on the tone of a teacher beginning a serious lesson. "Now, there is something you must understand."
Roger looked up at her.
"According to Ministry regulations, children aged eleven or older who know they are magical, but have not yet officially enrolled at school, are strictly prohibited from using magic outside school supervision. Wands may be held by a responsible adult until the child begins term."
"Ah…" Roger's excitement dimmed at once. "Professor McGonagall, please let me keep it. I swear I won't use magic outside school."
He looked at her with open disappointment. He had not remembered anything about a new student's wand being held before term. Roger knew the Ministry used the Trace to monitor underage magic once students entered the system, but he had not expected the rules to be so strict before enrollment. In the films, Hermione had used her wand to fix Harry's glasses even before they reached school.
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