Hi everyone! This is my very first fanfiction that I plan on finishing, so I hope you like it! Rated T because there will be some references...to things. All rights go to JK Rowling.
The old man's shop was at the corner of Marsh Street and Cutler Avenue.
It was a modest shop from the outside; it was made of wood and had two small windows. There was a large wooden door on the outside with a rusted brass knob. A sign above the door read "Ollivander's".
You would walk inside and see rows of old books. All of them were handwritten, with covers that looked as if they would crumble at the slightest touch. It was a rather dim setting and the little light in the small room came from a glowing fireplace on the right wall. At the center of the room was a large wooden desk.
You wouldn't know that there was a hidden door directly behind the wooden desk unless you were looking for it, and even if you knew about the door, you would not have been able to find it unless you knew exactly where it was located.
It was the end of July when a young girl opened the door of the shop. She had long black curls and pale, intelligent looking eyes. She wore a simple blue dress and looked to be no more than ten. She was quite petite, with small feet that barely made any noise as she walked across the wooden floor to the wooden desk.
The old man looked up as she approached the desk. "May I help you find what you are looking are?" he asked as she approached.
"You can only guide me to my fate," she responded, placing seven gold coins on the old man's desk. She had obviously said some kind of code word, for once she had spoken, the old man rose and gestured for her to follow him. He look around once, then drew a long, thing, wooden rod. The little girl recognized it as his wand. He waved the wand towards the back of the room, at a spot directly behind his desk.
The girl suddenly noticed the outlines of a rectangle becoming more visible. What she had previously mistaken for some kind of wall decoration was now clearly a door handle.
The old man stepped towards the door and opened it, gesturing for the little girl to enter. She walked inside. The layout of this back room was exactly the same as the front room's layout, but instead of books lining the shelves, there were wand cases.
The wandmaker took out cases and began trying out wands for the little girl. They worked in silence. Some wands felt uncomfortable in the hands of the little girl, some just felt plain wrong.
Finally, the wandmaker handed her a handsome brown wand. She felt a rush of warmth, as if a warm wind and breezed past her. The wand felt perfect in her hand.
"Walnut, Phoenix feather, fourteen inches, hard," the wandmaker said as he escorted her out of the backroom. He closed the door and waved his wand once more; the outlines began to fade until the door looked as if it were just part of the wall again.
The young girl looked around at the shelves of books and quietly, in a very polite voice, asked if she could stay here for a little longer, please? The old man nodded as the girl pulled one book out of the shelf, plopped down on an armchair across from the fireplace, and carefully opened the book.
The little girl visited the shop everyday after that. Everyday, she would pull open a book from the shelf and settle down in an armchair, and everyday, just before sundown, she would hand the book to the wandmaker, and everyday he would ask her if she wanted to buy the book, to keep, and she would say no, but can you please save it for me, for tomorrow? And everyday he would say yes and mark her page and put it away. And on the next day, she would come back just after sunrise and he would give her the book and she would settle down again and repeat the process.
The shop had very few customers, so it was quite surprising when a young boy came in in the beginning of September.