Asher couldn't say what had driven her to stop at the wand shop in Diagon Alley. She was really only there for one reason: She needed to resupply the school cupboards for the upcoming year. But she had found herself wandering up and down the shops, stopping in a few, though avoiding the Owl Emporium. The one time she had tried to go in there- well, it hadn't gone well, and she had since picked up all her feeder toads from the apothecary.

She still had a long list of ingredients she hadn't even started on yet, but it was still in her pocket as she regarded the glass-paned storefront. She had no reason to go in there, really- her wand worked well for her, and it wasn't damaged in any way. But she found herself walking up to the door of Ollivander's and pushing it open, a bell ringing as she did. Her eyes widened at the sheer number of wand boxes on the shelves- did the man do nothing else?

"In need of a wand?" The quiet voice interrupted her staring, and she turned to where an old man had come out the back of the shop. He had the palest of eyes; added to his white hair, it gave him a ghostly look.

"Well, no," she said, her mind searching for an excuse to be here. "But mine has unicorn hair and I wanted to check to make sure it was in good shape."

"It won't be one of mine."

He said this matter-of-factly, and Asher got the feeling that he remembered every person he sold a wand to. "No, it's a Bancroft wand-"

"Bancroft?" The old man questioned, holding out a hand. "Let's see it. Bancroft wands aren't typically made with unicorn hair. New American wandmaker. Only one generation in. Uktena fang," he said in a scolding voice as he took the wand Asher held out.

Asher's eyebrows had lifted at this monologue, and she followed as the old man took the wand over to a small scale. He weighed it, examined it from every angle, and turned those intense pale eyes upon her. "Pine, unicorn hair, eleven inches." It wasn't really a question, and Asher wasn't sure why he had said it.

"Yes-"

"You have secrets," he continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "Destined for a long life, you are. A life of innovation, if you choose. You're right to check on the core. A pine owner with unicorn hair.. not a pairing I would have made lightly."

He hadn't blinked or looked away during any of this, and Asher felt uncomfortable, but stared back. "What do you mean?"

"Unicorn hair is vulnerable," Ollivander said. "Not that it isn't strong, but it can be weakened if not used properly, and as you know, die. And pine…" He shook his head.

Asher waited, but he didn't continue. "Pine likes to make new magic, I've heard," she prompted.

"Oh, yes."

More silence. "So why is it not a pairing you would have made lightly?"

Ollivander regarded her with those unblinking eyes. "Pine owners- or more appropriately, Wizards owned by pine- are often alone. And you have secrets," he said again, sharply, and Asher shifted, ill at ease. "Loners with secrets breed melancholy and inner conflict, and unicorn hair doesn't do well with that." He handed the wand back, and Asher took it nervously.

"Well, thank you for checking it," she said, feeling awkward as she tucked it up her sleeve. She turned to go, and was nearly to the door when Ollivander spoke again.

"I have never once sold a pine wand with a unicorn hair core," he said, his voice pensive. "I have made a few, of course, but they sit, collecting dust."

Asher turned, her eyebrows pinched together as she looked at the old man. "Never?"

"My grandfather sold one, once. The woman he sold it to had Huldra blood. Diluted enough, fortunately, that she had no tail."

Huldra, Asher thought, feeling her face pale and go blank. Huldra were the Scandinavian answer to succubi, though their origin was generally thought to be fae, not human. "That's very interesting. Thank you for sharing that." She walked determinedly toward the door, though not quickly; she felt him staring at her back, and determined that even if she didn't tell him what she was, with any more information, he would be able to guess. He might be old, but he was sharp as a tack.

"You may want to have a look at your family tree," she heard him say as she walked out.