A/N: Surprise, surprise, I don't own Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form! What, you're not surprised? Tough crowd, you lot are. Someone must have blabbed to you.

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Creak. Ding. Clack. The door opens, the bell rings, the door shuts, and a young male voice speaks out nervously. I perk up a little in my box; this must be a young wizard, in here for his first wand. I feel a strange…connectedness…with this young boy, a feeling that has never occurred for me before. Perhaps this boy is to be my owner? I send out a feeling to the other wands; a warning to behave. I have a feeling that this would be my human at last. The other wands respect me; I have been here for a long time. I have seen many humans come and go, and never chosen them. I don't know why; none of them felt right to me. But this boy… he is something special, I can tell.

I barely notice the conversation of the boy and the Creator until I am brought back to the present by a slight scraping sound as another wand's box is drawn off a shelf. I can feel the conscience of the wand that emerges in the hand of the Creator. It is a young wand, flexible and light, and I can innately tell that it is decently well-suited to the young boy here for his wand. It knows this, too, but it feels no sense of belonging with the new wizard. Besides, I have seniority among the wands; without that special feeling, almost no wand would dare go against my word.

Sure enough, when the boy waves my colleague, it acts out in discontentment and sends many thin boxes crashing to the floor, the wands inside rattling roughly in their cases. The Creator says something in a slightly pained voice and gingerly takes the wand, placing it back on a shelf. I know that another wand must be taken out for the boy now; I strain in my box, hoping the Creator will feel my restless energy and allow me a try.

But no, he passes me by in favor of another wand, this one older and yet more headstrong than the first. It, too, knows that it is not the wand for the young wizard in the front of the shop; when it is waved the boy smashes a small vase sitting nearby.

Again the pained voice of the Creator speaks up; he takes the wand from the counter where the boy has gingerly laid it and returns it to the shelf. I crane outwards again, silently begging the Creator to let me meet the boy.

The Creator dithers for a moment, his voice vibrating against me roughly, and then makes his choice. I wait, impatient. How long can it take him to make up his mind?

Happily, my world begins to move as my box is slid off my shelf into the less stable hand of the Creator. Uncovering the lid, he draws me out of it, speaking quietly to the boy in the front of the shop. I rejoice in the feeling of the Creator's hands on my wood; it has been a long time since I have been out of my box and in the hands of a wizard or witch.

I have never found my true owner. My brother left long ago in the hands of a wizard that I certainly would not have picked. But then, my brother was always strange; it had strange ideas of adventure and power. Slowly, I was shunted to the back of the dingy little shop I resided in, making way for new wands. I began to lose hopes that I would ever find my owner. Few people have ever even tried me! But now, perhaps my long wait is about to end.

In a time that feels indefinably long, I am extended over the counter towards the boy. I can feel the heat of his hands reaching out to me; I am almost in his grasp!

Then, in a thrill of joy, I can feel his warm hands close around me, tight and firm, and the feeling of connection intensifies tenfold. I can do only one thing to celebrate. Reaching into my core for my magic, I pull out a burst that makes the air light gold around me and my new owner, for I recognize him as such now. A soft wind blows, ruffling the boy's black hair, as I sense his eyes open wide with wonder. I can almost hear a choir singing exalting music from far away. Oh, how amazing, that I have found my owner at last! Harry. The name comes to me suddenly. Harry Potter.

I will do all I can to protect him; I can feel that he has many dangers ahead. This boy is precious to me now; I know him, and he will come to know me. I sense that he and I will go far together. I feel an inward quiver of joy, a shudder that I have no way of physically producing. Let us get started!