Chapter II: Revelations at the wand shop

Bernard reached into his pocket and took the piece of wood out again. 'I'm going to close all windows and doors now, and I'm putting a silencing charm on the door, so no one can listen in on our conversation. It helps to keep the non-magical people unaware of us.' He pointed his wand in the direction of the windows, then the door. The windows slowly closed and locked themselves. The door gave off an odd 'shwwp' sound, as though it had been vacuum-sealed.

'I think it would be best if you opened your acceptance letter first.'

Whit delicately broke the seal of wax and flipped the envelope open. His mother shuffled in behind him, ready to read the letter over his head.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmistress Minerva McGonagall.

Dear Mr. Glacius,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a list of all necessary books and equipment. We look forward to seeing you on September 1st and remember; the train leaves King's Cross Station at Eleven o'clock sharp.

Respectfully,

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall.

'Right', Bernard said, 'I assume you're bursting with questions right now, but allow me to say just a few quick words about magic, and the magical community. First of all a simple fact: magic is real. Not everyone can use it. It is a rare gift that, once mastered, should be treated with great respect. Men and women that can tap into the source of magic and make it do what they want are called Witches and Wizards. We call people that can't do magic Muggles.'

'Magic is mostly performed with a wand, like mine.' He paused momentarily to show his wand, the piece of wood he had been waving around. Whit had already expected this. His mother was nodding her head like it was all-new to her. She had never been very interested in reading fantasy novels or watching fantasy on the television. 'At Hogwarts, a child is taught how to use his wand to perform magic. Where a muggle school would have courses like English, Maths, and Physics, Hogwarts has courses like Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions. The school was founded more than a thousand years ago, and has schooled practically all wizards and witches born and raised in Britain.'

'Where in Britain is it?' Whit looked at his mother. It was a good question, Whit realized.

'Hogwarts is somewhere in Scotland. You wouldn't be able to find it on the maps, since it was made unplottable and undetectable for muggles. It's located near the only all-wizard village in Britain, called Hogsmeade.'

'Why is the magical world so afraid to show itself? If magic is real', Whit asked, 'then why not use it? It could solve so many problems.'

Bernard nodded again and smiled. 'How would you have reacted to magic if you found out overnight that it was real? People are distrustful. The dark ages taught our community that revealing ourselves would be too much of a risk.'

'Where do we buy these things?' Whit's mother asked, looking down the list of supplies, 'I for one don't know where I could buy a wand or standard potion ingredients.'

'Diagon Alley. It's hidden here, in London. We'll get to that a little later, but for now, it suffices to say that finding any of the items on the list won't be any problem.'

They spent about half an hour with questions and answers. Bernard was seated in the soft armchair his mother always hoarded. Whit was never allowed to sit in it, even when she wasn't at home. His mother was now sitting next to him on the sofa, holding him close and listening intently on what Bernard was saying.

'No Susan, magic is neither harmless, nor dangerous. Magic simply is. What you do with it is up to those behind the wand. Let me prove this by an example'. He whipped out his wand and made some odd gestures with it. Out of the end came some roses. 'Pretty, aren't they?' Another movement of his wand made the flowers catch flame and burn down. 'Magic created those roses. The same magic also destroyed them. Magic is beautiful, but it is also ugly. There are people out there, carrying a wand and doing evil things. Robbing banks, burning houses, even taking lives.'

'That's horrible,' Whit's mother said, 'Can't they be stopped?'

'Yes. Just like thugs, thieves, and terrorists are caught and arrested in the muggle world, so are wizards practicing the dark arts persecuted.'

Whit turned to his mother. 'Mom, if it's okay with you, I'd like to attend at Hogwarts.'

Quite some time had passed while they were leisurely sitting on the sofa chatting with Bernard. Both Whit and his mother were very interested in what the wizarding world was like and how Whit would take part in it. When the clock over the door chimed, Bernard checked his watch.

'Oh dear, it's after eight already. I really should be going now.' Bernard got up and closed his suitcase. He tapped it with his wand and the locks sprang back into place. 'Let's see, I've given you the letter, told you about magic… Ah! Diagon Alley. I haven't told you how to get there, have I?'

'Can't we just look it up on the map?'

Bernard raised his eyebrow. 'No, Whit, just like Hogwarts, it's been hidden from the muggle world. Only wizards can find it, and only if they know exactly where to look. Besides, you'll need a wand to get there, but you won't be able to buy one unless you're already there. Why don't I pop by tomorrow morning and help you on your way? I'll be able to get you in and help you find what you need. From then on, you will be able to do so all by yourself, after all, by then you'll have your wand.'

He turned around, pointed his wand at the windows and the door. It clicked open. 'I'll be back here tomorrow around eight. I know it's early, but we'll be able to get there before the crowds do.'

After Bernard had left, the room seemed to inflate with silence. Neither Whit nor his mother seemed to be able to put their thoughts to words. His mother opened and closed her mouth several times before finally saying: 'Let's put those folders for other schools in the bin, shall we?' This seemed to have broken the ice. Both Whit and his mother suddenly started talking.

'Can you believe it? Dragons! Real dragons! And centaurs too.'

'Do you think I would have to learn other languages?'

'Where do you think the school is located? Could it be guarded by the monster of Loch Ness?' After dumping the last of the folders into the bin, Whit turned around. His mother was crying. 'Mom, what's wrong?'

'Nothing dear', she said between sniffs, Up to today, I had been worried sick about whether I was going to be able to afford sending you to a good school. Now, it feels like everything's changed.' She enveloped Whit into a gigantic hug that made him feel like she was trying to squeeze every bit of breath out of him.

The next day, Whit and his mother were up early. They had a nice breakfast with marmelade on toast and were ready to do some shopping. At exactly eight o'clock, Bernard showed up, knocking on the door the same way he had done last time. Whit opened the door and tried to suppress a grin. Bernard was dressed in a blue sweater that had a large picture of a reindeer on the front. His pants were honey-coloured and fastened with a snake-leather belt. Whit's mother gave him an intrigued look that made him blush. Apparently, only then did he realize the oddness of his attire.

'Uhm, Whit, great to see you again. Are you ready for your first steps into the wizarding world?'

Whit had spent three hours in bed last night thinking of stories he had heard of and that he was told were imaginary. What if some of them were real? What if all of them were real? What if there really were gods and spirits? What if there really were elves and dwarves? Whit had fallen asleep, still clutching his copy of 'The Hobbit'.

'Yes, Bernard.' Whit replied. 'I'm more than ready.'

Bernard then turned to Whit's mother. After a moment of silence, he said: 'Err.. Lovely to see you again, Susan. I'm sure you'll find the trip just as exhilarating as Whit will.' After that, they set out for Diagon Alley. Bernard told them it was only a few blocks away. Whit walked in the centre, his mother on his left, Bernard on his right. Bernard navigated them through several streets until they rounded a corner and came onto the Charing Cross Road.

'Now, Whit', Bernard said, 'I'm going to have to ask you to hold you mother's hand. Muggles can't see the entrance, and if we go in, she'll just see us disappear.' Whit grabbed his mother's hand and together, they advanced.

'Do you see the sign of a little pub nearby? It's quite small and hardly visible if you don't know where to look.'

Whit squinted his eyes and scanned the road. It was filled with big, somber houses. It was an old street, probably built a few hundred years ago. The houses were made of dark stone, with little windows and hard contours. In the middle of the street, between two shops hung an old, rusty sign.

'That's it', Bernard said, 'The Leaky Cauldron. It has been the doorway to Diagon Alley for more than five hundred years now.' Together, they walked up to the pub. Whit's mother was still trying to locate the pub, even when she was standing three feet away from it. Bernard opened the door and held it there, letting Whit and his mother in.

Whit couldn't believe his eyes. The pub wasn't exactly filled, but the barman's clientele was among the weirdest Whit had ever seen. Three old wizards wearing black hats and capes were seated in the back, heads pressed together and whispering to each other. A young woman was seated at the bar, drinking a glass of what looked like brandy, but it was green and had little … things floating in it. The barman, an old, bald man, looked up at them curiously and made a slight nod towards Bernard. He nodded back curtly. The barman resumed his normal activity, which apparently consisted of staring at the floorboards.

'Funny, isn't it?' Bernard whispered, 'Let's go and see if we can find you some school supplies.' Bernard dashed forward through the pub, leading Whit and his mother to the backdoor. After going through it, Whit saw that it opened out into a small clearing, lined on all sides with high walls of stone.

'Huh,' Whit's mother said jokingly, 'I had imagined more shops.'

Bernard chuckled. 'Just wait and see. I'll do the magic.' He pulled out his wand and walked towards the wall opposite the door. Placing his wand-tip on one of the stones, he turned around and said: 'Be ready to set your first steps into the wizarding world.' Bernard quickly tapped several other stones after the first. When he tapped the last one, the stones started to sink into the wall. First the ones he had tapped with his wand, then others, and then even more, until all the stones were sinking into the wall or moving out of it and travelling to the sides. Whit could hear voices and shouts coming from behind the wall now. A small opening formed, through which light shone. The opening widened, and a wide street came into view filled with people wearing robes and pointed hats.

'Prancing Palegrino's,' Bernard said, 'I guess we weren't the only ones who decided to make off with an early start.' He looked at Whit and his mother. 'Impressive, eh. Come on, let's go. This opening isn't going to wait for us all day.'

And so, Whit found himself walking in Diagon Alley for the first time. Still holding his mother's hand, he couldn't decide what to look at, as everything seemed to be so fantastic. For a moment he wished he'd had an extra set of eyes. Considering where he was, he thought that might even be possible. His gaze fell from one shop's window to the other. Passing from 'Quality Quidditch Supplies' (whatever that might be) on to 'Madam Malkin's Robes for all occasions'. Bernard steered them through the crowd toward a big, white building that looked like it had been hewn from a rock. Bernard prodded Whit and his mother in.

'This is Gringotts, the wizarding bank,' he explained, 'Wizards have their own currency, so you will have to exchange your pounds and pennies into their Galleons, Knuts and Sickles. It's a one to one trade and you can always trade back to Muggle currency when you're finished.'

Bernard pointed out a long line in front of a desk that had the sign 'Pound to Galleon Exchanges' above it. They queued in, silently waiting for the row to move on. It took quite a while, and while they waited, Whit decided to look around. Gringotts had a high ceiling, at least three times higher than other buildings had. There were people everywhere, queuing in lines in front of different desks. Several lines were quite packed, like those in front of the 'Withdrawal', the 'Safekeeping' and the 'higher level vaults' desks. The air was quite fresh, but there was a scent he couldn't really put his finger on. It reminded him of the air in the stairwell of their apartment. It smelled old, as though it had been hanging there for months. The smell got progressively stronger as the queue moved on. Bernard had taken the time to explain exactly how much each coin was worth.

'How much do you think we'll need to exchange, Bernard?' his mother asked softly, 'How much will everything cost?'

Bernard closed his eyes and seemed to be making some sore of calculation in his mind. 'Taking in account just the bare essentials, like books, robes and a wand, I'd say about a hundred pounds would surely be enough for a year.' Whit saw his mother flinch at the sound of that much money. She'd gone to an ATM machine around seven o'clock and withdrawn just about as much money as she could. That included every bit of savings she had done in the last couple of years.

'May I offer a suggestion?', Bernard asked hesitantly, 'Don't take this the wrong way, but a few years back, the ministry made a deal with Gringotts's goblins. Parents of children that go to school at Hogwarts can request a special students-loan. Say you take out a loan for twenty galleons. You will be allowed to pay that loan down in exactly one year, with a monthly interest of ten percent. The ministry tried to get them to lower their prices, but alas, they are goblins...'

'And goblins we will remain, wizard.'

Whit looked up. The desk ran up much higher than any other desk he had seen before, and all the way on top was perched a creature he could never have imagined to be real. His skin was dark and wrinkled, like a paper bag tossed in a bin. He (if it even was a he) had a long, pointed nose and penetrating, harsh eyes that looked down on every customer that came before him. Whit noticed he was staring at the creature.

'First year student?' the goblin said coolly, 'You would do well not to goggle too much...'

Whit didn't know what to say. He tried to pry his eyes off of the goblin, but couldn't seem to manage it. The goblin looked at Bernard. 'Are you going to make an exchange or waste more of my time?'

After a few minutes, Whit came out of Gringotts carrying several shiny gold, silver and copper coins. Bernard and his mother were walking behind him, quietly going through the details of the loan his mother had just taken out. When they got back into the throng in Diagon Alley, Bernard steered them further along, deciding that buying a wand might be the best thing to do first. They passed through the thick crowds and entered a shop at the very end of the street, called Ollivander's.

It was a narrow shop, with mostly artificial light as high piles of boxes were stacked up all around the walls, even in front of the windows. There were three other people there. The first was a tall, broad-shouldered man, wearing black robes. He had a long grey beard that made him look ages old. He was holding the charred remains of his wand up to another man for inspection. Whit heard them talking about a dragon. Before he could find out what had happened to the man's wand though, the shopkeeper came up to them. He was a short man, with watery, round eyes. He was limping.

'Good day to you all,' he said slyly, 'how can I be of service?'

'We're here to equip this boy', Bernard said, pointing at Whit, 'for his first year at Hogwarts.'

'Well', the shopkeeper said, 'you've come to the right place. My name is Mr. Ollivander and I can assure you, you won't be able to find a better wand shop than mine.' Mr. Ollivander put his arm around Whit and steered him into the centre of the room.

'Before we can proceed, I'll have to take some measurements. You know, just like a tailor does.' Whit nodded in agreement. Mr. Ollivander took out a tape measurer and took some of his measurements, like the length of his arms, his legs and his height. All the while, he kept saying things like 'Hmm, very interesting', 'I see, I see' and 'Well, that was to be expected'. Whit had the feeling like he was under a microscope. He wasn't quite sure if he liked it.

'Right,' Mr. Ollivander said after measuring the length of his lower arm, 'I think I can find the perfect wand for you.' He scurried off into the back of the store and took out one of the boxes against the wall. When he came back, he opened it. 'Try this. Its core is a dragon's heartstring. The wood is ash and it's twelve inch.' Whit picked it up and held it. Mr. Ollivander probably saw the confusion in his eyes, so he said: 'Just, you know, wave it around a bit. Try doing some magic with it.'

Whit pointed it at a chair and closed his eyes. Nothing happened. He pointed it again. Mr. Ollivander snatched the wand from his hands and placed it gingerly back in the box. 'Nope. Moving on. It might take a while to find the right wand.' He scurried back quickly and placed the box back where it came from. Then, he walked over to a pile of boxes near the door and extracted one.

'Try this one,' he said, 'eleven inch, bowtruckle-wing core in flexible beech wood. Fine handle. Excellent for charms.' Whit took it out and pointed it at the chair again. Still nothing. After waving it around for some time, Mr. Ollivander gave up and put it back in the box. As he stowed it back, he told them he'd spent nearly ninety minutes last week trying to find the correct wand for a girl that would start attending Hogwarts this year too. His mother and Bernard sat down in two luxurious chairs beside the counter while Whit was given countless wands to try. All of them had special cores, different types of wood and flexibilities. Dragon heartstring, unicorn tail, mermaid's hair, grindylow antenna. Oak, beech, ash, willow. Nothing seemed to work. Every time Whit tried a wand, there was no effect. And every time that happened, Mr. Ollivander would put the wand back into a box and search the store for a new one. His mother and Bernard had gone off for ice creams after an hour and by the time Whit had finished his, Mr. Ollivander finally sighed deeply.

'You've proven to be a hard customer, Mr. Glacius', Mr. Ollivander said after taking yet another wand back from him, 'but I'd be surprised indeed if I can't find one for you.' He sighed and looked around his store. Most boxes had been opened by now, even special ones with unique properties. His eyes lingered on the counter for a moment, and he hastily shook with his head. Whit had even held a long, 20-inch wand he would have had to wield with both hands had it actually done something in them. Mr. Ollivander even took out the wand lying in the display for him, an ancient thing that looked like it would fall apart. It had done the same as all the wands before it: nothing.

'Is he even a wizard at all?' Mr Ollivander snapped after another two hours of searching. His face had turned red after walking around his store for hours. Bernard explained that he had personally delivered the acceptance letter. Mr. Ollivander sighed and took out another box from the wall. He was about to give it when he realized he had already given Whit a try with it. He stowed the wand back fiercely.

'I've gone through every wand that could possibly fit him. I've even let him have a go with a giant's wand. After twenty four hundred years, my store can't have finally met its match.'

Mr. Ollivander walked a circle in his shop, looking at different boxes and muttering to himself. Whit noticed Mr. Ollivander started glancing at the counter more and more often, every time shaking his head. After a while, he sat down in the chair Whit had been pointing his wand at all morning long and let out a deep sigh. Again, his eyes darted towards the counter.

'I've tried them all,' he said, 'Every wand that could possibly fit a boy like you has been tested and doesn't work. That can mean either of two options. Firstly, it could mean that I don't have a suitable wand for you, which I personally don't believe. Secondly, that could mean that there isn't a wand for you. Which would indicate you are either not a wizard after all, or-'

Whit, his mother, and Bernard each moved forward to find out the last possibility. Mr. Ollivander kept shaking his head, muttering things like, 'that can't be', or 'too improbable'. Suddenly, he stood up.

Mr. Ollivander silently walked over to his counter and from behind it, took out a small chest. It looked sturdy and it had iron braces all over its sides. Mr. Ollivander took out his wand and tapped the chest. Slowly, the lid opened and revealed another chest. He tapped that too. It sprang open, revealing yet another chest. Mr. Ollivander continued to open chests like a Russian doll until at last he opened the last one, a tiny chest barely big enough to hold a piece of paper. He pulled out a piece of cloth, ragged, dirty and smeared. Holding the cloth in a most delicate way, he walked forward again, showing it to Whit. Bernard and Whit's mother joined them.

'This', Mr. Ollivander said, 'is the old Celtic symbol for water. I want you to picture it in your mind and then draw it with your hand. When you do, think of water. Start at the center.' Mr. Ollivander snapped his fingers and two servants came out of the storeroom, holding wands at the ready. He took out his own too. Whit stared at the picture and then closed his eyes. It was a clockwise spiral. It was easy enough to remember. It made him think of a fire hose. With that image in his head, Whit stuck out his hand and drew the symbol in the air.

When his hand completed the spiral, the most curious of things happened. Where his right hand had been only seconds before, now shone a golden spiral, exactly the way he had drawn it. The end of the spiral drifted a bit off to the side. It shimmered gold for a moment than vanished. Immediately, a jet of water erupted from where the symbol had just been, spouting forcefully into one the boxed walls. It receded almost as quickly as it had started, as though someone had just closed the tap. Mr. Ollivander conjured up some sponges and a bucket, while his servants dried the boxes with a flick of the wrist.

'That explains a lot', Mr. Ollivander said, 'You have a very rare gift, young lad.'

'What just happened?' Bernard immediately interjected, 'Every wizard needs a wand to perform magic, don't they?'

Mr. Ollivander walked back towards his counter and replaced the piece of cloth. Still silent, he closed each lid of the chests that were piled up and locked them with a tap of his wand. After locking the last lid, he put the chests back under the counter.

'No, they don't, wandless magic is actually quite common. The old wizarding school in Africa teaches its students magic without wands, and some of the native americans and tibetan tribes manage just as fine without wands. Wands are tools that allow you to focus your magical energy, but it is not a requirement for magic.'

'I've only opened those chests once before in my life', Mr. Olivander continued, turning to them, 'And that one time turned out the same result. Mrs. Glacius, you have a very special son. Your son isn't just a wizard, he is also a 'Wandless'. A Runemage.'

Bernard's eyes had widened in shock. He stood there, opening and closing his mouth several times before saying: 'Are you sure?' Mr. Ollivander nodded. He had a smile on his face. 'Perhaps only one in every ten thousand wizards is a a runemage. It's even rarer than Metamorphism and "Hollow man syndrome". Hogwarts will need to be informed so they can make the appropriate arrangements. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to check the damages on my wares. Please come again.' Whit was quite sure he wouldn't.

Once outside, Bernard took Whit and his mother by the hand. He ushered them into a corner of the street, where the crowd wasn't as dense.

'Listen,' he whispered, 'this doesn't change anything. You'll still be allowed to go to school without any trouble.'

'Why wouldn't Whit be allowed to go to school? Mr. Ollivander clearly said he was a wizard.'

Bernard nodded. 'You're right. He is. Let's not forget that. For the time being, I think it would be best if we keep this from spreading. We wouldn't want people to start talking about this. Let's just finish our shopping and go back to your apartment. I'll fill you in as best as I can when we get there.'

It was two o'clock when they started shopping, and they spent the following hour shopping for robes, books and ingredients. Shops that had seemed incredible had suddenly lost that brilliant edge they'd had before they went into Ollivander's. Whit kept thinking back about that moment that he saw the golden spiral hanging in the air. After brandishing sticks for hours, he had started to become less convinced he was a wizard. He had nearly given up hope of ever going to a wizarding school until that sign in the air had restored his faith. I am a wizard. I don't care if I have to use a wand or not. I'll be the best wizard that ever set foot there.

Back home, Whit crashed into the sofa. His feet were aching. After five hours of shopping, Whit's legs felt like they would come off. Bernard had gone off for a while, saying he had to make some arrangements with the ministry. Whit and his mother had walked home alone. Bernard had taken the supplies they had bought with him, promising them that he would stop by before eight to explain them some things. It was eight forty-five when he finally knocked on the door. Whit's mother stood up from her chair and opened the door.

'Ah, Susan,' he said with a sigh, 'Merlin, am I glad to be gone from there.'

'Hmm, yes. You're late,' she said curtly. Bernard was about to sit in Whit's mother's comfortable chair when Whit saw her open her mouth in objection. Before she could say anything though, Bernard said: 'I've been busy at the ministry, trying to arrange everything for Whit. Since his … talent is rather rare they had to find a teacher for him at the last minute. I had to pull up data for every known runemage that has been registered in Europe for the last hundred years.' Whit's mother closed her mouth again, swallowing her objection. She sat down next to Whit, putting her arms around him.

'What's so special about being a Wandless?' Whit asked.

'I know very little about this subject,' Bernard said, 'Few do. I spent a while at the ministry getting some more information about it, but what little I could find wasn't very clear. What I do know, is that most wizards don't trust the Wandless very much. Some people even fear them.'

'Why would they fear them?' Whit's mother asked, 'They're just as much a wizard as the rest.'

Bernard rubbed his forehead. He looked worn out. 'A lot of wizards picture the Wandless as betrayers. I don't know exactly why, but it has something to do with their history. I dropped my History of Magic course after my third year, so I don't really know anything about that. I couldn't find anything on it at the ministry either.'

'Apart from their image as betrayers,' Bernard continued, 'some wizards fear them, as they can do magic whenever they want. Most ordinary wizards need their wands to do magic. Snap a wizard's wand, and he's practically a muggle until he can obtain another. The Wandless don't have this reliability, this inherent weakness that all wizards possess. That gives them an important edge in duels. They can also do magic unexpectedly. Where a regular wizard needs to grab his wand, a Wandless can start casting right away. Combining that with the image of being betrayers, most wizards shy away from runemages, thinking of them as dangerous and unpredictable people.'

The following morning was just like any other morning, except that Bernard had left his new school supplies into the living room. Whit spent a few hours going through the books, reading up on different fields of magic. The first book he had opened was called: 'The standard book of spells, grade I' by Miranda Goshawk. It was filled with literally hundreds of spells that ranged from making a fire to causing steam to come from the end of a wand-tip. He went over to 'A History of Magic' by Bathilda Bagshott. After reading about the goblin rebellion in 432 B.C. He decided to put it down. Ten minutes of reading had already given him a headache. He moved on, trying on a set of his school robes and going through the different potion ingredients. It was quite a lot of fun to go through his new supplies, and before he knew it, it was late in the evening and he was sitting at the table, reading 'A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration' by Emeric Switch. He could already see this was a subject he would find fascinating. The book, like most others, had moving pictures, one of them showing a needle that was being transfigurated. I'd go to Hogwarts even if they could only teach me how to do that. This is going to be so great.