Chapter 3

"Amelia!" his father called out, shaking him out of his wonders. He spotted his mother on the other side of a crowd, holding two more packages with the one she had been holding with his robes from earlier.

"I picked up a few others things," she said with a smile, her breathing sounding a little hard. "Had to fight a crowd tooth and nail for some of those really good quills we saw here the other week."

"Must be popular," his father agreed, and then lifting up the cage, added, "Meet Finn's new owl."

"Oh my," she said with a light gasp, "Such a big cage?"

"He's going to grow," Finn said matter-of-factly, "He's still a bit little, like me."

"Oh, you'll grow up just fine, son," Augustus said, "And it's good to have a cage he'll grow into."

"Well, he won't spend much time in it, will he?" Amelia reminded, "What with the owlery at the school and all."

"He's got seven years of travelling ahead of him, dear," his father countered, "And Finn picked the cage himself."

"He's a Great Horned Owl," Finn continued, "And when all of his fluff on his head there goes away, he's going to grow ears!"

Amelia chuckled. "I see. Well, a fine pick, then. What's his name?"

"I haven't thought of one yet," Finn said sheepishly, his shoulders sagging a bit. "What if I don't think of one good enough?" He looked at his father with worry.

"Oh, I doubt that. Don't fuss over it. Besides, we still have to get your wand, don't we?" His mother gave him a sly smile and his heart leapt, his stomach suddenly full of butterflies. In all the excitement of buying his owl, he had nearly forgotten about his wand. It became clear to him that his father had probably planned it that way, but he didn't care now.

He walked in between his parents, nearly leaping as he walked, hoping he didn't excite himself into fainting as the wand shop he had dreamed of came into site. Finn's heart began to pound harder than he could remember, making him lightheaded.

He glanced through the dusty window and spotted the dimness inside, and the barely visible mountains of small boxes that stacked on the shelves. They wavered left and right, or so Finn could see. His feet led him through the doorway, almost tripping on the transition between the cobblestone and the rickety wooden floor of the shop.

His eyes stayed wide, even in the dusty air as it made his eyelids itch. They went up, up, and up to try and see the very tops of the shelves, but they almost rose out of sight entirely. They heard a small scuffle somewhere in the back of the shop, and several thuds as something apparently toppled over. A small grunt was heard, then a sigh. There was a muffled, "Oh, bugger all."

"Mr. Ollivander?" Augustus called just loud enough for Finn's eyes to snap out of their daze. He saw the faded front of the desk, the edges worn and speckled with paint chips. It seemed as though almost everything was covered in at least an eon of dust or cobwebs. The only item in the store that seemed to be free of dust was an old black ladder leaned up against one of the shelves.

"Ah, Mr. Rowland!"

They all jumped as the short old man came bumbling out from behind a giant stack of boxes with a toothy grin. The wrinkles on his face were beyond count, and Finn couldn't even begin to imagine how old the man was.

"Yes, yes, I remember you, sir. Best elm wand I've ever crafted, if I do say so myself. And Mrs. Rowland, good to see you again! Of course you were a little Crowley when I met you, of course, of course. Elm as well, yes."

"Good to see you again," Augustus said, extending his hand for a shake. Mr. Ollivander took it with fervor, shaking it with both hands excitedly.

"Wonderful, wonderful. My thirtieth visitor today, let me tell you," he started. His gravelly voice seemed to run like an old record, fast and rough, but very clear all the same. Finn was a little shocked, as the man seemed positively mad in all aspects. "And this must be your son, yes, yes. How are you, my lad?"

"Um -"

"Splendid!" The man clapped his hands together, a small puff of dust scattering from them as he soon climbed up the black ladder Finn had noticed. He guessed this was why the ladder was only thing that seemed to be in use. He couldn't imagine how anyone could possibly get to the wands at the top of the shelves any other way. "Let's see, only the best elm for my Rowlands, of course. Your whole family has used elm, all the way up from your great-great- grandfather, am I right, Augustus?"

"Sure are," the man smiled down at his son.

"And broke it soon after buying it from me, he did. Had a bad bout in a duel, if I remember right. Though I made him one a trifle better afterwards. Some of the best wands I've crafted from elm, you know. Your family seems to have a knack for their uses, I think. Here we are."

He came scuttling back down the ladder with a long and thin black box. He tugged the top off of it and pulled out the dark and smooth wand. Finn's eyes practically sparkled at its beauty. Its light cocoa color reflected off of the polished handle, and Finn felt his heart stop as he took it from the old man. He felt a buzz on his palm that startled him, and he almost dropped it.

"Careful lad. The wand knows," he added, waving a finger. "Now, give it a try."

Unsure of what else to do, Finn flicked his wrist around and the wand made a loud bang as bright red sparks shot out of the tip of the wand, shooting straight at the desk and scorching the surface. It fell out of Finn's hand as he gave a cry.

"Clearly not, clearly not," Ollivander said, unfazed as he hurried back up the ladder. "Plenty more where that came from, yes."

Finn's shoulders trembled as his father tried to calm him down with a laugh. "It's all right son, they all do that the first time."

"Not all of them," Amelia said in a hushed voice.

"That's right. Yours nearly blew a hole through my roof, didn't it, Mrs. Rowland?" Ollivander laughed and he came back down the ladder with another box.

"That it did," she sighed with a nostalgic smile. "Oddly enough, that was its positive reaction to me."

"You mean my wands going to explode when I get it?" Finn asked suddenly in a panic. His hand was held out as Ollivander was about to hand him another wand made of elm. This one was shorter and lighter than the last one.

"No, they don't all explode," Augustus assured, giving Amelia a warning glance so that she would keep her mouth shut.

As his father said this, Finn felt his hand burn and he yelped, dropping the wand as it hit the floor and shot a white bolt into Ollivander's foot. The man jumped up and batted a flame from his shoe with an amused chuckle, and then wandered into the back of the store with a trail of light smoke following him.

"DAD!" Finn shouted, cradling his hand as it stung.

"Oh, you're fine, love," his mother said, taking his hand and rubbing it gently. "I know you expected this to be a fun experience, but the truth is, it takes a lot for a wand to match a wizard, especially a young one. You have to be patient."

"Well, I would be if they would quit exploding all over the place!" he shouted.

"Calm down, lad, here. Try this one," Ollivander assured, pulling another shorter wand from a box. "This one's got a unicorn hair in its core, a little less overwhelming. Try that."

Finn let out a small involuntary whine before cautiously taking the smooth wand from him. The handle was slightly twisted, and felt strange in his palm. It gave no reaction his touch, so he calmed a little. With a hesitant breath, he flicked it, and it issued a hiss. Another bright white bolt shot from it, this time narrowly missing Ollivander's head and disintegrating a lamp that was sitting behind him.

"Oh," he said with a pause, "Well. I was looking to get rid of that lamp anyway. No matter, let's try another one."

"Can I try a different kind?" Finn asked, "I think the elm ones don't like me very much."

"Oh, you do?" Ollivander asked, taking the twisted handled wand from him. "Well then, what would you like me to find for you, boy? Any knowledge of wandlore in that small head of yours?"

"Perhaps something a little less expectant," Augustus suggested. He leaned into Ollivander's ear and whispered, "He is a little unsure of himself, he's still young in the head, if you know what I mean."

"Ah. Willow, perhaps?"

"That might do well," Finn's father nodded. The young boy stared around the room, now frightened of each and every wand hidden away in every box. He felt they were all now pointed at him in their hiding places, judging him for being so impatient, for simply wanting a wand just for the sake of wanting one.

It was clear to him that all wizards needed a wand, but he was unsure of what he would ever use his for. He wanted to learn magic as much as the next boy, but he dreamed of being someone who understood the magic he was going to learn. He was particularly curious of changing things into something else. He'd seen his father do it on more than one occasion, but he had forgotten what it had been called. Transference? No, that wasn't it.

"Here we are. Willow, ten inches, phoenix feather. Try that on for size."

Finn took in a brave breath, glancing around at the other wands, and steadying himself. He grabbed the wand firmly and gave it a wave without pause. The light wood glowed at the tip and made a small fizzled noise. A stream of smoke billowed from it, making him cough as he tried to hand it back to the old man.

"Hm. I think we should stick to the unicorn hair for you. Maybe another less temperamental wood," Ollivander muttered to himself as he disappeared beyond the shelves. Finn looked over his shoulder and saw his parents glancing at a large pyramid display of boxes. They blew a layer of dust off of a few boxes, reading their descriptions and seals.

Finn sagged his shoulders and sighed, looking around himself and stepping up to the large desk that now bore a scorch mark from his first try. He ran his fingers over it, looking at the black smudge on his hand from the charred spot.

He wandered over to a shelf that was stacked almost entirely to the ceiling. He couldn't even fathom trying to pull one of the boxes from the shelf. They looked so tightly packed that they could have been cemented together, for all he knew. He wondered why Ollivander made so many more wands than he actually sold.

He wiped dust from a layer of the boxes and read each of them out of curiosity. He truthfully knew nothing of wandmaking, and all of the apparently different woods needed to make them. He had no idea why Ollivander was rambling something about unicorn hair. As he read over the boxes, he passed several phrases that he barely recognized. Words like "veela", "dittany", "hawthorn", and "yew".

He turned to his right and took another few steps to a table stacked with only a few boxes. They were long and thin, some cylindrical and some square, and almost seemed like polished wood themselves. The other boxes seemed to be made of cardboard or some other material. He picked one up and wiped his sleeve along it to read what was printed on there. The three of them looked up quickly when Olivander made a small shout as they heard several boxes topple to the ground. Finn saw his parents glance at each other with a small smile.

Finn squinted to read the small print on the dark box, and gave up when he could barely decipher it. Out of curiosity, he pulled the top cover from the box and opened it, looking inside. On a smooth satin cloth was a sleek black wand. He was surprised at how smooth it looked, and it looked so simple compared to other wands he had seen. Most had decorated handles, or twisted wood. This one was straight and smooth, with a simple raised handle. The bottom was round, and it was the color of polished charcoal. He picked it up out of the box to turn it over, looking at the tip.

"Finn, don't point strange wands at your face, dear," his mother warned. It seemed a fair warning, and Finn immediately pointed it away from his face. He gave it a small wave and then froze.

The tip of the wand began to shine with a silvery light, and where Finn had turned it in a circle, it trailed shimmering ribbons of gold and silver, which hung in the air before fading into smoky wisps. His palm felt like he had just plunged his hand into warm water, and the feeling travelled up his arm and into his chest.

"Augustus," Amelia whispered.

Finn looked up at them in surprise and his father turned around with raised eyebrows.

"I want it, dad."