"Is Ollivander a name, then? Does one person make all of the wands they sell?" Violet asked as Professor McGonagall pointed out the sign ahead of them.
"Mr. Ollivander is the only wand maker in Diagon Alley, which is one of two makers in England and Scotland."
"Two people make all of the wands for witches and wizards for the whole island? I don't think there can be near as many of th-, I mean, us, compared to the Muggles. I hope we're not genetically vulnerable due to the founder effect or a small population." Violet had read, during one of the hottest days of a suburban Surrey summer, about Iceland, in an effort to cool down. Due to being very remote and settled only by a few Viking families, anyone born in Iceland at the time were at most fifth cousins apart. And her most recent science teacher had given her a textbook for sixth form students that mentioned DNA. That made what McGonagall had said about pure-blood superiority even more nonsensical.
"It's a small population of magical people, you're right." She paused. "Wait. Your mother sometimes read additional Muggle books- I think she took Petunia's old schoolbooks- to keep up, she said. One day, I asked what she was reading, and she showed me a picture of DNA. It makes humans human, magic or Muggle."
It wasn't an answer, but Violet drank in the information about Lily. A moment later, the bell over the door at Ollivander's jingled as they stepped inside the cluttered, dusty shop with a slightly eerie, tingling feel inside.
"Ah. Violet Potter." A small man with a shock of white hair and grey, slightly protuberant eyes looked up from the- yes, it was a wand- he was working on behind his counter. "I wondered when I'd be seeing you."
He did not seem to need to blink as much as normal humans, but Violet forced herself to meet his eyes. "Mr. Ollivander, did you know my parents?"
"I remember them in here at your age, buying their first wands. You look just like your mother, but you have James's eyes."
Violet swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. "Um, thank you."
"Yes. Let's get you measured while I bring some wands for you to try. Stand here. Which is your wand arm?"
"I write with my left hand. If that's what you mean." She suppressed a flinch as the tape measure, which had been hovering as it measured various body parts, now measured between her nostrils.
"All right. Try this."
""Try" it?"
"Just give it a wave."
"What if I break something?"
"Not to worry. I know spells that can fix almost any damage quickly and easily."
Relieved, and also feeling rather foolish, Violet waved the wand through the air. Just a few sparks shot out of it.
"No, that won't work. Here, try this one- ow! Definitely not!" Several boxes fell off the shelves, and one landed on Ollivander's foot.
"Sorry! Let me help." But with one swift wand movement, he slotted all the boxes back into their spots.
"All right, how about this?"
The pile of tried wands only grew, and Violet's mouth went dry. Maybe she wasn't magic enough? But Ollivander wasn't deterred.
"Difficult, yes...very difficult. I wonder...perhaps...a connection. Here, try this rare one."
As soon as Violet touched this wand, warmth flooded through her fingers and up her arm, and her arm seemed to connect to her mind. She felt something more directed, more amplified, than the mere strong intent and stress she had felt when she had accidentally done magic. Well, without the stress. She waved it absently, not thinking of any action so as not to cause it. Blue and silver sparks shot out of the end of the- her? wand.
"Oh, bravo! That's the one! How curious...curious."
"Sorry, but what's curious?"
"This wand is holly and phoenix feather. The Phoenix gave only two feathers. One is in your wand, and the other wand with the same core….I sold to- well, he was just a boy then, Riddle-" But behind them, another customer walked in, and Ollivander abruptly stopped speaking, McGonagall looked quietly angry, so Violet didn't press the matter, just thanked Ollivander, paid, and left. With Petunia, questions, or bothering her when she was mad, just didn't happen. Still, Violet made a mental note to remember "Riddle." A last name?
"Wait. Professor?" Violet noticed a small, unadorned shop she had missed before as they walked back towards the Leaky Cauldron. A magical optha- or was it optho-? She had only ever read the word in print before, so she didn't actually know how to pronounce it. "Magical eyewear?"
McGonagall suppressed a sigh. It had been a very long day. "All right. But quickly. If they want you to come back for another appointment, I'll tell you how to get to Diagon Alley from Privet Drive."
Forty minutes and several Galleons- over twice the price of a wand- Violet had her eyes examined and walked out with a tiny glass bottle of eye drops. There was, stunningly, a wizard equivalent of LASIK- a few simple, painless spells- but it didn't work for children, whose vision was still changing. The drops would adjust her vision to 20/20 over a few weeks, with no need to change contacts or wear glasses. The charm was in the liquid itself.
An idea slowly started to take shape in Violet's mind as they left the alley and returned to Muggle London. "Professor? Since the eye drops themselves are charmed, using them on Privet Drive doesn't break the no-wand, no-intentional magic rule, do they?"
"Don't worry, lass. Magical objects don't constitute "performing" magic as such, unless you were to enchant them in the...Muggle…"
"Can you buy enchanted items in Diagon Alley? Or learn new spells to put on them?"
"Look, I'm very tired, dear, and I'm not a lawyer. Let's just get you home. Can you manage on the train back by yourself? Dumbledore's wanting to see me tonight, and I should just make it if I leave soon."
"No problem, Professor. I'm used to doing things for myself. But could you please tell me how to get to Diagon Alley? The doctor said I should come back again before I start school, to make sure that my vision is good. So I do well." That last part was a lie, but Violet was dying to revisit this fascinating bit of London without an adult over her shoulder. She still felt angry about being dragged out of Flourish and Blotts, and wanted to look more into the delicious possibility of enchanted items. And it was nearly her birthday. Maybe she could look at her family vault again, without rushing, and buy herself a gift. She rarely got one from the Dursleys.
"Well, all right. But make sure you're back before dark. Cover your scar, and don't draw attention to yourself. And stay in the Alley! Understand?" McGonagall almost sounded like Petunia for a moment.
"Yes, Professor. So how do I get here?"
"Witches and wizards have a way that's easier than those blasted Muggle trains. What you do is find a quiet street near Privet Drive, take out your wand when no one is looking, stand on the curb, and just stick your wand and arm out over the street. That summons the Knight Bus."
"Knight Bus?"
"Transit for magical people. Just tell the driver you want to go to the Leaky Cauldron, and they'll take you. It's not expensive, but don't order the hot chocolate, you'll just spill it, most likely. Now that you have your wand, you can use it. Three bricks up from the ground and the second brick from the right, just tap it, or ask Tom, the innkeeper, for help. You need to use wizarding money. The change from today will be more than enough. But you'll want to visit Gringotts again before you have another eye appointment."
"Three up, two across. Got it."
On the train home, she had a compartment to herself. All of the usual commuters back to Surrey were already home, eating dinner or watching TV, by now.
Petunia had taken the trouble to teach Dudley and Violet to have nice handwriting overall, and cursive. Classy. Refined. What she so badly wanted to be. But Violet had never used an actual quill- how archaic! before. Or parchment.
Checking the corridor, she barred the compartment door with her mother's- no, hers, now- trunk, and found the writing supplies. After several tries and nearly getting back to Surrey, Violet reasoned it out.
If she could take enchanted items into the Muggle world, then she could take Muggle items into the magical world.
"So how do I get a year's worth of fountain pens?" Vernon hated those cheap, interchangeable BIC pens, but had yelled at Dudley for half an hour when he had lost his father's faux-wood pen with a gold clip.