IV

August, 1991

Stepping back into the alley, Yvonne takes a deep inhale and looks around.

The number of people has dimmed down a bit and the air now smells of the fresh batches of bread from Piquant Pistrina. The sun is happily hanging high in the sky and the warmth kisses her brown cheeks.

Yvonne slowly pushes out the air from her lungs and tucks some of her loose curls behind her ears.

Honestly, she wishes the rest of her family was here.

She hadn't wanted the twins bouncing between shops, slowing her down, and with baby Aveline hardly being a year old, there was no way a trip to Diagon Alley could have been managed peacefully.

Even so, Yvonne regrets her choice.

She knows her mother would have never sent her off alone.

The silence she moves in toward Madam Malkin's makes her much more aware of her family's absence. The space around her feels especially empty.

She passes shopfronts without a curious glance and doesn't pause once, even when the cheers from Shenanigans Ludibrium suggests there is a toy worth seeing.

The anticipation she's been carrying around with her all day is a dimming candle now.

Eventually, she turns into the North Side of the alley and spots Madam Malkin's right away.

There's a pair of dancing scissors next to the sign and the whole building drips an orchid purple. Children are coming out of the shop, one-by-one, with a long queue of waiting parents stationed at the door.

Easily, she slips into the shop, the bell at the door announcing her arrival to all the other crammed-in children.

There's a witch in the centre of it all, wearing fitted, paisley-pink robes with golden bangles covering her ivory wrists. They clink every time she moves her wand, fitting robes and mending hems. She has pale eyes hidden behind triangle glasses and they quickly find Yvonne soon after she enters.

"Take a seat, dearie! I'll be with you soon." she chirps before her smile pulls thinly as she turns back to the kid currently on the pedestal. "Stop dancing about, child! I'm trying to get your measurements!"

The interior of the shop is just as loud as the outside.

The walls are mauve and mannequins are posing left and right, displaying finely sewn robes. Items are flying back and forth across the shop and Yvonne ducks a stray spool of thread as she finds a seat in the far corner of couches.

There's four other kids sitting there, animatedly chatting as she sits down.

"My cousin told me the best wizards have come from Gryffindor," A sandy haired boy says proudly. His grin is infectious and his tone bounces through his words.

Another boy with a sepia tone and cat-like eyes makes an exaggerated noise in response. "That's rubbish! Gryffindors might be known for their bravery but it's Ravenclaw where the smartest wizards go!"

"Nuh uh!" replies the first boy. "Dumbledore is the smartest wizard there is and he's a Gryffindor!"

The second boy smirks as he says, "I heard Dumbledore had to ask to be sorted in Gryffindor. But he was originally meant to be a Ravenclaw."

Yvonne's eyes are peeking up from her lap but her ears are following the playful conversation.

The two boys are upcoming first years like her and are all smiles.

A girl the same age with a small mouth and crimped hair chimes in. "How will you know which Houses you'll be sorted into?"

The sandy haired boy shrugs with his whole body. "Nobody knows. You don't find out your House until the Sorting Ceremony. My cousin said you get sorted right before they start the feast so that you can eat with your new housemates!"

The girl raises an eyebrow. "So what'll you do if you don't get into Gryffindor?"

Another slightly-older girl giggles then, speaking before the boy can respond. "I don't think he's thought that far ahead yet. Maybe he is a shoe-in for Gryffindor!"

They all descend into laughter; even the boy grins easily at the light-hearted ribbing he receives.

Yvonne gingerly smiles along with them and listens to the conversation—she's much too timid to join, but she enjoys it nonetheless.

Before the conversation can resume, a new girl sits down next to Yvonne, clearing her throat.

She promptly cuts through the good mood.

"You'd have to be dreadfully dense to want to end up in a House like Gryffindor." she starts rudely. "My father says that only the most laughable of wizards get placed there."

The laughter dies at the haughty tilt of the girl's head.

She's obviously an upcoming first year, but polished in a classy way that makes her seem mature. The blush robes she wears are clearly expensive and her caramel hair flows like a river down her back.

There's not a hint of warmth in her pearly complexion.

She's pretty but the curl of her lip makes her button nose look like a snout.

One of the boys huffs. "So your father thinks Dumbledore is a wizard to laugh at then?"

"Well," The uptight girl giggles mockingly. "Don't you think it's ridiculous that he's done all those amazing things just to end up as the Headmaster of an old, dusty school?"

Yvonne frowns.

The older girl across from them rolls her eyes and mumbles under her breath: "Typical."

The snobby girl continues, despite the clear lack of regard the other kids have for her.

"Imagine giving up on being the Minister just to spend your days with ankle-biters? My father says he would never live through the embarrassment." She flips her hair over her shoulders and smiles, like she's satisfied that she's insulted one of the greatest wizards.

Yvonne glances at the other kids and her fingers twitch at the combative looks on their faces.

The sandy-haired boy cuts in, his voice heated. "Well, I bet your father is just jealous since he'll never be half the wizard that Dumbledore is. He sounds like a loser and a moran!"

The girl gasps and instantly fires back "No, he's not!"

Her earlier refinement is gone in the face of her sudden anger.

"He must be thick, talking about Dumbledore like that!" argues the boy.

"The only thing thick is your head, wanting to be placed in a crackpot House like Gryffindor!"

"You're as dull as your father!"

Yvonne, along with all the other kids, are watching the volley match of words go back and forth. And she's not the only kid who looks unsure about the gradually rising volume.

"He is not dull. My father is a Ministry official! I bet your father is the real loser!" the angry girl growls, pointing her finger.

The boy's face has gone red and his next words are nearly shouted. "Don't you talk about my father, you—you—"

"Don't you finish that sentence, young man!" Madam Malkin has appeared next to them and her hands are stationed on her hips.

Yvonne's eyes are wide—she can't believe the two kids have barely even met before descending into an argument. And in public!

A glance around the shop let's her know that all the customers are looking in their direction.

Madam Malkin sighs. "I know it's hard for you children to be patient but yelling at each other is not going to make the queue move faster. Now, please, stop arguing in my shop!"

The oldest girl speaks up before anyone else. "Sorry, Madam Malkin. I'll keep them in line."

Nodding after sending them a measuring look, the seamstress returns to the students she's currently fitting and is all smiles once again.

Everyone is silent until the surly girl crosses her arms with a huff and turns her back to them, brown hair whipping through the air.

The other kids roll their eyes and shake their heads, sharing looks of disbelief.

But, the mood is effectively ruined and now the corner is silent with tension. Each kid goes back to minding their own business with frowns on their faces.

Not wanting to engage the rude girl sitting on her left, Yvonne looks down at her hands and wishes she chose a better seat. There's an empty space next to the sandy-haired boy and, as much as she wants to get up and take it, Yvonne doesn't want to start another spat.

Even though she stayed silent during the confrontation, Yvonne agrees with the other kids—Dumbledore has a Merlin of First Class for a reason. He is an amazing wizard.

As if hearing Yvonne's thoughts, the girl next to her scoffs again and shakes her head, but, otherwise, she stays silent.

That is, until an ivory skinned girl enters the shop and immediately yells "Pansy!", rushing over to the couch next to theirs.

The two girls squeal and hug each other, chittering about how long it's been and how excited they are about Hogwarts.

Pansy, despite her lack of regard for Dumbledore's choice to be Headmaster, clearly is eager to get into the famous school and learn magic.

Yvonne purses her lips because she's sure 'Pansy' just called Hogwarts old and dusty about ten minutes ago. What a fraud.

After that, time crawls.

The kids in front of her are measured precisely but in a timely fashion and new kids enter the shop. Pansy and her friend are chatting about anything and everything, naming people they know and talking about what classes they are excited to take.

Yvonne plays with her fingers in her lap and simply waits for her turn.

Madam Malkin is good at what she does though so it's not long until Yvonne is standing on the pedestal, looking at herself in the mirror as she's draped in Hogwarts' robes.

"Now, just stand straight and look pretty, dear! You're a bit taller than the other first year girls so we'll have to mend one of the longer robes. That's it, smile just like that sweetling! You'll make for a darling student, I see." Madam Malkin is full of sunny compliments and has gentle hands as she tugs at the robes on her shoulders.

Yvonne eyes the crest on her chest and her smile blooms like a field of sunflowers.

The dark robe is comfortable and warm, with spare pockets hidden away in its folds.

Yvonne thinks she looks brilliant, especially after Madam Malkin adjusts the robes to fit better. She feels like a proper Hogwarts student now.

She tries to imagine how she'll look with a striped, green tie around her neck—just like the one her father has.

Or maybe yellow will look better against her brown skin.

The last mending needle drifts away and Madam Malkin waves her hands. "There we are! Give us a spin, darling!"

Yvonne, delighted even while covered in black, promptly follows along. She spins once to the right and again to the left, laughing all the while.

Some of the kids giggle behind her, but Yvonne cannot hear them over her happiness.

"Alright, let's get those robes packed away for you. Did your guardian send you in with coins?" Madam Malkin asks.

"Yes! I have them right here!" Yvonne goes to step off the pedestal at the same moment the seamstress goes to shed the robe from her with a spell. Her foot catches in the dark cloth, getting tangled as the robe tries to swish away.

CRASH!

Yvonne loudly drops to the floor in a tangle of limbs and a flapping robe that is still trying to fly away. Her arms take on the brunt of the fall and her wrists pay dearly for the attempt to brace herself.

Madam Malkin quickly cancels her unvoiced spell and rushes to help her from the ground. "Oh! Oh, sweetheart! Are you okay? I am so sorry!".

The damage is already done though.

The minute giggles behind her have now turned into snorts of laughter as the other children (poorly) attempt to not roar at her fall. Pansy and her friend don't care though; the girls are laughing loudly and regaling over it all.

"Did you see her, Sophie! It's like she's never been out in public before!" Pansy squeals in a loud whisper.

"Her poor parents have given birth to a dimwit!" the other girl, Sophie, replies just as 'quietly'.

They continue to laugh, even as Yvonne picks herself off the floor and straightens out her clothes.

All at once, it feels as if there are worms at the back of her throat. Her family has always joked about her clumsiness, but not once has it ever felt mean-spirited. She has never had anyone make her feel so…foolish for her accidents. Like something is wrong with her for a stumble here or there.

In fact, she's never been mocked so harshly by someone in her life and Yvonne decides promptly that she does not like the feeling it causes.

She's thankful that her skin is too dark to give away the nasty heat on her cheeks.

"And then she just—collapsed!" Pansy continues to snicker. "That was so embarrassing."

Madam Malkin is holding out the bag for her to take. She swiftly exchanges the necessary quid, deliberately not making eye contact with anyone.

Feeling awful and wanting to get away from the mocking girls, Yvonne doesn't bother putting her outer robes back on and just throws them into the bag with her new ones.

She all but runs from the shop.

She fervently hopes that Pansy and Sophie will get lost on their way to King's Crossing and miss the train to Hogwarts. She never wants to see them again.

Yvonne doesn't know where she's headed when steps back on the cobblestone street, but it feels like a great beast is at her heels.

Her inner robes are short-sleeved and don't have a cooling charm on them so the heat of the sun is immediately on her. Combined with the humiliation that's molten in her stomach, Yvonne feels faint and lightheaded by the time she ducks into a narrow passage between two shops.

She tucks herself into an alcove and presses herself against the wall. The noise of Diagon Alley is dampened here and Yvonne takes comfort in the feeling of being alone.

Thank Merlin her family isn't around right now.

Panting, she tilts her head to the silver of sky that shines down on her and closes her eyes.

She tries to banish the shame from her mind but the moment keeps replaying. The tight, fluttering robe wrapping around her. The thunder of noise she made when she fell. And the laughter.

It's not that the two girls were the only people to laugh at her—Yvonne is sure everyone in the shop thought her misstep was humorous. In better circumstances, she might have even laughed at herself!

But, the nastiness in the girls' voices can't be mistaken.

Because, really, seeing someone fall isn't as funny as they made it out to be! She's sure the other girls were playing it up to make her extra embarrassed.

Yvonne thinks about the first moment when Pansy sat down next her, lips sneered and nose lofty.

How can such a pretty girl be so awful? Yvonne wonders. Is she that unpleasant to everyone she talks to outside of her friends?

Maybe she was just born with such a personality?

Yvonne remembers suddenly: Pansy tried to mock Dumbledore too—of all people!

Now more frustrated than anything, Yvonne sighs and gives herself a slight shake, trying to dispel the awful feelings Pansy and Sophie inspired.

She can't understand their vileness and won't try to. Tripping has never embarrassed her before and she won't let nasty girls like them make her feel bad.

In fact, her mother warned her about things like this!

Some kids your age, especially some of the other girls, are not going to be kind. It will not make sense, but do not take it personally. Some people just look for differences in others to make themselves feel better.

Feeling somewhat comforted already, Yvonne softly snorts to herself thinking of her own fall. Her sisters would have cried from laughing at her terrible timing.

The reminder of her family's absence tugs at her mood in a different way.

With another sigh Yvonne fixes her robes and refastens the buttons. The cooling charm's effect is instant and she hums at how her skin tingles from the magic. She fixes her hair, abandoning the low bun and re-fluffing her bouncy curls.

Having her hair out and free always makes her feel more chipper.

"That was quite the drama." she says to herself. "But, I can't let something like that ruin this trip. I have another pla—Ollivanders!" she gasps, joy rushing back to her, eroding her previous upset.

It's easy to forget it all when she has to get her wand. She doesn't have the time to be standing around here, sulking over nothing! Her wand is waiting for her!

The young girl picks her shopping bag up and rushes back into the street, barely dodging a group of older witches as she ploughs back into the crowds. The women only laugh at her though, seeing the elation plain on her face.

They wave her on, giving her well wishes for the school year.

It takes her a bit of time to find the wand shop despite her enthusiasm.

She passes by it two times—once, from her own eagerness and then twice, in confusion. She doesn't realise the wand shop is down a side street and the worn exterior makes it seem abandoned.

Nevertheless, by the third time, she finally spots the frayed, gold letters that read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C..

Upon entering the shop, Yvonne realises that the interior isn't much better than the exterior.

The air in Ollivanders is dusty and stagnant. Loose parchment covers the floor and there's only a tiny amount of standing space in front of the counter; everywhere else is closed in by the floor-to-ceiling shelves. Boxes and boxes of wands are jammed in wherever they can fit and she gets a little distracted, craning her head back to try to see where the chaos ends.

"Curious, child?"

Yvonne jumps at the sudden appearance of the wizard from the depths of the shop. His skin is egg shell white and sagging over his frail face. The haziness to his pale eyes suggests that he can't see well, yet Yvonne can feel his heavy gaze penetrating her.

"Dear girl," His smile is vague, pitched with a buried knowledge. "I didn't mean to startle you. Come closer. Let me have a look at you." His voice is quiet but strong, like the strokes of a quill on parchment.

Stalling for a moment, Yvonne does what she's told and moves closer to the counter the old wizard stands behind.

There's something about him that makes her feel like she's being tested and she'd hate to disappoint.

"Good afternoon, sir." she says politely. "Are you Mr. Ollivander?"

The wizard gives her a passing smile. "That I am. And who might you be, gentle child?"

Yvonne dips into a curtsey. Her mother says she has to do so when introducing herself to someone of considerable respect. Clearly, that applies to Mr. Ollivander—he is not only the greatest wandmaker in the world, but it is rumoured that he was born before the turn of the century.

"I am Yvonne of House Shacklebolt. Pleased to meet you, sir." she recites perfectly, bowing her head.

Mr. Ollivander doesn't say anything at her introduction though.

In fact, when she finally raises her head, the older man is gone. The rasp of sliding boxes from the back is her only clue to where the wizard has disappeared to.

Yvonne stands on her toes to try to peek further into the shop but the shadows obscure its depths.

When he returns, there's a clatter as he deposits a handful of boxes onto the counter.

Yvonne's eyes run over the numbered labels and she watches as Mr. Ollivander starts to unpack the wands, messily spreading them out. He glances up at her now and again, shoving wands either to the left or right.

"I remember your father's wand. Unicorn hair core, vine, and rigid. It didn't show itself to many wizards or witches. A good wand for a man of great potential, that one. It was an easy pick." He pauses, staring at her intensely once more, and mumbles to himself. "But, your vision is not so clear is it?"

Yvonne blinks at his scrutiny before looking back at the wands in front of her.

"I don't understand, Mr. Ollivander. How do you know which wand is best for me?" she asks.

"Sweet girl, I do not choose your wand; I only craft it." Mr. Ollivander picks up the first wand and turns it to her—there's a handle at the end and ridges meant for fingers to fit into. "It is up to each of us to find our match. You'll know when you find the one, trust me." Mr. Ollivander winks at her despite the seriousness of his tone.

Her head tilts. "So, I just have to feel it to know?" she questions, making no move to grab the wand from him.

"Maybe you will feel it, maybe the wand will. But, it must be mutual for a bond to form."

Yvonne strangely understands.

She remembers playing with her father's wand as a child and being zapped by the stiff piece of wood. Now, she realises—it had been rejecting her.

Licking her lips in nervousness, Yvonne carefully takes the wand.

The wood is rough against her hands yet light. She likes the way it bends slightly, but feels like it would slip from her hand if she tried to throw a spell. She pauses for a second and holds her breath, trying to feel something.

There's dust in the air and light streaming in from the windows.

Nothing changes.

Sighing, she blinks up at Mr. Ollivander. "Am I supposed to do someth—"

Mr. Ollivander is snatching the wand from her hand and shoving it away before she can finish her sentence.

"What—!" Yvonne gasps loudly and hugs her hand to her chest, startled by his sudden movement.

She's panting in surprise as Mr. Ollivander speaks to himself. "Unicorn hair is too steady, she needs something that will match her mind. And larch is too fussy. Accio!"

A box flies in from the back of the store with a loud SWOOSH!

Yvonne is still shocked about the wand being snatched for her hands. Not even her sisters have snatched something from her hands like that!

"Oh, yes" Mr. Ollivander coos, opening the new box. "Dragon heartstring for an eager mind. And a sweet pear wood for a sweet girl. Go on, give us a flick this time."

She eyes the golden brown wand before cautiously peering at Mr. Ollivander. He still isn't answering most of her questions but, since the last wand didn't hurt her...

With gentle fingers, she lifts the wand, feeling the difference in weight immediately.

Warmth blooms in her hand and a sage green light glows at the end of the stick. Yvonne can definitely feel something with this wand and a giggle bubbles up in her. It feels like she's in a field with wind dancing through her hair.

Mr. Ollivander is smiling too and mimes a motion with his own wand. She smiles and copies his motion.

The light shoots from the end of the wand and—POW—the burst flies around the shop, bouncing off the walls in a series of crashes. Yvonne shoots to the floor and quickly drops the wand to protect her head from the green orb firing back and forth.

CRACK!

Ping!

Fizzle

Boxes of wands tumble to the floor before all goes silent once again.

Yvonne gradually lifts her head and watches as the wand she's abandoned to the floor floats up and back to Mr. Ollivander's hand.

He's recovered fast considering the disturbed papers that are still falling around the room.

"Pear is too much. Your heart is good, but gentle." he states without a hair out of place.

She jumps up from the floor, words spilling forth.

"I'm so sorry! I thought it was going well but then it just—it was so destructive! Are you sure we should be doing this here? What if I accidentally break someone's wand before they even get a chance to find it?" Her voice cracks with worry.

Mr. Ollivander shakes his head and puts the last wand away before shoving all the boxes under the counter. "Where was my mind? Pear is too extroverted and self-important!"

Confused, but still worried, Yvonne's fingers start fidgeting, twisting and pressing against each other. "Mr. Ollivander? Am I difficult to find a wand for?" she inquires hesitantly.

He stares at her and extends a hand.

Yvonne looks at the empty, wrinkled palm before looking back up at him.

"Your hand, child."

"Oh! Sorry!" Yvonne swiftly passes her hand over.

Mr. Ollivander leans over her hand and Yvonne tries to see around his head of wild, white hair to see what he is looking at.

"There is no such thing as a difficult customer, Ms. Shacklebolt. Just special cases—or special witches, in your case—who have magical cores that require a unique combination to find a match." he says, answering her question finally.

He looks up at her then, a gleam in his eyes. "There is no second-best for you, child. No hand-me-downs or understudies."

"And that's a bad thing?" she offers.

"That's a good thing." Mr. Ollivander corrects, fully smiling. "A very good thing indeed. Who knew I'd get such an interesting customer today."

He flicks his wand and high upon the tallest shelf, a box comes soaring down.

A shiver runs through her body when the box lands on the counter in front of her and her fingers twitch, already wanting to reach for it.

"Do you feel the wand?" The old wizard questions watching her. Yvonne nods, an eager smile back on her face.

"Good, good. Lots of promise in your future." he babbles to himself.

From where Mr. Ollivander still has her hand, she can feel the ripple of magic coming from the box, like the gentle waves of the harbour during a summer night.

He frees her hand and slowly loosens the ribbon that keeps the box sealed. The wand inside is one of artistry. The wood is colored like oats and twirls from the bulbed handle. It's a bit longer than the other ones but still an average length.

The sight of it takes her breath away.

"Dragon heartstring, 11", and made of wood from an ancient willow tree. This one is quite unbending. Willows are not ones to hurt, but I suspect that it will not offer the same potential and compassion to anyone else who dares to touch it."

Yvonne thinks of her sister immediately and laughs.

Willow, who followed her around and gave her her first smile. Her silent, loving sister who finds her first when she wants company and cuddles into her bed when the nights are too noisy.

Her eyes shine with joy. "May I try it?" she practically pleads, wanting the wand to match with her.

Mr. Ollivander's eyes are reflecting her joy. "It would please me greatly if you did."

At the first touch, Yvonne knows.

The wand feels like silk to her fingers and she can't even laugh at the eruption of affection she feels. She's breathless from the feeling of this wand. It's like the mild days she's spent reading under the rowan tree. Like helping her mother bake croissants and melt chocolate with wool socks on. It's as if her whole family is wrapping their arms around her.

The wand, quite literally, feels like home.

She doesn't want to put it down.

"Is it the one?" Mr. Ollivander asks, but Yvonne reckons he already knows the answer by the strength of her smile.

Rather than answering, Yvonne takes a deep breath and gives the wand a elegant flick, her arm easily adapting to the new mass.

The inside of the wand shop turns into a planetarium as shadows stretch until the only light comes from the stars that come pouring from the air. It looks like she's released a meteor shower; streaks of pale blue and pearl softly raining down from the ceiling. The starlight flutters through the shop and it feels like she's being kissed on the cheeks when they explode on her skin.

Even Mr. Ollivander looks impressed.

"It's the one." she finally answers.


A/N: So ff/net is doing that thing where it doesn't show me any stats so I have no idea if anyone even read the last chapter or not :') which was lowkey freaking me out for a bit because my views have no shifted at all since I uploaded last time. But, either way! I'm zooming through these chapters and having fun while writing so, whether someone is reading or not, it's going to be uploaded :D

I hope you enjoy the chapter this week! Tell me what you think of Pansy or Mr. Ollivander. I had a lot of fun writing the wand scene in particular and I'm so pleased with how it came out c: Especially because I did some research into wandlore so I could find a nice match for Yvonne! Go look up everything if you're curious :)

As usual, leave a review, favorite, or follow :) let me know y'all are out there!