Holding onto the tenth wand he had the displeasure to try, Edmund glowered at the floor. Peter clasped his shoulder reassuringly. Edmund's frown only deepened.
Ollivander continued to rumage through the shelves. His expression betrayed no impatience, but the boys could sense this was unusual. The wandmaker brought another box, lifting the wand from its contents.
"Blackthorn, 13", Unicorn hair, rigid."
Edmund took this one doubtfully. Sure enough, a mere wave burst half the lightbulbs in the shop. He wished to wither into the ground. The experience of being unable to find a wand was humiliating enough, but of course this had to be the one time Peter followed through on his promises, watching this disaster unfold. This special brotherly moment Edmund wanted it to be was only going to invoke his brother's pity.
He didn't want his brother's pity.
Ollivander disappeared again, though the boys could vaguely hear his mumbling throughout the store. He came out a moment later, not with a box, but a naked wand. It was fairly plain, with but four rings of finely engraved runes towards the handle. "It has been a strange day," mused the wandmaker, in his unnerving vague way, "A wand's brother chooses its foretold enemy as its bearer, and a young wizard arrives whom all wands seems to refuse…" He held out the wand to Edmund. "My father crafted this many years ago…Pine, 11 inches, Thestral Tail Hair, Supple."
Edmund grasped it gingerly. A strange sensation, not like the warmth Peter or Susan described, but rather cold, like the cool dampness of a heavy fog. It was not unpleasant, but not grand either, like slipping into a pair of shoes that fit right, but haven't quite been broken in.
"Very strange indeed," Ollivander concluded, the last lights in his shop flickering in and out.
...
He was spellbound by the sky.
Every other first-year stared in awe at the sight of the Hogwarts castle looming o'er their dainty boats, the light of their lanterns paling in comparison to that glowing enchantment they'd all been dreaming of.
Edmund's eyes, however, were transfixed on the stars. Never in the city had the sky been so clear, filled and bulging with all its jewels. It felt, sacred, somehow, as if he only stared a little longer the heavens would transform, and for a moment he was older, alone on a tempesuous sea, marveling at the wonder of a foreign sky, a place far away, waiting for him…
Falling out of the dream, he catches the awkward expression of a blond boy sitting in the middle of the boat, confused on why he was looking in the opposite direction. Edmund's face reddened in embarrassment, and soon fixed his gaze on his shoelaces.
...
Edmund followed no one in particular up the stairs, though most of the first-years were chattering excitedly with their friends. He figured it would be best to wait until after the sorting to try and get to know people; if all went as he hoped his brother would help him make as many friends as he needed in Gryffindor.
They all paused at the top of the stairs. The blond boy from earlier perched himself a little higher above the crowd, two burly kids on either side. Edmund disliked the look of the lot.
"So it's true then," the boy anounced, imperious, "What they've been saying on the train; Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts."
A hush fell over the students. Edmund strained his neck to see who he was talking to, a boy with scraggly brown hair and round glasses.
"I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." The blond continued. A snicker interruped him. "You think my name's funny, do you?" Draco rounds on the kid just behind Potter's shoulder. "I don't need to ask yours. Red hair, and a hand-me-down robe. You must be a Weasely."
The ginger cowered behind his friend.
"You'll soon learn that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort," he extended his hand, "I can help you there."
Potter gave the gesture a disdainful glance. "I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks."
Edmund hid a smirk as Professor McGonagoll arrived in the hall.
...
Edmund knew exactly where he wanted to be, where everyone, where Peter, wanted him to be.
Already the legendary Harry Potter had been sorted into Gryffindor, along with a friendly-looking girl and the ginger-haired Weasely.
He walked, practically shuffled, up to the platform, biting the inside of his lip so hard it began to bleed. The Sorting Hat, much larger and daunting up close, engulfs a rather large portion of his head.
Another Pevensie? Hmm, how curious. Off to Gryffindor with your brother? That's what you want isn't it? You could do well there, courage is in your blood, but it feels…hmm. Very intelligent, a bit aloof, Ravenclaw would certainly suit you…There's a great sense of justice, a desire for fairness, why Hufflepuff is an excellent option for you…this is difficult, very difficult, there are many places you could succeed, and you want to succeed, you want to be great…yes…great, ambitious, reserved, and cunning, yes cunnning…well that settles it then…I'll put you in…
"SLYTHERIN!" proclaimed the hat, and Edmund watched the countenance of his brother fall.
The far left table erupted in applause, and he walked down to them, as though his feet were in irons, head down low.
There were few open seats, but to Edmund's surprise, the blond boy, Draco, gestures to him aristocratically. After hesistating a moment, Edmund took the offer.
"Pevensie, isn't it?"
"Edmund Pevensie," he nodded.
Draco offered his hand, and Edmund shook it.