chapter 2: wizarding money

The hounds of love are hunting
I've always been a coward
And I don't know what's good for me
Oh, here I go

-Kate Bush

August 20th 1991

Eleanor Capulet couldn't help herself. The young witch's hair flew back, a shining light brown in the sun, as she dragged her father down the cobblestone street, wizarding shops looming over them like answers. She darted between the bustling bodies of shoppers, hellbent on the object she had been dreaming of since she was very little, and first learned of her mysterious magical heritage.

"Slow down, Nell!" William Capulet tried, but his voice was drowned out by the cacophony of children, yelling in excitement at the broomstick in the front window of a shop Nell hardly noticed.

She was set on one thing, and in no time she was there, panting, eyes as big as saucers, looking up at the storefront, Ollivander's Wand Shop.

This was it. This was where she could finally get a wand of her very own. She burst through the door as her father caught up to her, breathless and overwhelmed by the busyness outside. The door shut behind them, and the noise of the street died immediately. Inside this famous building, it was quiet, almost churchlike. But the very air felt electrified, as if the power emanating from the walls lined in stacks and stacks of slender boxes could be tasted.

"Now, Eleanor, really, I know you're excited, but…" William said between huffs of breath, his wire-rimmed glasses sliding down his long nose.

He went quiet at the arrival of a short man, with gleaming bright eyes that settled on Eleanor like she had answered a question that had been bothering him for quite a while.

"Well then," he said, and his voice was quiet and reedy. "I wondered if I'd be seeing you." But the man was not smiling.

"My name is Eleanor Capulet. It's a pleasure to meet you," Eleanor said, reaching out her hand. "You must be Ollivander."

Instead of shaking her hand, Ollivander produced a tape measure with silver markings from his pocket and quickly began measuring Eleanor's arm.

"This is your wand arm, yes?" Ollivander asked.

"Er-" Eleanor muttered, looking back to her father for help. He smiled gently at her and shrugged, and it made her feel better.

"I remember your mother's wand of course," Ollivander said and Eleanor felt all of her thoughts and questions go silent. She hadn't expected this so soon. "Yes… yes. Ten Inches. Elder. Rigid, almost whip-like… Though it hadn't always been your mother's wand... no."

Eleanor looked back to her father again, whose eyes showed similar surprise. But when he looked at her, she could feel his support in his familiar kind smile. They knew this could happen, and he reminded her many times that if it did, she just had to get through the beginning, and the first impressions, and eventually people would move on. She wouldn't always be just her mother's daughter.

Ollivander walked away, and began pulling boxes from the shelves, creating a small pile in front of her.

"Maple and dragon," Ollivander announced, as he pulled one off the top. "Eight inches, snappy." He opened the box and held out the knobbly wooden instrument.

Eleanor took the wand with gentle hands, but before her fingers could even grasp it properly, Ollivander snatched it away.

Another wand was produced from a box that looked older than the first. This one was bulbous and dark. "Eleven inches, ebony and phoenix… quite pliable."

Eleanor held it for only a moment and the silence that pressed in from the room felt oppressive and exhausting. From the stillness, the wand was snatched again, and Eleanor felt like the failures were her fault, as Ollivander heaved a sigh, tucking the wand away.

"Your mother's wand was not made by me, no. That one was made long ago," Ollivander said, dropping a new wand before her, this one pale and earthy. "Perhaps..."

Eleanor didn't know how to say that the more she heard about her mother, the less confident she felt, but she didn't have to, because this wand had begun speaking to her in the warmth and the energy that hummed through it and into her skin, filling her to her very core. She felt its power as Ollivander described, "Willow and Unicorn Hair. Eleven inches. Whippy and dogged."

The wand tip glowed with its quiet power and Ollivander finally smiled.

"Yes, yes. That will do. The wand chooses the wizard, and this one has chosen you," he began to walk behind the counter, calculating charges. Nearly under his breath, he continued, "This wand can go many ways, young Eleanor. Can do many things. It's important for you to know that."

Leaving the store seven galleons lighter, meant most of what Eleanor could now afford would only be second-hand. This also meant, as Eleanor's father had warned her time and time again would likely be the case, that she wouldn't be getting a pet, no matter how desperately she wanted one. And it still stung when they had to walk away from the Magical Menagerie, and Eleanor wasn't able to get an owl, or a cat, or a ferret - those had been her top choices. Instead, with her father's steady hand on her shoulder, they ambled into Snappy's Second-Hand Supplies for the Sparing and Sensible . Here, they purchased her robes, cauldron, and spellbooks. After having to sort through stained and frayed items, looking for the best for what they had, they checked out, and still her father blanched at the price.

When they left this store, and walked along the alley, they stopped in place after place until the remainder of the school's charity fund that had been delivered to Eleanor went to the purchase of potion ingredients, phials, and telescope, and the brass scales that were demanded. Her father ticked off each item with the pen he always carried in his shirt pocket until they had gotten every item required for first year students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In the end, she had nothing left to buy, and nothing left to spend.

Their arms were full to bursting with bags and parcels by the time the sun began to set. William Capulet finally relented to his begging daughter, and they entered into an ice cream shop on the corner, Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream. Eleanor picked out Chocolate Frog Swirl after being assured repeatedly by the nice man behind the counter that it wasn't made with real frogs, and William Capulet dug out some of the funds he had kept separate - exchanged money they had gotten in Gringotts that William said would be just in case of emergency, if the school hadn't provided enough.

Once they sat outside, relaxing in the warmth of the summer day, Eleanor went unusually quiet.

"What is it?" her father asked.

"They're all… they all know…" Eleanor said, her teary eyes fixed determinedly on her ice cream. She didn't want to cry on one of these final days with her father.

"Eleanor…"

"Dad, come on. It's exactly what I thought would happen," Eleanor continued. She thought back to the day's events, and pictured every encounter at every shop. Each time she had introduced herself, full name, and she had to watch the same scene play out in the exact same way across every face. She'd watch as they'd shift from the kind delight at a new young witch purchasing the necessary items for Hogwarts, into a sudden wrench of deep concern, before finally settling into an uncomfortable wariness. Then, a sympathetic glance to her father, and a question, behind the eyes, that always went unasked.

William sighed. He reached out and held Eleanor's hand. It lay small and pale against the calloused tan of his own and reminded him of a baby bird in its fragility. "Yes, they do know. It seems as though this is the case. But, Eleanor, my dear. You will prove them wrong. Because this, all of this," he gestured to the street around them, her bulging bags, "it's all for you now. It's about you, and only you."

Eleanor sighed and the tears fell quickly. But with another glance at the wand, tucked in her lap, she lifted her resolve. She looked at her father's kind eyes, the ones she inherited, and smiled.