Note: This was just an assignment in the subject ‘Charms’ in an online Hogwarts School (hogwartsishere.com). I just posted it here for fun and to share it of course. I’m neither a novelist nor a grammar expert so I apologize for any inconvenience. Hope ‘ya like it.
The assignment: Write an essay on how you procured your wand.
Wand Length: 12 1/2 inches
Wand Flexibility: Solid
Wand Wood: Spruce
Wand Core: Dragon
I procured my wand just as how most of the wizards and witches procured theirs–by the help of Mr. Garrick Ollivander.
It was a nice Saturday morning on the 30th of August when my mom and I went to Diagon Alley to buy the remaining stuff I’ll be needing for my education at Hogwarts. She preferred to buy them one at a time so as to not attract so much Muggle attention and somewhat reduce the weight of the luggage we’ll be carrying as we return home (“Imagine us carrying them all at once!” mom said in a hysteric tone). Although my mom has massive magical knowledge, she always refused to travel through magic, for instance, Floo Powder (“Sometimes, I assume you’re a Squib who is just bitter,” I tell her often). Therefore, we always traveled through Muggle transportation.
One by one, the things listed on the brown parchment containing the necessary equipment needed were crossed out–from books to cauldrons; from uniforms to owls. All was set and ready, except for one–the wand.
In the deeper part of the alley stood a shop called “Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C.”. It was an old-looking shop though still showed no sign of fragility. My mom went first. She knocked, turned the door knob, and opened the door. As the door opened, a bell rang to indicate the presence of a visitor. My mom entered and I followed.
“Good morning,” said a rather feebly voice.
“Good morning,” said mom.
“Ah, of course, of course. Another starting wizard, perhaps?” asked the old man.
“Yes,” mom told him politely.
“Let me see,” the old man spoke as his eyes traveled from my mom’s face to her back where I stood.
Judging by his looks, I knew what he meant. So, I walked toward him, passing my mom. As I approached his desk, he was searching something underneath it and by the time I reached in front of him, he got up holding a worn-out tape measure. I managed to give him a weak smile.
“Stand straight,” he said softly, smiling back.
I did what I was told. I stood straight with my arms hanging freely on each side of my body. He then started measuring the length of my arms, my body, including the torso, and my legs. After measuring, he asked me to hold out my wand arm and show my palm. He started examining it and muttered some words.
“Hmm… Firm hands indeed…,” he said, still smiling.
“Er, yeah, I suppose,” I said. “Mom said I once broke a feeding bottle when I was a baby. Well, I always thought of testing my arms’ strength, though, especially now that I’m a bit older and can remember things clearly. I thought of doing, you know, knock someone else with my bare hands. But mom wouldn’t let me so I settled with the pebbles instead.”
“Watch your behaviour, Kimberly!” shouted mom.
“What? I never attacked someone with my bare hands yet!”
Mr. Ollivander chuckled. Mom and I looked at him with confusion.
“…and a good sense of humour,” Mr. Ollivander added, his smile even more widened. “Ah, I think spruce wood can do very well with you. A difficult wood, yes, it doesn’t choose an owner with shaky hands and who’s quite queasy.”
I looked at him in awe. The thought of having spruce as a wand wood overwhelmed me.
“Hmm, let us see,” he said as he walked through the shelves containing dozens of boxes, perhaps, of wands. As he came back, he had brought with him three boxes of different colours: brown, navy blue, and maroon.
“All of these wands contain the same kind of core–the dragon heartstring. Spruce is a choosy wood and has a strong personality, so, it needed a core with almost as same amount of intensity. Thus, I thought that it’s compatibility with the dragon heartstring is rather unquestionable,” he said. “Here, try this,” he added while handing out the wand from the brown box. “Nine-and-a-three-quarter inch, brittle.”
I seized the wand and gave it a try. The moment I pointed it to a bare wall the tip produced an uncontrollable amount of energy leading to slight explosions inside the shop. I jumped back and the wand flew immediately out of my hand. I picked up the wand and gave it back to Mr. Ollivander.
“Yes, of course, how foolish I can be,” he spoke while examining the wand. “A strong wood, a strong core, and an owner with a strong and big personality,” he added, his eyes twinkled as he looked at me. “You need a longer wand and has a firm flexibility. Here try this one,” he gave me the wand from the maroon-coloured box. “Twelve and a half inches, solid.”
Again, I seized it and pointed it towards the bare wall. Surprisingly, the tip of the wand emitted a silvery dust which turned into butterfly silhouettes and flew across the shop.
“Well, I originally thought of fairies,” I said jokingly.
Mr. Ollivander gave a small laugh. “I guess the wand finally found its rightful owner. Ah, another good job done.”
“Thank you,” said mom while handing him out ten galleons, by which Mr. Ollivander returned three galleons.
“Just seven,” he said happily.
“Thanks a lot Mr. Ollivander!” I said in a cheerful voice.
“It’s always been a pleasure, young witch,” he replied, his smile still wide.
“We’ll get going. Thanks again Mr. Ollivander,” said mom. Mr. Ollivander nodded and smiled.
Mom hurried toward the door and I followed. I took a last glance at Mr. Ollivander and waved good-bye. He waved back as he arranged the unbought wands.
Mom and I had reached the outside of the shop.
“Can we visit The Three Broomsticks before returning home?”
“But you just ate!”
“Well, when I tried out the wands, my energy seemed to get used up…so I’m kind of thirsty.”
My mom sighed and shook her head. “Kimberly, you could have just tell me if you wanted a butterbeer. No need for the energy-being-used-up-because-of-magic excuse. I’m afraid we can’t go to Hogsmeade, though, as I’m not allowed. But there’s always a substitution.”
I gave her a wide smile and walked off to the opposite side of the alley, where a man with a single portable stall sold butterbeer.