After their enjoyable evening, they had returned to the Leaky Cauldron and had gone straight to bed. The following morning after breakfast in the nearby café the three of them returned to check and make sure that all their shrunken parcels were in their bags. Rowan would unshrink them once they returned to Cokeworth.
They led Petunia through the seedy bar and out back. Petunia warily glanced at the wall until Rowan took out her wand and tapped the bricks to open Diagon Alley. The hole widens until a large archway forms leading to a cobbled street on the other side.
On the other side the sun shines brightly on a stack of cauldrons for sale. Petunia blinks and much like Rowan did the first time wrinkled her nose at the apothecary scent from nearby. "Well, I suppose it's magical enough," Petunia sniffed. "But really what is that horrid scent?"
"Trust me, you don't want to know," Rowan muttered as they led her through Diagon Alley.
Petunia stared in obvious fascination of the people as she muttered, "It's like stepping back into Rowan shrugs and says, "Tell me about it. But you'll sadly get used to it overtime." Petunia looks vaguely alarmed at that but continues to look around.
Andrew kept up a lively commentary pointing everything out as they headed over to their next stop Flourish and Blotts book shop. Petunia instantly brightened up at the sheer size of the store filled with countless books. "There book filing system is frankly terrible, but they've got wonderous things in here provided you can find them," Rowan muttered.
"So, have you given any thought to what I said before?" Rowan asked as they began to skim through the books.
"Well, I first have to successfully get a food permit and proper certification," Petunia said with a flush. "Despite your utmost confidence in me, Row, and offering to be the pastry shop's investor, I'd like to at least attend culinary school first."
"Just think on it," Rowan suggested. "I think there's a large potentially untapped market."
"I know," Petunia rolled her eyes, before happily finding a wizarding cookbook for which to compare traditional normal people recipes.
Leaving Andrew alone with Petunia, Rowan whispers that she has an errand to run and will meet up with later in front of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Andrew does not protest as he eagerly begins to chat with his gorgeous crush. He knew that Rowan was being an excellent wingman and he owed her a favor for it.
Rowan halted in front of an old shop that she had only once been there before. Typically, most wizards unless they had children never returned to this particular shop. The peeling gold-letter sign still reads, "Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C." In the dusty window, a single wand is placed on a faded purple cushion to emphasize the shop's single purpose.
The hanging doorbell rings as Rowan steps inside of the shop. The shop still looks the same with a single counter and a bench. The rest of the shop is cluttered with hundreds of thin boxes that almost reach to the very ceiling. The solemn feeling still permeates through the shop along with a good dusting of dust.
From the back room a pale old man emerges as his sharp silver eyes shimmer in the gloomy shop air. Mr. Ollivander's sharp eyes take her in as he says, "Miss Prince to what do I owe the unexpected honor?"
"I need to have my wand looked at," Rowan solemnly answered as she flicked her wrist and the spring wand holster dropped her wand into her open palm.
"Oh?" Mr. Ollivander solemnly said. "And what might be the problem? It seems to be in perfectly good order."
"I destroyed an artifact last night and I'd like to make certain that is indeed the case," Rowan stiffly replied.
"Very well then," Mr. Ollivander replied as he took the held-out wand. Twirling the wand in his fingers he nods and peers at the wand. "No cracks. No magic core instability. Smooth still. No added duress. Still seems in perfect working order." And as if to make sure a burst of sparks emerges from the tip of the wand.
Holding the wand out for Rowan to take, Mr. Ollivander says, "Though the wand is stronger than the last time I saw it. Recent enough that the wand is still adjusting."
Rowan does not answer the question as she accepts her wand back. Sliding the wand back into place she reaches into her mokeskin pouch and says, "I'd like to commission a personalized second wand to be crafted."
Mr. Ollivander narrows his eyes and says, "I do not forge second wands, when there is a perfectly good first wand still in use."
"I will have need for it," Rowan firmly replied as she held out the long, Great Horned Serpent horn to him. "I was told so by the one who gave me this."
Mr. Ollivander's eyes meet Rowan's midnight black indigo eyes. Seeing the solemn truth there he gingerly takes the horn and feels the rush of power within the horn. "I've never forged a wand with a Great Horned Serpent's horn. They are rare solitary creatures that rarely ever favor wizards with their horns. But when they do, so I have been told, their wands are incredible works of art.
Both powerful and flexible much like Water is and unlike the Phoenix feathers that burn bright and true like Fire. But I suppose a fitting core for one who is a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. But you wear a glamor over your left eye unlike Gilbert Grindelwald."
Rowan stiffens as her eyes flicker in shock to meet his solemn piercing gaze. "My father was the one who forged his first wand, aye, I remember it well. I was a mere youth then, but I remember the powerful wand that was forged then. And upon seeing once more, he returned changed. With an eye much like yours, yes, I recall him coming to see my father asking questions about a wand best forgotten," Mr. Ollivander gravely said.
Turning away, Mr. Ollivander coldly mutters, "You both have similar pair of eyes that are all seeing like the deepest pools of water that absorb all light failing to reflect absolutely nothing back. They are the consequences of the use of forbidden magic, nevertheless, come."