I spent the morning with Louise, falling into our old patterns despite everything that had changed. I'd already told her I was moving to a boarding school in Scotland for high school - it wasn't entirely a lie, and it would help maintain the distance my mother had created with her memory charm.
The knowledge that we would never regain our true friendship was disappointing to say the least, but her safety mattered more than being remembered. Some sacrifices were worth making, even if they hurt.
"Come on Felix, cheer up," my mother said beside me, ruffling my hair affectionately. Dad had stayed home - he never quite adjusted to the suspicious looks wizards gave him for being a Muggle.
The Leaky Cauldron stood before us, as shabby and unwelcoming as ever. We made our way through the pub to the chilly courtyard in the back, where Mum approached a particular brick wall. With practiced precision, she tapped a specific brick with her wand.
The wall transformed before our eyes, bricks folding away from each other with mechanical precision until they formed an archway large enough to walk through. Beyond lay Diagon Alley in all its magical glory.
I'd been here twice before with Mum, and each time I was struck by how ordinary it could look despite being anything but. The cobblestone street wound between shops of every magical description, filled with witches and wizards in colorful robes going about their business.
We passed Amanuensis Quills, where I'd bought my first quill a few years ago, and headed straight for Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions a shop next to it. The fitting for my school robes was mercifully quick - three sets of black robes and a pointed hat that made me feel rather silly.
Most of my other supplies were already waiting at home in our garage - Mum had been collecting things for years in preparation for this day. That left only the most important item, my wand.
Ollivanders stood before us, narrow and shabby with peeling gold letters that read, "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C." A solitary wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window, looking rather lonely.
The shop's interior was tiny, with a single spindly chair in the corner that looked like it might collapse if anyone actually tried to sit on it. Thousands of narrow boxes containing wands were stacked to the ceiling, each covered in a fine layer of dust.
Mr. Ollivander himself appeared suddenly between the shelves, making me jump. His silvery eyes gleamed as he studied us, a tuft of white hair sticking up from his head like a startled cockatoo.
"Oh, who is this? A new wizard in my shop? Isn't that as wonderful as ever," he said cheerfully, examining my hands with unsettling intensity before his gaze shifted to my mother's wand.
"Ah yes, birchwood with a troll whisker's core, nine inches, for those who wish to prove themselves to even the unprovable," he recited, eyes meeting my mother's. "Felice."
"Indeed, Mr. Ollivander. Your memory serves you well as always," my mother replied, smiling.
"I never forget one of my works," he said proudly. "I still remember the day you came in here, so many different wands you tried that day." His silvery gaze fixed on me. "I hope you can also be as good a challenge as your mother."
"Let's hope so?" I said my voice suddenly shaky..
"Are you asking me or telling me?" he asked sharply.
"Telling you?" I replied, uncertain on what to say.
He fixed me with a deadpan stare.
"Telling you," I said more firmly this time.
"Well then, let's begin, shall we? Open your hand," he instructed, reaching for my right hand. "You see the art of wandcraft is something really important to wizard kind and even to wands themselves, just like we wizards pick and choose wands so do wands choose as well, a good wand will never abandon or fail you, a wand is a wizard's best friend at least that is what I think.
As he was going on with this monologue his fingers traced my palm and digits with professional precision.
"Many things contribute to getting chosen by a wand, the way the magic flows in the person's body, the person's blood, personality, heck some wands are even picky on their owner's appearance, you could get rejected just for being ugly."
He then looked up at my face, "but don't worry I don't think you'll have that problem."
He stopped his monologue and disappeared among the shelves, returning with a narrow box.
"Here, try this - ash wood, dragon heartstring core, ten inches," he said, presenting the wand.
The moment I grabbed it, I knew something was wrong. The wand's tip lit up briefly, and Ollivander's initial smile vanished as the entire shop began to shake. The other wands in their boxes trembled as if in fear.
Ollivander snatched the wand back quickly. "Not that one," he muttered, already reaching for another.
What followed was a parade of increasingly unsuccessful attempts. After twenty wands, Ollivander was practically vibrating with frustration, his white hair even more disheveled than before.
"Here, try this one," he said for the twenty-third time, producing a black box and showing me the wand, it was beautiful it was mainly made from some black wood along with something yellow or maybe gold dimming slightly as the core.
"This is made from blackthorn wood, chimaera spikestring for the core, and eleven inches long. It is meant to be able to adapt to most circumstances and only those who have very unusual affinities to magic can satisfy them."
I clasped the wand in my hand, and i could immediately tell the difference it still didn't feel like a perfect match but as the end of the wand began to light, I could feel my magic carefully and in a controlled manner make it's way towards the wand.
It was much different from when I had gone on my magic yesterday but still I decided to try something. I concentrated for a second picturing how I had formed the fireballs last night then I muttered in a low voice with as much gravitas as I could carry with my squeaky voice.
"I Cast Fireball."
A sphere of flame two feet across erupted from the wand's tip, slamming into the wall and setting several boxes ablaze.
"What are you doing? Ahhh!! My wands!" Ollivander shouted, scrambling for his own wand.
"Aguamenti!" my mother cast quickly, dousing the flames before they could spread.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Ollivander. I'll pay for any damages," my mother said hastily, grabbing his shoulder as he raised his wand.
To our surprise, Ollivander's panic subsided quickly. "Don't worry, dear. It was just an accident, that's right an accident who cares if a few wands got burnt. You just need to pay for the boy's wand," he said, moving behind his counter.
"How much will it be?" my mother asked.
"Eleven Galleons, lass," he replied, still eyeing the scorched wall.
My mother placed twenty Galleons on the counter. "Keep the change, please. Otherwise, I'll feel terrible about this," she insisted.
Ollivander sighed as he put the money away, then turned to me. I was barely paying attention, too absorbed in examining my new wand with what must have been a rather foolish grin.
"What was your name, kid?" he asked suddenly.
"Felix Serendipity," I replied.
"Pfft," he laughed, shaking his head.
"What?" I asked, confused.
"Your name means lucky weirdness or lucky discoveries. I guess today it meant bad luck - for my shop at least," he said, gesturing at the singed wall.
I cocked my head at his words, not quite sure how to respond.
"Well then, go on, leave my shop," he said, though there was amusement in his voice. "I don't want any more discoveries today. I'll remember your wand, kid - not that I'll have much choice with that scorch mark as a reminder."
If you want to read ten advanced chapters, you can do so at Patreon.com/JoanjudoStories