The cobbled streets of Diagon Alley were bustling with witches and wizards hurrying from one shop to another, carrying bags, books, and owl cages. Alexander Goldenhart walked carefully through the crowd, firmly holding large shopping bags in his hands. Beside him, Edmund followed his grandfather's example, doing his best to carry everything he could.
If the shopping had been limited to school supplies, things would have been much easier. However, Teresa, Alexander's older sister, had dragged the granddaughters into a full-fledged shopping spree, insisting that "such lovely young ladies" needed a new wardrobe for their new chapter in life.
Alexander had tried to protest, but to no avail. To his despair—and Edmund's—both of them ended up buried under mountains of packages and boxes. Still, seeing the joy on the girls' faces, he sighed and said nothing. If they were happy, perhaps carrying a little extra weight was worth it.
After practically emptying all the clothing shops in Diagon Alley, there was only one item left on the list: Circe's wand. The group stopped in front of Garrick Ollivander's old wand shop.
Circe glanced back, expecting her family to follow, but no one moved. Alexander smiled at his granddaughter and said gently:
— We'll wait here, dear. I've already spoken to Garrick—your wand is paid for. You only need to pick it up.
Circe blinked in surprise but did not question him. She simply nodded and, after one last look at her family, pushed open the shop's door and stepped inside.
The air inside was slightly dusty, carrying the peculiar scent of wood and varnish. Tall shelves stretched up to the ceiling, filled with countless small wand boxes. The place was eerily quiet... or so Circe thought until she noticed a scrawny boy holding a wand in his hands.
He was staring at it, a fascinated smile on his face.
Circe frowned. Was he the shop assistant? No… far too young for that.
Curious, she approached him carefully and, without thinking, placed a hand on his shoulder.
The reaction was immediate. The boy jumped back, startled, and turned to face her with wide eyes.
Circe's cheeks flushed as she smiled apologetically.
— Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you.
The boy blinked a few times before shaking his head. His voice was soft, almost hesitant.
— It's okay. I was just distracted. It wasn't your fault. My name's Harry. Can I help you?
Circe smiled and extended her hand toward him.
— Circe Isabeau Céleste D'Aubigny Goldenhart.
Harry looked at her with surprise and curiosity before shaking her hand.
— Goldenhart? Are you related to Mr. Alexander?
Circe beamed, puffing up with pride.
— Yes! He's my grandfather. Pretty cool, huh? Are you a fan of my grandfather too? I can get you an autograph if you'd like!
Harry's eyes widened at the unexpected offer. He quickly shook his head, not wanting to be rude but also unsure how to respond.
— I-I… uh… that's not necessary!
Eager to change the subject, he pointed at the shelves and asked:
— Are you here for your wand too?
Circe blinked, as if only now remembering why she was there. She glanced around, slightly confused.
— Oh! Yes! I almost forgot… but where's Mr. Ollivander?
Harry frowned, looking at the empty counter.
— He was just here a minute ago…
— Looking for me?
Circe and Harry jumped forward, startled by the sudden raspy voice behind them.
Turning around, they found Mr. Ollivander watching them with an amused smile.
— Miss Goldenhart, what a pleasure to see you. I've been expecting you for some time.
Circe stared at him, puzzled.
— You know me?
Ollivander chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling as if he found her question amusing.
— Of course! I have made and sold every wand your family has ever used, my dear child. Except for your late grandmother's and your grandfather's first wand… but all the others? My craftsmanship.
Circe blinked, surprised. The old wandmaker, however, didn't give her time to react.
— But let's put that aside. We must find you a proper wand.
Ollivander disappeared between the shelves, rummaging through boxes and muttering to himself. A few seconds later, he returned with one in his hands.
He carefully opened it and pulled out an elegant wand—not too long, not too short. The handle had delicate golden details, forming intricate leaf patterns.
Ollivander turned the wand between his fingers before handing it to Circe.
— Normally, I wouldn't suggest this one right away… but considering who your grandfather is, I thought it would be an interesting choice.
Circe frowned, intrigued, but took the wand without hesitation. As soon as she held it, a warm sensation spread through her fingers. It was comforting, as if something inside her had finally clicked into place.
Ollivander smiled, pleased.
— Seems I was right. This wand is made of laurel wood. I don't use it often, but some remarkable wands have been crafted from it. Your father's and grandfather's, for example. They say wizards who wield laurel wands are incapable of dishonorable acts. Even if they don't seek greatness, they often achieve it.
He paused for a moment before adding:
— The core is from a French blue dragon's heartstring, a majestic and proud creature, known for its elegance. This wand will be more loyal than any other if you treat it well. And if your bond with it is strong enough, it may even reject another wizard who tries to wield it. A rare and admirable quality, without a doubt.
Circe looked down at the wand in her hands, fascination gleaming in her eyes. Then, with a proud smile, she held it out to Harry.
— So? What do you think?
Harry grinned and congratulated her.
After a few more minutes, the two young wizards finished their purchases and left the shop, still talking and laughing—completely unaware that this meeting would mark the beginning of something much greater.