An American at Hogwarts

Chapter Three

After finishing at the bank, we went to get a wand from Ollivander's. An honest-to-God magic wand, from a business which had apparently been operating for more than 2,000 years.

We walked in and I headed towards the counter while my dad took a seat on one of the stools in the back of the room.

"Hello there," said an old man from the back of the shop.

"Hi," I said, smiling as he came forward to speak to me.

"I suppose you're looking for a wand?"

"Yup."

"Hmm..." he wandered farther back into the tall shelves of wands, analyzing all the boxes. "Let's try... this one."

He read out some specs on the wand, then handed it to me. I wasn't sure what was supposed to happen, but apparently it was something, because Mr. Ollivander (I assumed that's who this was) immediately took the wand back and went to get another one.

The process continued over and over, again and again, wand after wand. Nothing seemed to be working, and I was struggling to stay patient.

"Ah. Walnut, dragon heartstring, thirteen inches, springy." He handed the wand over, and I'll admit, I was very skeptic as I took it from him.

The minute the wand touched my hand, though, it felt alive and warm. It felt like an extension of myself, and I swear I could feel the magic flowing through my body.

"Woah," I said breathlessly. A wind swirled through the shop, and everything felt right.

"That's the one," said Ollivander decisively, moving to the till (British for cash register) so we could pay and go.

"That was pretty amazing," muttered my dad, still sounding a little awestruck as we walked back into the daylight of Diagon Alley.

"No kidding." I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. I didn't let go of my wand, either.

The next stop was a pet, since the school said we could bring one. Owls seemed to be the norm communication-wise, so that's what I was going to get.

As soon as I walked into the store, I bonded with a barn owl who kept hooting at me whenever I tried to walk away. We were already best friends as we left the store together, and I decided to name him "Jimmy Tallon".

Dad, Jimmy, and I made our rounds to the other stores, buying some of the weirdest things imaginable.

Potions is going to be a hell of a class, I thought as I purchased one of the ingredients: armadillo bile.

We bought all the required books, and then a few more just in case. Thankfully, we also managed to find a magical trunk that was bigger on the inside (yes, like the TARDIS) so that I could fit everything into the one trunk we were allowed.

When we got back to the hotel, Jimmy got several looks from the staff, but my dad was famous enough that they let it slide. I felt a little guilty, and I promised myself I wouldn't leave any mess Jimmy made for them to clean up.

For the next week, I divided my time between exploring the city with my dad and trying to memorize all the information I'd missed in the past four years. I focused on just the spells (I figured history could wait), and by the time September 1st rolled around, I was feeling pretty solid on the practical magic piece.

At least, as solid as I could be without being allowed to actually cast any of the spells.

September 1st was the first day of magic school, so my dad and I headed down to King's Cross, which apparently held the magical gateway.