Confliction of Choice

Chapter 1- Shopping

I hated shopping.

More or less every girl my age loved it; but not me.

I was ecstatic about going to Hogwarts, but at the very least adamant about having my mother do all of the shopping for my school supplies and not me. My father however, did not like my, if I do say so myself, ingenious idea, and so made me go to Diagon ally to shop for my own school stuff because apparently I need to 'learn to be more responsible' and that 'mother and father won't always be around to help me' and all that bullshit.

So it was off to the famous Leaky Cauldron to start the worst day of my life so far, as I am ever the optimist, I may turn out to have worse ones, though it seems highly unlikely.

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We arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, which had loads of annoying flyers and posters up on any space available on the already dismally decorated walls. The posters were about various wizarding events, upcoming books about the 'Newly discovered and very rare species of dragon' which do about as much different to dragons as the left shoe from the right.

As soon as the brick folded back from the wall in the grimy and stale smelling pub garden, I was in complete awe.

It was the most enchanting and life-changing thing I had ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

The vibrant colours, the sweet odours wafting towards me from the various carts of food, the sound of the witches and wizards haggling with the shop owners, trying to get a better price for a few eyes of a particularly special type of newt.

There were so many shops that I couldn't had counted them all, even if I had conjured myself another pair of hands!

The first one I saw which caught my eye was certain not the most appealing physically, and obviously not something which would sell for a lot, or even at all, but it had a certain joie de vivre to it that neither my mother, nor my father for that matter, could come to terms with or even comprehend on the most basic of levels.

This was one of the reasons that I was drawn to it; if my parents couldn't understand it, then they would leave it to someone else to understand it for them, and by that point they would've lost any sliver of initial interest they had and move on to the next thing.

As we entered the threshold of Ollivanders wand shop, all that was in my small, yet concentrated field of vision, were wands.

Shelves upon shelves, filled with rows upon rows of every single type of wand imaginable. There were a few sitting on display on the counter. One in particular stood out from the rest; the one made of Hawthorne with a unicorn tail hair for its core.

I was drawn to it as one would be to a long lost lover, at least I think that's the closest thing to what I was feeling, as I had never even been in a real relationship, let alone been in love.

I blocked out all sounds of my mother requesting my return from my thoughts into 'the real world' as she called it, although it couldn't be less real to me even if it tried. Alas for her, I was disinclined to acquiesce to her request, as I was almost infatuated with the wand that lay before me, moreover, the possibility of controlling the great power the wand held, if even for a second.

I zoned out of my daydream as quickly as I had entered into it. Much to my annoyance, it was my mother to which I should thank for ruining one of my more intellectual thought processes. She was nudging me with such force, you'd think she was trying to win a wrestling match!

I could see her face growing more and more contort by the second, so I focused my every effort on concentrating on what the old man, who had just appeared, was saying. His voice was a raspy one, so it was hard for me to work out exactly what he was trying to say and fathom how a man of his age was still able to stand unaided, let alone serve behind the counter of a very popular and busy shop.

"So this is the one that has chosen you?" The raspy voice spoke out loud to no one in particular.

"What" I said, but by the look on everyone in the shop's faces, it was more of a shout than I had thought, as I was still partially in my own little world. My mother gave me a glare so livid for that one word that I'm pretty sure the old man with the raspy voice would have a heart attack if he looked her way for too long.

"Where are your manners child? Anyone would think you'd been raised be muggles!" my mother exclaimed in a tone filled to the brim with as much disappointment as exasperation, making sure to put as much venom as her voice in to the last word of that unforgivable sentence.

I couldn't take anymore of her harsh words against muggles lightly anymore. Even though I wasn't one, I still knew that it wasn't right to use them in the same horrid way that people use the word gay to wrongly insult things/people.

"Mother! I don't ever want to hear you utter that word with such disgust again or so help me I will make your life more miserable than you could ever imagine. One of the greatest wizards of all time was a half-blood, and he managed to defeat He-Who's-Name-Must-Still-Be-Hyphenated!" Both the old man and my father laughed at my outburst and my mother's face started to glow the bright red shade of humiliation. That shut her up, I thought.

My family is pureblood, and very anti-anything and anyone that isn't. They hate my childhood hero with a passion, though none more than my Uncle Draco and Aunt Pansy. You see, my Uncle was always in competition with him at Hogwarts and so has held a grudge against him ever since.

Eghh, why couldn't I have been born into a less hateful family?

Is that too much to ask?

By my family's standards, evidently, yes.

"Well, I think we've solved the mystery of whether this is the right wand for you young lady." I finally looked up at the old man as he addressed me directly for the second time since entering the shop.

"What? I haven't even looked at-oh, ok..." My confusion was met with an answer as I followed my parents' and the old man's gazes, and found that for the entirety of my rant directed at my mother, I'd been gripping one of the three wands that had been displayed in on the counter when we had first entered the well worn wand shop.

I was just beginning to notice the details on the wand, and what possibly could have been so special about it that my subconscious felt so compelled to make me hold it, when my thoughts were interrupted yet again, but this time by the very weathered looking man.

"Hawthorne and Unicorn tail hair, very rare for that one in particular to show such a strong connection this early on, but no matter, the wand chooses the wizard, as I always say." I'd been concentrating so had on trying not to completely space out again, that I blurted out:

"And what would you know? I might have just picked it up out of childish curiosity for all you know, it might not be the wand that I'll end up walking out of this shop with!" even I was shocked at this sudden outburst, but was beaten for the position of being heard next, when the old man spoke up in answer to my unnecessary accusations.

"Well, young lady," he said in his rough and croaky, yet comforting voice, with not a hint of malice, surprisingly, "I do think that as the owner of this wand shop, that I should be expected to know a thing or two about wands, but no matter, as it seems to me that I have found someone as insightful, if not more, about the wonderful world of wands." It then hit me why a man of such an old age as his would be working such a tiring job as his; he was Mr Ollivander!

If I didn't feel like kicking myself, I didn't know what to feel!