A Tale of Two Wizards

Chapter One: The Owls

Even with his eyes shut, Sam Gower could sense daylight streaming in through the window and directly onto his face. Obstinately, he turned over on his mattress, thinking of all the reasons the sun shouldn't be up so early. The morning light shone on, regardless of the boy's wishes.

"Are you going to sleep all day, Gower?" And there was Chad. No hope of sleeping now.

"Evidently not," he replied, sitting up with reluctance. He rubbed his eyes and blinked in the bright morning light. "Why do you care, anyway?"

"It's the principle. I'm not taking care of you your whole life."

Sam rolled his eyes and peeled off his sweaty, threadbare, cotton nightshirt. He replaced it with a slightly less worn polo. He glanced at the filth covering his clothing and couldn't help but recall, in his distant memory, a time when he was always clean; almost sickeningly so. That was, no doubt, a memory from Vera's, his old foster home. That woman had been crazy. What the heck was phenylalanine, anyway?

The flax haired boy sat for several seconds, reminiscing, but was jarred back into reality as vivid colours exploded in front his eyes. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, then, and saw only red. His temple throbbed as he told himself it was no use cursing, however much he'd like to. Chad would just laugh and tell him to keep a civil tongue. He was like that, always giving orders. Mostly, Sam just didn't like to be laughed at.

A soft rustle indicated that the other boy was standing beside him. "I thought you were watching," came Chad's vaguely apologetic voice.

Sam sighed and opened his eyes. An apple lay on the mattress beside him. Forsaking his anger in favor of eating, he bit into the apple (which now bore a considerable bruise), and then asked, "So, what's your plan today? The usual?"

"Aye, though I might go to the library, if I'm bored before noon. All depends on who's around, how full the pocketbooks are."

Sam nodded. He didn't like the fact that Chad was a thief, but couldn't deny that he was skilled. The poor fools standing in the streets, talking on their mobile phones, never had a chance against the wispy urchin. Sam, on the other hand, was a magnet for trouble. It wasn't really his fault; he just had bizarre tendency to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. After narrowly escaping arrest three times in a week, for no apparent reason, he decided he just shouldn't go out during the day. Regardless of what common sense says, one can't argue with results. "I'll see you later, then. If you go by the library, find something interesting for me. It's boring up here."

888

Sam's days in the loft above an old apartment attic were, indeed, boring. After waking in the morning, he could read, draw, or stare into space. Playing the violin had been an option, until Chad claimed he could hear it a block away. Then it seemed unwise to tempt his unlucky tendencies. It really wouldn't be all that strange for someone a floor down to wonder about sounds in the attic, and if they grew curious enough to investigate, well, the boys certainly wouldn't live there any longer.

This day was unusual on two accounts. The first was that Chad returned to the flat before three and in an ill temper. "I was caught today," he said, glumly, "had to run like mad." He emptied his pockets of eighty-three pounds and stuffed the money into a box. Sam couldn't do more than 'hmm' in less than sincere pity.

The second unusual event was so far out of the ordinary that the previous could have been forgotten if Chad's presence hadn't been necessary. Just as Sam made ready to leave for his own day's work of playing on the London sidewalks, two owls, one grey, and the other tawny, landed in the window. Each owl had a roll of parchment attached to one leg.

Sam caught Chad's questioning glance, and shrugged. The memory of a huge black owl delivering post tickled in the back of his mind, but before he could properly grasp the thread, Chad sidled towards the owls, and one dutifully extended its leg. He took the thick, yellow envelope, which was addressed:

Mr. C. Minaya

Cot by the East Window

Loft above the Attic

West Victoria Street Flats

London

Chad was clearly disturbed. From his look of sheer disbelief to his sudden jumpiness (a door two floors below slammed, and he was halfway down the ladder to the loft before he knew himself again), he suddenly looked his eleven years. Sam took advantage of his astonishment to tear open the other letter, addressed to Mr. S. Gower, Mattress by the South Window, Loft above the Attic, West Victoria Street Flats, London. It read:

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of wizards

Dear Mr. Gower,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary book and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Sam had to confess, this seemed very strange. He felt no terror, though, which was better than the sable skinned thief could say. "Perhaps you should read the letter," Sam suggested softly, rousing Chad from his terrified reverie. He tore open the envelope and quickly scanned down its contents. His eyes then snapped up, narrowed, and returned to the letter again, this time more deliberately. Finally, he dropped the letter and stared at Sam.

"Did you set this up?" Sam opened his mouth, and Chad added, with force, "Tell me the truth."

Sam glared. "Don't be ridiculous. Where do you think I'd get trained owls?"

"Well...it's not like I have any clue what you do up here all day," said Chad, relaxing marginally. He flung himself down on his cot and took a deep breath. "So, someone knows that we are here. That's a problem..." He trailed off in thought.

"Wait a second; don't we have to figure out if the letter is real or not?"

Chad raised a questioning eyebrow. "Did your letter claim to be from someone named 'Minerva' and talk about a place called 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry'?" Sam nodded slowly. "Then what is there to figure out?"

"I...You won't believe me, of course, but I think my parents used to get letters from owls."

"These the same parents who dumped you in some children's home at age three?"

Sam winced. That was a rather low blow. "Not the point. I've seen this before, Chad. It almost makes sense, doesn't it?"

"No."

"First, you do all sorts of weird things. Erm...you can generally avoid being seen, people do what say, no one ever asks you questions...."

"Most call that cunning, but if you feel the need to call it magic..."

"My head always hurts when you're angry with me."

"You're overly emotional."

"You think you're different than every other kid we see on the streets. Even the ones like us."

"Maybe I'm just arrogant." Sam looked still looked sceptic, causing Chad to cry out in disbelief, "'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,' Sam! How could that possibly be a real place?"

"Ever think that you might not know everything?"

Chad sighed and glanced down at the letter again. A supplies list lay under the invitation, and he stifled a laugh as he read. "Work robes? Spell books? A wand? This is madness. Absolutely nutters. We'd never be able to afford it, anyway."

That was true. The list of supplies extended all the way from texts to new clothing to all sorts of odd knick knacks. Sam had no idea what three work robes, dragon hide gloves, and a winter cloak would cost, but it couldn't be cheap. "Maybe they have a fund or something..."

"Forget it, Sam." Chad carefully refolded the paper and supplies list, and slid them back into the envelope. He pressed on the wax seal to make it stick, and tied it to the same owl he'd taken it from. "If the owls go back to wherever and the letters appear unopened, maybe whoever sent them will decide they were wrong about us being here."

"I think if Minreva MacGonagoll or whoever knows which sides of the room we sleep on, she probably knows we're here, regardless."

Chad apparently hadn't considered that. He closed his eyes for a long moment, and then finally said, "We're going to have to leave. I don't know what she's playing at, but it's too dangerous a game for my taste."

"Can't we write back? Just in case?"

Chad groaned and muttered something about talking to an infant. "I don't care what you do, but if you are hauled off to some orphanage, I won't rescue you." Sam's shoulders slumped. Chad was usually right. He resealed his letter the same way and gave it back to the owl. Before nightfall, both the boys and the owls were gone.

888

The week of July 11 passed with stunning normalcy. Sam watched the evening sky as he walked back to the cellar he now lived in with his violin in tow. Though he'd have denied it, he kept hoping to see another owl coming over the high rooftops. No such luck tonight.

Chad sat at an old folding table, pouring over some tremendously boring book or another. Sam walked on past him with a nod, which went unnoticed, and rummaged around for something to eat. There was nothing to be found, save a few slices of bread that had seen better days. Far better days. "Have we got anything to edible around here?"

"Nope."

Sam felt around in his pocket for what he'd earned playing that night. Eight pounds and some change. Not bad meal money.

"I'm going back out. Need anything?" Chad waved him out with a lazy hand.

888

It was only after he had been walking for close to fifteen minutes that Sam realised he shouldn't be out so late. The bakeries and stores he normally frequented were now too far for him to walk at night. He also realized that he didn't know this part of the city very well. In any case, the sun was soon down, and Sam was lost.

Of course, he'd been in London long enough to know not to panic and to stay out of dark alleyways and such, but being lost in a city is never an enjoyable experience. After wandering along for a bit, Sam reluctantly decided he was going to have to ask for help. Most shops were now closed and windows dark. Looking down the street, Sam saw only one open establishment: a pub called 'The Leaky Cauldron.'

Steeling his nerves, Sam slipped into pub, planning to quickly ask directions and then leave. It was the most curious pub he'd ever been in, though, not that he went in many. Peering through the dim light, he could see several long nosed, wild haired people that looked a bit less than human circled up a corner, giggling in high, eerie tones. A man with dramatically pointed incisors eagerly drank some sort of thick, crimson liquid. There was a woman drifting from table to table in what looked similar to a bathrobe, and no one seemed to find this odd. In fact, many of the people present were in bathrobes.

Perhaps the oddest sight could be seen through the back door. A man was standing by a trash can outside, in a courtyard just beyond the pub, tapping bricks. He muttered curses to himself, and finally the bartender called out, "It's three up, two across, Jerry." Most of the customers laughed, and the man quickly tapped the bricks in the correction pattern. A gateway opened up on to a busy street, and the man stepped in without hesitation. The gateway shut almost immediately, and Sam stared in wonder. Without thinking, he flew through the courtyard door and tapped on the bricks with his finger. Three up, two across. Nothing happened.

"Here, kid, let me do that for ya." The bartender moved from behind the counter and tapped the bricks with a wooden stick. The gateway opened again. Sam was suddenly unsure about going into this strange ally, but the bartender stood and watched him, leaving no choice. With a deep breath and a quick glance back, Sam stepped into the street.

Never before had he seen so many people in such a small place. With round, wide, childish eyes, Sam took in all that happened around him. The people in robes and tall pointy hats were fascinating enough, but just the alley itself was truly beyond belief. He passed a building he concluded was a bank easily enough, but what did places like "Quality Quidditch Supplies" and "Slug & Jigger's Apothecary" sell? Sam soon found himself looking in the window of a rather small shop. All that was on display was a stick on a velvet cushion. Apparently these people really liked wooden sticks, everyone seemed the have one. Glancing up at the shop sign, he read "Ollivanders - Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C." Deciding there was no reason he shouldn't look around, Sam slipped into the dusty shop.

The walls of the wand shop were lined with boxes, each looking the same. It was a bit like a library. A very messy, disorganised, library. Sam wondered how any customer could find what they wanted.

"Welcome to Ollivanders, Sam Gower. My shop pleases you, I hope?"

Startled, he spun around to see a pale old man with round, luminous eyes leaning over him. Sam slowly backed away from the shopkeeper, but he seemed to take no notice of the boy's discomfort.

"I remember your father's wand, Mr. Gower. Eight and a half inches, cherry and unicorn hair, with a nice bounce for charm work. I didn't sell your mother's wand; I believe it was a flexible ten inch Gregorovich creation with olive wood and phoenix feather."

Sam was taken aback by this mess of apparently meaningless information, so simply nodded. Mr. Ollivander gazed at him for a bit, and said,

"You are now eleven, correct?"

Sam managed to answer "yes, sir," through his tight throat.

"Ah, then, we must find you a wand. Tell me, which is your wand hand?"

Thoroughly disturbed, Sam decided it might be best to hide his ignorance of pretty well everything and waved his right hand. The wand maker produced a tape measure with a wave of his hand, and it promptly began to take measurements. All sorts of measurements. Sam wondered what the significance of the space between his eyes was, but wasn't going to ask.

"Try this one, Mr. Gower. Ten inches, maple and phoenix feather, rather bendy." Sam took the wand, but had no idea what to do with it. "Well, go on," prompted Mr. Ollivander, "wave it about."

Sam waved the wand hesitantly. Nothing happened. The shopkeeper plucked the wand from his grasp.

"No, not that one. Maybe eleven inches, dragon heartstring and rosewood, slightly flexible." Sam waved this wand, too, and got the same results. This drill went on for fifteen minutes, but Mr. Ollivander didn't seem to mind.

"Nine inches, phoenix feather, ebony. No, not that... How about this: thirteen inches and supple, cherry and unicorn hair, like your father's." Sam waved it, beginning to feel foolish, and again nothing happened.

"Goodness, young man, normally I get at least a spark from a combination like that. Never mind, we'll find your wand. Sticking with the blood, here's an olive and phoenix feather wand, nine and two thirds inches, quite sturdy." Now almost reluctant, he waved the wand. Same old, same old.

Mr. Ollivander thought for a while, and then handed the dragon heartstring and rosewood wand back. "Try this one again. With your left hand, if you don't mind." Sam complied, and felt a slight warmth beneath his fingertips. A faint red light glowed from the tip of the wand, and Mr. Ollivander tilted his head in a pondering look.

"Hm...Apparently your hand was the problem. That wand is five galleons. Do you need to go find your parents to pay?"

Galleons. All Sam knew about galleons was that he didn't have any. "Erm... could I come back and pay tomorrow? I'm not sure my parents are too keen on taking a trip down here at the moment."

Mr. Ollivander gazed at the boy searchingly, and Sam was sure he was caught, but the old man simply replied, "Certainly, Mr. Gower. I shall keep track of this until you return." He flicked his fingers and the wand vanished. Sam was surprised to feel a slight sense of loss, but thanked the shopkeeper and left. As he walked back through the gateway to the Leaky Cauldron (a nice green-haired lady opened it for him), he wondered how he would explain all this to Chad. He'd never believe it.

888

"They're back, Sam."

Sam was greeted by Chad's higher than normal voice teetering between terror and awe. Quickly surveying the cellar, Sam saw what his friend meant. The owls were back, but only one had a letter. He was curious as to what that might mean, until he saw one unopened letter laying on the table, with the address "Mr. C. Minaya, Far Corner of the Room, Cellar in the Alley, 14 Denton Lane, London" shining in emerald ink.

Sam almost smiled. This made things easier. "Don't worry about it. It's all real."

"Please don't start this again." Forget awe, Chad was definitely terrified.

"Really, I promise, it's all real. There's this pub, and it leads to this sort of market, but it's so strange. They sell wands, just like that letter talked about. They do magic, Chad. We've got to go to this school."

Chad gaped, and then a snarl darkened his features. "You are a bloody liar. A pub that leads to a market that sells wands? What the hell are you trying to prove?"

"Nothing at all, but...never mind, I'll show you tomorrow." No use arguing, Chad would have to see to believe. Sam took the letter from the other owl and dashed off a quick "I'll be there." That owl left as soon as the response was written, but the other put its head under its wing and went to sleep. Not a bad idea, Sam thought. Pointedly ignoring Chad's look of horror, he lay down and shut his eyes.

888

The morning came late. Heavy clouds covered the sky and obscured the light that normal poked through the small fogged window by the entrance to the cellar. Chad was sitting in a corner with his head to his knees when Sam woke up. His stomach growled loudly, and he remembered that he never found anything to eat the previous night. Standing up and stretching, he nudged Chad. The other boy didn't seem to notice, so Sam nudged him again, a bit harder, this time.

"I'm not asleep, Gower," said Chad in a low growl. With a shudder, he raised his head and glared up with tired, bloodshot eyes. Maybe leaving him to wonder all through the night hadn't been the best plan.

"If you feel up to it, I think we should go to that place I found last night, the alley with all the shops." Sam's voice was soft and coaxing in a vain attempt to sooth the other boy's ill temper.

"Fine, whatever, let's go. I want to get this nonsense over with."

"The man at the shop said my wand was five galleons, I think we'll have to go get our money exchanged at the bank..."

"Galleons..." Chad made a face. "I'm sure that there's no such thing as a galleon. I'd have stolen one by now if they were real."

"There's a bank in the alley, but you'll see. Let's just go." With a sigh, Chad followed Sam out the door.

After forty-five minutes of scouring the streets, Sam's pride finally fell to a terrible reality. He had no sense of direction.

With a reluctant sigh, Sam finally asked, without turning around, "Chad, have you ever heard of the Leaky Cauldron?" Chad didn't answer. "Chad?" Sam asked again, spinning on his heels, "Where'd you...?"

888

There was a distinct paradox to Sam's luck. On one side of the galleon, let us say the side stamped with a phoenix, there was the fact that Sam Gower was simply unlucky, in the same way someone might be clumsy or air headed. It was a fault that could be overcome, but not without effort. On the other side of the galleon, in addition to the phrase "Pecunia auctoritas est," was Sam's profound ability to get himself out of trouble with minimal damage.

This phenomenon came into full effect when Sam spun around, for he spun into Chad, who was very stealthily empting the wallet of a bystander. The bystander, in turn, twisted around to see who knocked into him, only to find his wallet in the hands of a skinny boy with black eyes and rose-tinted sclerae.

The exact words that Chad uttered at this point needn't be repeated. The man being robbed yelled some rather choice words, as well, and both Sam and Chad were running before any questions could be asked. When it was safely determined that any pursuit had given up, Sam, sucking in air through his gritted teeth, asked, "What the hell were you thinking?"

Chad's breathing was unchecked, and he easily replied, "Language, Gower. Swearing makes you sound like an idiot, even more than the average person. I was simply maintaining my livelihood while you led us in circles."

"Yeah, well, we're here now." Sam pointed back over his shoulder, and, sure enough, the wooden sign bearing a cauldron sitting in a puddle swung in the breeze.

The pub was less crowded than the night before, but that stood to reason. The same bartender sat behind the counter, which struck Sam as odd, but material for later consideration. Quickly glancing back to make sure that Chad wasn't up to any mischief, he sidled up to the counter and asked, "Um...sir, would you mind opening the gateway for me? I haven't got my wand..."

The bartender just smiled and said, "Sure, kid, no problem." He came around and tapped the bricks by the trash can. ("Three up, two across," thought Sam, repeating it several times in his head.) The entrance to the alley opened and Sam turned around again to call Chad, but he was already standing by his side, mouth ajar.

"You're drawing flies," snickered Sam quietly, pleased to see some awe. Chad shook his head and shot the other boy a look that was between "I'm sorry" and "Well, how the heck was I supposed to know?" Sam would have teased him for a bit if it hadn't been for the bartender's strange look, which indicated that they should probably get moving.

888

Sam could tell Chad's hands were itching as they pushed their way through the crowded street towards the tall, official-looking building called Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Luckily, he was distracted enough by so many strange happenings that he couldn't try out his larcenist skills on wizard money.

Once inside the burnished bronze doors of Gringotts, Sam was met by a far greater shock than he expected from a bank. Short, dark skinned creatures with bat-like ears were everywhere. Sam just stared until Chad asked, in a whisper, "Do you have any idea what those are?"

"Not a clue."

"Great." Wandering into the bank a little further, Chad bit his lip in a thoughtful gesture, and finally approached one of the pointy eared beings. "Excuse me, sir," he said, reluctant tone covered by a confident voice that was wholly feigned. The creature turned and stared up with beady black eyes.

"Yes, young man?"

"Where would I go to trade pounds for galleons?"

The creature looked slightly suspicious, and then pointed a long, gnarled finger towards a window with the words "monetary exchanges" written across the top in sparkling gold letters. A line of grim faced people stretched a short ways back from the window. Chad nodded a quick "thanks" and the boys moved on.

Once they were across the bank and could see around the line of people, Sam could read a listing of exchange rates. After some searching, he found that a pound was equal to three sickles and eleven knuts. That was helpful. Upon searching a bit more, he found that a galleon was equal to almost five pounds.

"I hope these rates are better than they look," he murmured to Chad, remembering that his wand alone cost five galleons.

"They aren't," a pout faced, robe clad woman groused.

Chad gave her a 'mind your own business' glare, which she ignored, and replied to Sam in an equally soft voice, "This whole system is barmy. Barmier than that American customary that has everything based off of threes and sixteens and other nonsense. Seventeen sickles to a galleon, and twenty seven knuts to a sickle? Whose idea was that?"

"Merlin's," replied the same pout faced woman, with an expression between distaste and condescension. Chad threw her another glare, for what it counted.

"Next, please," the bored voice of the teller rang out. Sam took a step forward and continued to look at the chart. He wondered how often it was that someone came in with Indian rupees or Mexican pesos. "NEXT, please," the same voice said again, sounding annoyed. The lady who had been in front of the boys had apparently left with whoever was in front of her.

Chad produced a thick wad of money. The teller carefully leafed through the paper and then set it on a ridiculously ornate scale. Stacks of gold, silver and bronze coins appeared on the scale, and the paper money vanished.

"You have sixty galleons, a sickle and nineteen knuts, Mr. Minaya. Do you want any special denominations?"

Chad shook his head and acted as though he wasn't surprised that the clerk knew his name. That reminded Sam that he should probably warn his friend about Mr. Ollivander's, well, weirdness. He exchanged his own money for thirty galleons and thirteen sickles, and then the boys left the bank.

888

The wand shop's small size was especially evident after the huge stone halls of Gringotts. Though only five people were present in the one roomed shop, it seemed cramped. A girl and her mother were trying out wands with Mr. Ollivander. The girl was smiling and waving wand after wand with perfect confidence, though none of them worked. Sam noticed that she waved the wand a different way every time. Sometimes she made large, grandiose gestures, and other times she barely flicked the wand. Her mother laughed at her antics, and even Mr. Ollivander smiled a bit.

Sam found himself staring, and quickly looked around for Chad. He was studying the shelves, probably trying to find some logic to boxes' organisation. Occasionally, he would pluck a box from the shelf and look inside. Mr. Ollivander was too wrapped up with his other customer to care.

Sam sat down in a spindly little chair and resumed watching the girl and her mother, though he tried to look less interested. She was still twirling the wands elaborately, and the stack of wands that had been tried grew steadily higher.

"Ah ha, I think I know," Mr. Ollivander suddenly crowed, after the latest failure. "Twelve inches, unicorn hair and juniper. Very flexible."

The girl took the slender stick and waved it is a high arc. Sam felt the chair twist, and then he landed unceremoniously on his bottom with the chair in pieces. The girl stared for a second, and then burst out laughing. Her mother quickly had her own wand out and said the word 'Reparo,' which sent Sam scuttling away from the chair as it put itself back together.

"Well done! Oh, very well done, indeed, though a bit unfortunate for the young man in the chair. I'll be with you in a minute, Mr. Gower." Mr. Ollivander busily began to box the wand, which was turned over by the girl with much reluctance.

Chad stopped his inspection of the shop and asked quietly, with his eyes glowing in rapture, "Did you do something like that?"

"Not exactly, mine just glowed a bit. I guess it's different for every person," Sam shrugged.

After some debate on pricing, the girl and her mother left, and Mr. Ollivander approached the boys.

"Good to see you back so soon, Mr. Gower," he said softly, eyes gliding over his face, reading his every expression. Sam nodded and lowered his gaze. Those eyes were just too weird. "And...Mr. Minaya..." Ollivander studied the dark eyed boy for a very long moment, and then continued, "You need a wand, too, correct?" Chad nodded.

"Let's see, then. Which is your wand hand?"

Chad' face stayed absolutely passive, but he didn't answer. Sam could tell his mind was racing for a way to cover his ignorance. For some reason, the obvious solution wasn't good enough. "I'm afraid I don't understand," he finally admitted, adopting an apologetic look.

"You don't understand..." The shopkeeper spoke slowly, as if talking to a young child. "All right, when you use the Floo, with which hand do you normally throw the powder?" Chad's brow wrinkled at a question that was obviously supposed to be as basic as one's name. He finally waved his right hand.

Ollivander disregarded the boy's gesture and stared at the wall of wands in thought. After several tense, silent seconds, his whole face suddenly lit up in understanding. "You're Muggle born, aren't you, Mr. Minaya?"

"Yes," Chad answered without hesitation, taking a stab in the dark.

"Ah, then, your confusion is quite normal. However..." He turned to gaze critically at the taller boy, "I do wonder what you were thinking, Mr. Gower, bringing a Muggle born to Diagon Alley without any proper explanations. It must be quite an adjustment to him, you agree?"

"Um...yes...of course. I just...didn't know where to start, I guess." Sam's mumbled response seemed enough for the wand maker, who nodded sympathetically.

"Well, Mr. Minaya, I certainly haven't got time to explain every nuance of the Wizarding world to you, but your wand hand is usually the hand you prefer to perform magical activities with, such as throwing Floo powder. Of course, as Mr. Gower found, this isn't true in every case, but it's a starting point. Tell me, which hand to you feel more comfortable with?"

Chad again waved his right hand and Mr. Ollivander summoned his tape measure. Sam laughed at Chad's clear discomfort as the length of his eyelashes was measured. Before long, wands were being swished and rejected and retried with the other hand. It was with a thirteen inch, phoenix feather and elm wand Chad finally set the same chair that the girl disassembled ablaze. It was a pile of glowing green ash before anything could be done.

Even though he apologised for incinerating the poor piece of furniture, ("It's fine, just fine, young man. Happens all the time. I've fixed that chair thrice this week alone, and embarrassed parents have more times than that!" replied Ollivander), nothing could stop the smile from creeping across Chad's face. An exchange of eleven galleons for two wands took place, and the boys left the shop.