A Wand and a Little Bit of Magic

I still well remember the day when a shy and timid brown-haired boy came in for his first wand. I, of course, well remember the other children and their wands, but his boy was strangely peculiar and his image is still, to this day, transfixed in my mind.

It had been a long day at Diagon Alley. All the children and their relatives were bustling in and out of shops, pondering which robes best fitted them and whether they should buy and owl, cat, or toad. Every few seconds, the bell on my door would ring, adding to my already long line of customers, either seated or standing. But I was younger then, so I was nearly as active as the two dark-haired boys standing outside my store window, across from the yew wands, who were in a dynamic conversation about Quidditch.

As the customers began to die out later on in the afternoon, a small skinny pale boy of about eleven walked in with someone who appeared to be his mother. She had slightly darker hair than the boy and had a fair complexion. A minute later, presumably the boy's father, who was tall unlike his wife, walked in carrying about a dozen bags. He had an exhausted expression on his face, no doubtedly from an endless day of shopping. The boy, on the other hand, seemed extremely shy and tired, almost as if frightened of being in my store, or even in the mere presence of other humans.

I had never seen these people, or I would've at least recalled their wands. 'Tis a hobby of mine. Perhaps these people lived in another city or town, too far away. But why come here today? Keeping to themselves seemed to be their top priority. The boy alone looked like he needed some friends, or at least somebody to keep him company.

The trio sat watchfully in the brown leather waiting chairs in the corner of the shop. As some of my last customers finally left, the woman and mother of the boy gathered up enough courage to speak.

"Um, excuse me? We're in need of a wand for my Remus."

I now wondered how the boy would respond to being addressed as "my Remus." His fixed expression didn't change at all as she said this. I was shocked. Most boys his age would become spiteful and aggressive if their parents spoke of them like that in public. Where had his dignity gone? Dignity may not be the word, but pride. Where was his pride? He must have a great respect for his mother, or perhaps he just doesn't know any different.

I realized that I had not spoken in what seemed like an eternity for me. I soon remembered my manners.

"Oh, yes...sorry. It's been a long day." That's a pathetic excuse. "Well... Remus did you say? You need a wand. That's obvious. "Come over here my lad."

That phrase may not have been the best way to address the boy with. His expression amazingly remained the determined fixed look he had earlier. But I could see that his eyes instantly changed as I said this. It was strange. I can't really describe it. The boy's eyes darkened from their already unusual silver-grey. There was something else in them, but what? What was fear earlier now seemed, if possible, to change into shame. I still don't understand why this happened. It was almost like he was an animal, somehow physically injured. This boy was transforming into something I couldn't comprehend at all.

After the darkness flashed across his eyes, the boy decided to walk over closer to me. He prudently and graciously stepped over beside me. He stayed silent and kept his gaze at the hundreds of boxes of wands on the shelves around us.

I finally thought of something to say that could hopefully relax the nervous boy.

"Instead of looking at these wands, how about we try one out, eh?"

That idea seemed to terrify the boy even more, for he jerked his head at me as if a lethifold was strangling me on sight.

I pretended as if I didn't see this cowardly action and began searching for a unicorn hair wand. Unicorn hair is commonly found in the wands of those who seem panicky but are actually quite brave on the inside. I refused to believe that this boy was not brave. He was lonely, and didn't mind his parents at all like I certainly did. Now that required bravery.

"Unicorn hair, maple, nine and three quarter inches. A bit swishy." I took out the slick wand and handed it to him. He took it absentmindedly and stared at it. He was anticipating instructions.

"Try it out then," I said encouragingly.

He, no much more confident, grasped the wand and waved it around. The only sucess he had was of knocking down all the wands on that shelf. I wasn't angry. This was routine, with all the different wands and different people about. I did, however find myself with a strange newfound patience with this boy. It now seemed like it was now my goal to find him the perfect wand.

After he had done this, he started apologizing desperately and actually got down on his knees to begin picking up the mess.

"It's fine boy! I'll clean that up. Don't worry. Now, how about another try?"

This suggestion was preposterous in his eyes. He was so frightened of causing damage, that I wonder how he got along every other day. I abruptly realized that his parents had not yet left. They prided their son. They loved him with all their hearts. It shown in their faces. My respect for this family was rapidly increasing.

The boy agreed to another try on another wand.

"Oak, phoenix feather, fourteen inches," I stated. He waved it around and managed to destroy another shelf of my formerly neatly stacked wands. He looked shocked with himself.

"It's okay, Remus," a new voice called. I turned back towards the front of the store and saw that it was the boy's father who had spoken. His voice was soft for a man's, but it had a certain deep quality to it also. The boy turned around and smiled for the first time. His eyes lit up and shown happily on the pale face that had now gained some color. He brushed his bangs out of his eyes and gave me look that told me he was ready for another wand.

I must have given him at least twenty wands before I decided to go to the unique wands section of the store. Ever since his first smile, the boy was holding on firmly to the idea of getting a wand.

What is it with this boy? What makes him so special?

I moved on to the most ridiculous possibilities of wands first. I had snake fangs, bezoar, fwooper feathers, and even a manticore claw. I wanted to amuse the boy, though I don't know why. Seeing him smile was like making an ordinary rabbit breathe fire.

Finally, I found him a wand. I was still joking about it all but apparently it was not a joke.

"Ash and unicorn blood. Thirteen and three sevenths inches. Quite rigid."

He took the wand, expecting the usual destruction of the store, but he received the opposite. He waved it stiffly, shooting out red, blue, and grey sparks.

Instantly, his face transformed and he forgot all about his calm equanimity as he ran up to his overjoyed parents.

"I have a wand! I have a wand! he practically shouted.

"Splendid!" said his father.

"I knew you'd get one!" said his mother as she gave engulfed his thin body in an encompassing hug.

I was pleased for having caused a joy in this sad boy's life. I myself felt sad to see him and his parents walk out of my store with one more bag among them. But there was something special about this boy. That wand hadn't been sold ever since I got it sixty-five years ago. Until now. I just hoped that this boy's wand and where he was going would create a better life for him. All the boy needed was that wand and a little bit of magic to go with it.