Vale clutched the Hogwarts acceptance letter tightly, the parchment crinkling slightly under his grip. As Snape's footsteps faded, the boy let out a quiet sigh, the façade of innocence melting away to reveal the calculating gleam in his eyes.
'Diagon Alley,' he mused, the name sparking a flicker of recognition from his previous life.
'Not many opportunities yet, but this will reveal my foundations..'
The sound of Snape's returning footsteps drew Vale's attention, and he quickly schooled his features back into a mask of polite attentiveness.
"Are you ready… Windrow?"
Snape asked, his dark eyes boring into Vale's as the latter hurriedly tore his gaze away in fear of Legilimency.
However, Vale still manage to nod at the same time, gripping the acceptance letter tightly.
"Yes, Professor. I'm ready."
Snape regarded him for a moment, his expression unreadable, before turning and leading the way out of the study. Vale followed closely as he took in the details of Thistlecroft Hollow one last time.
Walking to the long-unused fireplace, Vale marvelled at the concepts behind this… unique mode of transport.
The journey to Diagon Alley was a blur of Floo powder and disorienting travel.
Luckily, Vale's mind remained sharp, cataloguing every new sight and sound that assaulted his senses. The tunnelling through space as well as the sudden appearance of the Leaky Cauldron.
The information game was as important as his own life, after all.
As they emerged into the bustling wizarding marketplace, Vale's eyes widened in genuine wonder for once.
"…Whoa,"
The dull yet somehow vibrant colours, the strange and wondrous shops, the sheer magic that permeated the air—it was all so different from the drab, Muggle world he had known.
It was way more than what the movies had portrayed.
Snape watched him closely, gauging his reaction. In the end, however, Snape stayed silent.
There was no warning. No trace of concern at all.
Vale scoffed, appearing as an arrogant child given wings.
It was an image doomed to be shattered the moment Snape started to walk.
…Vale had no choice but to follow.
The first stop was Ollivanders.
Vale followed Snape closely as they approached the narrow, unassuming storefront of Ollivanders. A faded sign hung above the door, its golden letters worn and peeling but still legible.
[Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.]
Vale blinked.
'…382 B.C. is crazy,'
He couldn't help but have these thoughts. Thoughts which would soon be overwritten just like every emotion he had thus far upon arriving in Diagon Alley.
As they stepped through the threshold, Vale's eyes widened in wonder. The interior was a cramped, dimly lit space, every inch of it crammed with shelves upon shelves of wand boxes.
The air hummed with a palpable magical energy, and Vale could feel the weight of centuries of wand-making history pressing down upon him.
Garrick Ollivander, the legendary wandmaker (at least, for Vale himself), emerged from the shadows, his pale eyes fixed intently on the visiting pair.
A small, mysterious smile played upon his lips as he regarded them.
"Ah, Professor Snape,"
Ollivander said, his voice soft and slightly raspy.
"I was wondering when I might see you again."
His gaze then shifted to Vale, studying the boy with a keen, almost unsettling intensity.
"And you must be Mr. Windrow,"
Ollivander continued, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"I've been expecting you."
Vale felt a shiver run down his spine as Ollivander's words echoed in the cramped shop. The boy's mind raced, wondering how much Dumbledore and Snape had divulged.
However, a part of him was thankful.
After all, Ollivander had quite the reputation. To be expected by such a craftsman meant tonnes.
Vale had a feeling he was in for a surprise.
"Now, let's see what we can find for you, Mr. Windrow," he murmured, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.
The wandmaker began pulling out wand after wand, each one different in its composition and feel. He would hand them to Vale, urging him to give them a wave, only to snatch them back moments later, muttering under his breath.
"…"
Vale could only keep his mouth shut, allowing the expert to work his magic, speaking only when truly spoken to — Ollivander's murmurs weren't really directed at him.
Thus.
Time seemed to stretch on as Ollivander continued his search, his frustration growing with each failed attempt. Vale watched, fascinated by the man's single-minded focus, wondering what it was that made his wand so elusive.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ollivander paused, his eyes widening with a mixture of surprise and intrigue.
"Ah, I think I know just the one," he said, his voice tinged with excitement.
Disappearing into the depths of the shop, Ollivander returned moments later, a long, slender box clutched in his hands. Reverently, he placed it on the counter and gestured for Vale to open it.
Vale's fingers trembled slightly as he lifted the lid, revealing a wand of a deep, rich hue, with a subtle shimmer running through the grain of the wood.
"Elderwood, 11 ¾ inches"
Ollivander breathed, his eyes fixed on the wand.
"And a phoenix feather core. Quite a rare and powerful combination."
Vale's breath caught in his throat as he gently lifted the wand, feeling a surge of energy coursing through his veins. It was as if the wand had been waiting for him all along, a perfect match for the unique magic that flowed through his veins.
Different from all the other times he had held a wand.
Ollivander watched, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Go on, give it a wave," he encouraged.
Vale complied, and the air around them crackled with raw power, the wand responding to his touch with a brilliant display of sparks and light.
Ollivander nodded, his eyes shining with satisfaction.
"Yes, I thought as much," he murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of foreboding.
"This wand is a perfect fit for you, Mr. Windrow. But I must warn you – it is a wand of great power, and with that power comes great responsibility."
For some reason, Vale felt a sense of deja vu, and he quickly figured out why.
"That… What was it that you said, Mr Ollivander, Sir?"
Unfortunately, Vale's question would never be reaffirmed. Snape had noticed the finality of the wand-finding programme.
It took a mere three seconds to pay for the wand and drag Vale out of the shop.
Snape had clearly grown impatient from all that waiting.