Ollivander's
Her hair was crimson today.
Gwenevere Everill sat up in bed, catching sight of her hair in the mirror beside her. She liked it this colour, but her parents would have something to say, as always. She watched it filter back to white blonde, the Everill colour, and clambered out of bed.
Her Hogwarts letter lay on the bedside table, ominous and brooding, another hint at how difficult it was for her to fit in.
She was a pureblood, a girl born high in society, and yet she had a way of disappointing her family at every chance she could.
For one, she was a metamorphmagus: she could change her appearance at will, a skill that she refused to use in the way her parents wanted her to. Two, she hated her parents.
She had better be Slytherin. She had better not disappoint her family once again.
At breakfast, served up by the twenty or so house elves residing in the basement, Lucille Everill turned to her older sister.
‘We’re going to Diagon Alley today,’ she said, chirpy as ever. ‘Eddie and Felix are taking us. Mum and Dad have important things to do.’
Gwen nodded, biting into a hash brown.
The four Everill siblings, Edward, Felix, Gwenevere and Lucille, all known in the Wizarding World as the Four Everills. Their parents had been suspected supporters of You-Know-Who, which had given them a bad reputation among other wizards, and to this day, people still feared them.
For generations, the Everill’s had been in Slytherin, save one; Emmeline Everill, the only non-Slytherin in hundreds of years. Born in 1761, she had been Ravenclaw, and was the witch that had founded the Wolfsbane potion. The story went that she was a werewolf and had created it so as not to lose her mind when she transformed. That was the rumour, but no one, not even the Everills themselves knew if it were true. For years, other gifted wizards and witches had attempted to recreate the potion, and, it was said that in recent years, someone had managed to create it.
All of that was, of course, rumours. There was no evidence to say that the recipe to the Wolfsbane potion had in fact been discovered.
Her mother’s family had been Ravenclaw; they were all creative and intelligent. Gwen failed to understand how generations of people could be in just one house. Surely not all Slytherins were evil - Gwen’s cousin had been Slytherin but was now an auror in training. Why was it that anyone in Slytherin was considered evil?
It was as Lucille was rambling about buying herself an owl that Edward sauntered into the room.
‘Ladies,’ he said, ruffling their hair as he walked past. Gwen managed to swipe at him before he moved out of her reach. ‘You guys ready?’
‘Do we look ready?’ Gwen countered, gesturing to her pyjamas through a mouthful of hash brown.
Edward grinned at her. ‘We’ll be leaving at ten. Is Felix up?’
The girls shrugged.
‘I’ll go get him,’ he said, then left the room again.
Edward was going into his fifth year at Hogwarts. Felix was always talking about how all the girls at the castle fancied him, and Gwen would be surprised if he wasn’t telling the truth. Edward had a gorgeous, almost vampire look about him. He was fifteen, but looked five years older. He, like the others, had ice blonde hair that was slightly too long, shadowing his cheekbones and showing off his chiselled face. He was tall, blonde and beautiful, features that were commonly associated with the Everills.
Felix was the image of his brother. They were often mistaken for twins, despite the two years between them. Felix was going into his third year at Hogwarts, and often, the only way people could tell them apart was from their hair; while Edward’s fell around his face, Felix’s shadowed his eyes and was often messy, as though he’d just woken up. Somehow, he managed to pull it off.
Lucille also had the white blonde hair, curly and, like Felix’s, often unbrushed. She was one year younger than Gwen, but she acted as though she were ten years older. She was a fun, happy, chirpy young girl, yet also had this certain wisdom about her. An old soul, Gwen often described her.
When they were finally leaving for Diagon Alley, Gwen’s mood had peaked. She realised she would be getting her wand, possibly a pet, and didn’t have to spend the day with her parents.
Maybe today could be good after all.
The Everills used the Floo System, ending up in a grate outside of Ollivanders. The brothers decided to split with the girls: Gwen and Felix would go and get their Hogwarts things, while Edward and Lucille would head off to grab some things for home, and also any new books Edward would be needing for his new year.
Felix took Gwen into Ollivanders first. It was a small, shabby building, probably over two hundred years old. Wand boxes lined the walls, and a little round lamp stood in the corner. A wooden desk, peeling at the surface, stood in the centre of the room.
‘Go on,’ Felix urged, when she had sent him a nervous look. He nodded at her and she took a step forward.
A man appeared, a rugged beard and shabby clothes, eyes a piercing blue that reminded Gwen of a hawk.
‘Miss Everill,’ he said with a knowing look. ‘I wondered when I’d be seeing you.’
The old man, presumably Mr Ollivander, shuffled over to greet them. He and Felix exchanged a word in greeting, then disappeared behind a shelf. He presented Gwen with a wand box, giving her a small smile.
Nervously, Gwen took hold of the wand inside. It was strange holding a wand, for the first time. One that could be her own. It didn’t feel right, though. It was heavy in her hand.
‘Give it a wave,’ Felix said. Gwen did as she was told.
The lamp exploded.
The three of them flinched, Gwen quickly putting the wand back in its box.
‘Apparently not,’ Mr Ollivander said, as Gwen began to apologise. She clenched her fists, trying to suppress the sweat as she turned back to her brother.
Felix pulled her into a side hug, grinning at her as Mr Ollivander returned to them with a new wand.
‘Perhaps this?’
This time, the wand knocked some boxes lining the walls across the room. Mr Ollivander tutted, waving his own, and the destruction cleared itself up.
Wand after wand, Gwen went through, trying to find one for her. Felix sat beside her, half-bored and half-entertained by the destruction she was causing.
It seemed to be another cause for Gwen’s disappointment. She was starting to lose hope, and by this point, it seemed like she had gone through every wand in the shop.
Felix reached over, squeezed her hand.
‘Try this one,’ Mr Ollivander said. He handed her a new box, this one engraved with a gold decoration, one that glinted in the low light through the windows. She glanced at Felix, who was now leaning forward to get a closer look, then back at Mr Ollivander. The man had a look on his face that Gwen couldn’t quite read.
Fingers shaking, she opened the box, lifting out the wand. This one was beautiful, ebony black and smooth. The handle was engraved with a band, the same colour as the box decoration. She held it up, a small smile tugging at her lips, then waved it slightly. Nothing happened this time, but Mr Ollivander clapped his hands together.
‘Hawthorn,’ he told her, ‘phoenix feather core, twelve and a half inches.’ He paused, as though Gwen was supposed to know exactly what that meant. ‘Curious, Miss Everill. You see, I have only ever known of one wand with this combination,’ he continued. ‘Hawthorn wands are notably adept at curses. I have observed that those who wield these wands are conflicted, suffering from an inner turmoil.’ Gwen stared at Mr Ollivander as he went on. ‘The phoenix feather is a rare core, capable of the most powerful types of magic. I would not risk putting this wand in your hands, Miss Everill, unless you had proven magical talent. However, something is very curious to me. Gwen and Felix shared a look. ‘Why is it curious?’ Gwen said quietly. She twirled the wand between her fingers, examining the intricate design along the handle. Ollivander smiled mysteriously. ‘It is curious, Miss Everill, as the only other wand of note that I know to have been sold with this combination was to one of your very own ancestors, Emmeline Everill.’ Gwen stared at him. Felix shifted behind her. ‘You are destined for great things, Gwenevere.’