The wand chooses the witch
1995
Remus and I leave for Diagon Alley early the next morning. It is a Wednesday, I have been told. Hermione had lent me some clothes. I feel very strange in her stiff jumper and straight legged jeans.
Sirius had joked that I was already strange enough without looking like I am from another decade, so I had agreed to retire the bellbottoms.
Stepping out of the Floo, I smile bigger than I have since I emerged in a new year.
It looks much the same. Witches and Wizards on their way to work. Mothers corrall their children from running off in every magical direction.
“Do you want to go to Gringotts first?” Remus asks.
I look down the alley at the tall bank.
“I’ll wait until I am declared alive. Sirius gave me a whole sack of Black family galleons to spend,” I explain.
I don’t tell him I am not prepared to be down in the endless tunnels of Gringotts. I always thought of Gringotts as safe. Now it just resembles a larger inescapable box.
“Do you want me to come in? To Ollivander’s?” he asks, glancing at Flourish and Blotts.
“Why don’t I come find you when I am done. No sense for both of us to subject ourselves to his eccentric personality.”
He smiles gratefully, and we part ways.
Ollivander’s is empty when I push open the door. Most young witches and wizards get their wands closer to the start of term at Hogwarts.
“Hello?” I call out.
Somewhere deep in the rows of wands, a voice calls back.
I tap my fingers against the wooden counter, more nervous than I should be.
When Mr. Ollivander emerges, his eyes go very very tiny to start, and then slowly widen.
“Connemara Fawley. Merlin’s beard!” he rushes forward, tripping over a stack of long boxes.
“Hello,” I say again, wincing at the near fall.
If I thought he was old when I came here at eleven, he is ancient now. The hair growing from his ears is nearly three inches long.
“Where have you been? I thought I had heard you were dead. Killed by he-who-should-not-be-named.” His face goes very stony.
“I was on an extended vacation. Um, Lestrange broke my wand,” I explain.
He nods and turns around, bulleting back into the rows.
When he returns, he has an entire arm full of boxes.
He hands me the first one and I freeze.
“Well you know what to do with it, don’t you?” he asks, a twinkle in his eye.
It is nothing like my old wand. This one is much longer, with a rigid length and a dark color.
I cast lumos, but instead of the end lighting, the petals on the only plant in the store wilt and die, falling into the base of the planter.
“Nope!” Ollivander says happily.
We go through nearly a dozen boxes before he disappears once more. This time, only carrying four boxes.
Each one is different from the next. Some cast spells perfectly fine, while others explode things, but none of them is right.
When he opens the last box of this batch, I smile. It looks a lot like my first wand.
“Walnut wood with a dragon heartstring core, 12’’ and unyielding. Much like the first wand I sold you,” he offers it.
I grab it and try to cast a simple spell. Instead the wand seems to buck in my hand, exploding the shelf behind Mr. Ollivander’s head.
Perhaps I should give up.
He merely waves his hands and disappears again.
It takes six more wands to find the right one.
“Perhaps you should ask the Sorting Hat at Hogwarts to look into your head once more,” Ollivander says as he takes the wand to place it in it’s box.
“Why?”
“Sycamore wood with a unicorn hair core, 14 and a half inches and surprisingly swishy flexibility. You, Ms. Fawley, have changed a great deal since you first visited my shop. Even this new wand reflects that.”
I shrug and pay him the ten galleons for the wand, trying not to think about what he has said. How much could I have changed? I had spent the second half of my formative years in a box on a shelf.
I escape the wand shop just as he reminds me that it is the wand that chooses the wizard. Stepping to the side of the street, I pull open the box and grab my new wand.
It’s beautiful. Complex divots create the illusion of it being hollowed at the grip.
Refusing to waste any more time I cast nearly a dozen spells.
The first to heal the hidden bruises I have covering my torso and legs. I had refused to let anyone know I was still hurt after coming out of the box.
Then I fix my hair color, covering my dark roots with a lilac shade instead. Then I transfigure the hideous jumper I had borrowed from Hermione into a lovely top with tiny bushels of lavender embroidered along the hem.
Once my appearance is fixed, I can’t help but continue on.
I cast incarcerous on a zitty teen and then remember how old I am supposed to be and undo it. I change the color of the robes of a gaggle of older women.
I am nothing if not helpful.
Then I dash across the street and navigate towards Flourish and Blotts. While I was in Ollivander’s, the street has filled up.
Stepping inside the store, I smile when I spot Remus up on the balcony.
I walk up quietly behind him and try a nonverbal spell.
Incarcerous.
Just because I shouldn’t tie strangers' shoelaces together doesn’t mean I can’t do it to Remus.
“Find anything good?” I ask.
He smiles up at me and nods.
“It's muggle fiction actually.”
“Oh my favorite!” I grab it from him and look at the cover. “The Celestine Prophecy? You sure this is muggle fiction?”
“Perhaps the author knows a wizard, but yes, he is definitely a muggle.”
I hand the book back and he sticks it on the shelf in front of him.
He is still refusing to accept Sirius’ money I see.
“Lunch?”
I nod and step to the side to let him walk in front of me.
He takes two steps before tripping over his shoes, and flailing towards the ground. I try not to laugh too loudly but a few witches turn at the loud noise of Remus hitting the floor.
“Connie!” He turns onto his back and glares up at me. “What the hell was that for?”
“Oh just a bit of fun Remus. Remember that? Fun?”
I offer him my hand and he gets to his feet.
“I don’t remember it being so painful,” he rubs his left knee cap.
“You’ve survived worse. Come on, I want a Butterbeer and a steak and kidney pie. And maybe a shot of firewhiskey.”
“You really are still 19 years old.”
I ignore the comment and leave the store, trudging back down the alley to the Leaky Cauldron.
Lunch is nice. Remus tells me all about teaching Defense at Hogwarts. I allow him to avoid the more difficult parts of his life. Things seem to have gotten better and who am I to make him linger on the bad stuff.