Illuna Heart and her father, Richard, apparated into Diagon Alley with a faint pop. The familiar twist of her stomach came and went quickly, softened by the comforting scent of nearby pastries wafting through the air.
She exhaled slowly. Still better than a broom, she thought. But I'd still like to try the Floo Network one day. Maybe that isn't so stomach-churning.
Richard's hand gripped hers, warm and rough. It was their unspoken ritual—one that brought them both comfort in busy places like this. Illuna's fingers curled around his in return.
She tapped her chin thoughtfully. Would other girls her age find this embarrassing? Or sweet? She didn't know. Probably never would.
The cobbled path of Diagon Alley was alive with clattering footsteps and distant chatter. The smell of smoke and sugar tickled her nose, stirring something nostalgic in her. It had been years since she last visited—back when her father still ran his business here.
Today, though, was for something far more important: preparing for Hogwarts.
They made their way from shop to shop—first the cauldron shop, then Flourish and Blotts for textbooks. Illuna lingered near the Magical Creatures section, only to frown when her father gently reminded her, "Not until third year."
The robe shop was the worst of the bunch. The witches there sprayed perfume with wild abandon, choking the air with floral clouds. Illuna wrinkled her nose—internally. She endured the slow process of being measured without complaint, though the madam certainly took her time.
Eventually, they arrived at the place Illuna had secretly looked forward to most: Ollivander's Wand Shop.
A small smile flickered at the corner of her lips. Her father noticed immediately. That was enough to tell him she was excited.
The bell chimed as they entered. Inside, the shop was neat and quiet, lined with shelves that stretched impossibly high. A pale-haired head poked up from behind the counter.
"Ah, Mr. Richard Heart," Ollivander said, peering through round spectacles. "Birch wood, unicorn hair, ten and a quarter inches—still in good shape, I hope?"
Richard nodded. Illuna caught the rare curve of his lips: a smile.
"This is my daughter," he said, gesturing. "She's starting her first year. I trust you'll find her the right match."
Ollivander's gaze shifted to Illuna. He stepped forward and gently took her hand, sending a chill up her spine. "Yes... yes, I believe I can."
He took her measurements, murmuring under his breath as he sized not just her arms, but her fingers and shoulders too. It reminded her of the robe shop—but stranger.
The wandmaker disappeared briefly, returning with three slim boxes.
"Let's try this," he said, offering the first. "Cherry wood with a unicorn hair core. Ten inches."
Illuna picked it up. A faint, earthy scent—like wet tea leaves—rose from the handle. The wand drooped in her grasp. Something dribbled from its tip, smelling faintly of fertilizer.
Ollivander raised an eyebrow. "No, not that one."
He handed her another. "Dark oak. Phoenix feather. Eleven and a half inches."
This time, as she gripped the wand, a sudden breeze whipped around her. It tousled her hair and ruffled the pages of Ollivander's ledger. She blinked.
"Closer," he mused, "but still not quite right."
More wands followed—ten, maybe more. Each gave off strange effects: sparks, a shimmer of heat, even one that turned the nearby stool translucent. Ollivander looked delighted by the challenge.
Finally, he opened a small, deep red case.
"Let's try this one. Cherry wood, dragon heartstring. Nine inches."
As soon as Illuna wrapped her fingers around the handle, a warmth surged through her. A floral scent filled her lungs—roses, maybe—but sharper. Like wild blossoms blooming after a storm.
The wand pulsed softly in her grip.
Ollivander clapped his hands once. "Excellent. It chose you."
Illuna gave a polite bow. "Thank you, Mr. Ollivander."
He waved her off, beaming. "No, thank you. It's been some time since I had a tricky match."
Her father paid, and the two stepped back onto the cobblestone street. Illuna walked with a faint bounce in her step. Richard smiled.
She was trying not to show it, but he knew the signs. Her fingers twitched slightly. Her eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction.
They passed by food stalls bursting with color—deep reds, purples, warm gold. Richard eyed the pastries again, sighing at the prices. Diagon Alley knows how to rob a man blind, he thought.
Still, he let them sit at the pastry shop. They ate in silence. It didn't bother them. But their stillness made the waitress noticeably uneasy.
Midway through a bite, Richard asked, "How are you enjoying Diagon Alley?"
Illuna looked up. A small smile tugged at her lips. "It's fun."
Richard gave a rare, genuine smile in return.
Their last stop was the Magical Menagerie. The scent of cleaning potions and animal feed hit Illuna immediately. Creatures buzzed, slithered, and chirped from every corner.
She wandered toward the owls first. Practical, her father had said. But none of them seemed to like her—one even tried to bite.
Disheartened, she turned away.
That's when she felt something soft brush against her ankle.
A black cat—inky fur, pale yellow eyes—was rubbing affectionately against her leg. She crouched and ran a hand through its thick coat. Fluffy. Far fluffier than she expected. And... pungent.
She wrinkled her nose slightly. There must be a charm to fix that, she hoped.
The shopkeeper's eyes widened when he spotted them. "He's never let anyone touch him," he said, stunned. "Slippery little thing. Vanishes every time bath time comes 'round. No one ever buys him."
Illuna gently scooped the cat into her arms. He settled on her shoulder like it was made for him.
She named him Midnight—or Night, for short.
As they exited the shop, Illuna glanced at her reflection in the glass: robes swishing, wand tucked under her arm, black cat nestled against her neck.«
She really did look like a witch.
Just then, the door creaked open again. A man stepped in—towering, bearded, and broad enough to block the light. He ducked through the frame with care.
Illuna stepped aside to let him pass. Her eyes lingered on him.
A half-giant, she guessed. His size, the wild beard—it all fit. She wondered if the wizarding world treated him the way it treated other "half" things.
She hoped not.
And with that, she and her father continued down the alley, the new wand at her hip and a silent cat at her side.