## Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
The narrow, shabby shop looked exactly like the kind of establishment that had been serving customers for centuries without feeling any particular need to update its décor or marketing approach. Peeling gold letters spelled out the shop's name above a dusty window that displayed a single wand resting on faded purple silk, as if one example was sufficient to represent the entire craft of wandmaking.
Inside, thousands of narrow boxes lined the walls from floor to ceiling, creating the impression of a library designed specifically for storing magical implements. The shop felt hushed and expectant, as if the wands themselves were listening and waiting to discover their proper matches.
"Mr. Ollivander?" McGonagall called into the depths of the shop with respectful authority. "We have five first-year students requiring wands."
A voice emerged from the shadows at the back of the shop, carrying the particular quality of someone who had spent decades perfecting an extremely specialized craft.
"Ah, Professor McGonagall! And the American exchange students, if I'm not mistaken."
Mr. Ollivander appeared from behind a tower of wand boxes, a thin, elderly man with wide, pale eyes that seemed to see more than they should. His silver hair caught the dusty light streaming through the shop's single window, and he moved with the careful precision of someone handling delicate and powerful objects on a daily basis.
"Indeed," McGonagall confirmed with crisp efficiency. "Five students, all requiring their first wands."
Ollivander's pale eyes swept over the group with obvious interest, taking in their nervous excitement and American clothing with the assessment of someone accustomed to matching magical implements to personality traits and magical potential.
"Wonderful," he said with genuine enthusiasm for his craft. "Nothing quite like fitting a young witch or wizard with their first wand. Each one a unique challenge, a perfect puzzle of wood, core, and magical compatibility."
Harry, still wearing his woolen cap and staying close to his family, watched this process with fascination that temporarily overrode his anxiety about being recognized. The intersection of craftsmanship and magic represented exactly the kind of practical wonder that appealed to his increasingly sophisticated understanding of how the magical world actually functioned.
"How does it work?" Ned asked with characteristic curiosity about systems and processes, bouncing slightly on his feet with nervous energy. "Like, how do you know which wand is right for which person? Is there a test? A compatibility algorithm? Some kind of magical personality assessment?"
"The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Leeds," Ollivander replied with the patient tone of someone who had explained this fundamental principle countless times but never tired of sharing it. "Though the process is considerably more complex than that simple statement suggests."
"More complex how?" Gwen asked with systematic interest in understanding the selection methodology, already pulling out her notebook to document what was clearly going to be an educational experience.
"Magic is highly individual," Ollivander explained, moving toward his vast inventory with practiced efficiency. "Each person's magical signature is unique—influenced by personality, heritage, potential, and dozens of other factors that determine compatibility with specific wand materials and construction approaches."
"Magical signature," Peter repeated with scientific fascination, his analytical mind immediately engaging with the concept of measurable individual magical characteristics. "Like a magical fingerprint that determines technological compatibility?"
"Something very like that," Ollivander confirmed with approval for the analogy. "Now, let's see... who shall we start with?"
MJ stepped forward with artist's courage in the face of unknown creative processes, her red hair catching the dusty light as she straightened her shoulders with determination.
"I'll go first," she said with characteristic directness. "How does this work exactly?"
"Simply hold the wand and give it a gentle wave," Ollivander instructed, selecting a polished box from a nearby shelf with careful consideration. "The wand will indicate its compatibility—or lack thereof—quite clearly."
The first wand he handed her was elegant and pale, with subtle grain patterns that suggested careful craftsmanship.
"Ten inches, willow and unicorn hair, quite flexible—good for charm work and creative applications."
MJ gripped the wand with careful reverence and gave it an experimental wave. Nothing happened for a moment, then the wand grew uncomfortably warm in her hand and seemed to actively resist her attempt to direct it through the air.
"Definitely not," Ollivander said with professional assessment, immediately retrieving the wand before it could cause any accidental magic. "No matter. We simply continue until we find the right match."
What followed was a systematic process that revealed both the complexity of wand selection and Ollivander's extraordinary patience with customers whose magical compatibility didn't immediately reveal itself. MJ tried wand after wand—different woods, different cores, different lengths and flexibilities—with results ranging from complete indifference to active magical rejection that filled the shop with colored sparks or unpleasant smells.
After approximately twenty unsuccessful attempts, Ollivander paused with the expression of someone reassessing their initial approach.
"Interesting," he murmured, studying MJ with renewed attention. "Your magical signature is quite... distinctive. Perhaps we need to explore some less conventional options."
He disappeared into the depths of his shop, returning with a different type of box—older, more elaborate, with the kind of careful protective warding that suggested its contents were particularly valuable or unusual.
"Eleven and three-quarter inches," he announced with ceremonial gravity, "apple wood with a core of Acromantula venom. Quite rigid—a wand for someone with strong creative vision and the determination to see that vision realized regardless of conventional limitations."
"Acromantula venom?" Walter Hardy asked with immediate security consultant concern about his daughter's friends handling potentially dangerous magical implements. "That sounds... hazardous."
"Acromantulas are giant magical spiders," McGonagall explained with academic precision. "Their venom, when properly processed and stabilized, creates wand cores of exceptional power and specificity."
"Giant magical spiders," Madeline Watson repeated faintly. "Our children are getting wands made from giant magical spider venom."
"Only the finest quality giant magical spider venom," Ollivander replied with professional pride that was apparently intended to be reassuring. "Ethically sourced and perfectly safe when properly integrated into wand construction."
MJ accepted the unusual wand with artist's curiosity overriding any concern about its exotic origins. The moment her fingers closed around the handle, the reaction was immediate and unmistakable. Warm golden light flowed from the wand tip, creating patterns in the air that looked like illuminated sketches—flowing, creative, and uniquely beautiful.
"Perfect!" Ollivander announced with obvious satisfaction at another successful matching. "Acromantula venom cores are extraordinarily rare and quite particular about their owners. They choose witches and wizards with strong creative gifts and the courage to pursue unconventional approaches to magic."
"It feels..." MJ paused, searching for words to describe the sensation of holding a magical implement that was perfectly calibrated to her individual magical signature. "It feels like holding a paintbrush that already knows what I want to create."
"An excellent analogy," Ollivander approved. "Miss Watson, that wand will serve you exceptionally well in all creative magical endeavors."
Peter stepped forward next, his scientific curiosity clearly overcoming any nervousness about the selection process. After witnessing MJ's extensive trial-and-error period, he was prepared for the possibility that finding the right wand might require considerable systematic exploration.
His initial attempts followed a similar pattern—various combinations of wood and core producing results ranging from indifferent non-reaction to active magical rejection. After approximately fifteen unsuccessful trials, Ollivander again paused to reassess his approach.
"Another distinctive magical signature," he observed with professional interest. "Let me try something quite specific..."
This time he returned with an even more elaborate box, one that seemed to hum slightly with contained magical energy.
"Twelve inches exactly," Ollivander announced, "holly and Acromantula venom, surprisingly flexible for such a powerful core. A wand for someone who combines intellectual curiosity with protective instincts."
The moment Peter grasped the wand, bright silver sparks erupted from its tip, swirling around him in patterns that seemed to respond to his excitement and scientific fascination. The magic felt controlled but powerful, like energy that was eager to be directed toward understanding and protecting rather than simple displays of force.
"Excellent!" Ollivander said with obvious pleasure. "Two Acromantula venom cores in one group—quite unusual. These wands tend to choose those with both considerable magical potential and strong moral conviction."
Gwen's turn proved equally challenging and ultimately required another trip to Ollivander's collection of unusual cores. Her perfect match turned out to be an eleven-inch wand of English oak with an Acromantula venom core, quite stiff, which produced steady blue light when she held it—controlled, analytical, and somehow systematic even in its magical expression.
"Three Acromantula venom cores," Ollivander mused with growing fascination. "Quite extraordinary. These cores are exceptionally rare, and to find three compatible recipients in a single group suggests remarkable magical potential across your entire cohort."
"What does that mean exactly?" Ben asked with paternal concern about the implications of his nephew and his friends requiring rare and powerful magical implements.
"It means," Aurora replied with diplomatic understanding of parental anxiety about magical complications, "that these students have been selected for their magical gifts as well as their academic potential. Rare wand cores often choose witches and wizards destined for significant magical achievement."
"Significant magical achievement," May repeated with maternal protectiveness that was simultaneously proud and worried. "That sounds both wonderful and terrifying."
"Most magical achievement is both wonderful and terrifying," McGonagall replied with Scottish practicality born of decades of teaching exceptional students. "The key is ensuring that power is matched with wisdom and responsibility."
Felicia's wand selection took a different direction entirely. After several unsuccessful attempts with conventional cores, Ollivander emerged from his special collection with something even more unusual.
"Nine and a half inches, cherry wood, quite flexible, with a core of Matagot whisker," he announced with the reverence reserved for truly exceptional magical implements.
"Matagot whisker?" several parents asked simultaneously, clearly recognizing that they were venturing into increasingly exotic territory.
"Matagots are magical creatures associated with good fortune and prosperity," Ollivander explained with professional enthusiasm for rare magical materials. "Their whiskers create wand cores that enhance luck magic and probability manipulation. Extraordinarily difficult to obtain, and they choose owners with natural gifts for what some call 'fortune magic.'"
Felicia's wand produced soft silver-green sparks that seemed to dance with particular grace, and she immediately smiled with the satisfaction of someone whose cosmic relationship with favorable circumstances had just received official magical recognition.
"It feels like holding concentrated good luck," she said with obvious delight. "Like the universe just handed me a direct line to making sure things work out the way they're supposed to."
Ned's turn proved to be the most extraordinary of all. After nearly thirty unsuccessful attempts with various conventional wand combinations, Ollivander retreated to what appeared to be his most carefully guarded collection, returning with a box that practically radiated protective wards and carried warning labels in several languages.
"Eight and three-quarter inches," he announced with ceremonial gravity that suggested they were witnessing something genuinely historic, "cedar and Nundu whisker—extremely flexible, and quite possibly the most dangerous wand core I've ever worked with."
"Nundu whisker?" George Leeds asked with growing concern about the escalating exoticism and apparent danger level of his son's magical requirements.
"Nundus are among the most dangerous magical creatures in existence," McGonagall explained with academic honesty that was clearly intended to provide accurate rather than comforting information. "Their breath is toxic enough to wipe out entire villages, and they're nearly impossible to subdue. A Nundu whisker core represents power of extraordinary magnitude."
"And you're giving this to my eleven-year-old son?" Helen Leeds asked with understandable maternal alarm.
"The wand chooses the wizard," Ollivander replied with gentle authority that suggested he took the safety implications of his craft extremely seriously. "A Nundu whisker core would only choose someone with both the power to handle it safely and the character to use that power responsibly."
Ned accepted the wand with characteristic nervousness about its implications, but the moment he touched it, the reaction was immediate and unmistakably positive. Golden light flowed from the wand in steady, warm patterns that somehow managed to convey both tremendous power and absolute safety. The magic felt protective rather than dangerous—like energy that was specifically calibrated to defend and heal rather than harm.
"Remarkable," Ollivander breathed with obvious amazement at what he was witnessing. "A Nundu whisker core producing healing magic rather than destructive force. Mr. Leeds, your wand suggests magical potential of truly extraordinary scope—power specifically oriented toward protection and aid rather than harm."
"So he's not going to accidentally destroy anything?" Helen asked with maternal relief tempered by continued concern about her son wielding implements made from the whiskers of village-destroying magical creatures.
"Quite the opposite," Ollivander assured her with professional confidence in his craft and assessment abilities. "That wand will actively resist any attempt to use it for harmful purposes. It has chosen Mr. Leeds specifically because his magical nature is fundamentally oriented toward helping others."
"But why," Phillip Watson asked with characteristic analytical curiosity about the theoretical frameworks underlying magical selection processes, "would someone with healing-oriented magic require such a powerful core? Wouldn't a gentler material be more, uh, more appropriate for medical applications?"
"Healing magic of the magnitude Mr. Leeds will eventually be capable of requires tremendous power," Aurora explained with professional understanding of magical theory and applications. "True healers—those capable of addressing magical maladies, curse damage, and serious magical injuries—need wand cores that can channel extraordinary amounts of magical energy safely and precisely."
"So Ned's going to be like... a magical doctor?" Peter asked with fascination at his friend's apparently destined career path, already imagining the possibilities for combining magical healing with scientific understanding of medicine.
"Among other possibilities," McGonagall replied with academic caution about making specific predictions about student career paths. "But yes, his wand suggests considerable aptitude for healing magic and related protective applications."
As the wand selection process concluded, they found themselves with five students carrying magical implements that represented some of the most unusual and powerful cores Ollivander had seen in years. Three Acromantula venom cores, one Matagot whisker, and one Nundu whisker—a collection that suggested exceptional magical potential across the entire group.
"This has been quite extraordinary," Ollivander said with obvious professional satisfaction as he carefully packaged each wand in protective cases designed for their specific requirements. "I shall be very interested to hear about your progress at Hogwarts. Wands of this caliber typically choose students destined for remarkable magical achievement."
"No pressure or anything," Gwen said with dry humor, though her expression showed excitement rather than anxiety about the implications of her unusual wand selection.
"The pressure," Ben said with paternal wisdom gained from years of helping exceptional children navigate their gifts, "is always to be the best version of yourself, not to live up to other people's expectations about what exceptional means."
"Exactly right," Aurora agreed with diplomatic approval for his parenting philosophy. "Magical gifts are opportunities for service and growth, not obligations to meet predetermined definitions of achievement."
"Plus," Felicia added with characteristic confidence in favorable outcomes, "if the universe went to this much trouble to make sure we all got exactly the right wands, it's probably pretty invested in making sure we succeed at whatever we're supposed to do with them."
As they prepared to leave Ollivanders with their precious wands safely stored and their understanding of their own magical potential significantly expanded, Harry spoke up with characteristic directness about the implications of what they had just witnessed.
"So my best friends all have really powerful wands that chose them because they're going to do amazing things with magic," he said with nine-year-old logic that cut through all the complexity to the essential point. "That's the coolest thing ever."
"It is pretty cool," Peter agreed with growing excitement about the possibilities ahead. "I mean, we don't know exactly what kind of amazing things we're going to do, but apparently our wands think we're capable of something special."
"And," MJ added with artist's appreciation for the aesthetic elements of their magical destiny, "we're going to do those amazing things together. That's even cooler than having powerful wands individually."
"Much cooler," Ned said with bubbling enthusiasm that suggested his anxiety about powerful magical implements was giving way to excitement about the possibilities they represented. "Whatever these wands think we're capable of, we'll figure it out as a team."
"Always as a team," Gwen confirmed with systematic precision that carried emotional weight despite her analytical approach.
As they left the ancient wand shop, the late afternoon sun was casting long shadows across Diagon Alley's cobblestone street. They had one final stop to make—the magical menagerie for those students who wanted animal companions—but the most important shopping was complete.
Five American students now carried wands that represented exceptional magical potential and suggested futures filled with the kind of achievement that would make their families proud and their magical communities stronger. The wands had chosen their owners, and those choices suggested that Hogwarts was about to receive some truly remarkable new students.
But for now, they were still just five children from New York, excited about magic school and grateful for the friendship that would carry them through whatever adventures lay ahead.
The magical world, with all its complexity and possibility, was waiting for them. And judging by their wands, it was going to be quite an extraordinary journey.
---
## The Magical Menagerie
The last stop on their Diagon Alley shopping expedition was a shop that announced itself with sounds rather than signs—chittering, hooting, squeaking, and the occasional melodious call that suggested magical creatures with vocal capabilities beyond those found in ordinary pet stores. The Magical Menagerie's windows were filled with movement and color, cages and tanks and perches occupied by creatures that ranged from familiar to completely extraordinary.
"Animal companions are optional," McGonagall explained as they paused outside the shop to observe the menagerie's diverse inhabitants, "but many students find them both helpful and comforting during their time at Hogwarts."
"What kind of helpful?" Ned asked with immediate interest, pressing his nose to the window to get a better look at what appeared to be a small dragon playing with a ball of yarn. "Are we talking about practical assistance, emotional support, or magical enhancement of abilities?"
"All of the above," Aurora replied with theatrical appreciation for the variety of ways magical creatures could enrich a student's educational experience. "Different creatures offer different types of companionship and assistance."
Through the window, they could see an impressive variety of potential animal companions. Owls of various sizes and colors perched majestically on wooden stands, their keen eyes suggesting intelligence that went well beyond ordinary avian capabilities. Cats in colors that definitely didn't occur in nature moved with feline grace through elaborate climbing structures. Small creatures that might have been ferrets, if ferrets occasionally glowed with their own internal light, played together in glass enclosures designed for their specific needs.
"Ooh, look at that one!" MJ pointed to what appeared to be a kitten with silver fur that seemed to shift patterns as they watched. "It's like a living work of art!"
"Those are probably Kneazles," McGonagall explained with academic precision. "Highly intelligent magical cats with excellent judgment about human character. They make exceptional companions for students with strong intuitive abilities."
"What about the glowing ferret-things?" Peter asked with scientific curiosity about the bioluminescent creatures that were apparently engaged in some form of organized play activity. "Are those actual ferrets, or something completely different that just happens to be ferret-shaped?"
"Probably Jarveys," Aurora replied with diplomatic amusement at his systematic approach to categorizing magical fauna. "They're quite clever, though they have a tendency toward sarcastic commentary that can be... challenging... in classroom situations."
"Sarcastic ferrets," Felicia repeated with obvious delight at the universe's continued provision of entertaining possibilities. "I love the magical world's approach to pet personality development."
"Can we go in and look?" Harry asked with nine-year-old enthusiasm for any new environment filled with interesting creatures, his earlier anxiety about recognition temporarily overridden by genuine excitement about magical animals. "I want to see everything!"
The Magical Menagerie's interior was even more impressive than its window display had suggested. The shop seemed to extend upward and backward in ways that suggested magical expansion beyond its apparent external dimensions, with multiple levels of carefully designed habitats that accommodated the specific needs of dozens of different magical species.
The proprietor, a witch with the kind of comfortable, practical appearance that suggested years of experience caring for magical creatures, approached them with professional enthusiasm.
"New Hogwarts students?" she asked with obvious delight, recognizing the telltale combination of excitement and overwhelm that characterized first-time visits to magical pet shops. "Wonderful! Looking for companions, or just exploring the possibilities?"
"Mostly exploring," May replied with parental caution about acquiring magical pets without fully understanding their care requirements and behavioral characteristics. "We want to make sure everyone understands what they're committing to before making any decisions."
"Wise approach," the proprietor approved with professional respect for parents who understood that magical creature care required careful consideration. "Would you like the guided tour, or shall I let you browse and answer questions as they come up?"
"Guided tour, please," several voices said simultaneously, creating a chorus of enthusiasm for educational animal experiences.
What followed was a comprehensive introduction to the care and feeding of magical creatures suitable for student companionship. They learned about owl postal services (apparently the preferred method of magical communication), the intellectual capabilities of various magical cat breeds (significantly above those of their non-magical cousins), and the social requirements of creatures that lived in small family groups (more complex than most families were prepared to manage).
"The owls are beautiful," Gwen observed with systematic appreciation for their obvious intelligence and the practical advantages of having a personal postal service, "but do they require a lot of specialized care? Flight time, specific diets, social interaction needs?"
"Owls are quite independent," the proprietor explained with professional satisfaction at the practical question. "They handle their own exercise through postal deliveries, eat standard owl treats plus occasional mice, and generally prefer solitude to social interaction. Very manageable for busy students."
"What about the cats?" MJ asked, still enchanted by the silver Kneazle that had been watching their group with obvious interest since they entered the shop. "The one by the window seems to have decided we're worth paying attention to."
"Ah, that's Luna," the proprietor said with obvious fondness for the creature in question. "She's a half-Kneazle, quite remarkable really. Excellent judge of character, very protective of people she likes, and she has a gift for finding lost objects."
"A gift for finding lost objects?" Peter asked with immediate scientific interest in the practical applications of enhanced magical creature abilities. "Like, she can track things down? That seems incredibly useful for students who might misplace homework or textbooks."
"Among other applications," the proprietor agreed with amused approval for his practical thinking.
Luna, apparently recognizing that she was the subject of discussion, approached their group with feline dignity and began systematically inspecting each person with the kind of careful assessment that suggested she was making important decisions about their worthiness.
When she reached MJ, she paused, sitting down directly in front of her and fixing her with an unblinking stare that clearly indicated judgment was in progress.
"I think she likes you," the proprietor observed with professional amusement. "Kneazles are quite particular about their humans. They choose rather than being chosen."
"Choose how?" MJ asked with artist's curiosity about creature decision-making processes, reaching out carefully to offer Luna the opportunity to sniff her hand.
Luna's response was immediate and unmistakable. She head-butted MJ's palm with obvious affection, began purring with the satisfied sound of a cat who had found exactly what she was looking for, and promptly attempted to climb into MJ's arms with feline determination.
"Well," the proprietor said with obvious satisfaction at witnessing a successful magical creature bonding, "I'd say she's made her choice quite clear."
"She's beautiful," MJ said with genuine wonder, carefully supporting Luna's weight as the half-Kneazle settled into her arms with obvious contentment. "And her fur really does shift patterns—look, it's like holding liquid silver!"
"Half-Kneazles often display unusual coat variations," the proprietor explained with professional pride in her exceptional animals. "Luna's particularly remarkable. Her pattern-shifting seems to respond to her emotional state and the magical energy of people around her."
"Magical energy response," Phillip Watson repeated with fascination, immediately pulling out his notebook to document this intersection of creature behavior and magical theory. "So she's like a living magical energy detector? That's, that's quite remarkable from a theoretical perspective—"
"Dad," MJ interrupted with fond exasperation, though she was clearly enchanted with her new feline companion, "maybe save the magical energy research until after we figure out whether I can actually take care of a magical cat at boarding school?"
"Kneazles are excellent student companions," McGonagall assured them with academic authority born of years of experience with student pets. "Very independent, excellent at staying out of trouble, and remarkably good at keeping their humans organized and punctual."
"Plus," Aurora added with diplomatic understanding of the practical concerns involved in magical pet ownership, "the school provides veterinary care for student animals, and the house-elves are quite knowledgeable about magical creature dietary requirements."
As MJ continued bonding with Luna, the other students explored the shop's various offerings with growing interest. Peter was immediately drawn to a section of particularly intelligent-looking owls, while Ned seemed fascinated by what appeared to be a small, bright-colored creature that was performing acrobatic tricks for the entertainment of shop visitors.
"What's that one?" Ned asked with obvious delight, pointing to the tiny acrobat that had just completed what looked like a perfect triple somersault.
"That's a Pygmy Puff," the proprietor explained with fond amusement. "Miniature purple creatures, quite affectionate, very low maintenance, and they have a talent for making people laugh when they're feeling sad."
"A talent for making people laugh when they're sad?" Ned repeated with immediate interest in any creature whose primary gift was emotional support through humor. "That sounds perfect for someone who worries about everything and could use regular reminders to not take life so seriously."
The Pygmy Puff, apparently recognizing a potential human companion, performed an even more elaborate acrobatic routine that culminated in what could only be described as a bow. The effect was so charmingly ridiculous that everyone in the shop immediately began laughing.
"Definitely perfect," Ned said with bubbling enthusiasm, already reaching toward the enclosure with obvious intention to adopt his new companion.
Peter's attraction to the owls proved equally decisive. A magnificent barn owl with unusually intelligent amber eyes had been watching his systematic examination of the various postal birds with obvious assessment, and when Peter approached her perch, she immediately stepped onto his offered arm with the dignity of a creature who had made an important decision.
"She's beautiful," Peter said with genuine admiration, carefully supporting the owl's weight while she settled comfortably on his forearm. "And she seems really smart. Like, really, really smart."
"That's Athena," the proprietor said with obvious pride in her exceptional birds. "She's particularly gifted at route-finding and has never failed to deliver a message, regardless of how complicated the destination. She also has excellent judgment about magical emergencies—she'll prioritize urgent communications appropriately."
"Magical emergency prioritization," Peter repeated with scientific fascination at the intersection of animal intelligence and practical communication systems. "So she's like... a genius-level postal service with built-in crisis management capabilities?"
"Something very like that," the proprietor confirmed with amusement at his analytical approach to owl capabilities.
Gwen and Felicia took longer to decide, exploring the shop's various offerings with systematic thoroughness before finding companions that matched their specific interests and personalities. Gwen ultimately chose a small, dark-colored owl with particularly keen eyes that seemed to suggest investigative intelligence, while Felicia was adopted by what appeared to be a cat with unusually lustrous black fur and eyes that seemed to know exactly how fortunate everyone was to meet her.
"What kind of cat is this?" Felicia asked as her new companion purred with obvious satisfaction at being selected by someone whose cosmic relationship with favorable circumstances was clearly compatible with feline appreciation for luxury and good fortune.
"She's a Matagot," the proprietor replied with respect for the exotic creature's magical heritage. "Quite rare, and they only choose owners whose natural luck magic resonates with their own gift for creating favorable circumstances."
"A Matagot," Walter Hardy repeated with security consultant interest in the exotic magical creature his daughter was apparently adopting. "Are there special care requirements for rare magical cats?"
"Matagots are quite independent," the proprietor assured him with professional confidence in her exotic animals' self-sufficiency. "They tend to take care of themselves quite well, and they actually enhance their owner's natural good fortune. Very beneficial companions for students facing the challenges of magical education."
As the afternoon shopping expedition concluded with five students now accompanied by magical creature companions that seemed perfectly matched to their personalities and needs, the practical aspects of attending Hogwarts were beginning to feel real in ways that went beyond textbooks and wand selection.
"Are we ready?" Aurora asked with theatrical efficiency, consulting her glowing schedule one final time as the sun began to set over Diagon Alley's impossible architecture.
They were ready. More than ready. Five American students with exceptional wands, comprehensive school supplies, and magical companions that would provide both practical assistance and emotional support throughout their magical education. The shopping expedition had been educational, overwhelming, and ultimately reassuring—proof that the magical world was prepared to welcome them with everything they needed to succeed.
"Tomorrow," McGonagall announced with Scottish satisfaction at a successful preparation day, "you return to New York. In six weeks, you'll board the Hogwarts Express and begin your magical education properly."
Six weeks felt like both forever and no time at all. Long enough to prepare mentally for the magnitude of what lay ahead, but short enough that the excitement and anticipation would carry them through until departure day arrived.
The magical world was waiting. And now, finally, they were ready to become part of it.
---
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