The moment Ollivander spoke, Cael felt something shift in the room—subtle, but undeniable. As if the shop itself had taken a breath.
The wandmaker stepped closer, pale eyes narrowing with keen interest as he studied the boy.
"Curious… very curious indeed. You have a look about you, Mr. Vale. I wonder… yes, I wonder what the wand has in store for you."
Cael wasn't sure whether to be flattered or afraid.
"The old man's definitely got a routine," he muttered silently to his system. "I think this is just his business spiel. He probably tells every kid they're 'the Chosen One' and destined to change the world. Then they get to school and realize they're not even the top ten in their dorm, let alone the next Merlin."
System: Yeah, I agree. Pretty sure Tom Riddle got the same ego boost and The Chosen one . Look how that turned out.
"Let's not turn this into Star Wars, alright? Tom was a lunatic from day one."
Without another word, Ollivander turned and drifted into the towering shelves, his long fingers brushing along rows of wand boxes. Dust danced in golden shafts of light, each beam catching particles like glitter. He muttered to himself as he moved—measurements, materials, wand cores—a strange, whispered inventory only he seemed to understand.
"Let's try this one," he said finally, returning with a slim box.
Cael opened it, revealing a dark, gnarled wand that looked like a piece of scorched driftwood. The moment his fingers wrapped around it, a sharp crack split the air—and a box tumbled from a high shelf.
"Ah—no, no," Ollivander said briskly, snatching the wand from him. "Definitely not that one."
Two more attempts followed. One caused a stack of parchment to burst into flame; another let out a high-pitched squeal that made Cael wince. McGonagall remained still, arms folded, looking thoroughly unsurprised—as though she had seen far stranger things in this shop.
Then Ollivander paused.
His eyes fixed on a narrow drawer tucked behind the counter—one not quite like the others. He approached it with a kind of reverence, pulling it open as if afraid it might shatter in his hands.
From within, he lifted a wand unlike any Cael had ever seen.
It was slender and smooth, a shimmering shade of white that defied comparison. Not bone, not ivory. It looked as though it had been carved from pure starlight. Even in the dim light of the shop, it glowed—not boldly, but with quiet dignity.
Ollivander's voice dropped into something low and solemn.
"White ash. Thirteen inches. Supple, yet firm. Core of unicorn hair. Exceptionally rare. Difficult to match." He hesitated. "But when it chooses… it chooses purely."
Inwardly, Ollivander sighed. Most expensive wand I've made in the last ten years—goes for two hundred Galleons on commission. But thanks to Ministry regulations for first-years so he has to sell it in Cheaper price …
He bit back the thought and said aloud, "Let's see, shall we?"
He held the wand out.
Cael reached for it.
The moment his fingers brushed the polished wood, the air changed.
A soft warmth surged up his arm—not fiery or aggressive, but still and calming. His thoughts quieted, his heart beat clear and steady. It wasn't dramatic, but deeply right—as though something missing had returned to its place.
The wand gleamed in his hand.
A wind stirred through the shop, rustling nearby boxes. A candle flame bent toward him—not out of fear, but acknowledgment.
Ollivander let out a breath, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Ah… magnificent."
Even McGonagall raised an eyebrow.
"This wand," Ollivander said, his voice almost reverent, "is aligned with White Magic. Healing. Protection. Restoration. It will not tolerate cruelty. It will not obey a master with bloodlust in their heart."
System: Oho. That's some main character energy right there. Look at you, chosen by starlight!
"I swear," Cael thought, "if this wand is allergic to sarcasm, I'm doomed."
But he couldn't deny it—there was something in the way the wand rested in his hand, as if it had always been waiting for him.
"Thirteen Galleons," Ollivander said, a little too quickly. "And I daresay you'll take care of her well."
Cael nodded, still gazing at the wand with a strange sense of wonder. "I will."
They stepped back into the sunlight of Diagon Alley, the warmth of the day striking him after the shop's hush.
McGonagall turned to him. "Now, Mr. Vale, here's your ticket for the Hogwarts Express. September first. King's Cross Station—Platform Nine and Three-Quarters."
Cael blinked. "Okay… but what if I can't find the entrance?"
McGonagall gave him a rare smile. "Ask a wizard. You'll recognize one."
"How?"
"You'll know," she said. "After all—you're quite good at finding wizards, aren't you?"
And with a sharp crack, she Disapparated.
Cael stared at the empty space she left behind.
System: Hah! She roasted you again. Poor girl doesn't even realize she's got a dry wit sharper than a sword.
Cael rolled his eyes and flipped the system a mental middle finger.
When he returned to the orphanage, the first thing he did was find Mama Linda. He greeted her warmly, then recounted everything—Diagon Alley, the wand, the strange old man with wild eyes, and the towering stacks of spellbooks.
He handed her the History of Magic textbook. "This'll help. It's written for first-years, so it's easy to follow. You should know what I'm getting into."
She gave him a long, unreadable look before nodding slowly.
And so, the month passed.
He couldn't cast spells yet—his Magic Stat was only six points, far too low for any successful spellwork. But that didn't stop him. He read everything. Magical theory, wandlore, enchantment theory, magical creatures. He pored over every page like it held the secrets of the universe. Sometimes it did.
And in the quiet hours of the night, when everyone else was asleep, he'd take out his wand. Not to cast anything—but to simply hold it. Feel its weight, its warmth. The way it seemed to hum when he focused.
For the first time, he felt as though he belonged—not just in the orphanage, not just in Diagon Alley—but in the world of magic itself.
And that was enough.
For now.