Elian got up early next morning. Unlike most first-year students, Diagon Alley was more of a chore than a trip for him. He rushed a shower, skipped breakfast, and grabbed a pinch of Floo Powder. Entering the fireplace linked to the Floo Network, he spoke precisely:
"Diagon Alley",
then he added the powder. The flames shot emerald green, and Elian was whirling across the network within minutes, landing right in Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions' fireplace. As Elian stepped out of the fireplace, brushing dust from his shoulder, he reached for his list—only to pause. Two boys stood on stools, being measured for robes. One was small and skinny for his age, with a thin face, knobbly knees, untidy black hair, and bright green eyes behind round glasses. The other had a pale, pointed face, white-blond hair, and cold grey eyes. Elian crossed the shop to Madam Malkin. She glanced up from measuring the skinny boy and said, "Hogwarts, dear?"
Before he could answer, both the skinny boy and the pointed-faced boy turned to look at him."Yes," Elian replied, his tone casual, "but it looks like you're busy. I'll come back later."
He didn't so much as glance at the two boys still watching him.He walked outside without saying anything else, leaving Madam Malkin and both the boys intrigued. As Elian walked out of Madam Malkin's shop, he pulled out the list of required items needed for his first year of Hogwarts; the list read:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Uniform
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for daywear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.
Set Books
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The standard book of spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
Other Equipment
1 wand
1 cauldron
1 set of glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set of of brass scales
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.
Elian sighed, murmuring under his breath with all the excitement of someone about to clean cauldrons, "Here we go."
Flourish and Blotts had ink, dust, and parchment scents. Shelves reached the ceiling, packed with volumes as big as leather-bound paving stones and others as little as silk-wrapped postage stamps. While some pages were utterly empty as if challenging the reader to decipher their meaning, others crawled with odd symbols.
Most of them he knew right away. He had borrowed, after all, permanently from Albert's personal library back at home. Consequently, nothing here piqued more than a small flicker of curiosity.
Until his fingers gripped a copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander—and he saw the book next to it: Wizard Behind the Impractical Time Magic by E.V, but before Elian could touch the spine, a gloved hand clamped around his wrist. The figure was shrouded in a hooded cloak, face hidden.
"Excuse me?" Elian said, mock-offended.
"I believe you're still too young—and far from your time—to read this book," the man replied, a faint wit threading his voice. "A glance will have to do."
Before Elian could answer, both the man and every copy of the book vanished as if they had never been there. Elian glanced around—nothing. He tried to wave it off as paranoia from too many sleepless nights, but deep down he knew. Somehow, what had just happened was linked to the ornaments he always wore. He didn't know why he was so certain—only that curiosity had already taken root. After stacking his purchases from Flourish and Blotts, Elian headed for the cauldron shop. He chose a standard pewter model, exactly as the list required, along with a modest set of scales for measuring potion ingredients and a plain aluminum telescope. No sense flaunting full-blood wealth at Hogwarts—better to keep that card tucked away. After checking the list one last time, Elian murmured, voice balanced between curiosity and calculation,
"Only Ollivanders left… let's see what kind of wand dares to choose me."
The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC." A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as Elian stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single spindly chair. As Elian was looking around, "Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Elian turned slowly. An old man was standing behind him, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons.
"So you are Mr. Garrick Ollivander. I'm pretty impressed you've managed to run a monopoly on wands for this long in Diagon Alley," Elian said, his tone balanced between sarcasm and a challenge.
"Ah yes," Ollivander said. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Elian Vale."
"Before you say anything else, Mr. Ollivander, I want to know how you know my name," Elian said with wit in his voice.
Ollivander replied, "Because you have your mother's eyes and playfulness and your father's face and sharpness," He continued, "It seems only yesterday your mother was here, buying her first wand. Eleven inches long, slightly flexible, dogwood. A mischievous wand, like your mother — but lethal when used seriously."
Mr. Ollivander stepped closer. Elian didn't back away. "You know I could hear you just fine from there," he said, voice laced with sarcasm.
Ollivander chuckled. "Sharp tongue, like your father — though with your own twist."
"I don't want to know about him," Elian cut in, voice cold. "A man who sees his son as a tool values nothing — not even his wand."
Mr. Ollivander stepped away instinctively, giving Elian a warm smile.
"Alright, then—Mr. Vale. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"
"Right," said Elian.
"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Elian from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and round his head. While measuring, Ollivander's gaze lingered a fraction too long on the ornaments at Elian's neck, right index finger, wrist, and ear. He said nothing.
Mr. Ollivander went to the shelves, taking down the boxes while the tape was measuring on its own between Elian's nostrils.
"That will do," Ollivander said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Vale. Try this English wood and dragon heartstring. Twelve inches. Slightly springy. Just take it and give it a wave."
Elian took the wand and (feeling bored) swished it lazily; the rune-etched ring on his right index finger felt warm while he waved it, but it also felt incomplete. "Curious... very curious," Ollivander muttered, then handed Elian another wand while gently taking the other one.
"Sycamore and Unicorn: Eleven and a half inches. Slightly springy. Try—" Elian gave it a lazy whirl as well; this time it was his beaded bracelet on his right wrist that felt warm, but again, something was missing. Ollivander took that wand, half-curious, half-baffled.
"Try this one—English oak and unicorn core, eleven and a half inches, slightly springy." Elian gave it the same casual flick as before; this time it was his black stud in his right ear that felt warm, and still the missing piece refused to fall in place.
Mr. Ollivander completely lost his mind; he started searching through the boxes relentlessly, while on the other hand, Elian couldn't care less. After a few minutes of searching, Ollivander pulled out a wand, muttering, "How... could... this... be?" He handed Elian the wand. "Try this—pine wood and unicorn core, eleven and a half inches, supple flexibility." Elian gave a resigned sigh with the flicking of the wand; this time it was the silver chain in his neck that felt warm, but there was still a touch of emptiness in the wand.Mr. Ollivander stumbled backwards. He stammered, "M-Mr. Vale…Would you… would you please take all four wands I gave you… at once?"
Elian gave a look that all but said, Here we go again, and gathered the four wands, interlocking them in his right hand.
"N-now… please give them a wave. Together," Ollivander said, his voice caught between caution and curiosity.
Elian raised all four wands above his head, brought them swishing down through the dusty air, and a stream of cyan glitters shot from the end like a crack in reality.
Ollivander stumbled back, eyes wide, a grin shaking on his lips. "Impossible... impossible—yet amazing!" His voice dropped to a hushed amazement. "Mr. Vale…you have broken our oldest law: one wizard, one wand."
Elian knew the weight of the moment, but his gaze remained steady. "Well," he remarked, sarcasm evident in his tone, "are you sure I did something, Mr. Ollivander... or is your age finally catching up to you?"
"Strange as it may sound, Mr. Vale," Ollivander said evenly, standing his ground, "the genuineness of an Ollivander wand—and matching the correct one for the future of the wizarding world—will never alter."
"Alright then, Mr. Ollivander," Elian said. "Let's hope your judgment is right. Four wands may not be considered normal in this world, but then again, everyone has their own version of normal… so I suppose this is mine."
He paid twenty-eight gold Galleons for the four wands. As Elian stepped out into the street, Mr. Ollivander bowed low from the doorway, murmuring under his breath, "I wonder what other strange things you'll bring to this world, Elian Vale."
Elian turned toward Madam Malkin's. The store was peaceful this time; the two boys from earlier had left. Madam Malkin looked up, a hint of recognition flicking in her eyes. "You're the boy from this morning," she observed."Should I be honored you remember me?" Elian inquired, his voice somewhere between tiredness and sarcasm.
Madam Malkin chuckled, led Elian onto a stool, pulled a big robe over his head, and started pinning it to the right length.
After a moment, Madam Malkin stepped back. "That's you done, my dear."
"If I were a few years older, ma'am, I might've asked you out for a date," Elian said, sarcasm dripping far beyond his age. "But—too bad for me."
"You're far too young for flirting, my dear," Madam Malkin replied, trying—and failing—to hide a smile.Elian hopped down from the footstool. "Age is just a number, ma'am," he quipped, striding to the fireplace. In a flash of green flame, he was gone—leaving Madam Malkin with one last, lingering chuckle.
Elian returned to the Vale household, where Stephen was ready by the fireplace with a towel in one hand and a chilled bottle of butterbeer (non-alcoholic, naturally) in the other.Elian grabbed the towel from Stephen and fell down on the closest couch, letting the things he had bought that day tumble to the floor. Stephen paused when he saw not one, but four wand boxes and knelt to gather and organize them with other things. Questions flitted in his eyes, but he dismissed them; Elian appeared bone-tired already.
"I know you have questions, Stephen," Elian said with his eyes still closed. "But instead of dwelling on them, let's just wait."
"Sharp as ever, Young Master," Stephen said, his face perfectly straight. He stepped closer to the couch and set an envelope on the table before Elian. "Your tickets for Hogwarts—First of September, King's Cross."
"Yeah, yeah," Elian said with a dismissive voice, and moments later he drifted off to sleep. Everything was ready, and now his journey to Hogwarts would begin on the first of September.