Ripped Away

Wands and Townhouses

Heracles stood in front of a darkly painted and dimly lit shop. On a sign at the top of the building, the shop's name read 'Olivander's. Makers of fine wands since 382 BCE'. Heracles barely got the chance to muse at the old age of the shop before Hedwig spoke up.

"You go ahead and get your wand. I'll go for a fly while you're in there and come back when you're done.", Hedwig told her owner. Heracles raised an eyebrow.

"Aren't you owls nocturnal creatures?", she questioned. Hedwig gave her a dry look.

"Yes but I'm hungry for the blood of freshly killed mice, and my meal can't wait.", Hedwig said. Heracles laughed.

"Bloodthirsty, I like it. I know a whole dorm full of people who would love you.", the redhead remarked, thinking of Savanaclaw. Hedwig then got off her shoulder and flew up into the sky without a word. Heracles waved her goodbye and walked into the wand shop.

The first thing Heracles noticed about the wand shop was that it was dark and musty. Mustier than Ramshackle ever was. The smell made her lightly scrunch her face up.

'Hades, it smells like rotting paper in here.', Heracles thought. The girl looked around the shop. She glanced down the rows of shelves and behind the counter, but didn't find anyone. Eventually, she decided to call out in the hopes of finding the shop owner.

"Hello?", Heracles called out, but there was no response. She shrugged and turned around to leave. She could come back and get her wand another day. Then a voice spoke up from behind her.

"I wondered when I'd be seeing you, Miss Potter.", a man's voice said from behind her. Heracles jumped and turned around. She found an old man that hadn't been there before standing behind the counter of the store.

"My scar's under my hair. How do you know who I am?", Heracles asked apprehensively. The man just smiled at her and didn't speak. This made her scowl.

'Great, he's one of those people who just say cryptic shit and give no explanation for the weirdness they just spouted in an attempt to look wise.', she thought, being annoyingly reminded of Crowley. The man then walked into the rows of shelves.

"Wand arm?", he asked. Heracles assumed he meant her dominant arm.

"Right arm.", she responded. The man then pulled a box off of one of the shelves, took a foot long black stick out of it, walked over and handed it to her over the counter.

"Hawthorne with a core of unicorn hair, twelve inches. Not at all flexible.", the man droned on, as if she was supposed to know what any of that gibberish meant. Heracles narrowed her eyes at the man, who she now assumed was Olivander.

"What the Seven does any of that mean?", she asked, but the man ignored her again. Heracles was starting to get mad.

'Why the hell do I even need a wand, anyways? I have my pen. I can cast with that.', she thought irately, but she already knew the answer to her question. Using a strange pen to cast spells would make people ask questions. Questions she wouldn't care to answer. Heracles snatched the wand out of his hand and resolved to stop by Flourish and Blotts to pick up a book on wands later so she could understand what the hell the shop owner said. For a moment she just held the wand, not sure what Olivander wanted her to do with it.

"A stick... cool.", Heracles said in a monotone voice as she stared at the piece of wood in her hand. She really didn't know why earth wizards used wands. They looked boring as hell and easy to break. Magic pens were practical, personalized and beautiful, to say nothing of the staffs the dorm leaders used. Heracles added another item to the 'list of reasons Twisted Wonderland is better than earth' in her mind. It was already a long list. The old man rolled his eyes at her inaction.