My Dark Lord

Chapter Two: Wand and Whispers

The moment my boots touched the cobbled street of Diagon Alley, I felt eyes on me. 

Not the usual glances reserved for wide-eyed first-years dragging behind their flustered parents, No, this was different. It was the kind of attention drawn by power, by posture, by presence. Eileen and I didn't stroll-- we strode. People instinctively moved aside, as if somewhere deep in their instincts they knew who I was.

Grindelwald.

And we were heading to the place where every witch and wizard is first measured: Ollivanders.

We shoved past a cluster of dithering half-bloods blocking the door, their robes a little too clean, their wands no doubt destined to be as forgettable as their lineage. At our entrance, a small family with twin boys turned pale and quickly scurried out of the shop.

I smirked. Good. Let them go. Greatness should not be chosen in the presence of mediocrity.

I strode to the counter, head held high, and tapped my fingers against the polished surface. 

"Excuse me," I called out, voice clipped and firm. "We would like to purchase our wands now. I don't like to be kept waiting-- we have other places to be."

A young man-- not Ollivander himself by the looks of him, but some kind of assistant-- appeared from behind a stack of wand boxes. He had a warm, apologetic look someone used to disappointing people. I raised an eyebrown and gave him my best do hurry up look. He avoided meeting my gaze and wisely turned to assist Eileen first. 

She was matched rather quickly, A 10-inch cherry wand with unicorn hair core and delicate floral carvings. It pulsed a soft golden light from the tip when it touched her palm-- delicate, dependable, loyal. So very Eileen.

Pretty. Safe. Boring.

Then it was my turn.

I swept forward and met the assistant's eyes without blinking.

"I expect precision," I said cooly. "My wand will not be quaint. It will be a weapon."

He swallowed visibly and brought forth a studry oak wand with a dragon heartstring core. I gave it the smallest of waves and half the wall exploded. Dust, splinters, and a few scattered wand boxes rained down. Eileen flinched. I didn't.

For the next dozen minutes, the assistant scuttled around the shop nervously, presenting wand after wand. Ash with unicorn hair-- intriguing. It shimmered darkly in my hand, the embedded ruby glowing with promise. When I waved it, the air hummed. For a moment, I thought it had chosen me.

But Ollivander himself appeared then, ghostlike and strange, eyes wide with something I could only describe as curiosity... and hesitation. 

"Not that one," he said, his voice like parchment. "No... not for her."

He regarded me carefully, like one might examine a storm on the horizon. 

"I was wondering when you might come," he whispered, almost to himself.

Then he vanished into the back.

Minutes passed. Then he returned, cradling a long black box in his coarse, veined hands. He opened it slowly, reverently.

"Blackthorn wood," he murmured. "Twelve and a half inches. Phoenix feather core. Unyielding flexibility."

The wand was... stark. Simple, but deadly, The blackthorn gleamed like something that had grown in shadow and silence. It pulsed with latent power-- my power.

I didn't reach for it. Not at first.

"What does it mean?" I asked. Not out of uncertainty-- out of expectation.