An owl darted swiftly across the sky above London, startling a few small animals in a dark corner and catching the attention of some passersby. Spotting a bird of prey like an owl in the heart of the city was unusual enough to make a few people stop and look. But most of those who paused were either children or tourists unfamiliar with the area. In contrast, the local Londoners remained unfazed, their expressions calm and indifferent—almost as if they had seen it all before.
"Just an owl," muttered one elderly gentleman, brushing imaginary dust from his lapel. "A bit rare, yes, but nothing special. Happens every July."
Indeed, it was mid-July now, and anyone who lived in London long enough had learned not to make a fuss during this peculiar season. Each year, owls appeared more frequently, flitting through the skies like whispers of a hidden world. Still, the few who bothered to comment did so with an air of superiority, scoffing at the tourists who craned their necks in awe.
The owl in question continued its swift flight. Then, suddenly—without fanfare—it vanished into thin air as it crossed an invisible boundary. In the blink of an eye, the world below transformed. One second it was flying over the ordinary muggle streets of London, and the next, it soared above a bustling alley lined with crooked buildings and colorful storefronts. People below wore eccentric robes and pointed hats, chattering away as they passed under wrought-iron signs and displays of magical wares. Diagon Alley.
Though physically only a few feet separated it from the outside world, it felt like stepping into another realm entirely.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley!" someone bellowed drunkenly from below.
The owl ignored the noise. It had a job to finish before returning for a well-earned snack of roasted nuts. Flying expertly past a winding cobblestone path, the bird landed with practiced precision on the windowsill behind Ollivander's Wand Shop.
Through the clean pane, one could see a boy around ten years old, sitting at a desk with his head down, utterly absorbed in his work.
Then—
Bang!
A loud explosion echoed through the room, accompanied by a spray of sparks and a thick puff of black smoke.
"Oh, hawthorn and Red Cap nerve... What a volatile combination. Perhaps holly would be better suited," muttered Robert Ollivander as he straightened up, rubbing soot from his cheek. Before his eyes hovered a line of glowing red text:
[Hawthorn, Red Cap nerve, ten and a half inches]
[Status: Unfinished]
[Characteristic: May explode at any time]
Robert sighed, rubbing his forehead.
It had been eleven years since he arrived in this world. In that time, he'd grown used to the wizarding community bustling around him and had slowly come to terms with his new identity: a member of a wand-making family. Not just any family either—his grandfather was the famed Garrick Ollivander, renowned for his unmatched memory and deep understanding of wands.
From a young age, Robert had been able to see the components and magical properties of every wand, along with a list of characteristics floating beside them. He wasn't sure if it was a special ability or simply a bloodline gift of the Ollivanders. Personally, he leaned toward the former, especially since he could also fuse bizarre materials into wand cores—materials that traditional wandmakers wouldn't even consider.
Toad tongue? Not a problem. Red Cap nerves? Easy. In fact, Robert had a surprisingly high success rate with even the most outlandish ingredients. It was, admittedly, quite impressive… though not always useful.
Still, in recent years, Robert had become increasingly passionate about wand-making. His grandfather's influence had rubbed off on him, and what once seemed like a niche hobby had grown into a full-blown obsession. That strange ability of his—the one he jokingly called his "golden finger"—didn't feel so useless anymore.
He shook off the thoughts and reached for a nearby wand.
"Scourgify."
"Reparo."
With two swift swishes, the soot vanished, and the room returned to its original state—tidy and undisturbed.
He turned back toward the window. Nothing there. But just outside, Diagon Alley buzzed with life, and a few brown feathers fluttered gently on the windowsill.
"Odd… I could've sworn I heard something tapping," he murmured.
Curious, he opened the window, picked up one of the feathers, examined it briefly, and slipped it into his pocket. Just as he turned around—
Flap! Flap!
A sharp screech pierced the room as the owl reappeared, its feathers in disarray and its expression unmistakably annoyed.
Robert flinched as the bird hovered near his ear, screeching what he could only assume were insults.
"Hey, it wasn't my fault the wand exploded," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender.
The owl clearly disagreed. It hurled the object in its claws to the floor, gave one final huff, and flew off without a second glance.
"Alright, alright… safe travels," Robert muttered, closing the window again.
On the floor lay a pale yellow envelope. In emerald green ink, it read:
[Mr. Robert Ollivander, In front of the desk, Second Floor, Ollivander's Wand Shop, Diagon Alley]
Flipping it over revealed a wax seal: a bold letter "H" surrounded by a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake.
Of course. An owl, in July, delivering a sealed letter from Hogwarts—it could only mean one thing.
His Hogwarts acceptance letter.
Robert picked it up and stared at it for a moment. Strangely, he wasn't as excited as he thought he'd be. Ten years ago, he would've been over the moon. Now? Well, he was still excited—just in a more subdued, grown-up way.
To be honest, a part of him had been hoping he wouldn't get the letter. That way, he could continue devoting all his time to wand-making. But deep down, he knew that was impossible. No magical child went unnoticed, and if Dumbledore didn't catch it, Professor McGonagall surely would.
Still, this was good.
He placed the envelope on the table just as hurried footsteps echoed from the floor below.
Robert stood and opened the door, already anticipating who it was.
"I just saw an owl!" a familiar voice called. Moments later, Garrick Ollivander poked his head in, still holding a tape measure in one hand.
"Did it come?"
"Yeah. The Hogwarts letter," Robert said, pointing at the table.
Garrick's eyes followed his finger and widened when he saw the letter.
"Excellent! Marvelous!"
"I was actually thinking about what my mother said… Maybe I should've gone to Beauxbatons instead," Robert said thoughtfully. "They have alchemy classes, and that could really help with wand research."
"My mum, dad, even my grandmother went there. And my mother said her old friend just became Headmistress."
Garrick's face fell ever so slightly.
"Beauxbatons is… fine," he said, clearly trying to hide his disappointment. "But Hogwarts is—well, we did agree…"
Garrick wanted Robert to attend Hogwarts for more than just sentimental reasons. Robert was the only one in the family still showing a genuine interest in wand-making.
His son—Robert's father, Ryan Ollivander—had once enjoyed crafting wands, but after graduating from Beauxbatons, he became obsessed with magical botany and began traveling the world with his wife. Robert's aunt, a graduate of Ilvermorny, was now a noted magical creature expert.
Garrick blamed the schools. Beauxbatons and Ilvermorny were too far away, pulling his children away from the family craft.
Now, finally, there was Robert. The one who still cared. And Garrick didn't want to let that spark go out.
There was just one small problem…
Robert's preferences in wand-making were—how should one say it—unconventional.
He disliked the standard materials like unicorn tail hair, phoenix feathers, or dragon heartstring. Instead, he leaned toward things like troll nose hairs, Red Cap nerves, and even Hinkypunk bones.
Garrick had tried to steer him back toward the "proper" path, but without much success. And frankly, he didn't want to push too hard. The last thing he needed was Robert packing his bags and hopping on a boat to America, like his aunt did.
A little eccentricity was fine—as long as the craft lived on.
"Relax, I didn't say I wouldn't go to Hogwarts," Robert said with a smirk, clearly amused by Garrick's distress.
Thinking about it, Hogwarts wasn't so bad. It had plenty of fascinating magical materials—Fluffy, Dementors, dragons, even the Whomping Willow.
Oh, and then there was the Elder Wand. Dumbledore's wand. If he could just see it, just hold it… the possibilities were endless.
Even if he couldn't, the chance alone was enough.
And he was willing to wait.