Creak.
The old door hinges let out a grating sound as Ethan pushed them open. He blinked, his cobalt-blue eyes adjusting to the dim interior of the pub. A few wizards, looking like they lived on the fringes of society, glanced his way before turning back to their drinks, uninterested. Only one witch, buxom and with overly painted lips, gave him a suggestive whistle.
Ethan offered her a polite smile, which seemed to startle her into silence.
Hiss—this one is rather handsome! she seemed to think.
He tiptoed to the bar and knocked gently on the wooden surface. "Hello," he said to the hunched man wiping a glass. "I'm a new student at Hogwarts, and I don't have a wand yet. Could you help me with the brick wall?"
Tom, the owner of the Leaky Cauldron, lifted his eyelids and looked down at the well-spoken young wizard. The boy was slender and simply dressed, with pale skin and slightly curly black hair that framed remarkably well-defined features. Even at this young age, it was clear he would one day break his share of hearts. His most striking feature was a pair of sparkling cobalt-blue eyes—calm and profound, like the vast night sky scattered with countless stars. They held a maturity that far exceeded his years.
Came alone, did he?
Tom lingered on Ethan's face for a moment longer than usual but didn't press. "Follow me," he grunted, setting down his glass and leading the way toward the back.
So not everyone gets the Savior's welcome, Ethan thought, noting Tom's indifferent attitude. He didn't mind. Instead, he took in the pub's decor with interest. The fruit bowl oil paintings hanging on the walls were draped in cobwebs, their frames seeming to merge with the grimy plaster. They looked neither fresh nor appetizing.
"A different arrangement could give your guests a different feeling, Mr. Tom," Ethan commented. "Those paintings look quite old."
Tom waved a dismissive hand. "The people who come here are all old customers. It's quieter with fewer people. Besides, they're just a few paintings. What difference can they make?"
Ethan said nothing more but filed the information away. The Leaky Cauldron was the gateway to Diagon Alley, a place with immense foot traffic. If he ever wanted to make a name for himself, hanging his paintings here would be the perfect opportunity. But first, he had to create something worthy of a frame—something that could truly be called a work of art. His usual practice sketches and quick portraits wouldn't suffice.
His thoughts swirled as he followed the barman through a back door and into a small, walled-in courtyard where a lone trash can stood guard.
"Three up, two across," Tom muttered, tapping a specific brick three times with his worn wand.
With a grinding sound, an incredible scene unfolded. The bricks began to shift and fold outwards, pulling back as if receding into another dimension. The opening grew until it formed a spacious archway, revealing a bustling, cobblestone street beyond. The clamor of the crowd rushed forward to meet them.
On both sides of the path, shops of every kind stood in colorful rows. Multicolored sun umbrellas swayed in the light, casting dappled shadows on the ground like a field of flowers.
"Did someone really break into Gringotts? By Merlin, who would be so foolish…?"
"Child, you're far too young for Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Potion."
"Two Galleons for lacewing flies? They've gone mad!"
Wizards in robes of all shapes and colors mingled with a few in Muggle clothes, their voices punctuated by the excited shrieks of children. Despite having prepared himself, Ethan was stunned by the magical sight.
"Wow," he breathed, his eyes wide, wishing he had eight of them to take it all in.
"Heh heh. Enjoy your new life, kid," Tom chuckled, a grin on his face.
Ethan snapped back to the present. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Tom."
"No need to be so polite," Tom waved his hand, though it was clear he appreciated the courtesy. "My daughter, Hannah Abbott, is also going to Hogwarts this year. Perhaps you'll meet. Good luck, kid."
Ethan nodded, watching Tom turn and disappear back into the pub. Then, with a heart thumping with excitement, he stepped into Diagon Alley.
Since he had no vault at Gringotts, Ethan's first stop was the one he had anticipated the most: Ollivanders Wand Shop.
Ding-a-ling.
A bell chimed somewhere in the back as Ethan pushed open the dusty glass door. He found himself in a room that felt more like a library than a shop, with shelves stacked high with rectangular boxes. The hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley were shut out, and even the motes of dust floating in the air seemed to carry a sense of solemnity. He looked around, feeling a sense of peace settle over him.
Suddenly, the soft sound of wheels rolling across the floor came from deep within the shop. A white-haired old man stood on a ladder, staring down at Ethan with pale, moon-like eyes.
"Oh—" the man began.
Ethan smiled up at him.
After holding the "oh" for a long moment, Garrick Ollivander fell silent. An awkward quiet settled over the shop. There was no family history to recite, no parent's wand to recall. Unlike most Muggle-borns, Ethan had no professor or guide accompanying him. The unusual situation reminded Ollivander of another black-haired boy who had walked into his shop alone decades ago and of the extraordinary yew wand that had chosen him.
"Ahem," Ollivander cleared his throat, quickly recovering. "Welcome to my shop, young wizard. Let me choose the most suitable wand for you—though, of course, it is the wand that chooses the wizard." He descended the ladder. "Which is your wand arm?"
"My right hand," Ethan replied, stifling a laugh. It was also his drawing hand.
As an enchanted tape measure began meticulously measuring him, Ollivander was already moving through the towering shelves.
"Calluses on your right hand," the wandmaker mused. "Do you often hold a pen, or perhaps a tool? Let me see... try this one. Elm, thirteen and a half inches, unicorn hair. Suited for powerful and elegant magic."
Ethan took the straight, smooth wand and gave it a wave.
Bang!
A vase on a nearby shelf shattered.
"Oh, no, no! Not that one," Ollivander said, snatching it back. "Let me think... perhaps cedar would suit you. Witches and wizards with tenacity and keen insight often find it their perfect companion."
But that one didn't work either.
Just as Ethan was resigning himself to a long afternoon of trial and error, Ollivander suddenly exclaimed, "Ah!" He scurried to a far shelf and pulled down a dusty box. "Yes, yes! When I saw the calluses on your hand, I should have thought of this one."
He presented a light brown wand with faint horizontal ridges. "Hornbeam, dragon heartstring, fourteen inches."
Ethan took it curiously. As soon as his fingers closed around the wood, a warm current flowed from the wand into his palm, resonating with the magic inside him.
This is it!
A feeling of rightness swelled in his chest. Following the impulse, he waved his hand through the air.
Swish—
A swirl of rich blue pigment spread before him, the image of a night sky filled with a slowly rotating moon and stars, both mysterious and beautiful.
Ollivander's eyes curved into a smile of admiration. "Hornbeam favors those who harbor a pure enthusiasm, a fervent passion for something," he said slowly.
"It seems the calluses on your right hand are from drawing."
Ethan stared, mesmerized, at the night sky he had painted on the air, its rich blue seeming to merge with his own eyes. Only when the magical paint faded did he return to his senses. He looked at Ollivander, who was smiling and holding out his hand.
"Seven Galleons, if you please."
...The words, and the thought of his rapidly deflating money pouch, pulled Ethan sharply back to reality.
Damn it (╯>д<)╯!!
Making money is the top priority!
***
(End of Chapter)
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