Merlin trailed behind Professor McGonagall, his eyes darting around every shop in Diagon Alley with curiosity.
There was so much to take in—cauldrons, brooms, books, owls in cages, and countless other strange things he had never seen in either of his two lives.
"Let's get your robes first," Professor McGonagall said, leading him toward a shop with a neat sign above the door: Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.
A small bell tinkled as they entered. The air smelled faintly of fabric and chalk dust. A plump witch in mauve robes looked up from behind the counter and smiled warmly.
"Are you here to buy Hogwarts uniforms, dear?"
"Yes, Madam," Merlin replied.
"Oh, what a polite child," she said approvingly. "Come along then, let's get you measured."
As she spoke, a measuring tape, pins, and scissors sprang to life, circling him as they took his measurements on their own. Merlin tried to stay as still as possible while the enchanted tools worked.
When it was over, Madam Malkin gave a satisfied nod. "All done! Come back in half an hour to pick up your robes."
From there, Professor McGonagall led him to purchase the rest of the items on his school list. They bought a pewter cauldron from Potage's Cauldron Shop, a brass telescope and weighing scales from Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, potion ingredients and glass vials from the Apothecary, and textbooks from Flourish and Blotts.
Professor McGonagall also purchased a small enchanted trunk for him to store everything in. It looked a bit old-fashioned, but the space inside was much larger than it appeared from the outside, easily fitting all his supplies. She didn't use his loan funds for it either—saying it was a congratulatory gift for getting into Hogwarts.
Merlin's heart warmed at her kindness. He thanked her sincerely and made a mental note to give her a return gift someday.
By the time they finished their shopping and collected his robes, the sun was already dipping low in the sky.
At last, they stopped before a narrow, old building squeezed between two taller ones. The windows were dusty, half-hidden behind towering stacks of wand boxes. Above the door, a hand-painted sign read:
Ollivanders – Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
Merlin stared at it in silence for a moment before following Professor McGonagall inside.
The bell above the door chimed softly as they stepped in. The shop was narrow and dimly lit, filled with the faint scent of wood.
Towering shelves lined both walls, stacked high with countless slim boxes that reached the ceiling.
Merlin's eyes wandered over the clutter. It looked more like an attic than a shop, though there was an odd sort of order amidst the chaos.
"Ah, Professor McGonagall," came a gentle, aged voice from somewhere behind a stack of boxes.
An old, thin man appeared, his silver-gray eyes sharp and bright. He nodded politely to McGonagall before turning to Merlin. "And this must be our new student."
"Yes," McGonagall said. "This is Mr. Merlin Graves. First year. Muggle-born."
"Muggle-born," the man repeated thoughtfully. "Splendid. They often bring unexpected surprises."
Merlin tilted his head. Unexpected surprises?
He wasn't sure what that meant, but he guessed he'd find out soon enough.
"What's your dominant hand, Mr. Graves?" the man asked, producing a floating tape measure.
"My right hand, sir," Merlin replied.
"Good. Hold it out straight."
The tape measure darted around him, spinning, stretching, and snapping into place as it recorded his measurements—arm length, shoulder to floor, elbow to wrist—every angle meticulously noted.
"People think the wizard chooses the wand," Ollivander said absently as he watched the tape move. "But it's the wand that chooses the wizard. A proper match reflects the owner's nature."
He picked up a box from a nearby shelf. "Let's begin."
Inside was a wand made of pale wood.
"Ash. Eleven inches. Unicorn hair. Flexible," Ollivander said, gently picking it up and then handing it over.
Merlin carefully took the wand. As he gave it a small wave, a few sparks came out of the tip, but they faded quickly, and then... that was it.
"No, not this one." Ollivander took it back quickly and handed him another one. "Try this—holly wood and dragon heartstring, ten and a half inches."
Merlin tried again, giving the wand a wave. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the tip before it disappeared again.
"Interesting," Ollivander murmured, more intrigued than disappointed. "Not this one either."
He scanned the shelves for a moment. "But there's something… wait."
He moved to a side shelf, searching for a while before pulling out a small, older-looking box. "Holly wood, phoenix feather. Let's see how you respond to this."
Merlin carefully took the wand. The moment his fingers closed around it, his eyes widened in surprise as a faint warmth spread up his arm.
The tip shone with a soft golden spark that flickered once before fading.
Ollivander nodded slightly. "Good. Phoenix feather suits you. They're rare cores—loyal, but independent. Let's see which wood it favors."
He brought out wand after wand—maple, oak, cherry, ebony—all with phoenix feather cores. Each gave Merlin that same mild warmth, but he always felt like something was missing. Like something could be better.
Ollivander grew more thoughtful with each trial, until finally, he turned to the top shelf and brought down a thin, worn box.
Inside was a wand of pitch-black color.
"Let's try this," he said, opening it. "Yew. Phoenix feather core. Twelve inches."
Merlin took it carefully. The moment his hand closed around the handle, a warmth much stronger than ever before spread through his arm.
A dazzling beam of light lit up at the tip!
He quickly turned his head away to shield his eyes from the sudden light, coincidentally catching Professor McGonagall's profile.
Her eyes were fixed on the wand in his hand, slightly widened and filled with a mixture of shock and what Merlin could only describe as fear.
Before he could react, Ollivander's voice rang in his ears.
"Yew and phoenix feather. A very rare combination." His tone was tinged with rare solemnity.
Merlin raised an eyebrow. Rare… like, uncommonly rare?
"Yew," he continued, "is a wood that symbolises transformation. The phoenix symbolizes rebirth. Together, they carry the potential for both creation and destruction."
"Ollivander?" Professor McGonagall stepped forward and asked hesitantly. "Are you certain this is the best match for him?"
Ollivander nodded. "It has chosen him freely, Professor."
She looked at Merlin with a conflicted expression before letting out a sigh. "Very well."
Merlin's heart skipped. Why are they reacting like this? He glanced between them, puzzled.
Ollivander turned back to him. As if reading his thoughts, he said gently, "Don't worry, Mr. Graves. The wand chooses the wizard, yes—but it's the wizard who decides what he becomes. Treat it well, and it will serve you faithfully."
Merlin nodded unconsciously, still wondering what all this was about.
Professor McGonagall placed a hand on his shoulder. "Well done, Mr. Graves. You've got your wand. Let's get going."
After Professor McGonagall paid, they stepped out of the shop, and the familiar noise of Diagon Alley filled their ears.
They walked for a while in silence before Merlin couldn't hold himself and spoke hesitantly. "Professor, may I ask you something?"
She paused, tilting her head slightly. "Yes, Mr. Graves?"
"In the shop," he said after a moment, choosing his words carefully, "you seemed surprised when I picked up the wand. I was wondering why."
Professor McGonagall was silent for a moment. Then let out a long sigh.
"You are an observant child. Let us speak over there," she said, inclining her head toward a less crowded part of the alley.
They moved out of the crowd. McGonagall stopped and folded her hands in front of her robes.
"I will be direct," she said.
Merlin straightened his back without realizing it.
"The wand that chose you is an uncommon combination," she continued. "And it carries a certain… history."
She paused briefly before continuing. "Many years ago, a dark wizard wielded a wand of the same combination. He committed many atrocities—murder, torture, and acts of magic so reckless and cruel that the scars he left behind still haunt the wizarding world to this day."
As he listened to her, Merlin's fist clenched unconsciously. He had a pretty good idea who she was talking about. There weren't many who fit the description in recent times.
Should he feel scared or frustrated to be selected by a wand similar to that man?
He didn't know, to be honest. In his perspective, a wand was, in the end, just a tool. It didn't have a will to dictate his actions. Those could only be decided by him. What concerned him more was whether Professor McGonagall would judge him for it.
"I understand," he said at last. "Does that mean... it's a bad sign?"
"No, of course not," she denied immediately, continuing in a gentle, slightly apologetic tone. "It seems I let the past get the better of me for a moment, Mr. Graves. But I largely agree with Ollivander on that. A wand does not shape a witch or wizard's character. It never has."
"That wizard was dangerous because of his choices—because he was arrogant, ruthless, and willing to sacrifice everything for power. The wand merely answered his will."
Merlin released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"So you're not worried," he asked cautiously, "that I might follow the same path?"
"I am watchful," McGonagall replied. "That is not the same thing. However, for that very reason, I may keep a closer eye on you from now on."
She glanced at him. "I trust that will not trouble you, Mr. Graves."
Merlin shook his head without hesitation. "Not at all."
After a brief pause, he added, "You could even adopt me, if that makes things easier."
Professor McGonagall blinked at his answer. Then a faint curve formed on her lips.
"I think that will be quite unnecessary, Mr Graves" she said. "Just studying at Hogwarts will suffice."
With that, she turned and resumed walking. "Now come along. We still have your robes to pick."