Chapter Text
Once introductions were made, Periwinkle and Regulus wouldn’t stop talking.
They spoke about everything and nothing — the train ride, the weird looks Hagrid got from Muggles, how excited Regulus was to finally see a real wand shop. Their words tumbled over each other so quickly that even Hagrid couldn’t get a word in — not that he tried. The half-giant only smiled, content to let the two children chatter away.
Mrs. Figg had meant to join them, but she’d broken her leg the week before, so she waved from the doorway instead, a fond smile on her face.
For Periwinkle, meeting Regulus felt like a spark she hadn’t realized she needed. There was something about him — a familiarity that reached deeper than words. Maybe it was because they both carried the same quiet ache: the loss of parents too soon, the war that had taken more than just family from them.
She didn’t want to ruin his excitement by asking about it. He looked so alive, eyes bright and full of wonder, and she didn’t want to bring the weight of the past crashing down. So she didn’t ask — and he didn’t, either.
Periwinkle said little about her own life, but for the first time, she didn’t feel the need to hide who she was. It felt easy. Natural.
And though neither of them said it aloud, both felt the same quiet thought stir in their hearts —
that somehow, they had known each other before.
By the time they reached Ollivanders, Hagrid was still outside recovering from the wild ride through Gringotts. His face was the color of parchment, and he leaned heavily against a lamppost, muttering something about “never again.”
Periwinkle and Regulus exchanged a look before stepping quietly into the shop on their own.
The memory of the cart ride still buzzed through their minds. It had started with both of them gripping the sides of the cart for dear life as it plunged down the rails at breakneck speed — the wind whipping through their hair, the tunnels echoing with the rattle of metal on stone.
Periwinkle had been terrified at first, clutching her seat so tightly her knuckles turned white. But then, as the cart took a sharp turn and she felt the rush of air on her face, something
inside her shifted. She let out a startled laugh — bright and unrestrained — the kind she hadn’t heard from herself in years.
Regulus, beside her, threw his arms up like he was on a rollercoaster.
“Woohoo! This is so fun!” he shouted, his laughter bouncing off the cavern walls.
When the cart finally screeched to a stop, both of them were breathless, grinning like fools — only to find poor Hagrid swaying unsteadily on his feet, looking decidedly unwell.
Now, as they entered the wand shop, Periwinkle glanced back through the window, guilt tugging at her chest.
“I feel awful,” she whispered. “He looked like he was about to faint.”
Regulus grinned. “He’ll live. Giants probably have strong stomachs, right?”
Periwinkle wasn’t so sure — but she couldn’t help smiling as the door chimed softly behind them and the scent of old wood and dust wrapped around them like a spell.
Mr. Ollivander was… an interesting man, to say the least.
The moment the duo stepped into the shop, he appeared out of nowhere — startling both of them — and immediately began measuring their arms with a tape that moved on its own.
“Active arm?” he asked briskly.
“Left,” said Periwinkle quickly, while Regulus said with a grin, “Both.”
Mr. Ollivander’s pale eyes gleamed. “Ambidextrous! Rare, very rare…”
He began with Regulus. It took nearly ten tries — boxes flying off shelves, sparks of color and the faint scent of smoke in the air — before Regulus finally found his match.
When he grasped the wand, a warm golden light pulsed from its tip, washing over the shop like sunlight. Mr. Ollivander looked half-disappointed that the challenge was over.
“Ash, twelve and three-quarter inches, dragon heartstring core, unyielding flexibility,” he recited softly. “Strong magic. A fine wand for one with loyalty and purpose… and, perhaps, a talent for potions.”
Regulus looked proud, and Periwinkle clapped for him, though she couldn’t shake the feeling that Ollivander knew more than he was saying.
Then came her turn.
After the fifth wand fizzled out in her hand, and the eighth let out a puff of pink smoke, Periwinkle began to feel sick with nerves. What if there isn’t one for me? What if this was all a mistake and I don’t belong here?
But Regulus kept smiling at her — that easy, encouraging grin — and it steadied her a little.
Mr. Ollivander, however, looked anything but discouraged. His silvery eyes gleamed brighter with every failed attempt. “Oh, this is fascinating,” he murmured, more to himself than to them.
Finally, he pulled a slender box from the highest shelf, dusted it carefully, and handed her a wand.
The moment Periwinkle’s fingers closed around the handle, a soft rush of wind swept through the shop, carrying the scent of rain and wildflowers. Light shimmered around her, gentle and silver, and her hair lifted slightly as if underwater.
Mr. Ollivander smiled — truly smiled. “Ah. Willow wood, eleven and three-quarter inches, phoenix feather core, supple flexibility. A wand for one whose strength lies not in force, but in understanding.”
Periwinkle looked down at the wand in awe, feeling warmth pulse through her palm — as if the wand were greeting her, not choosing her.
Regulus whispered, “Told you you belonged.”
“Take care of your wands,” Mr Ollivander said finally, voice softer than before. “And remember — it is never the wand that defines the wizard, but the choices they make.”
The two children nodded solemnly, not quite understanding, and Mr. Ollivander smiled faintly as they turned to leave.
When the door closed behind them and the faint sound of their laughter faded, the wandmaker exhaled and whispered to the empty shop:
“May you both fare better than those who came before.”