Professor Sprout led Char through the newly opened archway, stepping into the heart of Diagon Alley. The cobbled street was alive with color and magic: witches and wizards bustled past, shop windows glittered with enchanted displays, and the air hummed with excitement. Even though Char had seen Diagon Alley in films in his previous life, being here in person was something else entirely. The real Diagon Alley was vibrant, chaotic, and so much more dazzling than any movie could capture.
Despite all the wonders around him, Char's destination was clear. Professor Sprout guided him straight to Ollivanders—the legendary wand shop. The shop itself was modest and unassuming, squeezed between two more flamboyant storefronts. Its faded sign and dusty windows gave little hint of the magic within. But Char knew, as did every young witch and wizard, that this was where their magical journey truly began.
As they stepped inside, the air seemed to grow still, thick with the scent of old wood and polished magic. Stacks upon stacks of wand boxes lined the walls, reaching up to the shadowy ceiling. Before Char could take it all in, a figure appeared from behind the counter: Mr. Ollivander, with his wild silvery hair and curious, piercing eyes.
"Professor Sprout?" Ollivander's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Are you bringing the first-year students this year? I thought Professor McGonagall usually did the honors."
Professor Sprout smiled, her pride unmistakable as she introduced Char. "This is my nephew, Char Sprout. He's been lost in the Muggle world for years, but I've just found him. Now I'm here to help him choose his wand."
Ollivander's expression softened. The Sprout family might not be the most famous, but Professor Sprout was well-respected as Head of Hufflepuff and a renowned Herbology Master. Even after the hardships her family had faced, her name carried quiet strength. Now, with Char standing before him, Ollivander nodded sincerely. "Then I must congratulate you, Professor Sprout."
Turning to Char, Ollivander said warmly, "Child, to inherit the Sprout name is to carry on a tradition of wisdom and care for the magical world. Perhaps you'll become a Herbology Master yourself one day."
Char offered a polite smile, wondering if Ollivander said something like this to every hopeful young witch or wizard. After all, wands weren't cheap—he remembered how Ron Weasley had to make do with a patched-up old wand for years. It was a major purchase, and a little encouragement went a long way.
Ollivander began his careful measurements, checking Char's height, arm span, and even the length of his fingers. As he worked, he explained his famous philosophy: "The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Sprout. No two wands are the same, just as no two wizards are alike."
Char listened politely, nodding at the right moments. But inside, he felt calm and detached. He didn't care for wands with strong personalities—what he wanted was something reliable and steady. For him, a tool was a tool: it should do its job without fuss.
He tried wand after wand, each one more elaborate than the last. But with every attempt, nothing happened. No sparks, no warmth, no magical reaction. Ollivander's brow furrowed, his eyes growing more puzzled with each try. He'd seen many young wizards over the years, and while his words were often encouraging, he could usually sense a wizard's potential through the wand's response.
Char's performance, however, was… underwhelming. His magical talent was barely above that of a Squib—just enough to meet the Hogwarts admission standard, but only just.
Sensing the tension, Char spoke up, his voice steady. "Mr. Ollivander, you always say the wand chooses the wizard. But maybe these wands just aren't interested in me. Why don't I tell you what I need?"
Ollivander hesitated—this wasn't how things were usually done. But seeing Char's earnestness, and perhaps not wanting to embarrass Professor Sprout, he nodded. "Very well, Mr. Char. What are you looking for in a wand?"
Char answered without hesitation. "I want a wand that's reliable and stable. I do a lot of heavy work, so it needs to have a good temper and be hardworking. Please, choose a wand for me with those qualities."
Ollivander blinked in surprise. Most young wizards dreamed of powerful, unique wands—yet Char wanted one that was simply practical and dependable. It was a first for Ollivander, but not a difficult request.
Soon, he placed a plain, unadorned wand in Char's hand. The wood was smooth and sturdy, with none of the flashy carvings or rare cores. Char gave it a gentle wave. No sparks flew, but he felt a quiet sense of solidity run through his arm, as if the wand was quietly saying, "Let's get to work."
Ollivander's eyes brightened. "Ah, yes. Twelve inches, ash wood with a unicorn tail hair core. Both are known for their stability and toughness. Together, they make a wand that is—" He paused, his expression turning thoughtful, almost conflicted.
Professor Sprout leaned in, concerned. "What happens when they're combined?"
Ollivander hesitated, then spoke honestly. "When combined, they create a wand that is either as ordinary as dust, or—on very rare occasions—as brilliant as a morning star. But, as the saying goes, a hundred million specks of dust may never give birth to a morning star."
Char just smiled, undisturbed by the verdict. Professor Sprout, however, looked both frustrated and worried. As they left the shop, Ollivander called after them, "Professor Sprout, Mr. Char—this wand is free of charge."
Char grinned, nudging his aunt. "See, Auntie? We saved some money. That's a good thing, right?"
Professor Sprout huffed, half-exasperated. "How can you joke at a time like this? That Ollivander! 'As ordinary as dust, or as brilliant as a morning star'—does he think we're made of dust? I should send a basket of Biting Cabbages into his shop!"
But beneath her bluster, she worried that Char's hopes had been dashed. To her surprise, Char was completely unfazed.
"Auntie, if Ollivander could really see the future, he'd be a Seer, not a wandmaker. Let's not worry about it."
Professor Sprout couldn't help but smile at his optimism. "Alright, let's not dwell on it. Now that you have your wand, how about a treat? There's a wonderful ice cream shop here."
But Char shook his head, glancing at the time with a look of determination. "No, Aunt. I have something important to do. I still need to plant lot of cotton today. I made a plan, and I want to stick to it."
Professor Sprout could only laugh as Char practically dragged her out of Diagon Alley, his mind already on his next planting project.
Watching Char's unwavering focus and his deep, almost obsessive passion for planting, all of Professor Sprout's worries melted away. Mediocre? Lacking in talent? She'd heard those words before. But as Head of Hufflepuff and a master of Herbology, she knew that passion and perseverance were the greatest talents of all.
She smiled softly to herself. "As ordinary as dust, or as brilliant as a morning star? Just wait and see. Char Sprout will shine brighter than anyone expects."
With his new wand in hand and his heart set on the soil, Char's magical journey was just beginning. And if anyone doubted him, they'd soon learn: sometimes, the brightest stars are born from the humblest seeds.