Because the new school term was about to begin, Diagon Alley was even livelier than usual. Most wizards were dressed in their best robes, bustling between shops with their families.
Yet among them walked figures that made many stop and stare, elven couples, graceful and luminous, their presence like sunlight through leaves. They moved through the crowd with soft smiles, accompanied by their children, small elves whose silver eyes sparkled with curiosity.
Humans were creatures of the eye, and the sight of elves never failed to stir wonder. Wizards in particular felt a kind of instinctive warmth toward these ethereal beings.
Mrs. Ross, owner of Lady Ross's Robes, nearly burst with joy when a young elf entered her shop to be fitted for Hogwarts robes. She clasped her hands and said, practically glowing with enthusiasm,
"Oh, my dear child, how wonderful! You're going to Hogwarts, aren't you? That's marvelous news! Believe me, you'll love it there! I studied at Hogwarts once, though only for a year, but it was the most unforgettable time of my life. Even now, I remember it as if it happened yesterday!"
The elf's delicate face lit with a shy smile, and Mrs. Ross continued in a rush,
"My son William is also starting at Hogwarts this year! It's such a pity he's not here right now, otherwise I'd introduce you two right away!"
The elven couple exchanged a quiet glance, clearly overwhelmed by the woman's friendly torrent of words. They were reserved by nature, but Mrs. Ross's excitement was infectious, and they found themselves smiling despite their discomfort.
Listening to her, the young elf's eyes gleamed with anticipation. The mention of Hogwarts, the legendary school founded by the Lord of Magic, made her heart flutter.
Mrs. Ross kept calling her child, though in truth the elf was far older than her hostess. But that was the nature of elves, they aged differently, their growth measured not by solar years, but by elf years.
One elf year equaled twelve human years during their early development, and an elf was not considered an adult until they reached twenty-four elf years.
For this reason, Hogwarts admissions for elven students were based on elf years, not human age. Otherwise, an "eleven-year-old" elf would appear no older than a small human toddler, and Hogwarts, no matter how inclusive, was hardly a nursery.
Just then, the shop's doorbell chimed.
The bell's clear ding! drew Mrs. Ross's attention as Aragorn entered the shop, leading young Anlomir, while the boy's parents went to purchase the rest of his supplies.
"Welcome!" Mrs. Ross greeted, her tone instantly turning warm again. "Another new student, I see! Please wait a moment, dear. I'll finish measuring this little elf, and then it'll be your turn."
Anlomir followed her gaze, and froze.
Standing on a small fitting platform, a young elf was being measured by an enchanted tape that zipped playfully around her. Her long silver-blond hair shimmered like sunlight on water, and her clear green eyes were full of life.
Anlomir was speechless. It was the first time in his life he had ever seen an elf, and she was far more beautiful than any story had ever described. Her features were so delicate and androgynous that he couldn't even tell whether she was male or female.
Sensing his wide-eyed gaze, the elf smiled faintly, nodding in polite acknowledgment, though her own eyes showed a hint of curiosity toward the human boy.
Then she looked up and saw the man beside him, and her eyes brightened with recognition.
"Estel!" she exclaimed in lilting Elvish, her voice filled with joy.
Aragorn blinked in surprise before smiling broadly.
"Alanil!" he replied in Elvish. "I didn't expect to see you here!"
Turning, he greeted the elf couple standing nearby.
"Alantar, Alanil, it's been far too long. What a pleasant surprise!"
The elves' faces lit with equal joy.
"Estel, it truly has been an age," said Alantar warmly. "Since you left Rivendell, you've vanished like a shadow on the wind. We've missed you."
Their gaze shifted toward Anlomir, curiosity sparkling in their eyes.
"And who might this young one be?"
"He's one of my people," Aragorn explained proudly, resting a hand on Anlomir's shoulder. "He's been accepted to Hogwarts, just like your daughter. We came today to buy his school things."
The elven couple nodded, smiling kindly at the boy.
The family hailed from the Valley of the Dead, and Aragorn had known them for many years, especially the little elf Alanil, who had been his childhood companion in Rivendell.
But elves and humans aged differently; while Aragorn had grown into a man, Alanil appeared no older than eight or nine, her youth preserved by her race's long years.
Their reunion was warm and familiar, and after their fittings were complete, the two families decided to continue their errands together.
Leaving Lady Ross's Robes with promises to return in the afternoon to collect their completed uniforms, they stepped back into the bright sunlight and made their way toward the wand shop.
At the heart of Diagon Alley stood a small, unassuming shop with a simple sign above its door:
"Olivendine Wands."
A single wand rested in the front window, dark wood, elegantly simple, aged to perfection. The display was modest, even austere, but somehow dignified.
From outside, the building appeared far too small to fit more than two or three people comfortably. Yet the moment they stepped through the door, the space seemed to unfold like a secret pocket, larger, deeper, and full of quiet mystery.
The air inside was calm, almost reverent, muffling the noise of the busy street beyond.
To the left of the entrance stood a long wooden bench for guests to sit and wait. To the right rose towering shelves, crammed with hundreds upon hundreds of long, slim boxes stacked with precision.
The place hummed faintly, though no one spoke. The elven couple could feel it, the subtle pulsing of magic that drifted like quiet breathing from the shelves, each wand radiating its own faint, living aura.
"Is anyone here?" Aragorn called softly toward the counter.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, from behind one of the higher shelves, a figure appeared standing atop a wooden ladder.
He had a shock of bright red hair, tousled and fiery like a living flame.
Startled, Aragorn instinctively drew his wand, but the man laughed, raising both hands in a harmless gesture.
"Ah, apologies!" the man said cheerfully, though there was no true regret in his tone. "Didn't mean to give you a fright. I was just restacking some wand boxes. Had a rather difficult customer earlier, took me forever to find a wand that would agree with him."
He climbed down, brushing dust off his sleeves, and grinned.
"I'm Bill Olivendine, welcome to Olivendine Wands!"
Aragorn lowered his wand, his wariness fading. The name stirred a flicker of memory.
Bill Olivendine, the master wandmaker who had once been taught directly by Sylas himself.
In his youth, Bill had been the son of an ordinary carpenter. When Sylas discovered his rare gift for woodcraft and latent magic, he took the boy under his tutelage. Seeing his skill, Sylas had bestowed upon him a new name, Ollivander, later evolving into Olivendine in honor of the ancient lineage of wandmakers.
Bill had cherished the name ever since, wearing it as both legacy and pride.
Now, his descendants would carry it forward for generations.
Bill's keen green eyes flicked toward the newcomers and immediately brightened.
"Ah, new students, I see! And elves, too! How wonderful!" he said with unrestrained enthusiasm. "You're the second elven visitors I've had today. What a blessed race you are, graceful, gifted, and naturally attuned to magic."
He gestured animatedly toward the shelves.
"The last elf I served was from Mirkwood, a fine young one, quite tricky to match! We finally settled on holly wood, eleven inches, with the nerve of a giant spider as the core. A rare and fascinating combination, if I do say so myself."
His voice drifted dreamily, and his gaze seemed to wander somewhere far beyond the room.
The others exchanged quiet, uncertain glances.
After a moment, Bill blinked, realizing he had lost his audience, and cleared his throat.
"Ah, yes, forgive me," he said quickly, straightening. "Old habits. I get carried away when it comes to wands."
Then, with a smile that was equal parts warmth and curiosity, he spread his hands and looked at Alanil and Anlomir.
"Now then," he said, his tone turning expectant. "Who wants to go first?"
...
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