In July 1946, London's dome seemed to be under a lasting 'Softening Charm,' bathing Diagon Alley in a warm, golden glow that wasn't scorching but sufficiently comforting.
Morin stood by the Leaky Cauldron's rickety back door, watching Finn and Lina primly tug at their rough cloth sleeves —
For this outing, he had specifically used a 'Transfiguration Charm' to alter their overly obvious Werewolf features.
However, the wisp of black hair at the nape of Lina's neck that always stood up, and Finn's eyes and nails that would slightly lengthen when he got emotional, still couldn't completely conceal the traces of a Werewolf without Morin using a 'Full Transfiguration Charm.'
"Don't touch things indiscriminately once we're inside," Morin adjusted the collar of his black robe, his stinginess as ingrained as old ink.
"The Golden Snitch at the Quidditch Supplies shop is worth three months' rent for my shop. If it gets damaged by dirty Werewolf paws, the two of you combined won't be enough to compensate for it."
Finn's Adam's apple bobbed, not daring to reply, but his eyes shone with astonishing brightness.
He had only heard his father speak of Diagon Alley when his father was alive: the Honeydukes sign that swayed on its own, owl parcels floating in mid-air, Wizards in silk robes walking by with ice cream... all of these were starkly different from Knockturn Alley's eternal grey and black. Lina, meanwhile, clutched three polished silver Sickles in her pocket — a small tip kindly left by a good customer.
As they passed through the brick archway, a Wizard in a sapphire-blue robe seemed to take some interest in Finn and Lina: "This child's pupils..."
Before he could finish, Morin glanced over, his fingertips moving slightly beneath his black robe, and fear surged towards the Wizard like a tide.
The Wizard's words caught in his throat, his face paling. Recognizing Borgin, he dared not say more, muttering something before hurrying into the cauldron shop next door.
Finn instinctively wanted to lower his head but was stopped by Morin's gaze.
"What are you afraid of?" Morin's voice was very low, blending with the surrounding clamor. "Be confident, Finn. This is a gift, not a flaw."
Lina's shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly.
She quietly looked up and saw the seedlings in the herb shop's display window dancing in knitted hats, the sunlight through the glass illuminating their wrinkled faces with a strange, gentle warmth.
Their first stop was Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour.
The 'Today's Special' on the wooden sign was magically written, the letters shimmering with a sugary glaze in the sunlight: Strawberry Hazelnut, Licorice Fizz, Iced Butterbeer... Finn stood at the counter, his finger sliding across the menu as if caressing a treasure.
Lina, meanwhile, stared at the ice cream models in the display window. The swirling cream flowers reminded her of the honey cakes the tribe used to celebrate after the full moon, when her father was still alive.
"Order whatever you like," Morin leaned against a pillar by the door, watching the shop assistant magically pile the ice cream into small mountains. "It'll be deducted from your wages — but don't order 'Dragon Cinnamon.' Some fool ate it last week and was breathing fire from his nose for three days."
Finn finally chose 'Chocolate Peanut Butter Swirl,' served in a self-warming silver bowl, the brown sauce swirling on the cream like a living thing.
Lina hesitated for a long time before softly asking for 'Strawberry Mint Sorbet,' with a few glowing mint leaves floating on the pale pink sorbet.
When the sweet coolness of the sorbet touched her tongue, Lina suddenly bit her lip.
Since her father was killed by Cole's traitors in a tribal conflict, she had never tasted such a delicious dessert —
Even the best food in Knockturn Alley always carried the fishy smell of bat guano or rust.
Finn ate quickly, not noticing the chocolate sauce on his nose until Morin lightly tapped it with the tip of his wand, and the stain vanished.
"Eat slowly," Morin's tone remained flat. "Ollivander's shop is next. If you choke, no wand might take a liking to you."
Finn suddenly looked up, his eyes wide as walnuts: "Are we really going to buy wands?"
In the tribe, only adult Werewolves could own their own wands, and most were old heirlooms passed down by their parents, covered in the marks of time.
The wands the siblings had used before were old ones from Morin's shop, and they were not at all suitable — wands always performed unsatisfactorily in the hands of an unsuitable owner.
Morin didn't answer, merely turned and continued walking along Diagon Alley.
Sunlight flowed in the folds of his black robe, like a silent snake hidden within.
These two children were very much to his liking — brave, kind, these beautiful qualities shone like gold on the boy and girl.
"I think I'm starting to understand Dumbledore," Morin muttered softly.
Ollivander's shop door was like a biscuit forgotten for a hundred years; the 'creak' it made when pushed open could startle all the mice on the street.
The shop was darker than expected, with thousands of wand boxes piled to the ceiling. Dust and the scent of some ancient magic floated in the air, as if countless Wizards' whispers were trapped there.
A tall, thin old man emerged from the shadows, his silver-white hair like a spiderweb woven from moonlight, his eyes behind his spectacles astonishingly bright, as if they could penetrate flesh and reach deep into the soul.
"Mr. Caractacus Burke," Ollivander's voice was like rusty hinges turning, but his gaze passed over him, landing on Finn and Lina.
"I recall you have your own unique understanding of wandlore... So today's guests are clearly the young man and young lady beside you."
Morin nodded slightly.
"Werewolves... truly rare... but by no means unheard of."
Ollivander's withered fingers gently brushed a row of wand boxes, the sound of wood rubbing against skin particularly clear in the silence.
"Let me see your hand, child."
Finn hesitantly extended his hand.
His palm was wider than other boys his age, and his knuckles were covered in small scars —
Some from metal cuts while helping Morin move Dark Arts armor, others from climbing trees and fighting in the tribe when he was young.
Ollivander's tape measure suddenly came alive, like a small silver snake, wrapping twice around his wrist, then measuring the length of his fingers, and even gently touching the most prominent scar on the web of his thumb.
"So which one will suit you... Let me think... It shouldn't be hard to guess..."
Ollivander murmured, pulling a slender box from deep within the shelves.
"Try this one. Twelve and a quarter inches, Aspen wood, with a Dragon heartstring core."
The moment Finn grasped the wand, a dazzling red light suddenly burst from its tip, startling him so much he nearly dropped it.
The red light fell on a dusty old cauldron in the corner, and the cauldron began to spin on its own, emitting a joyful hum, as if cheering for the wand's new owner.
Ollivander nodded, a hint of satisfaction flashing in his eyes behind the spectacles:
"Aspen wood and Dragon heartstring, a powerful wand has chosen you, Mr. Finn."
Finn was very pleased with his new wand. Then it was Lina's turn.
Her hand trembled like a falling leaf in the bleak autumn wind.
Ollivander's tape measure circled her ear three times, then he took out a slightly shorter box, "Ten and three-eighths inches, Hawthorn wood, with a Unicorn hair core."
As Lina's fingertips touched the wand, a warm current spread up her arm, much gentler than Finn's red light, yet carrying an undeniable firmness.
She instinctively waved it, and a withered lavender plant by the window suddenly sprouted new shoots, its purple petals gently swaying in the dim shop, emitting a faint fragrance.
"Unicorns are considered symbols of reason, kindness, and peace."
Ollivander pushed up his glasses, his voice filled with emotion,
"Hawthorn wood and Unicorn hair, truly a harmonious combination."
As Morin paid, watching Ollivander carefully wrap the two wands in velvet cloth, he suddenly spoke:
"Wands choose Wizards, hmm... Is it based on the Wizard's ability? Or personality?"
Ollivander smiled, his laugh like dry branches rubbing together:
"Wands choose Wizards, never caring about their lineage or power —
It only cares about the compatibility of the soul.
Mr. Borgin, sometimes, what we perceive as 'flaws' are precisely the source of the greatest power."
Morin knew Ollivander mistakenly thought he was referring to Finn and Lina's Werewolf identity, so he smiled and said nothing more.
For more chapters
patreon.com/Ben479