Diagon Alley was… loud.
Not noisy in the chaotic, exciting way Alexander had imagined, but busy—crowded with witches and wizards flowing through a narrow, crooked street that looked like it had collectively agreed to stop updating itself sometime around the fifteenth century.
Alexander walked beside his mother, hands in his pockets, eyes darting everywhere.
Cobblestones. Wooden shop signs. Brass instruments ticking and puffing. Cauldrons stacked like they might topple if someone breathed too hard near them.
"…This place feels like it smells like dust and tradition," Alexander muttered.
Eleanor Mei Chen smiled without looking at him. "That's called history."
"That's called refusing to renovate."
They moved through the shops efficiently. Madam Malkin's for robes—black, stiff, and dramatically impractical compared to Ilvermorny's styles. Flourish and Blotts for textbooks, Alexander already knew by heart and wished he could unread them out of spite. Apothecaries that made him wrinkle his nose and step carefully around jars full of things that definitely watched him back.
He felt it the entire time.
This place wasn't his.
It wasn't bad. It was just… old. Heavy with tradition and expectations and invisible lines about how things were supposed to be done.
By the time they reached Ollivander's Wand Shop, Alexander's irritation had settled into something sharper.
Resignation.
The shop was narrow and dim, shelves rising impossibly high, stacked with long, thin boxes that felt like they were watching him. Dust hung in the air like a memory.
A bell chimed.
"Good afternoon," came a soft, reverent voice.
Mr. Ollivander emerged from the shadows, pale eyes immediately locking onto Alexander with unsettling intensity. "Ah," he murmured. "New student."
Alexander held his gaze evenly.
"American," Ollivander added. "I can tell."
Eleanor nodded politely. "My son, Alexander Chen."
Ollivander's eyes flicked—just for a moment—to Eleanor's wand, then back to Alexander. "Yes… Yes, I thought so."
Alexander didn't like the way the man smiled. It was the kind of smile that knew things.
"Let us see," Ollivander said, already reaching for a box. "The wand chooses the wizard."
Yeah, Alexander thought dryly. And sometimes the wizard really wishes it wouldn't.
The first wand sent sparks bouncing off the ceiling.
The second rattled violently in his grip like it wanted to escape.
The third produced a loud crack and snapped a stack of boxes off a shelf.
Ollivander's eyebrows rose higher with each failure.
"Curious," he murmured.
Alexander sighed. "Told you."
"Hmm. Try this one."
The moment Alexander's fingers wrapped around the wand, the shop went silent.
Not quiet—still.
The air pressed inward, charged and electric. Dust froze mid-fall. The shelves creaked, then steadied, as if something had just taken command.
A low, distant rumble echoed—not thunder exactly, but the promise of it.
Light burst from the wand's tip, not wild or destructive, but controlled. Focused. Alive.
Ollivander inhaled sharply.
"My word…"
He stared at the wand as it had personally insulted his understanding of reality.
"Redwood," he said slowly. "Fourteen inches. Unyielding."
His voice dropped.
"Thunderbird feather core."
Alexander felt it. The pull. The recognition. Like the wand wasn't asking if he wanted it—only whether he was ready.
"Oh," Ollivander said faintly. "Oh dear."
Eleanor turned sharply. "Is something wrong?"
"Quite the opposite," Ollivander replied, still staring. "Thunderbird feathers are exceedingly rare in Britain. American magic. Wild. Powerful. Drawn to those who move toward danger rather than away from it."
He finally looked at Alexander again, eyes sharp now. Serious.
"Redwood wands favor witches and wizards of exceptional potential. They grow quickly. They respond to ambition, confidence, and… momentum."
Alexander grinned.
Ollivander swallowed. "This wand will not stagnate. If its owner does not grow, it will demand that he does."
The shop seemed to hum in agreement.
Alexander nodded once, satisfied.
Then he turned and glared triumphantly at his mother.
"See?" he said. "I told you. Ilvermorny is perfect for me. A Thunderbird. Not Hogwarts. A Raven"
Eleanor sighed, already reaching for her purse. "Seven galleons," she said calmly, placing the coins on the counter.
She met his eyes.
"You're still going to Hogwarts."
Alexander groaned as the wand pulsed warmly in his hand.
This place really was determined to test him.