4. Wands and Magic

The final stop on Apollyon's journey to prepare for Hogwarts was Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C., a shop that held an almost mythical status in the wizarding world. Its exterior was unassuming, yet the moment Apollyon and Professor Snape stepped inside, a sense of ancient magic enveloped them. The air was thick with the scent of wood and a faint, indefinable spice that seemed to whisper of the countless magical destinies that had been forged here.

The interior was narrow and taller than it seemed from outside, with walls lined from floor to ceiling with thousands of narrow boxes. It was a place of quiet reverence, a library of potential held within the grains of countless wands.

Mr. Ollivander himself emerged from the shadows, his eyes bright and searching. "Ah, a new student for Hogwarts," he observed, his voice soft yet carrying an underlying strength. "Let's find you the perfect wand, shall we?"

The process was unlike anything Apollyon had ever experienced. Mr. Ollivander's method was part intuition, part arcane knowledge, as he handed her wand after wand. Each time she held a new wand, she was instructed to give it a wave; each time, the result was not quite right. Some wands emitted a few weak sparks, others nothing at all, and one particularly rebellious wand sent a stack of boxes tumbling down, much to Snape's disapproval.

Then, Mr. Ollivander handed her a wand that felt immediately different in her hand. It was 13 and a half inches, made of ebony, with a core of dragon heartstring. "Ah, let's see," Mr. Ollivander murmured, watching closely as Apollyon gave the wand a tentative wave.

Instantly, the shop was filled with a warm, golden light, and a sensation of power and rightness surged through Apollyon. It was as if an extension of her very being had been awakened, a connection deep and undeniable.

"Excellent!" Mr. Ollivander exclaimed, his eyes alight with the success of the match. "Ebony and dragon heartstring. A wand of power and elegance, very suited to a witch of strong convictions and a potential for great magic. It's not a choice for the faint-hearted, mind you. Ebony wands choose those with the courage to be themselves. Dragon heartstring produces wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Wands with dragon cores are the easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord. It's also the most prone of the three cores to accidents, being somewhat temperamental."

Apollyon felt a surge of pride and excitement, mixed with a touch of apprehension at the wand's description. It seemed to suggest a path of great potential but also great responsibility.

Professor Snape, who had observed the process with his usual impassive demeanor, gave a rare nod of approval. "A fitting choice," he said, a hint of respect in his voice for the ancient craft and its outcome.

As they left Ollivanders, Apollyon clutching her new wand, the realization of her new reality began to truly settle in. She was no longer just a girl caught between worlds; she was a witch, with a wand that was uniquely hers, about to embark on a journey of magic and discovery at Hogwarts. The weight of the wand in her hand was a tangible reminder of the path that lay ahead, filled with challenges, learning, and perhaps, a bit of destiny waiting to be fulfilled.

With their errands in Diagon Alley completed, Apollyon and Professor Snape made their way back to the orphanage, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows on the streets. Apollyon's arms were laden with packages containing all her supplies for Hogwarts, from her new wand nestled securely in a box to the stack of textbooks and parchment. Despite the weight of the physical items, her heart felt light, buoyed by the excitement of the adventures to come.

The return to the orphanage marked a stark contrast to the magical world they had just left. The building loomed, gray and unwelcoming, as they approached. Yet, Apollyon felt different now; the fear and uncertainty that had once clouded her thoughts about this place were replaced with a sense of purpose. She was a witch, soon to be a student at Hogwarts, and this was merely a temporary waypoint on her journey.

Upon entering, they found the caretaker in her usual spot, her eyes narrowing at the sight of the packages in Apollyon's arms. Before she could voice any of the sharp words clearly on the tip of her tongue, Professor Snape stepped forward, his demeanor calm but authoritative.

"Miss Seraphina will be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he stated, his voice leaving no room for questions. "She will require a safe and undisturbed environment to prepare for her departure on the first of September."

The caretaker, taken aback by Snape's presence and the news, could only nod, her usual retorts stifled. Snape continued, outlining the arrangements for Apollyon's journey to King's Cross Station on the day of departure. "I have made the necessary arrangements for her transportation. She will be leaving from here to catch the Hogwarts Express at platform nine and three-quarters. It is imperative that she is allowed to leave without issue."

The caretaker, though clearly not pleased with the situation, recognized the futility of arguing with a Hogwarts professor. She muttered her agreement, casting a wary glance at Apollyon, who met her gaze with newfound confidence.

Snape turned to Apollyon, his expression softening slightly. "Ensure you have everything prepared the night before. The journey from King's Cross is straightforward, but it is important to be on time. The train will not wait."

Apollyon nodded, absorbing his instructions. "I will be ready, Professor. Thank you," she said, her voice filled with gratitude not just for his guidance back to the orphanage but for the role he had played in helping her navigate the first steps into her new life.

As Snape prepared to leave, he offered Apollyon a final nod—a gesture that, in its simplicity, conveyed a wealth of encouragement. Apollyon watched as he departed, feeling a mix of anticipation and a slight sadness at the thought of returning to her room in the orphanage, so starkly different from the world she was about to join.

Yet, as she ascended the stairs to her room, Apollyon felt a surge of determination. This was merely the beginning, and the challenges of Hogwarts, of learning magic, and discovering her place in the wizarding world awaited her.

The orphanage, with its cold walls and narrow outlook, could no longer contain her dreams. She was on the brink of something vast and exciting, and nothing could diminish the magic of that realization.

In the solitude of her room, under the dim glow of the single, flickering light bulb, Apollyon spread her new textbooks and supplies across the small, worn desk that had seen better days. Each book was a gateway to a world she had longed to be a part of, filled with spells, potions, and magical creatures. With a mixture of reverence and eagerness, she opened "The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1" by Miranda Goshawk, its pages crisp and inviting.

Apollyon's fingers traced the words as she read, absorbing the instructions and the theory behind the simplest spells. She was determined to practice, to get a head start before arriving at Hogwarts. The notion of actually performing magic, of being able to wield the power that flowed within her, was both exhilarating and daunting.

She picked up her ebony wand, the weight of it feeling natural and right in her hand. Whispering the incantation for a basic levitation charm, "Wingardium Leviosa," she focused on a small pencil lying on her desk. Her heart raced, a mix of anticipation and nervousness coursing through her veins. She felt the magic within her stirring, a subtle, pulsing energy eager to respond to her call.

At first, nothing happened. The pencil remained still, mocking her efforts with its immobility. Apollyon's brow furrowed in concentration, her grip on the wand tightening as she repeated the spell, this time with more force. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the pencil quivered. It lifted a mere inch off the desk before clattering back down, but the thrill of that tiny success was immense. A laugh, born of relief and joy, escaped her, the sound strange in the quiet of her room.

The magic was there, within her, a living thing waiting to be mastered. Apollyon felt a deep connection to the power that flowed through her veins, to the wand that acted as a conduit for her will. The realization that she could indeed cast spells, that she was on the path to becoming a true witch, filled her with a sense of purpose and belonging she had never known.

Encouraged by her minor success, she tried again, this time with a simple light spell, "Lumos." The tip of her wand flickered, casting a weak glow that battled the shadows in the corners of her room. It wasn't the bright light she had hoped for, but it was a start, a sign that she was capable of more.

With each attempt, with every flick of her wand and whispered incantation, Apollyon grew more attuned to the magic within her. It was a wild, untamed force, but it was hers to command, to learn from. The realization that this was just the beginning of her journey, that there were limits yet to be tested and boundaries to be pushed, filled her with an insatiable desire to learn, to grow stronger, and to discover the depths of her own power.

The hours slipped by unnoticed as Apollyon practiced, her initial frustrations giving way to a determined focus.