Chapter 24: New Beginnings at Diagon Alley

The late morning sun hung high over Diagon Alley, casting a golden glow on the cobblestone streets as Damian and Mortem reappeared just outside the entrance to the bustling shopping district. The familiar sounds of merchants hawking their wares and children chattering excitedly filled the air, but Damian's mind was focused on the task at hand. Today would be a day of significant milestones—the day he would finally acquire his Hogwarts robes and, more importantly, his own wand.

Azreal, still in his sleek black snake form, remained coiled around Damian's arm, his golden eyes alert as they surveyed the scene. Mortem, as always, was a silent yet imposing presence beside Damian, his gaze sweeping over the crowd with practiced vigilance.

Their first stop was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, a small yet elegant shop nestled between a potion ingredients store and a bustling bookshop. The door jingled softly as they entered, and the cozy, warm interior of the shop immediately enveloped them in the scent of freshly spun fabric and a hint of lavender.

"Ah, welcome!" came the cheery voice of Madam Malkin herself, a short, smiling witch with a measuring tape draped over her shoulders. "Hogwarts, I assume?"

"Yes," Damian replied politely, returning her smile with a small one of his own. "I'll need the full set of Hogwarts robes."

"Of course, dear, right this way," she said, ushering him toward a raised platform where several mirrors stood around it. "We'll get you measured in no time."

Damian stepped onto the platform, feeling the cool fabric of the robe that Madam Malkin began draping over his shoulders. She worked quickly, her measuring tape fluttering around him like a living creature, taking precise measurements without her even touching it.

As she worked, Damian's attention was drawn to another boy standing on the opposite platform, also being fitted for his Hogwarts robes. The boy had dark, slightly tousled hair and a pale complexion that contrasted sharply with the deep green fabric of the robe being adjusted on him. His expression was one of mild disinterest, but there was an air of quiet confidence about him that caught Damian's attention.

Their eyes met in the mirror, and for a moment, neither said anything. But then the boy gave a small nod, an acknowledgment that Damian returned.

"Starting Hogwarts this year?" the boy asked, his voice calm and measured.

"Yes," Damian replied, his tone equally composed. "You?"

The boy nodded again. "Theodore Nott," he introduced himself, his voice carrying the slightest hint of curiosity.

"Damian Peverell," Damian responded, watching Theodore's reaction carefully.

Theodore's eyes flickered with recognition, though he kept his expression neutral. "A pleasure," he said simply, his tone giving nothing away.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence as Madam Malkin continued her work, both boys content to observe each other without the need for further conversation. There was something about Theodore that intrigued Damian—something that suggested a kindred spirit, someone who understood the importance of control and composure.

"Done!" Madam Malkin's voice broke the silence, her tone cheerful as she stepped back to admire her handiwork. "You both look splendid. Just a few finishing touches, and you'll be all set."

Damian glanced at his reflection, noting how well the robes fit him. The fabric was soft and comfortable, with just the right amount of room for movement. He gave a satisfied nod, pleased with the result.

Theodore was the first to step down from the platform, his expression still composed as he paid Madam Malkin and collected his robes. He paused at the door, glancing back at Damian with a look that was almost appraising.

"See you at Hogwarts, Peverell," Theodore said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"See you there, Nott," Damian replied, his own smile subtle but genuine.

With that, Theodore left the shop, disappearing into the crowd outside. Damian watched him go, his mind already turning over the possibilities of their future interactions. There was potential there—potential for a friendship that could be both strategic and genuine.

Madam Malkin handed Damian his neatly folded robes, and after paying, he and Mortem exited the shop, stepping back into the lively street of Diagon Alley.

"Interesting boy, that Theodore Nott," Mortem remarked, his voice low but thoughtful as they walked. "Cautious, but perceptive. He could be a valuable ally."

Damian nodded in agreement, his thoughts aligning with Mortem's assessment. "He seems… reserved, but there's something more to him. I think we'll get along."

They continued walking down the street, their destination clear in Damian's mind. The next stop was one that Damian had been anticipating with a mixture of excitement and curiosity—Ollivanders, the finest wand shop in all of Britain.

As they approached the shop, Damian felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The storefront was old, its wood worn with age, and the windows were filled with rows upon rows of narrow boxes containing wands of all shapes and sizes. The air around the shop seemed to hum with a quiet, restrained power, as if the very building itself was alive with magic.

They stepped inside, and the door closed behind them with a soft click. The shop's interior was dimly lit, with shelves that stretched up to the ceiling, each one packed with wand boxes. The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and ancient magic, and the only sound was the soft creak of floorboards underfoot.

"Ah, Mr. Peverell," came a soft, almost whispery voice from the shadows. "I have been expecting you."

The speaker emerged from between the shelves, an elderly man with a shock of white hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see straight through Damian. This was Ollivander, the legendary wandmaker whose reputation was known throughout the wizarding world.

"Good day, Mr. Ollivander," Damian greeted, his voice respectful.

Ollivander's eyes glittered with something akin to curiosity as he approached. "Good day indeed. I have been looking forward to this meeting. It is not every day that a Peverell comes to my shop. The wands I have here… they have been waiting for you."

With a flick of his wrist, Ollivander summoned several boxes from the shelves, each one landing gently on the counter. "Let us begin."

Damian watched with anticipation as Ollivander opened the first box, revealing a wand made of dark ebony wood with a slight curve. Ollivander handed it to Damian, who took it in his hand, feeling the smooth, cool surface against his skin.

"Give it a wave," Ollivander instructed.

Damian did as he was told, but the moment he moved the wand, a sharp gust of wind blew through the shop, sending several boxes tumbling to the floor. Ollivander quickly took the wand back, his expression unfazed.

"No, no, not quite," he murmured, returning the wand to its box and reaching for another.

They repeated the process with several more wands—each one unique, each one crafted from different materials—but none seemed to resonate with Damian. Some produced sparks, others made the shelves rattle, but none felt right in his hand.

Ollivander's brow furrowed slightly as he returned the latest wand to its box. "Curious… very curious," he muttered to himself, his eyes narrowing in thought.

"What is it?" Damian asked, his curiosity piqued.

Ollivander looked up, his expression contemplative. "It seems that none of the wands I have here are a match for you. This is quite rare… but not unheard of."

Damian's brow furrowed slightly. "What does that mean?"

Ollivander's eyes sparkled with a kind of excitement. "It means, Mr. Peverell, that you may require a custom wand. Something made specifically for you, with materials that resonate with your unique magical signature."

Damian exchanged a glance with Mortem, who nodded in approval. "I see," Damian said thoughtfully. "And how would we go about making such a wand?"

Ollivander smiled, the kind of smile that suggested he relished the challenge. "We shall need to gather the right materials—wood, core, and anything else that may be necessary. But first, we must determine what those materials should be. That will take some time… but I believe it will be worth it."

Damian felt a thrill of anticipation at the prospect. A custom wand—one that would be crafted specifically for him, attuned to his magic. The idea was as exciting as it was intriguing.

"Very well," Damian agreed, his voice steady. "Let's begin."

Ollivander nodded, his eyes gleaming with something that bordered on admiration. "Excellent. We shall start tomorrow. I shall bring forth all the materials I have and more, and we shall see which ones call to you."

With that, Damian and Mortem left the shop, the promise of a custom wand lingering in the air. The day had been filled with significant steps forward—his robes, his meeting with Theodore Nott, and now the beginning of the process to craft his own wand.

As they made their way back through the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, Damian couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement building within him. The pieces were falling into place, and the journey ahead was one he was eager to embark upon.

But for now, there was still much to prepare, and the day was far from over. The promise of what lay ahead was enough to keep him moving forward, one step at a time.