"This wand was not made by me. It was left behind by my grandfather, the result of a truly remarkable experiment."
Ollivander smiled with the particular pleasure of someone about to say something that will unsettle the room. He lifted an ancient wand from the box. Yew, like the last one, but intricate patterns ran along its surface, worn smooth with age.
"This is a special yew tree. It absorbed the blood and venom of a Nundu. Ordinary wand cores could not even be brought near it, so my grandfather made a bold attempt."
He stroked the wand gently as he spoke.
"Yew, Dementor nerve..."
"What?"
McGonagall stepped forward. "Ollivander, I cannot agree to your handing such a dangerous wand to a young wizard."
"Oh, do calm yourself, Minerva. It is not the wizard who chooses the wand, but the wand that chooses the wizard. This wand has lain dormant for more than a century. I think it has been waiting for today."
He held it out.
Altair looked at it for a moment before taking it.
A wand made with Dementor nerve. Ollivander's grandfather had been genuinely unhinged. Did those creatures even have nerves? And how exactly had he gone about extracting one?
He reached out and took hold of it.
A deep, strange tremor moved through him. White mist rose from nothing, carrying a cold that had no business existing indoors, and swept through the shop in seconds. Frost crept across nearly every surface.
"A perfect combination! A truly perfect combination!"
Ollivander clapped his hands. "Yew, Dementor nerve, eleven inches. Child, this wand is yours." Then he paused, as though he'd nearly forgotten something. "There is one thing you should know. This wand cannot cast the Patronus Charm. But there is no need to worry. The greatest use of the Patronus Charm is to defend against Dementors, and you will not need that, because this wand itself will protect you from them."
"Ollivander."
McGonagall's voice had gone flat. "I want to know whether this wand carries any of a Dementor's traits. Whether it drains happy emotions. Whether it pulls its bearer toward darkness."
"No, Minerva. The Ollivander family would never craft such a wand." He shook his head with something like offense. "On the contrary, because it carries a Dementor's nerve, this wand will not only protect him from Dementors, but will make him more sensitive to happiness. More drawn toward beautiful things." A pause. "Those who live in darkness long for the light all the more, do they not?"
McGonagall let out a quiet breath.
If Ollivander was telling the truth, the wand would do Altair more good than harm.
"I certainly hope so. In any case, thank you, Ollivander."
Both Hermione and Altair paid for their wands. Seven Galleons each. Altair's was worth considerably more than that, but Ollivander didn't raise the price.
...
From there, McGonagall moved them efficiently through the rest of the alley. Madam Malkin's for school robes. Flourish and Blotts for textbooks. A cauldron for Potions, brass scales for weighing ingredients.
Hermione bought the required books and then considerably more beyond them, which left her short of money for a pet. Altair didn't buy one either. Too much trouble.
By the time everything was done, it was past four in the afternoon.
"All right, that is everything. Altair, Miss Granger, term begins on September 1. You must arrive at King's Cross Station before eleven o'clock to board the Hogwarts Express. Do remember your tickets."
McGonagall walked them back to the Leaky Cauldron, then excused herself. Something had apparently happened at Gringotts while they were shopping, and she intended to look into it.
Once she'd gone, Mr. Granger looked at Altair standing there with a cauldron and a stack of everything else and asked, "Altair, where do you live? Why don't we put your things in our car and drive you home?"
"Thank you, Mr. Granger, but there's no need. My family should be waiting outside by now."
Altair smiled. Hermione's parents were genuinely good people. The contrast with Harry's aunt and uncle was not lost on him.
"That's good, then. We live in Manchester. I run a dental practice there. If you ever have the time, you're welcome to visit." Mr. Granger reached into his pocket, produced a business card, and tucked it into Altair's suit pocket.
"I will."
Manchester sat northwest of both London and Birmingham. Two or three hours by car or train. Not far.
The four of them walked out of the Leaky Cauldron. Altair looked toward the street corner and found Jimmy there, smoking, with several Peaky Blinders enforcers behind him.
"Jimmy! Over here!"
Jimmy heard him, turned, stubbed out his cigarette, and came over. His eyes went immediately to the cauldron and the pile of books.
"Bloody hell, you actually bought this much."
The men behind him moved quickly, taking the cauldron and books without being asked. Jimmy muttered something under his breath, then glanced toward the Grangers.
Altair made the introductions. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger. And this is my classmate, Hermione Granger. She'll be going to Hogwarts too."
"Oh." Jimmy blinked. "Oh! She's a... I mean, a young witch?"
His indifference evaporated on the spot.