Sean stared at the dark wand in his hand, his eyes wide as blue sparks crackled from its tip like tiny bolts of lightning.
Ollivander dropped the wand he'd been holding and rushed over, his silver hair a mess, his eyes gleaming with awe as he studied the wand.
"Mr. Ollivander, what makes this wand special?" Sean asked, curiosity sparking in his voice.
Ollivander's smile was warm, almost proud. "Incredible, truly incredible. This wand is ebony with a phoenix feather core, thirteen and three-quarter inches long. It's perfect for any magic, but it's a beast for combat spells and Transfiguration. And its story…"
He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "This was the last wand my father made. The ebony's from an ancient tree's heart, and the phoenix feather's one of the best he ever found. It's choosy, Sean. It's never picked a wizard—until you."
Sean blinked, caught off guard by Ollivander's excitement.
The wand felt alive in his grip, like it was part of him, but the story sounded like a hype job. If Ollivander tried to charge a fortune, Sean would ditch it and grab another.
There were stacks of wands in this cramped shop—surely one would work just as well.
He cleared his throat, locking eyes with Ollivander. "So, how much does it cost?"
Ollivander waved a hand, brushing off the question. "It's special, yes, but a wand's just a wand here. We price the magic, not the tale. Eleven Galleons, please."
Sean's face heated up as he fumbled for his coin pouch.
He'd totally misread the guy. Feeling a bit dumb, he handed over the Galleons and left the shop, his new ebony wand catching the sunlight. Its sleek, dark surface seemed to pulse with energy, sending a rush of excitement through him.
"Sean, what's next?" Adrian called, his arms loaded with books and packages, his voice full of energy.
Sean pulled out his Hogwarts shopping list, scanning the scribbled items.
The scholarship parchment from Gideon had been loaded with Galleons—way more than he'd expected for a "lesser" Bulstrode. It meant he could buy everything he needed and still have plenty left. He glanced at Diagon Alley's crowded shops, their signs flashing with enchanted ads for potions, quills, and pets.
"I need a cauldron, some stationery, and a pet," Sean said. "An owl, to be exact."
Margaret tilted her head, shifting the robes in her arms. "The list says you can only bring one pet, right?"
"It's for home," Sean said with a clever grin. "So you and Dad can write to Grandmother. Plus, I can use it to send letters from Hogwarts. It's a family owl—no one's gonna complain if it's in my dorm."
Adrian and Margaret shared a look, their faces softening with proud smiles.
They trusted Sean with his choices, especially since the scholarship was his. With a quick nod, they agreed, and the three of them plunged back into the busy street, dodging witches and wizards juggling their own purchases.
Sean decided to save the owl for last—carrying a cage all day would be a hassle, and he didn't want a grumpy bird screeching through the shops.
After hours of shopping, their bags stuffed with supplies, the family was beat.
They found a spot at a table outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, where the air smelled like sugar and magic. Sean got a chocolate-and-raspberry sundae, its colors shimmering with enchanted sparkles that popped on his tongue.
Adrian picked a butterbeer-flavored scoop, grinning like a kid, while Margaret savored a lavender-honey cone, her eyes closing in bliss. The chatter and clatter of Diagon Alley melted into a cozy background buzz as they kicked back, soaking in the moment.
"Father, we can't keep coming to Florean Fortescue's," a snobby voice sliced through the calm. "Eating with filthy Squibs? It's an insult to our pure-blood name."
Sean's spoon froze halfway to his mouth.
He turned, his eyes narrowing at a boy his age, decked out in a robe that screamed money. Behind him stood Barnabas Bulstrode, his smirk as nasty as ever. Sean's gut twisted. The boy was Miles Bulstrode, Barnabas's son—his cousin, though the idea made his skin crawl.
Miles was born a few months before Sean, since Barnabas had married and started a family sooner than Adrian.
The three-year gap between the brothers didn't stop Barnabas from acting like he was better than Adrian, and now his kid was picking up the same rotten attitude.
Margaret's hand shook as she set down her cone, her eyes flicking to Adrian. He took her hand, his face steady but tense.
Leaning toward Sean, he whispered, "Don't engage, son. We're above their nonsense."
Adrian had dealt with this kind of trash talk his whole life, ever since he was branded a Squib as a kid. He'd walked away from the Bulstrode family to escape the endless put-downs, building a new life with Margaret. Now that Sean's magic was pulling them back into the wizarding world, Adrian wanted to keep things peaceful for his son's sake.
But Barnabas wasn't letting it go. Fueled by Adrian's silence—and still stinging from Gideon's punishment at Sean's house—he saw a chance to lash out.
"Hogwarts is a joke," he sneered, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. "Pure-blood families like ours pay for it, but it spits out Mudbloods and Squibs who ruin the wizarding world."
"Mudblood" landed like a slap, and lumping it with "Squib" was a direct shot at Sean, hitting him with the ugliest slurs pure-bloods could throw.
Adrian's jaw tightened, his calm cracking. He could take insults aimed at him, but his son? That was too much.
Sean's fingers clenched around his spoon, his blood simmering. He itched to snap back, to shut Miles's smug mouth, but Adrian's words kept him in check—for the moment.
Adrian stood, slow and deliberate, ignoring Barnabas's hand inching toward his wand. He walked right up to his brother, staring him down.
His voice was quiet but sharp, like a blade. "Barnabas, you gonna pull that wand? Right here, with Muggle parents all around, Aurors on patrol, and the Ministry watching? You ready to face Father's anger?"
Barnabas's hand stopped, his face paling.
Adrian was spot-on—he didn't have the guts. One wrong move, and he'd be in deep trouble.
Adrian's gaze hardened. "You don't dare because you can't handle the fallout. But me? I can." He pulled back his fist and swung, his knuckles cracking against Barnabas's jaw.
The punch rang out like a firecracker, and the crowd gasped.
Miles's mouth fell open, and Sean's sundae nearly slid off the table as he stared, shocked, watching his dad stand tall against the Bulstrode's snobbery.