TOTF; Kindle
the ultimate dream team: bts meets hogwarts.
Your first memory of him was at Ollivanders.
Both only four feet at best, and he, the better one, with wide curious eyes and itchy hands when faced with the fantastical extravagance that was your first trips to Diagon Alley. Still just a young wizard and witch, the pair of you, along with the other like-aged children shopping for school supplies to tide them through their first year at a Magical school, had only ever heard of Diagon Alley through the grapevine.
The world-renown wand supplier had been your last stop, and for him, his first. With two cauldrons full of textbooks and scrolls, and a charming Siamese cat waiting for you back at Magical Menagerie, you had waddled in full-handed, interrupting without intention a young wizard in the process of obtaining his very first wand.
A wiry old man was sitting atop a wobbly wooden ladder when you first entered with your cauldrons, and waiting eagerly at the foot was a boy not higher reaching than the length of a thumb compared to you. Though your access to the wizarding world was always limited, you recognized that this man was no ordinary employee— he had been in possession of “Ollivander” for a last name.
As you set down your baggage, the old man had pulled out a long narrow box from the stacks, clambered down his ladder and opened the box before the boy with flourish. In a croaky, well-ripened voice that reminded you of static over a radio, the man had said, “How about this one?”
And you could not help but take a step closer to peer over the boy’s shoulder as he took the wand into his tiny hand. Both you and he had given a moment or two to admire it, until it dragged a second too long into a daze, and Ollivander had cleared his throat.
“Well, go on, give it a wave!”
It was then that the boy finally noticed a third presence in the claustrophobic shop, nearly jumping out of his robes when he turned and found a girl’s face invading much of his personal space, eyes of caramel trained on the delicate tool held between their touching shoulders. His much-warranted flinch had led you to retreat right back between your cauldrons, mumbling an apology for the intrusion, and then a timid encouragement for him to try out his wand, but more so you could see some magic for yourself.
Strapped for words, the boy returned to the equipment in hand, seeming to hesitate for a moment before he performed a quick swish. Along with this gesture sprung a blast of wind throughout the little shop, blowing your shoulder-length chestnut-coloured mane out of your face, and at the same time, the disheveled and misplaced boxes at the higher-most shelves had rearranged themselves into sharp, uniform rows, restoring some order to the organized mess that was the ancient wand shop.
“Impressive…” Commented Ollivander as he straightened the greys of his hair and beard, “The paradoxical wand; it is no coincidence that a wand like this has chosen you, young wizard. Hawthorn wood is gathered from the tree that is both healing and deathly. Paired with a dragon heartstring core and you have yourself quite a tricky wand there. Double-edged, you must be warned. Handle it with care, and it shall do the same for you.”
“Th- Thank you.”
“And for you, young witch! You’re a curious one aren’t you?“ Beckoned by voice and his open palm, you had scurried forward to Ollivander’s immediate vicinity, absolutely brimming with expectation to perform something as spectacular as the boy had done before you. So you wait, rocking from heel to ball and ball to heel, as Ollivander once again mounted his ladder at a different shelf. After a calculated scan through, the man gingerly pulled out a white box. “Perhaps this.”
It was only a half surprise to find the boy still standing in the shop beside you even after he had placed the required sum of galleons on the rickety counter and tucked his wand in the pocket of his robes. Just like you had only moments ago, the boy stood with his body and attention turned to you, small hands folded neatly over his stomach as he watched with sleepy cat-like eyes.
The outcome of the clumsy flick you performed was nothing quite as admirable as the boy’s- instead you had caused every box of wand in the store, all thousands of them, to simultaneously flip upside down in a silly rebellion against the orderliness the boy had placed a portion of them in earlier.
“Blimey, perhaps not!“ Quick to react, Ollivander had taken the wand and returned it to its case, hastily slotting it back and retrieving another from a different shelf. Shuffling and tangling feet with his robes, he came back to you with a dusty brown box, and lifting the cover, he revealed a lightly tanned wand, edgy and rough, with a length three times that of your then child-like palms.
Carefully, you plucked the wand from its case, wrapping your fingers firmly at the grip before you lifted your gaze back to the wandmaker for affirmation. With a gracious, fatherly smile, Ollivander said, “Now, try.”
More gently now, you drew with your wrist a shallow U, and instantaneously the boxes flipped themselves back over, reshuffling into orderly lines. But at the last moment, just as your relieved smile blossomed full, the lids popped open, uniformly falling to the left side of its’ respective box.
Fortunately, Ollivander did not seem at all bothered by the ruckus you were orchestrating in his delicate shop. In fact his composure sort of hinted at a much worse experience that he might have dealt with before, for the grin overflowing with warmth and nostalgia stretched even wider through his snowy beard. “A wand of sycamore. Eager, brilliant, but curious, most of all. When matched with a like owner it demonstrates adaptability and speediness in learning new things. You will go far with this one.“
And so with pockets a little heavier, a heart a little lighter, you had exited Ollivanders, a young wizard absentmindedly trailing behind you, with whom you had forged a wordless and magical connection from that day forth. You turned to the boy, whose narrow eyes widened with startle at your direct attention. Even back then his personality contrasted his appearance so much. At that time you believed it could only be a good thing- that the tenderness and vulnerability were at least concealed, and thus, protected, by the aggressive and fearsome mask that was his natural features at rest. Although, later you would learn it was not the case at all.
Upon stepping back into the bustling shopping street, the skies had turned considerably moodier, with heavy grey clouds hanging low, and the distant rumble of an oncoming shower. The first droplets of rain hit you gently, landing on the tip of your nose, cold as a snowflake, before you stretched a hand beyond the small shelter Ollivander’s porch provided to gauge the rain. Just as the despair of being without weapon to combat the drastic weather change had begun to pelt down on your open palm, the boy beside you was rummaging through a purple velvet sack he carried. Though the bag was no bigger than half an arm’s length, he had managed to stick his entire hand from fingertips to shoulder joint as he searched through its contents. In doing so, his digging actions had caused some clanging, sounding oddly like pots and pans, before he finally pulled out a neat brown umbrella.
By then you had been more impressed by the charmed sack than his kind provision and you did not know you were staring, mouth agape, until he had extended his hand towards you and said, “You- You can use it if you want.”
Your own hand soon came to grasp the other end of the object, all this while your gaze flickered back and forth between his eyes and the umbrella in hand. Your uncertainty was met by a further push of the object into your hand, as well as a tiny, bashful smile upon his thin lips.
“But how will I return it to you?”
The boy was reaching into the sack once more, looking visibly more relaxed of the tension that once occupied his muscles. Now the smile looked a lot more natural and gracious. “At Hogwarts. That’s where you’re headed, aren’t you?” To your prompt nod, the boy continued, “then see you there.”
When the boy was gone with his own blue umbrella to shield him from the rain, you remained rooted under Ollivander’s porch, a sensation of falling flower petals amidst dizzy fireflies flowed over your skin, which was considerably warm- hot, even- compared to the cool weather you stood amidst. So with an umbrella labelled “YOON” in scrawled carving at its handle, you began your journey home in the opposite direction, looking forward, more than ever, to your coming years at Hogwarts.
That was your beginning with him, a beginning that felt like eons ago, buried so deep under all the new pages, all the new chapters, written in the years following that meeting. Though the duration it took to recall that encounter, to immerse yourself in the sounds, sights and sensations, grew longer and longer as time went by, and though your head might eventually become incapable of recalling and replaying this memory as accurately as you could now, you trusted your heart would remember.
You could never forget a boy like Yoongi.
