Chapter Text
The Sartre family had a beautiful little boy, his name was Wemmbu.
His mother, Mrs. Sartre, would comb his hair while he scribbled away in his sketchbook. His father always read him stories before bed. Theirs was a family full of warmth.
However, his parents had always reminded him to keep his distance from Muggles. The Sartre family were not fanatics, not in the way some pure-blood supremacists were, but they held their bloodline’s status in deep regard.
Wemmbu, being a child, did not truly understand what his parents meant by any of this. But he would nod and agree with them all the same.
Mr. and Mrs. Sartre were two very busy people. Yet there was no question that they loved their son, both of them had smiled, genuinely and without reservation, the day Wemmbu received his acceptance letter from Hogwarts. It felt like only yesterday they had watched him take his very first steps.
Mr. and Mrs. Sartre had promised to take Wemmbu to Diagon Alley to purchase his school supplies. After all, what could warm the heart more than that?
Wemmbu held onto the hem of his father’s robes as people passed by on either side of him—a habit developed in early childhood that had yet to disappear.
“Let’s get your robes first, shall we?” Mrs. Sartre patted her son’s shoulder. Wemmbu looked up at her and simply nodded.
What Wemmbu truly wanted was for all of this to be over quickly so he could slip away and accompany Egg in buying his own school supplies.
Egg was the name of a boy Wemmbu had met during one of his “outings” excursions outside the house that were, naturally, unknown to his parents, who were far too busy to monitor him at every hour of the day. And the house elves only needed a little persuasion to keep quiet.
Wemmbu didn’t know whether his own influence had played any part in Egg receiving a letter from Hogwarts as well, but either way, he was glad Egg had gotten one. It meant he would no longer need to sneak out in secret just to see him.
Thinking about that made the corner of Wemmbu’s mouth lift very slightly. He kept his hold on his father’s robes as they made their way to Madam Malkin’s.
Wemmbu was nearly silent the entire trip, and his parents thought nothing of it—after all, he had grown up alone, without siblings, in a very large house.
His expression flickered slightly at the thought of how strange it would actually be if he were talkative, given that he was alone most of the time. Talking to the house elves wasn’t exactly an option he was drawn to, and his parents had never permitted him to go and visit the few friends he did have, children of his parents’ colleagues, naturally.
“Would you like an owl, a cat, or a toad, darling?” Mrs. Sartre asked Wemmbu after they had finished at the apothecary.
Wemmbu exhaled with relief as they stepped away from the shop. The mingled scents of its ingredients had made him faintly nauseous.
“An owl would be fine. They’re far more practical.”
His mother smiled at that. “Alright then, go ahead with your father to Ollivanders. I’ll go and get the owl.”
Wemmbu nodded and went with his father toward Ollivanders, glancing back to wave at his mother as he walked.
“Are you excited?” his father asked.
Wemmbu considered it briefly, then decided to smile and nod. “Yes.”
His father smiled back and ruffled his hair. “I’m certain you’ll find a fine wand.”
A bell rang somewhere as they stepped inside. The shop was narrow, lined floor to ceiling with thousands—or perhaps hundreds—of slender boxes stacked in perfect order.
“Good afternoon.”
Wemmbu turned toward the voice. An old man stood before them. Wemmbu was fairly certain this was none other than the shop’s owner himself—Garrick Ollivander, if he recalled correctly.
“Good afternoon,” Wemmbu heard his father reply.
“Ah—Sartre. Walnut, twelve inches, firm yet flexible, if I’m not mistaken?”
“Yes, sir. Your memory is quite remarkable.”
“I remember every wand I have ever sold. It feels like only yesterday that you and your wife came in to purchase your first wands.” Ollivander smiled.
He turned his attention to Wemmbu. “Now then—let’s have a look at young Sartre.” He produced a long measuring tape.
Ollivander measured Wemmbu while explaining, at some length, the craft behind an Ollivanders wand.
“Alright boy, like your father, walnut and phoenix feather, eleven inches, flexible. Give it a wave.”
Wemmbu took the wand with some hesitation. One wave, and Ollivander immediately retrieved it.
“Perhaps something a little more… Try this. Black walnut, dragon heartstring, twelve inches, slightly rigid.”
Wemmbu tried that one too, and it was taken back just as swiftly.
Ollivander offered another two or three options, each with the same result. Behind him, Wemmbu’s father had begun to frown slightly. Ollivander, however, remained entirely focused, and if anything, seemed rather pleased.
At some point, Wemmbu’s mother returned with an eagle owl in a cage, and joined to watch Ollivander work through his selection.
By the fifth failure, Ollivander had begun to furrow his brow—not in frustration, but with the particular delight of a man presented with an interesting problem.
“You’re quite a unique ndividual, aren’t you? Let me see…” Wemmbu could only manage a somewhat strained smile.
While Ollivander disappeared to search, Wemmbu’s parents drew closer to reassure him that everything would be fine, that this sort of thing was perfectly common when finding one’s first wand.
Ollivander returned with a bright expression, carrying another wand.
“Alright, try this one. Cherry wood and dragon heartstring. An explosive combination, I must say—fourteen inches, and very firm.”
Wemmbu took the wand. It felt right in his hand from the moment his fingers closed around it. He gave it a wave, and a breeze began to dance around them, rising and rising before bursting outward like a dazzling display of fireworks.
Both his parents exhaled with relief. Ollivander looked utterly delighted. Wemmbu stood very still for a moment, and then found himself genuinely in awe.
“Beautiful, young Sartre—truly beautiful. This wand is an explosive one, and cherry wood, of course, cherry wood so often produces extraordinarily powerful magic. Paired with dragon heartstring, I dare say you are destined to be a duelist. Remember: it is the wand that chooses the wizard.”
Once the right wand had been found, his parents paid, and they left the shop.
The wand was the last item Wemmbu needed, so they headed home as soon as they were done at Ollivanders. His parents would, of course, return to work the moment they arrived, and Wemmbu would once again be left alone in the house.
“Rest well, sweetheart. You’ll be leaving home in just a few days. Your father and I will see you off, don’t worry.” His mother said this before they stepped into the Floo Network connected to the Ministry of Magic.
“Have a safe trip,” Wemmbu said.
A short while after his parents had gone, Wemmbu returned to his room, took his coat from the coat stand, and—after confirming that none of the house elves were in the courtyard—slipped outside.
Egg should already be at the Leaky Cauldron by now. Wemmbu had arranged the meeting point in advance.
And indeed, when he arrived, Wemmbu needed only a brief search to find Egg sitting in the corner of the room, looking slightly awkward with his surroundings.
“Yo, Egg.” Wemmbu watched Egg look up—and the expression that had been faintly sullen a moment before brightened considerably.
“Hello, bro. You’re finally here. I’ve been waiting for like forever.”
The corner of Wemmbu’s mouth twitched. He knew a terrible lie when he heard one. “Really? How long exactly?”
“Ten minutes.”
Of course. Wemmbu rolled his eyes with tremendous laziness.
“Right then, let’s not waste any more time. You have a lot of stuff to buy, bro.” Wemmbu immediately took the lead.
Egg rose from his seat and followed.
Wemmbu brought Egg to the brick wall that would open the way into Diagon Alley. And naturally, Egg stared at it and furrowed his brow.
“Uhh, how exactly does this work?”
“Bro. Learn to be a little more patient, ok?”
And then, as he had learned to do before, Wemmbu tapped three specific points on the wall with the tip of his wand. The three bricks he had tapped began to tremble, to writhe—and a gap opened at the center, growing wider and wider.
Wemmbu watched Egg’s expression as it happened, stifling a laugh as his reaction grew increasingly exaggerated.
The two of them stepped through into Diagon Alley, and the wall closed behind them as though it had never opened at all.
“Alright, let’s go,” Wemmbu said.
By the end of it, they emerged from Ollivanders—Wemmbu’s second visit there that day. He had somehow managed to convince Ollivander not to mention anything about his second visit.
Beside him, Egg was still thoroughly fascinated with his new wand, pear and unicorn hair, eleven inches, and quite flexible.
Ollivander had explained that pear wood was never found in the hands of a dark or evil witch or wizard, which Wemmbu thought suited Egg’s character entirely.
Wemmbu brought Egg back to the Leaky Cauldron, and they had dinner together.
“You know what to do on the first day, don’t you?” Wemmbu asked, midway through the meal.
Egg, chewing thoughtfully, paused for a moment. “Yes,” he said simply.
Even so, Wemmbu went ahead and walked him through it again—almost in full detail—covering precisely what he needed to do.
“If you do manage to get lost regardless, just wait for me near Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, alright?”
“…That’s a strange name. Does that even actually exist?” Egg raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, you really need to stop asking questions like that. What exactly did you not expect from the wizarding world?” Wemmbu replied, with profound laziness.
“Fair point. Alright.”
Egg said nothing after that. The air between them settled into something slightly awkward, and a bit funny.
“…You have no idea where it is, do you,” Wemmbu said, his smile going just slightly strained.
“…….”
Wemmbu rolled his eyes. “Just go between Platforms Nine and Ten.”
“Oh, right.”
“And don’t forget your ticket! King’s Cross Station, ok?”
“I know, bro.”
“Dallrightttt.”
They finished their dinner, and after saying their goodbyes and making sure Egg got home safely, Wemmbu made his own way back as well. His parents would be returning before long.