Madame Whitaker's Wands
The shop looks deserted as you walk in uncertainly, your footsteps easily audible. Specks from dusty shelves of wand boxes tickle your nose and you sneeze profusely. You call out a loud "Hello?" just in case the place is, after all, inhabited. The response is a shuffling from the back room and a door creaking open. In a matter of thirty seconds an elderly woman is at the desk nearby, smiling.