Ollivander

"So that's how it is~" Harry stared at the blond Young Wizard with a half-smile, as though he believed his explanation. "Then goodbye, Mr. Mudblood. I look forward to our next meeting."

Having stopped himself in time and not beheaded the blond Young Wizard with a single stroke, Harry let out a heavy sigh of relief.

Madam Malkin was a good person. It would not have been good for bloodshed to occur in her shop.

He patted the blond Young Wizard on the shoulder, paid for his uniforms, and gave a slight nod under the curious gazes of Madam Malkin and the shop assistants before leaving the store.

The blond boy stood there blankly. When he finally came back to his senses, his cheeks went from white to red, then returned to an even more ashen pallor.

He was furious, yet he did not dare show it. By now, fear of death had flooded his heart.

The pitiful blond Young Wizard could only stomp his foot viciously and go to the shop next door to complain to his parents.

The moment Harry stepped out of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, he saw Hagrid.

The fierce-looking half-giant held a chocolate ice cream in one hand and kept licking it.

Perhaps because his movements were too rough, traces of ice cream had ended up all over the hair on his face.

Hagrid handed Harry the two items in his other hand. One was a drink, presumably the pick-me-up he had mentioned, while the other was also a chocolate ice cream.

"Here, Harry. This is the pick-me-up, and this one's chocolate ice cream with crushed nuts. I think you'll love them."

Harry took them and tasted each in turn. They really were quite good.

"Thanks, Hagrid. I like them."

After drinking half the pick-me-up, Harry remembered what the blond Young Wizard had said and asked Hagrid, "I think I heard the name Quidditch just now. It seems many wizards like Quidditch. Does it have any special significance in the Wizarding World?"

"Merlin's Beard, Harry, I forgot you don't know much about the Wizarding World. You don't even know Quidditch.

"It's the most important sport in the Wizarding World, governed by the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Games and Sports. Children play it, Hogwarts students have teams that compete, and there are world-famous athletes who make it their profession.

"In short, almost every wizard loves Quidditch!"

Harry nodded. Wasn't it something like football?

Quidditch simply held an absolutely dominant position in the Wizarding World.

Thinking of how his father, whom he had never met, had once been Gryffindor's Quidditch Seeker, Harry felt he could perhaps give it a try.

Still, it would most likely only be a pastime rather than a challenge. He did not believe that a body enhanced by Chaos Magic would be weaker than those frail Young Wizards.

After finishing their ice creams, the two arrived at a bookstore called Flourish and Blotts.

Flourish and Blotts had countless books. Rows upon rows of bookshelves were piled together, filled with books all the way to the ceiling.

Harry first bought the books he needed for school with Hagrid accompanying him. Then, while Hagrid was not paying attention, he bought books such as "Curses and Counter-Curses" and "Forgotten Ancient Magic and Spells."

He figured Hagrid would not allow a Young Wizard to read such dangerous knowledge, but he was not a child, nor did he want to make things difficult for Hagrid. He could only use this method.

He placed the books he had secretly bought into the Pocket Universe. This profound storage spell was not difficult for Harry; it merely required a vast amount of magic to maintain.

And magic was the one thing Harry lacked least.

After that, Hagrid led Harry to buy a cauldron, a telescope, various herbs, and other items. Besides the things Hogwarts required, Harry also bought dragon blood, Unicorn Hair, and more.

The tissues and organs of powerful magical creatures could serve many purposes—for example, paying a mage's price in their stead, creating powerful magical items and precious magical potions, and so on...

What disappointed Harry somewhat was that these supposedly formidable magical materials did not actually contain much magic.

Take dragon blood, for instance. The dragon blood he had encountered before had been like lava; the magic contained in a single drop could even destroy a small town.

Of course, that had been the blood of the most powerful Magic Dragon. Compared to even the weakest dragons, this dragon blood was vastly inferior. Any magical items made from these materials would likely be greatly reduced in power as well.

At last, Harry and Hagrid stopped before a shabby shop. On the equally shabby sign hanging outside were the following words:

"Ollivander: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC."

When they entered, a tinkling bell sounded from the back of the shop, likely alerting the owner that customers had arrived.

The shop was small, but it contained many things. Especially the long, narrow boxes stacked on the counter to one side, which nearly occupied an entire wall.

Hagrid told Harry that he needed to go out and buy something, leaving him to wait alone.

Harry nodded lightly.

"Good afternoon." A gentle voice rang out. Harry looked up to see an old man standing on a ladder, studying him curiously.

The old man was very aged, his face full of wrinkles, yet he looked kindly.

As he tottered down the ladder, Harry worried that he might fall to the floor.

The old man came before Harry, his pale eyes fixed on him like two full moons.

"Oh, Harry Potter. I have wanted to meet you for a long time.

"Your eyes are just like your mother's. She bought her first wand here all those years ago.

"Ten and a quarter inches, willow as the main material. A wand well suited for casting spells."

Ollivander came before Harry and examined him with goodwill, his eyes full of curiosity.

But Harry really wanted to complain. If possible, he hoped Mr. Ollivander would not stare at other Young Wizards like that.

At such close range, those gentle eyes looked overly cold because of their pale color. They would frighten the Young Wizards.

If the blond Young Wizard were here, he would probably wet himself again.

Ollivander nodded in satisfaction, moved away from Harry, and went to a shelf, where he took down a measuring tape.

"Your father was different. A mahogany wand, eleven inches long, flexible and full of strength. Perfect for Transfiguration.

"Your father liked it very much. Though of course, it is the wand that chooses its wizard."

Harry's brows drew together slightly, unimpressed by Ollivander's words.

The Supreme Mage had told him that magic had no categories; it was controlled by the mage. Even evil magic could bloom into beautiful flowers in the hands of a good mage, and magical items were the same.

By Mr. Ollivander's reasoning, the Chaos Magic within him was certainly not the benevolent kind.

Its essence was to twist reality, time, and space—chaotic and disorderly—yet in his hands, it could heal others. He was no evil mage.