The Leaky Cauldron

"I don't think harassing an unenrolled first-year is any sort of amusing joke!" Professor McGonagall's voice wasn't loud, but it carried full weight of authority.

Her wand had already slid silently into her hand. Though not raised, the threat was unmistakable.

"Now. Disappear from our sight. Otherwise, I wouldn't mind personally teaching you some manners—and proposing to the Wizengamot that your wand-wielding qualifications be re-evaluated!"

The wizard's face went pale. He scrambled to apologize, then shoved through the crowd and fled without daring to look back.

Professor McGonagall took a deep breath, forcing down her anger, before turning to face the boy behind her.

Skofot was still clutching his books tightly, body trembling faintly, face pale.

"It's alright, Mr. Leoqi." Her tone softened again, though a trace of lingering irritation remained.

"No one can harm a Hogwarts student. Let's continue—you still need a wand."

She extended her hand, not to touch him, but to signal him to follow, using her own upright figure to shield him from any possible stares or danger around them.

After the street incident, Professor McGonagall's expression remained taut.

When she led Skofot into Ollivanders Wand Shop, the aura radiating from her seemed to freeze even the dust-laden air inside.

From deep within the shop came the sound of a ladder sliding. Mr. Ollivander appeared from behind a tall shelf like a ghost, his messy hair and pale, large eyes gleaming unusually bright in the dim light.

"Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall. Oh... a new guest." His gaze immediately locked onto Skofot, scrutinizing him keenly.

"Let me see... I don't recall you. You must be a Hogwarts first-year. I remember every wand I've ever sold, and every wizard bloodline yet to claim one..."

He began rummaging through towering piles of wand boxes, muttering to himself: "Usually, we try some classic combinations..."

He pulled out several boxes, but the moment Skofot's fingertips touched the wands inside, unpleasant reactions followed—

either sending empty boxes on the shelves flying, or nearly making the books in his own hands slip free.

Ollivander only grew more excited: "Interesting, very interesting! Not these... perhaps something special is needed..."

He disappeared deeper into the shelves again.

Skofot stood quietly, breathing shallowly. The failed attempts seemed to drain what little strength he had left (affected by the [Rabbit Rhymer] debuff). He instinctively edged closer to Professor McGonagall, seeking a shred of security.

Sensing his subtle movement, she stepped half a pace forward, forming an even more solid protective stance.

Finally, Ollivander emerged with a long, dust-covered box.

"Try this," he said carefully, withdrawing the wand. "Maple wood, Thestral tail hair, fourteen inches. Decent flexibility."

Skofot hesitated. Under Professor McGonagall's encouraging gaze (though her face showed little expression), he reached out and grasped the wand.

This time, the feeling was completely different.

No explosions. No flying objects.

A warm current instantly spread from his fingertips through his entire body, dispelling part of the chilling weakness brought by the [Rabbit Rhymer] card, as if his cold blood had finally begun to flow smoothly again.

The wand tip burst forth a string of soft golden sparks, dancing around him like tiny stars. Then, a steady, milky-white glow flowed from the wand, like warm moonlight, enveloping both him and Professor McGonagall beside him. It lingered for several seconds before slowly fading.

The shop fell silent, leaving only the faint scent of sandalwood (or perhaps maple) in the air.

"Oh, splendid!" Mr. Ollivander clapped his hands in admiration.

"A marvelous choice—or rather, the wand has chosen you! Maple symbolizes adaptability and boundaries. Its wielder often possesses strong resilience and a protective inclination. Thestral... ah, a mysterious and noble creature. Its tail hair tends toward wizards who walk in shadows without losing themselves, who hold unique convictions within. Fourteen inches—moderate length, suitable for spells requiring precise control... A truly remarkable combination!"

Skofot looked down at the wand in his hand. The maple wood body was warm and smooth, fitting perfectly in his palm.

He could feel a faint yet steady power pulsing within it, connected to his very life.

Professor McGonagall watched the boy's eyes—for the first time, a light that wasn't feigned but truly his own flickered there (though still softened by a sense of brokenness)—and the peaceful glow that had surrounded them. The stern corner of her mouth softened almost imperceptibly.

She paid Ollivander seven Galleons clearly.

"Congratulations, Mr. Leoqi," she said, turning to Skofot with unprecedented gentleness in her tone.

"You have obtained your wand. This is an important step on your magical path."

Leaving the wand shop, Skofot gripped his own maple wand tightly, his knuckles white from the pressure.

This was not just a tool. It was power. It was belonging. It was the first solid straw he had grasped in this unfamiliar magical world.

With the shopping complete, Professor McGonagall looked at the boy beside her—clutching new textbooks, wearing second-hand robes, gripping his new wand tightly—and had already formed a plan in her mind.

She first took Skofot to Gringotts, exchanging a small amount of Galleons for Muggle currency.

"These Pounds," she said, handing him a few notes and watching him take them carefully, "are for you to take a taxi at King's Cross Station. Of course," she added, her tone brooking no argument, "I will personally see you onto the train."

She didn't take him directly to the station. Instead, she returned to the Leaky Cauldron.

She walked straight up to Old Tom and said, in a clear, serious voice: "One room. Something quiet. Book it for five days first."

Old Tom looked at Professor McGonagall, then at the boy behind her—who seemed exceptionally fragile and clung close to her—as if understanding something. He silently handed over a brass key.

Professor McGonagall's decision was clear.

She absolutely could not leave this child—who had just escaped danger and seemed utterly defenseless—alone in that abandoned attic on Muggle Alley, not even for one night.

Given the boy's current state (she recalled the unpleasant harassment on the street), she had no doubt that the moment she turned her back, someone ill-intentioned might snatch him away.

Entering the small but reasonably clean room, Professor McGonagall set the purchased items on a chair.

She turned, about to explain the next arrangements to the boy, only to meet a pair of eyes brimming with tears.

Skofot stood there, body trembling faintly. The "brokenness" brought by the [Rabbit Rhymer] card was pushed to its extreme in this moment.

He extended his slender fingers, cautiously, with a timidness that dared not exert force, and gently tugged at the hem of Professor McGonagall's deep green robe.