Destined Choice!

Ollivanders Wand Shop, crafting fine wands since 382 AD.

Ian stood at the entrance to the shop.

His heart was filled with indescribable excitement.

"If you were this distracted while brewing potions, only Merlin blessing you with all his heart could save you from the Destiny of being blown sky-high."

Snape's sharp tongue might be late, but it was never absent. Seeing Ian lost in a whirl of thoughts, Snape mocked him in his uniquely sarcastic tone.

"Professor, I was just thinking of something interesting."

Ian replied with an embarrassed chuckle.

"It seems Mr. Prince, like those idiotic Hufflepuffs, possesses a brain no different from that of a troll." Snape sneered at Ian.

Then—

He took seven gleaming Galleons from his Money Bag and tossed them to Ian.

"Take your money and buy your wand. I'll wait here." Snape seemed unwilling to go inside, merely giving Ian the money and leaving him to purchase his own wand.

Compared to the cost of replacing wands for other wizards, the price of a wand for a Hogwarts first-year was fixed. For everyone, it was that number of extraordinary significance in the magical world.

"Professor, aren't you coming in with me?"

Ian looked at Snape with clear Eyes.

"Are you a giant baby?"

Snape cast Ian a mocking sidelong glance.

"Fine..."

Ian took the Galleons from Snape, drew a deep breath, and pushed open the door that, in both the original story and fanfiction, represented the beginning of a dream.

"Jingle~"

A crisp brass bell was attached to the door. When Ian entered, it rang loudly enough to be impossible to ignore, as though informing the shop's owner that Customers had arrived.

It was not a large shop, and its interior was cramped and narrow. Its shabby storefront fell far short of its standing in the hearts of countless Potterheads.

Tens of thousands of wands were piled on cheap shelves. No one could have imagined this was where every wizard's journey began. The ordinary, featureless shop looked exceedingly plain.

"Good afternoon. A... special face."

The aged voice came from a hunched old man. Though his hair was a tangled, dry mass of white, his bright, piercing Eyes were impossible to overlook.

"Hello, sir."

Ian greeted the shop owner, this generation's wandmaker Ollivander, somewhat stiffly. His gaze remained fixed on the countless different wands.

"Yes, yes, it's another school season. A Hogwarts Young Wizard... Did you come alone?" Ollivander looked Ian's slight figure up and down.

"A Hogwarts professor brought me here. Is there a problem?"

Ian answered honestly.

"Of course not. I merely... consider it the muddleheadedness of an old man." Ollivander chuckled and glanced out the window.

"I should have realized. Only he would bring you here. Hmm, birch, phoenix tail feather—I remember. It feels like yesterday." Ollivander began muttering mysteriously.

Had he somehow "foreseen" Snape's circumstances?

If Ian remembered correctly, that Death Eater professor's wand was indeed made of birch. He hadn't expected this old wand-selling mystic to actually have some skill.

"Do you have the gift of prophecy?"

Relying on his young age and the innocence of a child's words, Ian asked directly.

"It is only experience, only a feeling, child." Ollivander smiled cheerfully as he took out a measuring tape and began measuring Ian's height and arm span.

"Every wand chooses the master most suited to it. That is the most wondrous quality of wands..." As Ollivander indoctrinated Ian, he measured his physical proportions and did not forget to ask that age-old question. "Mr. Prince, which hand do you favor?"

So there really was something to him!

Ian had not even introduced himself, yet Ollivander had called out his surname!

"You know my name?"

Ian could not help asking curiously.

"That is not a question I ought to answer for you, Mr. Prince. I am only responsible for selling my wands." Ollivander responded with a chuckle.

"My left hand. I favor my left hand."

Ian answered Ollivander's first question helplessly.

"That is quite an uncommon habit."

Ollivander put away the measuring tape and walked toward the wand shelves.

"Many believe wizards choose their wands, but in truth, wands choose their masters. Maintaining humility is a virtue every wizard should possess."

As usual, Ollivander began indoctrinating Ian.

"Uh, do you instill this sort of idea in every Young Wizard?" Ian felt an overwhelming sense of familiarity from Ollivander at that moment.

Just like the plot of the original story.

And like the clichés worn to death in fanfiction.

"What a rude child. I am merely teaching you the proper understanding... How can a businessman's affairs be called indoctrination?" Ollivander shot Ian an offended glance.

Then—

He selected a wand from the shelf and handed it to Ian.

"Rosewood, Fire Dragon Nerve..."

Almost the instant the wand touched Ian's hand, Ollivander suddenly snatched it back. Yes, snatched it back—the force was difficult to imagine coming from a man in his seventies or eighties.

"No, no. Try this one—birch, seventeen inches, from..." This time, Ollivander snatched the wand away before even finishing the introduction.

"This one isn't right either."

Ollivander returned to the shelves and began searching again.

"Ebony, ten inches, Dragon Nerve."

"Cedar, twelve inches, Thunderbird head feather."

"No, no. Perhaps this fir wand, fifteen inches, Phoenix tail feather."

"What a picky customer. Then try this special combination—acacia, fourteen inches, Veela hair."

It had to be said—

The wand-selection process was far more complicated than Ian had expected.

He did not know whether every Young Wizard had to endure such a grueling process. In any case, once his arm had gone numb from holding up so many wands, Ian finally could not help speaking up.

"Sir, perhaps I should try a wand made by your Grandfather, or your Grandfather's Grandfather?" Ian felt an intense sense of déjà vu about everything happening now.

Drawing on his years of experience as a veteran reader, he offered a suggestion.

However—

"Are you a child who likes old things?"

Ollivander looked at Ian with complete confusion.

"Yes, yes, I am exactly that sort of person."

Ian tried to make his gaze look as earnest as possible. The process of testing all these wands truly was torturous, and perhaps there was only one solution to a situation like this.

After all—

In many fanfictions, the protagonist eventually received a wand made by Ollivander's Grandfather. Perhaps, like those predecessors who had crossed over, he possessed the same special qualities?

"Mr. Prince, I regret to say that every generation of Ollivander sells only wands they themselves have made. It is a point of pride, and also a form of respect for our forebears."

Ollivander's reply shattered Ian's hopes.

Ian could not help pulling a miserable face.

With no other choice, he continued trying the various wands Ollivander handed him. It was a tedious process. In Ollivander's eyes, almost every wand seemed poorly matched with Ian.

After trying several dozen more wands—

"How rare."

"I have never encountered such a picky customer."

"Perhaps... you possess some rare qualities."

Ollivander's expression and Ian's were complete opposites. The harder it became to find a suitable wand, the brighter Ollivander's cloudy Eyes grew.

"A Young Wizard who likes ancient objects... perhaps, perhaps you should try that wand." As though remembering something, Ollivander dashed excitedly into the back room.

A moment later—

He emerged carrying a dust-covered box in both hands.

"Is that your Grandfather's wand?"

Ian could not help asking.

"No, this is my work. One of my early works, one I was rather full of myself about... I read the tale from that fairy story, and I became unwilling to admit defeat."

"Perhaps you do not know the legend of the Elder Wand. In truth, this was my attempt to create a work comparable to that legendary wand—a naïve and ignorant experiment."

Ollivander's Eyes and expression were filled with nostalgia.

"I failed again and again. By the final attempt, I had become numb to failure. Perhaps Elder Wood and a wand core symbolizing beauty could never be compatible?"

"My faith began to waver. But perhaps it was Merlin's help. On that final attempt, it was a stormy day. I believed I would fail as I always had."

"1980. Yes, 1980. July seventh... that bolt of lightning—I do not know whether it succeeded. All these years, I have never found a wizard suited to it."

Ollivander looked at Ian with burning intensity.

"I have a feeling that you are the wizard it has been waiting for." Ollivander unexpectedly used an honorific inappropriate for the situation. His gaze toward Ian was filled with excited anticipation.

"Try it."

Ollivander offered him the wand.

"Uh... July seventh... that date..."

Ian accepted the wand from Ollivander with a strange expression.

Almost the moment the wand touched his palm—

He felt as though he had become one with it. No matter how beautiful the words, they could not describe the feeling. The surging magic within him flowed into the wand with incomparable clarity.

"Whoosh~"

Silvery-white threads burst from the wand's tip, billowing and drifting. Like clouds and mist, they filled the entire shop in the blink of an eye, while countless hazy, dreamlike scenes rose and fell within them!

Figures flashed amid the light.

And beasts seemed to roar.

"It actually works! It really works!"

"This truly is... a miracle ordained by Destiny!"

Ollivander's astonished cries echoed through the shabby little shop for a long time.

Filled with a kind of... reverent fervor.