The Boy Who Lived and The Boy Who Lived

After that, Glen followed the street in order, buying the required books, scales, cauldron, and other items, and also picked up an Eagle Owl, temporarily storing it at Eeylops Owl Emporium.

Finally, he came to a small, shabby shop. In the dusty window, a single wand lay on a faded purple cushion, with a sign above it reading: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.

Judging by the peeling gold lettering on the door, the claim was indeed convincing.

Pulling his gaze away from the wand in the window, Glen walked into the shop.

The shop was tiny, with nothing but a long bench, and on both sides, thousands of narrow cardboard boxes stacked nearly to the ceiling.

"Good afternoon." Following the voice, he saw an old man with very pale eyes.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Ollivander."

Though he didn't know which Ollivander it was, addressing him as "Mr. Ollivander" in a wand shop was always a safe bet.

"Sir, you've come to claim a wand of your own, haven't you?"

Glen nodded. "Yes."

Hearing this, Ollivander pulled a long tape measure with silver markings from his pocket. "Which arm do you use for your wand?"

"Right."

"Good, raise your arm." He measured Glen, starting from shoulder to fingertip, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and finally the circumference of his head.

As he measured, he spoke: "Lately, many students heading to Hogwarts have taken their own wands. That's a good thing, but sir, I must remind you here—every Ollivander wand contains a powerfully magical substance, which is its very essence."

"Of course, if you use a wand meant for another witch or wizard, you'll never get such good results..."

To this, Glen said nothing.

In truth, when he first touched a wand, it was a second-hand one.

There was no complicated adjustment process; he basically picked it up and used it.

As for what Ollivander said, well, he probably had a point.

"Very good, sir. May I ask your name?" Ollivander said as he left the tape measure in midair to measure the distance between Glen's nostrils on its own.

"Glen Howard."

"Ah, Glen..." Ollivander repeated softly.

"What's wrong?"

"Remarkable, truly remarkable." Ollivander snapped back to attention and said cheerfully.

"I once heard my father say that the proudest work of his life was a wand he made for a wizard named Glen."

"Did your father also run a shop in Diagon Alley?"

"Oh, no. He ran his shop his whole life in Hogsmeade." Ollivander shook his head with a smile. "Unfortunately, I had no siblings to take over, so I had to close that shop in Hogsmeade."

"That's a shame." This was sincere, because Glen had bought his first wand in Hogsmeade.

"I've rambled a bit, but this is a good omen." Ollivander blinked his pale, colorless eyes.

"From my measurements, you're a customer with strong intuition. Take a look, Mr. Glen. Perhaps you'll spot the wand truly meant for you at a glance." Ollivander chuckled as he put away the tape measure.

It was clear he didn't mind such a coincidence.

Hearing this, Glen looked up at the thousands of narrow cardboard boxes stacked to the ceiling on both sides.

Ollivander's measurements were one thing, but for him, whether a wand was usable depended more on whether it showed gold under Revelio.

Thinking this, Glen's right hand twitched almost imperceptibly.

Revelio

As the spell was cast silently, the world dimmed, and everything lost its original color.

Among the thousands of narrow wand boxes, an unusually bright, glaring gold shone out simultaneously, as if calling for Glen's choice.

"Well? See a wand you like?" Ollivander said beside him.

"..."

"If nothing catches your eye yet, that's fine. It's not the wizard who chooses the wand, but the wand that chooses the wizard. Perhaps I'll need to take them down one by one for you to try." The brief silence made Ollivander think Glen was overwhelmed by the vast array of wands.

"No, that won't be necessary. Could you take down that one—no, the one next to it?" Glen pointed to a corner of the shop.

"Oh, yes... yes." Ollivander flicked his own wand, retrieving the box next to the one containing the Holly, Phoenix Feather, eleven-inch wand.

"Oh, excellent! My, how remarkable, sir." Ollivander said with some surprise. "Summer Oak (English Oak), Dragon Heartstring, thirteen inches. Yes, firm yet flexible. Excellent."

"As I said, wizards who choose Summer Oak for their wands often possess very strong intuition." Ollivander handed the box containing the wand to Glen.

Seeing the other wands dim to a faint gold from not being chosen, Glen withdrew from the Revelio state.

Under Ollivander's expectant gaze, he opened the box.

Inside was a dark brown wand with thick, textured wood grain.

Honestly, Glen didn't think it looked much different from any other wand.

"I believe it will accomplish great things in your hands." Ollivander said, a little excitedly.

Glen nodded with a polite smile, then looked past Ollivander in front of him toward the corner of the wall ahead—a map of London.

The next moment, he raised his wand above his head and swept it downward with a sharp swish.

A red light streaked through the dust-laden air, slipped past Ollivander's graying beard, dodged the right-side wand box that was trying to escape... and finally struck King's Cross Station in London.

Through the faintly smoldering hole, Glen could see the bustling crowd on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

"Why are there so many Muggles here? What are they all doing?"

"This is a Muggle railway hub, of course it's packed with Muggles..."

"A—a what hub?"

In front of Platforms Nine and Ten, people came and went.

Aside from ordinary folks clutching briefcases and hurrying past, there were also some children in robes.

They pushed relatively large trolleys, loaded with leather trunks full of luggage.

Most of the children were accompanied by adults.

But there were exceptions.

For instance, Glen, who had woken up early.

Letting out a slight yawn, he glanced at the big clock in King's Cross Station.

Ten twenty-five—plenty of time.

Though he had never traveled to Hogwarts through this conventional method before, as a transfer student with some prior learning experience, even if he hadn't tried it, he'd at least heard about it.

All he had to do was wait until the surrounding ordinary people—well, Muggles—thinned out a bit, then push his trolley and charge straight into the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten.

But clearly, not every child without a guardian could stay as calm as Glen.

A dark-haired, somewhat malnourished boy got off a car not far away.

The middle-aged man accompanying him helped push his trolley into the station, flashed a mocking grin, and then irresponsibly walked away.

The abandoned child, pushing his trolley, had "confusion" practically written all over his face. He even stopped a passing security guard and asked him, "When does the train to Hogwarts leave..."

In the end, he even sneaked around, tailing a family of red-haired wizards!

When they walked forward, he walked forward too; when they stopped, he pretended to coincidentally stop nearby...

By some coincidence, the spot where this child stopped was only about five meters from Glen.

"Need some help?"

The dark-haired boy, who had been staring intently at the red-haired family not far away, suddenly flinched and turned toward the voice.

"I happen to be going to Hogwarts for the first time too." Glen offered a friendly smile as he spoke.

Hearing this, the boy's face flushed slightly.

But after the blush faded, he realized that the boy who had spoken to him was also unaccompanied, which made him, flustered by the unknown, suddenly feel like he'd found a companion.

"Oh, me too. Uh, I mean—do you know how we're supposed to get to Hogwarts?"

Without answering right away, Glen smiled and extended a hand.

"Glen Howard."

The boy hesitated for a moment, then reached out his own hand.

"Harry Potter."