[Ollivanders Wand Shop, making fine wands since 382 AD.]
Ian stood in the doorway of the shop.
His heart was filled with an indescribable excitement.
"If you were this distracted while brewing Potions, you'd probably need Merlin himself to watch over you just to avoid getting blown sky-high."
Snape's sharp tongue might arrive late, but it never failed to show up. Seeing Ian lost in his thoughts, Snape taunted him in his trademark sarcastic drawl.
"Professor, I was just thinking about something interesting."
Ian gave an awkward grin.
"Looks like Mr. Prince has a brain no better than a Troll's, just like those foolish Hufflepuffs," Snape sneered.
Then,
he pulled seven gleaming Galleons from his purse and tossed them to Ian.
"Take your money and go buy your wand. I'll wait here." Snape seemed unwilling to go inside, so he simply gave Ian the money and left him to shop for a wand on his own.
Compared with what other wizards paid when replacing their wands, the price of a wand for a new Hogwarts student was fixed. Everyone paid this number, which held remarkable significance in the magical world.
"Professor, aren't you coming with me?"
Ian looked at Snape with clear eyes.
"Are you a baby?"
Snape shot Ian a scornful sidelong glance.
"Fine..."
Ian took the Galleons from Snape and drew a deep breath. Then he pushed open the door that, in both the original story and countless fanfics, marked the start of a dream.
"Ding-a-ling~"
A small copper bell hung on the door, and when Ian stepped inside, it rang out, impossible to miss, as if alerting the shopkeeper that a customer had arrived.
The shop wasn't very large, and its interior was cramped and cluttered. Its humble appearance was a far cry from the lofty place it held in the hearts of countless wizards.
Tens of thousands of wands were stacked on cheap shelves. No one would have guessed that this was where every wizard's journey began. The ordinary, unremarkable shop looked rather shabby.
"Good afternoon. A... rather distinctive face."
The elderly voice came from a hunched old man. His hair was a tangled mass of dry, white strands, but his bright, piercing eyes were hard to ignore.
"Hello, sir."
Ian greeted the shopkeeper, the Ollivander wandmaker of this generation, with a touch of nervousness. His gaze remained fixed on the wands of every shape and kind.
"Yes, yes, another school year. A young Hogwarts wizard... Did you come alone?" Ollivander looked Ian's slight frame up and down.
"A Hogwarts professor brought me. Is there a problem?"
Ian answered honestly.
"Of course not. I only... You may put it down to an old man's confusion." Ollivander chuckled and glanced out the window.
"I should have known he'd be the one to bring you. Hmm, birch, Phoenix Feather. I remember it as if it were yesterday." Ollivander murmured cryptically.
Had he "predicted" something about Snape?
If Ian remembered correctly, this Death Eater professor's wand really was made of birch. He hadn't expected this old wand-selling charlatan to have such a knack for it.
"Can you make Prophecies?"
Ian took advantage of his young age and the excuse of childish innocence.
"It's only experience, just a hunch, child." Ollivander smiled cheerfully, took out a measuring tape, and began measuring Ian's height and arm span.
"Every wand chooses the wizard best suited to it. That's the most remarkable thing about wands..." Ollivander lectured Ian while taking his measurements. He also remembered to ask the age-old question: "Mr. Prince, which hand do you favor?"
So he really was something!
Ian hadn't even introduced himself, yet Ollivander had called him by his surname!
"How do you know my name?"
Ian couldn't help asking.
"That isn't a question I need to answer, Mr. Prince. I only sell my wands." Ollivander chuckled as he replied.
"My left. I'm used to using my left hand."
Ian answered Ollivander's original question with some resignation.
"That's an unusual habit."
Ollivander put away the measuring tape and headed for the shelves of wands.
"Many people think wizards choose their wands, but in truth, the wand chooses its wizard. Humility is a virtue every wizard ought to possess."
Ollivander began his customary lecture.
"Um, do you give every young wizard a speech like this?" Ian felt a powerful sense of déjà vu.
Just like the original story.
And just like the scene that had been written to death in fanfiction.
"What an impolite child. I'm only teaching you the proper way to understand things... A businessman's work can't be called brainwashing, can it?" Ollivander looked at Ian reproachfully.
Then,
he selected a wand from the shelves and handed it to Ian.
"Rosewood, Dragon Heartstring..."
The moment he put the wand in Ian's hand, Ollivander snatched it right back. Yes, snatched it back—the force behind it was hard to imagine coming from a man in his seventies or eighties.
"No, no. Try this one. Birch, seventeen inches, from..." This time, Ollivander took the wand back before he had even finished describing it.
"This one's no good either."
Ollivander returned to the shelves to search again.
"Ebony, ten inches, Dragon Heartstring."
"Cedar, twelve inches, Thunderbird tail feather."
"No, no. Perhaps this fir wand, fifteen inches, Phoenix Feather."
"You're a fussy customer. Then try this unusual combination: acacia, fourteen inches, Veela hair."
There was no denying it.
The process of choosing a wand was far more complicated than Ian had expected.
He had no idea whether every young wizard went through such an exhausting ordeal. In any case, after holding his arm up for so long that it had gone numb, Ian finally couldn't help speaking up.
"Sir, perhaps I should try a wand made by your grandfather, or your grandfather's grandfather?" Ian felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu about everything that was happening.
Drawing on his years of experience as a seasoned reader, he offered a suggestion.
However,
"Are you a child who likes antiques?"
Ollivander looked at Ian, utterly perplexed.
"Mm-hmm. Yes, that's exactly the sort of person I am."
Ian tried to make his gaze look as earnest as possible. He truly found testing wand after wand unbearably tedious, and he thought this might be the only way out.
After all,
many fanfic protagonists ended up with wands made by Ollivander's grandfather. Perhaps Ian, like those transmigrators who had come before him, had the same special quality?
"Mr. Prince, I'm afraid every generation of Ollivanders sells only the wands they make themselves. It's a point of pride, and a way to show respect for our ancestors."
Ollivander's reply shattered Ian's hopes.
Ian couldn't help pulling a long face.
Left with no choice, he continued trying the various wands Ollivander handed him. It was a tedious process. Almost every wand, in Ollivander's eyes, seemed a poor match for Ian.
After testing dozens more wands,
"How unusual."
"I've never seen such a fussy customer."
"Perhaps... you possess some rare quality."
Ollivander's expression and Ian's were polar opposites. The harder it was to find a suitable wand, the brighter Ollivander's cloudy eyes grew.
"A young wizard who likes antiques. Perhaps, perhaps you should try that wand." As if he'd just remembered something, Ollivander hurried into the back room.
A moment later,
he emerged carrying a dusty box in both hands.
"Is this your grandfather's wand?"
Ian couldn't help asking.
"No. This is one of my own creations, something I made in my early years, when I thought rather too highly of myself... I read the story in that fairy tale, and it stirred up a defiant spirit in me."
"You may not know the legend of the Elder Wand. This was my attempt to make something that could rival that legendary wand—a naïve, ignorant experiment of mine."
Ollivander's eyes and expression were full of nostalgia.
"I failed again and again. By the last time, I'd grown numb to failure. Perhaps Elder Wood and a wand core symbolizing goodness could never be matched?"
"I began to doubt myself. But perhaps Merlin helped me. On my final attempt, during a thunderstorm, I thought I'd fail as usual."
"1980. Yes, 1980, July seventh... That bolt of lightning—I don't know if it made the wand a success. All these years, I've never found a wizard suited to it."
Ollivander gazed at Ian with burning intensity.
"I have a feeling you're the wizard it's been waiting for." Ollivander even used an honorific that seemed out of place. His gaze was filled with an eager excitement.
"Give it a try."
Ollivander held out the wand.
"Um... July seventh... That date..."
Ian took the wand from Ollivander, his expression a little strange.
The instant it touched his palm,
he felt as if he and the wand had become one. No words could describe the sensation. The magic surging through him flowed clearly into the wand.
"Whoosh~"
Silver-white threads burst from the tip of the wand and billowed through the air. Like clouds of mist, they filled the entire shop in the blink of an eye, with countless hazy, dreamlike visions rising and falling within them!
Figures flashed.
It was as if beasts were roaring.
"It really worked! It really worked!"
"This is... this is a miracle written in the stars!"
Ollivander's astonished cry echoed through the humble shop for a long while.
With a fervor that was... almost devout.