The Unsuitable Wand

After listening to Bagshot's account, Dumbledore wore a faint smile. "What a good child!"

Bagshot asked, "Headmaster Dumbledore, is Wizet truly an Obscurial? Whether from his speech or his behavior, I can't sense it at all."

"That child has a certain affinity. To be honest... even without your request, I wouldn't have been wary of him... How marvelous!"

"That depends on whether you believe it." Dumbledore took a sip of black tea. "Wizet is indeed an Obscurial. I saw it with my own eyes."

"The situation was urgent at the time, and the people from the Ministry of Magic arrived before I did. Without my help, he broke free from the state of the Obscurus."

"He actually recovered through his own willpower? He's only of the age to be a new student, isn't he?" Bagshot said in disbelief.

"This morning, I thought you were worried he wasn't stable enough, and that was why you asked me to keep more of an eye on him and find a chance to chat with him..."

"So I actually made you misunderstand..." Dumbledore gently shook his head. "I only saw Wizet lingering in the bookstore for a long time, and was worried that he rarely interacted with people and didn't dare speak up to buy books."

"That was why I asked you to help look after him a little. If he had any needs, I hoped you could help as much as possible... You really helped me a great deal this time. I'll remember it."

"No, no, no! Headmaster Dumbledore, you're joking!" Bagshot waved his hands repeatedly. "I'm the one who gained so much. I should be thanking you."

"If we keep being so modest, perhaps we can start considering what to have for dinner." Dumbledore glanced at the time. "I have an interview this afternoon, so I'll need to return to the Leaky Cauldron in a while."

"All right, I should return to the bookstore as well." Bagshot had already stood up. "I'll take my leave first."

Watching Bagshot's brisk retreating figure, Dumbledore was slightly lost in thought. "Ariana... at least this time, I won't make the same mistake I made back then..."

For modern wizards, a wand was a necessity, tied to every aspect of life.

As one of the oldest buildings in Diagon Alley, Ollivander's Wand Shop was truly unremarkable.

The shopfront was small and shabby, and the gold-lettered sign over the door was badly mottled. The embossed words could just barely be made out—Ollivander: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.

The glass display window was gray with dust, and an old wand lay on a faded purple cushion.

Wizet pushed open the door and entered the shop. It was quiet inside, with only a narrow passage leading to the shop floor.

Rather than a shop, this place looked more like a wand warehouse.

Both sides of the passage were lined with shelves, filled with wooden boxes one after another, like bricks stacked from floor to ceiling.

The shop floor was just as small, with a well-worn bench placed in the corner.

Ring, ring, ring...

The pleasant sound of wind chimes echoed through the shop, and a figure appeared in front of Wizet as suddenly as the wind.

Ollivander was an old man with silver hair and no beard. His extremely pale silvery-white eyes were striking.

In the dim shop, those eyes seemed like two bright moons, capable of giving off light.

Ollivander's voice was soft. "Good afternoon. Since the Statute of Secrecy came into effect, Obscurials have become rare. You are a special customer... Wizet, I am very pleased to be of service to you."

There was a note of delight in his tone. "An Obscurial with the chance to touch a wand is even more unprecedented... Which hand do you usually use?"

"My right hand."

"Good. Please raise your arm and relax a little. I'm only taking your measurements."

As he spoke, a roll of measuring tape jumped out of Ollivander's coat pocket.

The measuring tape stopped on Wizet's shoulder, slowly rolled toward his fingertips, then moved from wrist to elbow, from shoulder to floor, and circled close around his forehead.

At that moment, the shop seemed to come alive. Ollivander darted between the shelves, and with a wave of his hand, three wooden boxes flew into his arms.

"Here, wood, core, length... there are differences in every respect... Every wand is a unique existence."

"Of course, the wand suited to you can always be found here. Try this one. Acacia, dragon heartstring, thirteen inches, rigid."

This was a wand whose whole body was like amber. The carvings on it followed the grain of the wood, giving it an unhurried feel.

Wizet held the wand in his hand, but before he could even grip it tightly, Ollivander snatched it away.

"Doesn't feel right... Try this one. Blackthorn, dragon heartstring, twelve and a half inches, very springy."

Almost repeating the action from before, Wizet had not had time to grip the wand tightly before Ollivander had already snatched it away.

"Try this one. Holly, phoenix feather, thirteen and three-quarter inches, reasonably supple."

"Cedar, unicorn tail hair, ten and three-fifths inches—not right!"

Ollivander kept chattering as he moved back and forth among the shelves, displaying an agility that did not belong to someone his age.

Wizet took wand after wand, and then those wands were snatched away again...

Wands and wand boxes lay scattered across the floor, piling up before anyone noticed.

"What about this one? Ebony, dragon heartstring, nine inches..."

"Elder, dragon heartstring, eleven inches..."

"Laurel, phoenix feather..."

Time kept passing, and the wand boxes piled higher and higher, like a small hill.

The high-spirited Ollivander finally stopped, muttering excitedly without pause. "I truly didn't expect this. We've tried almost every kind. How could this be?"

Faced with this situation, if not for the shield magic he had used earlier, Wizet would probably already have begun to doubt whether he possessed any magical talent at all.

"Wizet, I need more information." Ollivander rubbed his hands together and said, sounding a little impatient. "Would you be willing to tell me about your past experiences?"

"Try not to recall anything unpleasant. Pick something happy, something that interested you, and tell me about that... Preferably something from before you met Dumbledore."

Wizet voiced his confusion. "Mr. Ollivander, is something wrong? Why isn't there any wand that suits me?"

"It's very common for wizards to be particular about wands." Ollivander smiled. "The wand chooses the wizard, and the wizard also chooses the wand."

"To complete the pairing, sometimes it simply takes quite a bit of effort. We need to trace things back to the source... Tell me about your past experiences!"

"Something from before I met Dumbledore..." Wizet frowned and began to recall the past.

"Yes! Anything that interested you will do."

"In that wizard's home, there was a book that recorded magic. It looked very ancient, and I was very interested in it."

"A book recording ancient magic?" Ollivander looked thoughtful. "I have an idea. Wait here for a moment."

He drew his wand and waved it at the wands on the floor. The wands returned to their boxes in good order, then flew back to their original places.

Before long, he appeared from the shadows deep inside the shop, holding a silver-blue box in his hands.

Wizet stared blankly at the Cyclone Emblem on the box. He knew that emblem all too well.

There was an identical emblem on the Wizard's Practical Guide.