The Picky Wand

The goblin clerk courteously escorted Lucien and Professor McGonagall to the door.

His attitude toward Lucien was especially warm and fawning.

There was nothing for it—Lucien had exchanged enough gold for Galleons to single-handedly help the goblin meet an entire year's work quota.

The goblin's smile could not have been brighter, his wrinkles bunching up like a blooming chrysanthemum.

And this was only their first transaction. He believed there would definitely be big deals to come.

Lucien waved, taking the bag the goblin held out with both hands. It contained only 300 Galleons.

The rest of the exchanged Galleons had been deposited into a vault at Gringotts.

Professor McGonagall led Lucien toward Ollivanders Wand Shop. This was also her first time seeing a young wizard exchange for so many Galleons.

"You seemed quite familiar with financial knowledge when you were discussing currency exchange with the goblin just now?"

Lucien nodded.

"More or less, Professor. Knowledge isn't divided by field. I think the more of it, the better."

"That is very reasonable, Lucien. You possess a maturity uncommon for your age."

Professor McGonagall was known at school for her strict teaching, and she liked students like this—students who treated knowledge seriously and loved learning.

Before long, a shabby, ramshackle shop appeared before Lucien.

He looked up at the signboard, which was covered in dust and the marks of age.

"Ollivanders"

"Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC"

It really was an antique. More than two thousand years old.

As he entered the shop, Lucien only felt dust drifting down over his head.

Looking at the shop from the outside, he had thought it was very run-down. Once he walked in and took another look...

It was even more run-down.

Mm. It seemed Ollivanders' wand quality really was guaranteed.

Otherwise, it would have shut down long ago.

Surely it couldn't be that in the entire British wizarding world, they were the only family that knew how to make wands?

Lucien comforted himself with that thought.

"Oh, Minerva, we meet again."

"Fir, nine and a half inches, dragon heartstring."

An old man with graying hair and silvery-white eyes walked out from behind the counter.

He smiled as he greeted Professor McGonagall, precisely stating the characteristics of her wand.

As an old man, Ollivander's memory when it came to wands was astonishing. He could remember every wand he had ever sold.

Lucien looked at the messy-haired old man and found that the other man was also sizing him up.

Garrick Ollivander had long since grown used to scenes like this. Every year, Hogwarts professors brought newly enrolled young wizards to him to choose suitable wands.

"A young wizard in need of a wand. What is your name?"

"Lucien Grafton."

"Your wand arm?"

"Right hand."

Ollivander took a tape measure from his pocket. The tape measure automatically flew to Lucien's side and began measuring the length of his arm.

After the tape measure flew back, Ollivander glanced at the markings on it, then walked straight over to the rows of cabinets.

He gently pulled out a box and brushed off the dust on top.

"Chestnut, twelve inches, unicorn tail hair."

Ollivander handed it to Lucien.

Lucien took the wand and felt the magic within his body become a little more active.

He naturally guided that magic toward the wand in his hand, letting it flow out with the motion.

A cluster of gentle white light radiated from the wand tip, making all three people present feel warm and comfortable.

But Lucien felt that the process of releasing magic was still obstructed, not smooth enough, as if this wand could not perfectly withstand his magic.

He glanced at the panel.

Sure enough, the Magic Talent column was still in an awaiting-unlock state.

Lucien did not need to bring it up himself. Ollivander had already seen the problem.

He took the wand back and rambled on:

"Never mind that. The wand chooses the wizard. I'm certain I have a wand here that suits you!"

"Magic even more surging than your peers... let me see..."

He took out another wand.

"Ebony, fourteen inches, dragon heartstring."

"Sturdy, powerful. Give it a try."

Lucien took it and released his magic again.

Boom!

Dark-green flames erupted forth, charging straight for the ceiling.

But Lucien had been prepared, and he immediately restrained the magic inside him.

The green fire-serpent instantly shrank back, adjusted its aim, and vanished as it coiled in midair.

Ollivander was not angry that his shop had nearly been burned down. Instead, he clicked his tongue in wonder.

"Excellent control!"

"Perhaps this wand is too impulsive. It isn't suited to a young wizard like you."

The cycle repeated: Ollivander searched for a wand, Lucien tried it, it proved unsuitable, and they changed to another, over and over again.

"Dogwood, er, too lively."

"Spruce, no, too forceful."

"Thunderbird feather, a little too irritable."

Ollivander went back and forth dozens of times, but still did not find a wand suited to Lucien.

Yet he remained patient the entire time, even taking delight in it.

Because the harder it was for a wizard to find a wand, the more distinct their traits were.

Such wizards could often shine brilliantly in one field, or even several, and Ollivander thoroughly enjoyed finding compatible wands for them.

If a genius was no different from ordinary people, could they still be called a genius?

Placing the most suitable wand into the hands of one young wizard after another, opening the first step of their journey into the magical world—

That was something that gave Ollivander a great sense of accomplishment.

Professor McGonagall waited patiently at the side. She was also curious what wand Lucien would receive.

Or rather, what kind of wand could possibly be worthy of Lucien's talent.

Just as Ollivander was rummaging through boxes and cabinets, busily searching for a wand—

In the deepest part of the shop, in a dusty corner where an old, battered cabinet stood, a great cloud of ash was suddenly stirred up, and a yellowed, ancient box was flung open.

A shadow flew out from within, shooting straight toward Lucien.

The quick-reacting Professor McGonagall raised her wand, just about to cast a spell to stop it.

Only to see that the thing had already come to a halt, hovering steadily in front of Lucien's chest.

It was a wand entirely of silver-black.

It was clearly a solid wand, yet it gave the illusion of constantly flowing and changing.

Ollivander, who had been startled badly enough to nearly fall from the ladder, ignored the dust on him and hurried over.

His eyes fixed on the wand before Lucien.

He examined it carefully for more than ten seconds.

Ollivander, whose memory was extraordinary, actually revealed a bewildered expression and murmured somewhat uncertainly:

"Trickster Branch, twelve and a half inches, sphinx spinal feather."

Lucien was also observing this wand that had come to him of its own accord.

Half-illusory symbols would surface on the wand from time to time; some of them converged into complex sigils, then swiftly shrank back inside the wand.

At that moment, Lucien was closest to the wand, and he heard intermittent... snickering?

It carried a mocking, lofty undertone.

A sphinx, also called a lion-bodied, human-faced beast. I remember it's a creature from Egyptian mythology.

It loved catching people and making them solve riddles.

Do sphinxes exist as magical creatures in the world of Harry Potter?

But what is Trickster Branch?

"Mr. Ollivander, may I ask what Trickster Branch is?"

The next second, the word Ollivander gave in answer was both familiar and shocking to Lucien.

"Loki Fir."