Ollivander

Fruit Tea truly had Kneazle blood.

Its keen senses, inherited through its bloodline, had detected something. For the rest of the time, it kept circling Ron and sniffing at him. Its stern feline face and sharp eyes made Ron's legs tremble.

He did not even dare protest and could only silently mourn for Scabbers.

The miscellaneous shopping had come to an end. Molly crossed another item off the note in her hand and nodded in satisfaction. "All right, only Ollivander's left. Ron, Vaughan, my darlings, you'll soon have your own wands."

This good news finally brought Ron some comfort.

The family followed the crowd deeper into Diagon Alley. Ollivander's wand shop was the oldest shop here, established long before the Leaky Cauldron became the gateway to the wizarding world—the Leaky Cauldron had opened in 1500.

It was hidden at the very end of Diagon Alley, inside a tiny, rundown shop. Its peeling paint and dusty display window gave no hint whatsoever of its glorious history. Only its sign revealed its heritage:

[Ollivander—Makers of Fine Wands since 328 B.C.]

The Weasleys entered the shop. The interior was very small, or perhaps it only seemed so because there was so much merchandise. Long, narrow boxes filled the place—at a rough glance, there had to be several thousand of them.

They were piled haphazardly on top of one another, almost reaching the ceiling.

The shop was quiet. Only the faint echo of the bell being struck when the door had opened remained, making the dust and stillness within seem as though they concealed some mysterious magic.

An old man with large pale eyes emerged from behind the shelves. Against the dim shop and shadowy racks, his eyes looked like two moons.

"Ah, good afternoon, customers. Welcome to Ollivander's."

His voice was soft and airy. Vaughan heard Ron beside him swallow hard.

Molly, however, was already used to it. She had entered this shop five times before, including when she herself had gone to school.

Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, and George had all started school at nearly the same time, but there had been no way to reuse old wands.

She called out brightly, "Good afternoon, Mr. Ollivander. Do you remember me?"

"Of course, of course." Ollivander nodded repeatedly and replied in his airy voice, "Molly Prewett Weasley. You needn't ask me that every time. I'm not senile yet, so—"

He looked at Vaughan and Ron and said softly, "Are these two new Weasleys starting school?"

"Yes, Mr. Ollivander."

"Ah, Hogwarts term always brings me the greatest joy. Of course, not because I can make money—that is only one reason. More importantly, these wands I made with my own hands have finally found the owners they have been waiting for."

Ollivander held one hand beside his ear and said mysteriously, "Can you hear them? Some wands are cheering—so, which of you will go first?"

"...Gulp!"

Ron was terrified. He hurriedly grabbed his mother and tried to run outside. "Let Vaughan go first, Mum! I need some air!!"

Molly could only follow him out helplessly, leaving Vaughan with Ollivander, who did not seem bothered in the slightest. He took a tape measure from his pocket. "Mr. Vaughan Weasley, which is your wand hand?"

"My right hand."

Ollivander nodded and began measuring Vaughan from all around, speaking softly as he did so:

"Mr. Vaughan Weasley, I have heard your name before. A Potions prodigy."

"Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Ollivander."

"You do not seem afraid of me?"

Vaughan glanced at him and shook his head. "The first time I brewed a potion, I made Ron cry too. He thought I was putting some kind of curse on him. Actually, I just have a habit of speaking quietly while brewing potions."

Ollivander nodded again and again. "Yes, yes. Those who master a craft always have their little quirks, along with ideas and convictions that outsiders cannot understand."

Vaughan raised a brow. "So measuring every customer is one of your convictions?"

"Of course. Every person is unique, and so is every wand. I need to know more about you before I can select the wand best suited to you."

Vaughan looked up at the thousands of wands before him. "I heard that you only use unicorn hair, phoenix tail feathers, and dragon nerves as wand cores. With such limited materials, how do you ensure there are no duplicates?"

"Oh, a question from a Potions prodigy. I must say, you have grasped the key point." Ollivander answered happily, "For other young wizards, I can naturally say that every unicorn, phoenix, and dragon is unique, because that is easier for them to understand. But since you asked, I must tell you the truth: it also has to do with the choice of wood for the wand."

As he spoke, he finished measuring Vaughan.

After pondering for a moment, he pulled out a box, removed the wand inside, and offered it to Vaughan with both hands.

"Twelve inches, dragon nerve core, fir wood. It favors focused wizards with strong wills—even forceful ones."

Vaughan took it and gave it a light wave. A fierce wind immediately swept through the tiny shop.

Ollivander swiftly snatched the wand back, then winked at Vaughan. "See? It likes you very much, but it is not right for you!"

Before long, Ollivander pulled out another box. "Ten and a half inches, dragon nerve core, elm wood. Legend says it favors pure-blood wizards, but in my experience, that is likely nonsense passed down by pure-blood families. I believe it favors wizards of noble bearing and leadership qualities."

This time, the moment Vaughan waved the wand, countless golden sparks burst through the air.

But Ollivander snatched this one away as well.

"It likes you very much too, but you are not suited..."

After two tests, and based on his full Potions talent's judgment of the materials, Vaughan had begun to form a vague idea.

When Ollivander had said that "some wands are cheering," perhaps he had not merely been putting on an act. While testing those two wands, Vaughan truly had been able to sense their joy.

It was a very vague feeling, hazy and indistinct, yet undeniably real.

So when Ollivander took out a third wand, Vaughan did not accept it. Instead, he asked, "Earlier, you mentioned the choice of wood. May I understand it this way: every wand has a unique personality and preference, and those traits are determined by the wand wood?"

Ollivander was clearly taken aback. His large pale eyes flickered, and only after a moment did he nod softly.

"Very perceptive, Mr. Vaughan Weasley. That is every wandmaker's secret. The core can only determine what kind of magic a wand is suited for; the wood is what determines which wizard the wand chooses!"

Vaughan fell into thought. Of course, he could not do as Ollivander did and hear "the wands cheering," but when he connected it to Ollivander's earlier remarks—"It likes you, but you aren't suited to each other"—and then considered his own experience of crossing over...

Vaughan felt that perhaps only a special wand would suit him!

The relationship between a wand and a wizard was not simply one of choosing and being chosen. They fulfilled each other.

That was why Ollivander had said they were "unsuited"—because he did not understand Vaughan. He had no idea Vaughan had crossed over!

With that thought, Vaughan closed his eyes and released his magic—as well as the Occlumency he had kept running all this time!

The next moment, he sensed something.

He walked to a cluttered shelf and pulled out a narrow box.

When he opened it, he could feel the wand inside practically itching to leap into his hand.

Hiss—

As Vaughan swung the wand, crackling arcs of electricity streaked through the air. Like a nimble swarm of serpents, they split and flowed, slithering over the surfaces of countless boxes.

Ollivander's eyes widened.

"Fourteen inches, dragon nerve, and—elder! Proud, extreme, and fierce... It likes those with unique destinies..."