Welcome to Diagon Alley

Welcome to Diagon Alley

United Kingdom, London.

An owl streaked through the skies above London, startling a group of small animals in a corner and drawing the attention of several passersby.

Seeing a bird of prey like an owl in central London was, more or less, a rare sight.

But most of those who stopped were children or tourists from out of town.

London locals, by contrast, appeared far calmer, as if such a sight were nothing unusual.

It was only an owl. Though uncommon, it was not unheard of—especially in July, when they could be seen everywhere.

And it just so happened to be mid-July.

"Such a fuss over nothing. A bunch of ignorant outsiders."

Their short-sleeved shirts seemed to transform into tailored suits as the elderly gentlemen lifted their chins with an inexplicable sense of superiority, even their steps becoming lighter.

No one noticed that, after crossing one street, the owl suddenly vanished from the sky.

It was as though it had passed through a transparent curtain. In the blink of an eye, the owl appeared above another bustling street.

Everyone here wore all manner of strange clothing. Some even wore pointed hats, while the buildings themselves came in bizarre and varied styles, looking as though they belonged to the century before last... or perhaps even earlier.

Though this street was only a few feet away from the outside road when viewed from above, it seemed like an entirely different world.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley!"

From directly below the owl came the faint sound of a drunken man shouting.

But none of that had anything to do with the owl. It only wanted to finish its job quickly and return for a delicious feast of nuts.

Continuing onward, the owl expertly circled around a cobblestone lane and landed on a small windowsill behind Ollivanders Wand Shop.

The window was spotless, allowing it to clearly see a boy of around ten inside, his head lowered as he focused intently on something.

The next second...

"Bang!"

Something seemed to explode. Sparks flew throughout the room, accompanied by a piercing blast and a cloud of black smoke.

"Oh, hawthorn wood and red cap nerves. What a fiery combination. Perhaps holly would be more suitable!"

Silvan Ollivander straightened up and muttered under his breath, looking at the line of red words floating in midair before him.

[Hawthorn wood, red cap nerves, ten and a half inches]

[Status: Incomplete]

[Traits: May explode at any moment]

Silvan rubbed his forehead.

He had come to this world eleven years ago. Over those years, he had gradually grown accustomed to the wizards constantly coming and going around him, and had slowly accepted his new identity.

A wand mak... well, a member of a wandmaking family.

His grandfather was the famous Garrick Ollivander, who possessed an extraordinary memory and could remember every wand.

Ever since childhood, Silvan had been able to see each wand's attributes, materials, and characteristics.

He could not say whether this was his cheat ability or a bloodline gift of the Ollivander family.

Silvan was more inclined toward the former, because beyond that, he could also knead completely unreasonable materials into wand cores.

Even Ollivander would struggle to make a wand embedded with a toad's tongue, but Silvan could do it—and with a fairly high success rate.

In a sense, it was impressive, but it was not particularly useful.

Silvan sighed.

Still, in recent years, influenced by his grandfather Garrick Ollivander, he had gradually come to enjoy wandmaking and become increasingly fascinated by it. His cheat ability no longer seemed quite so useless.

Thinking of this, Silvan shook his head and deftly picked up another wand from beside him, giving it a light flick.

"Scourgify!"

"Reparo!"

The dust and black smoke from the explosion vanished in an instant, and the room returned to its tidy state.

Only after finishing all that did Silvan turn toward the window.

There was nothing outside. He could only see the crowded streets of Diagon Alley and several brown feathers that had fallen onto the windowsill.

"Strange. I clearly heard something knocking on the window just now. Where did it go...?"

Silvan walked over, opened the window, examined the feathers twice, and casually slipped them into his pocket.

At that moment, the sound of flapping wings suddenly reached his ears, and Silvan instinctively looked down.

An owl with disheveled feathers was glaring angrily at him, letting out a series of piercing screeches.

Silvan could not understand what it was saying, but judging from its expression, it was probably cursing him—and in rather filthy language at that.

"Hey, be reasonable. The explosion wasn't my fault," Silvan defended himself.

The owl was clearly dissatisfied with that excuse. It forcefully threw the item in its talons at him, then flew off without looking back.

"All right, have a safe trip..."

Silvan shut the window, then looked at the object thrown onto the floor.

It was a pale yellow envelope, addressed in emerald-green ink:

[Mr. Silvan Ollivander, at his desk on the second floor of Ollivanders Wand Shop, Diagon Alley]

He turned the envelope over. On the back was a wax seal bearing a shield-shaped crest, with a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a capital letter "H."

Oh, right. What else could a letter delivered by owl in mid-July be, other than a Hogwarts acceptance letter?

Only then did Silvan realize that it was already July. Before long, he would be a new student at Hogwarts.

He was not as excited as he had imagined he would be.

If he had received this ten years ago, he probably would have been excited enough to jump up and down. But now... well, he was still quite excited, just not to that extent.

Besides, compared to attending Hogwarts, he had found something even more interesting.

Making wands.

He had even thought that it might be nice if he did not receive a Hogwarts acceptance letter. That way, he would have more time to research wandmaking.

But that was clearly impossible.

As a child with magic, it was impossible for him not to receive a Hogwarts acceptance letter. Dumbledore could not make such a basic mistake.

And even if Dumbledore made a mistake, there was still Minerva McGonagall.

Still, this was not bad either.

Silvan stretched his arms and casually placed the envelope on the desk.

"Thud, thud, thud..."

At that moment, somewhat hurried footsteps came from downstairs.

Silvan picked up his wand and opened the door in advance.

The next second...

"I just saw an owl!" A head poked in through the doorway.

"Did that thing arrive?" Garrick Ollivander asked impatiently, not even having had time to put down the measuring tape in his hand.

"That's right, the Hogwarts acceptance letter..." Silvan pointed at the envelope on the desk.

Ollivander immediately shifted his gaze over. The moment he saw the familiar crest, he blurted out:

"Wonderful!"

"Honestly, I'd rather take my mother's suggestion and go to Beauxbatons." Resting his chin on one hand, Silvan spoke thoughtfully.

"Alchemy would be a great help to my research, but Hogwarts doesn't offer alchemy classes."

"And my father, mother, and grandmother all graduated from Beauxbatons. Mother even told me that her good friend was promoted to headmistress last year, so it would actually suit me better to go there."

Dumbledore had a great reputation. Not only was he the Chief Warlock of the International Confederation of Wizards, but he was also acknowledged as the strongest white wizard. Yet his eyes were fixed only on Harry Potter and Voldemort.

It was not that he did not care about other ordinary students, but he certainly would not pay them any special attention.

Beauxbatons, by comparison, was different.

His mother, Lila Ollivander, had graduated from Beauxbatons and had been both teacher and friend to Olympe Maxime when Maxime was still a professor. They had remained in frequent contact after Lila graduated.

Now Madame Maxime was the headmistress of Beauxbatons. If he went there to study, things would certainly be much more convenient.

More importantly, over the next few years, Voldemort would begin planning his resurrection. Staying at Hogwarts would be troublesome.

"Um... Hogwarts is very good too..." Ollivander's eyes wandered. "And besides, didn't we agree...?"

Ollivander wanted Silvan to attend Hogwarts because Silvan was the only child still willing to inherit his wandmaking craft.

His son—Silvan's father, Garian Ollivander—had also loved making wands as a child. But after graduating from Beauxbatons, he became obsessed with botany and traveled all over the world with his wife.

Then there was his daughter, Silvan's aunt, who had graduated from Ilvermorny and was now a somewhat famous expert on magical creatures.

For some reason, both his son and daughter had careers closely connected to wandmaking.

Yet both had ended up so far removed from it.

Ollivander had thought about it for a long time before finally concluding that the schools had to be the problem. Ilvermorny and Beauxbatons were simply too far away.

Now that Silvan had finally shown a love for wandmaking, Ollivander was determined to keep him close and teach him personally. He could not let him run off to another school too.

There was just one issue...

Thinking of something, Ollivander's face fell.

How should he put it? Silvan was talented, and he worked hard, but the direction of that talent seemed somewhat off.

Silvan disliked traditional wandmaking methods and wand core materials. In other words, he did not like using unicorn tail hair, phoenix feathers, or dragon heartstrings as cores. Instead, he was much more fond of some... well, combinations that Ollivander considered downright heretical.

For example, troll nose hair, red cap trigeminal nerves, and hinkypunk leg bones.

Ollivander would not merely hesitate to turn such things into wand cores—he would never even think of doing so. Yet Silvan pursued it tirelessly.

Ollivander had tried to guide Silvan back onto the "right path," but had clearly failed.

And Ollivander did not dare be too forceful. He was afraid that Silvan might be like his daughter, who had run off to Ilvermorny in America in a fit of anger after he had scolded her loudly a few times.

Crooked was crooked. At least the craft would be passed down.

"All right, all right. It's not as if I said I wasn't going to Hogwarts." Seeing Ollivander's pitiful, hesitant expression, Silvan shrugged.

Thinking it over carefully, Hogwarts was not bad either.

Though it might be troublesome, it could provide plenty of good materials: three-headed dogs, Dementors, dragons, Voldemort, Whomping Willow.

Especially the Whomping Willow. There was only that one in the entire magical world of the United Kingdom, at Hogwarts, and Silvan had coveted it for a long time.

Oh, and the Elder Wand in Dumbledore's possession. If he could take a look at it, it should be a great help to him.

Even if it was not helpful, he still wanted to see that legendary wand—preferably hold it and give it a try.

The chances of that were slim, but Silvan was willing to wait. An opportunity would come eventually.