On the busiest stretch of Diagon Alley stood a shop with a shabby storefront.
A sign hung above the door, its red paint almost entirely peeled away. It looked as though it had been there for centuries.
If it hadn't stood in such a prime location, Cedric might have thought he had the wrong place.
The shop was Ollivanders Wand Shop.
Every young witch and wizard in Britain had to come here. Without a wand, there was no getting into Hogwarts.
You'd think a shop with a monopoly would spruce up its storefront. Apparently not.
Professor McGonagall pushed open the old door.
The bell above the frame jingled.
From deep inside came the long scrape of rolling wheels. A ladder slid out from beside a stack of gift boxes over six feet high.
A white-haired old man stood on it. His eyes were bright, without a trace of an elderly man's cloudiness.
He carefully made his way around the mountain of boxes and came toward the counter.
"Mr. Ollivander, it's been a while," Professor McGonagall greeted him.
"Ah, Ms. McGonagall! Welcome, welcome." Mr. Ollivander stepped behind the counter. "Brought a new student to choose a wand? This boy is new, isn't he? Where are his parents?"
"This is Cedric Gray. He has no parents." Professor McGonagall leaned toward Ollivander's ear and said the second part very quietly.
To Cedric, honestly, she sounded no different from when she spoke normally.
His hearing was far better than most people's.
Still, Professor McGonagall's thoughtfulness warmed his heart.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry." Mr. Ollivander's face filled with regret.
Professor McGonagall shot him a look. The old man immediately composed himself and adopted a gentler tone. "Well then, Mr. Gray, come over here. Let's get right to it."
"Don't be nervous, dear. Mr. Ollivander will help you find the right one," Professor McGonagall added, in case Cedric felt shy around strangers.
Cedric walked up to the old man, who proceeded to take a frankly ridiculous set of measurements.
He measured Cedric's arm length, the distance between his eyebrows, and even the space between his nostrils.
With every measurement, the same question popped into Cedric's head: What the hell does this have to do with a wand?
What could arm length tell him?
An eleven-year-old could shoot up in a year. Would these numbers even be useful?
Did wands care how far apart your nostrils were?
Maybe it was some arcane method he didn't understand.
Full of questions, Cedric let the old man turn him this way and that for quite a while.
When he was done, Mr. Ollivander straightened up, his expression grave.
"Hmm... This won't be easy." The old man's brow furrowed with concern.
Professor McGonagall said nothing and waited while he thought.
Before long, Mr. Ollivander moved.
He crooked a finger, and a wand box floated down from a nearby shelf, landing neatly in front of Cedric.
The lid opened, and the old man took out a brown wand.
"Pine might suit you. Wizards who use pine wands tend to be mysterious loners, and the wood favors a creative mind." Mr. Ollivander handed it over. "Here, give it a wave."
Cedric took the wand. The moment his fingers touched the wood, something felt off.
He looked up at the old man. "Is there nothing inside this wand besides pine?"
What about the core?
How was a wand without a core any different from a souvenir?
"The core? It doesn't matter much in your case." Mr. Ollivander stared at him as if he were some rare treasure. "But if you'd like to know, I can tell you. Eleven inches, Thunderbird Feather core. Quite a fierce one."
"Fierce?" Cedric looked down at the wand and gave it an experimental wave.
A bolt of golden lightning burst from the tip and tore wildly through the shop. Most of the counter burned to ash on the spot.
Mr. Ollivander took a step back, looking utterly unsurprised. "No good," he muttered. "Pine alone can't contain you."
He barely glanced at the scorched counter before turning to fetch another wand and putting it in Cedric's hand.
"Maple. Favored by travelers and bold souls." The old man paused. "Oh, I nearly forgot. Thirteen inches, Dragon Heartstring."
This time, the wand began trembling violently the instant it touched Cedric's fingers. Before he could wave it, black smoke gushed out.
All three people in the shop were left unable to open their eyes.
"Cough, cough..." Cedric hurriedly put the wand down, and only then did the smoke stop.
Professor McGonagall and Mr. Ollivander raised their wands at the same time. A gust of wind swept all the black smoke out of the shop.
"That one's no good either." Mr. Ollivander dusted off his hands, looking as though he had expected it. "See? Finding a wand that suits you won't be easy."