Because Draco's personality seemed to have taken an unexpected turn, Ollivander, after a moment of stunned silence, actually stepped straight out from behind the counter and walked slowly up to him.
The air around Ollivander grew heavy. He spoke with utmost seriousness, enunciating every word. "Boy, what you hold in your hand may be one of the most 'particular' wands this little shop has ever housed."
He paused, his gaze settling on the palm where Draco had concealed his wand, and continued in an increasingly grave tone:
"Peach wood is pure by nature and loathes filth and darkness in the heart above all else; lion's mane is proud and fierce, responding only to truly pure courage and sincerity. That it chose you at all... is itself a difficult mystery to unravel. Yet today, I seem to see the answer to that mystery quietly emerging."
These words left Draco utterly bewildered, unable to make sense of them for a moment.
Hermione, however, instantly caught the crucial point. A sharp gleam flashed in her eyes, and she instinctively looked up, taking another long look at the wand Draco had hidden at his side.
For Ollivander to praise it so highly, this wand had to be extraordinary.
Professor McGonagall, already wary because of Draco's rash action, abruptly went still upon hearing Ollivander's words, like a rigid stone statue.
The square spectacles perched on her nose reflected a cold light, and her gaze was as sharp as a pair of precision scalpels.
Her gaze fell on Draco's face, which was filled with astonishment and confusion, and she studied his expression closely, trying to catch some hint within it.
Then it slowly shifted downward, fixing on the wand in Draco's hand, which seemed still to be radiating scorching light, her eyes growing graver still.
Finally, it slowly returned to Ollivander's aged face, steeped in a sense of destiny, filled with incomprehension.
Ollivander paid no heed whatsoever to Professor McGonagall's questioning gaze, continuing to stare intently at the wand Draco had hidden at his side.
He slowly raised a fingertip and gently pointed through the air toward the peach-wood wand, his voice filled with barely concealed awe. "Look... the lion's mane in its core is resonating."
As he spoke, he cast a meaningful glance at Hermione beside him:
"When you display a trace of heartfelt goodwill that transcends prejudice over blood status, it can achieve the most perfect harmony with you. This wand has been waiting all along... waiting for the sleeping lion within your heart to awaken, waiting for you to use the purity of peach wood to dispel the dust and gloom obscuring your true nature."
Professor McGonagall could bear it no longer. She clenched her fists tightly, drawing on every ounce of self-control to barely maintain the dignity and composure expected of Hogwarts' deputy headmistress.
Yet every word she forced through her teeth carried a bone-deep chill, as though weighted with a thousand pounds. "Garrick, you... know perfectly well just how much weight your words carry."
Professor McGonagall deliberately addressed Ollivander by his first name, dispensing with her usual courtesies.
Clearly, the matter had become so serious that she had to speak to him in the most solemn personal capacity, allowing no room for ambiguity.
"Wandlore is an intricate and profound field of study, with countless variables; and... human nature is far more complex and unpredictable than wands. How can you draw a rash conclusion based on a single wand?"
Hearing Professor McGonagall's words, cold enough almost to freeze the air, Ollivander did not shrink back in the slightest. Instead, he slowly straightened his usually somewhat stooped frame.
His silvery eyes openly met Professor McGonagall's knife-sharp gaze. There was not the slightest spark of argument in them, only a calm steeped in ancient destiny and truth.
He knew Professor McGonagall's concerns, yet was even more certain of the truth he had glimpsed in the wand's resonance. That truth might rewrite the fate of the boy before him, and even influence the course of the entire wizarding world.
The atmosphere in the shop grew heavier still, and even the warm yellow glow of the oil lamps seemed to dim a little.
Hermione stood to one side, watching the three before her with a complicated expression. Her gaze shifted between Draco and Ollivander from time to time, her heart full of questions and confusion.
This platinum-haired boy, this wand Ollivander had praised so highly, and Professor McGonagall's grave demeanor all made her feel that this matter was anything but simple.
"Oh, Minerva." After a long while, Ollivander spoke softly, his tone shedding its earlier gravity and returning to its usual dreamy airiness.
"Yes, I know. Precisely because I fully understand the weight of these words, I must speak them openly, without concealing the slightest thing."
He slowly shifted his gaze away from Professor McGonagall's tense face, his eyes settling on Draco once more.
Or rather, fixing precisely on the peach-wood wand lying quietly dormant in the boy's palm.
Ollivander's eyes grew more distant, as though piercing through the wooden grain of the wand.
"Wandlore is indeed intricate, yes. It has never been a matter of haphazard assembly and forging, but a precise science that measures the fluctuations of the soul and attunes itself to the essence of the spirit."
He continued in a murmur.
"And human nature... is indeed complex and unpredictable. So complex that it often blinds the eyes of others, confounds the marks of bloodline recorded in family pedigrees, and even deceives itself and others, becoming lost in established appearances and failing to see its true self."
As his words faded, he deliberately paused, allowing their meaning and weight to settle slowly in the deathly silent shop.
Then he raised his eyes to everyone. With a gentleness almost kindly, yet carrying a cruel objectivity, he delivered his most forceful words one by one, like thunder exploding in their hearts:
"But wands do not lie. The wood that forms their bodies does not, and still less does the substance hidden in their cores. Peach wood is pure by nature, inherently loathing hearts utterly rotten and filled with darkness. It would never willingly choose a fallen soul; lion's mane is proud, fierce, and sincere, responding only to pure courage and sincerity. Still less would it tremble in resonance, at their very first meeting, for a soul utterly fallen and devoid of hope."
After he finished speaking.
Ollivander finally turned his gaze fully back to Professor McGonagall, his eyes clear and open, looking even more resolute.
His words had already settled the matter conclusively, establishing that kindness and courage were Draco's intrinsic nature, and that being born into the Malfoy family had merely caused these qualities to remain suppressed and locked away for so long.
"This peach-wood wand with a lion's mane core chose him when he was eleven years old. That is the purest appraisal of the essence of his soul."
Ollivander emphasized this one final time.
He said no more, nor did he attempt to persuade anyone further.
He simply stood quietly where he was, his frame thin yet upright. Like the countless silent wands stacked throughout the shop, he remained wordless, yet had already become the most conclusive physical evidence of that "possibility," beyond question and impossible to ignore.
Deathly silence abruptly enveloped the entire wand shop once again. An unnerving hush spread, and several seconds passed in a blink.
The shop was so quiet that the faint sound of dust slowly drifting and falling through the warm yellow glow of the oil lamps could be heard.
Those tiny specks of dust wandered along the light, yet could not dispel the stagnant heaviness in the air.
Professor McGonagall stood rigidly in place, shock, confusion, and conflict churning in her sharp eyes. Clearly shaken to her core by Ollivander's subversive words, she did not know how to respond for a moment.