Draco had only made an offhand joke at first, never expecting Madam Malkin to read so much meaning into it.
With such perceptiveness, it was no wonder she had made this clothing shop flourish and become a renowned establishment for tailoring in the wizarding world.
On second thought, though, it made sense. To have held her ground in Diagon Alley for so many years and earned the trust of the great families, she could never have come this far without knowing precisely how to read her customers.
"You have a keen understanding, Madam. Let's do as you suggest." Draco readily agreed and said no more on the matter. "I'll do my other shopping first and return for the robes at teatime."
"Of course, of course." Madam Malkin nodded with a smile, her tone warm. "Take care, Young Master Malfoy. Once your robes are ready, I'll keep them safe and await your return."
With that, she personally escorted Draco to the shop entrance, respectful and attentive, without the slightest neglect.
The family of three on the other side of the shop watched this scene, unable to help staring in astonishment.
Although Madam Malkin had been polite when serving them earlier, she had been nowhere near as earnest and enthusiastic as she was with this Young Master Malfoy. Even her manner was distinctly different.
Clearly, she knew the weight the Malfoy family carried and dared not slight him in the least.
After seeing Draco off, Madam Malkin turned back into the shop and glanced in the direction he had left, a trace of understanding flashing in her eyes.
The Malfoy family was one of the wizarding world's foremost pure-blood families, with immense influence and wealth. Such an important customer could never be neglected. She had to take particular care with his robes today and allow no mistakes whatsoever.
Leaving Madam Malkin's clothing shop, he headed straight for Ollivander's Wand Shop.
The bustle of Diagon Alley flowed around him, the calls from all manner of shops mingling with the cries of magical creatures.
Only that wand shop, tucked midway down the street, held a stillness utterly unlike the lively surroundings.
From a distance, the shop looked small and shabby, its walls covered in dark brown markings. The gold-lettered sign above the door had long since flaked and peeled, its corners curling, with only the words "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C." still faintly legible.
With a thousand years of history behind it, this truly was a time-honored establishment of the wizarding world, its foundations unfathomably deep.
The instant Draco pushed open the door, a distinctive scent of wood, magical fibers, and time washed over him, stilling his mind.
He had thought he already knew exactly what the shop looked like. Only now, experiencing it in person, did he realize he had still underestimated its capabilities.
The interior was not particularly spacious, but towering shelves lined both sides, densely packed with all manner of wand boxes.
Yet these wooden boxes were neatly arranged, rising layer upon layer until they reached the ceiling, filling every bit of the limited space while remaining perfectly orderly, without a trace of clutter.
The passage deliberately left open ahead was broad and level, clearly maintained with great care.
Such extreme tidiness almost suggested that Mr. Ollivander had something of an obsessive-compulsive streak.
A dark wooden counter stood in the middle of the shop, its surface polished smooth and gleaming. An old book lay open upon it, its yellowed pages covered in obscure runes.
Beside the old book sat a copper oil lamp, its warm yellow glow spilling across the pages and adding to the antique atmosphere.
A fabric sofa stood to the right of the counter, clean and tidy, but there was not a soul in sight. Presumably, Mr. Ollivander was tucked away in the depths of the shop, absorbed in organizing his wands.
"Mr. Ollivander, are you busy?" Draco called into the depths of the shop, his voice carrying through the stacked wand boxes and echoing in the quiet space.
Shortly after he spoke, a wooden rolling ladder slowly slid out from behind the shelves, an elderly man standing halfway up it.
It was Ollivander himself.
He was thin, but his back was perfectly straight. Long silver-white hair and a beard hung down, hiding most of his face, leaving only a pair of deep gray eyes strikingly sharp, as though they could see into people's hearts.
The old man descended the ladder unhurriedly, his steps steady and showing no sign of age, then walked straight to the counter.
His gaze settled on Draco. After studying him closely for a moment, he slowly said, "With platinum hair like that and such pale skin, you must be the young gentleman of the Malfoy family."
"A keen eye, Mr. Ollivander." Draco nodded slightly, his tone carrying a fitting measure of respect. "I've heard your skill in selecting wands is unrivaled in the wizarding world. I'm sure you can find the one that suits me best."
"Naturally." Ollivander replied without expression, his tone utterly even. Clearly, he had long since tired of such flattery.
As soon as he finished speaking, he turned toward the shelf beside him, running his fingertips lightly over one wand box after another and occasionally muttering to himself, as though screening suitable candidates. "No, no, no, this one is too forceful, it won't suit... Not you either, insufficient depth..."
After looking for a dozen seconds or so, Ollivander's fingertips suddenly stopped.
He then drew a long, fiery-red wooden box from the middle shelf, gently stroking its smooth lid as a trace of certainty flashed in his eyes. "Yes, very good. This is an exceptionally powerful wand, ten inches long. Perhaps it came here for you."
Having made his choice, he returned to the counter, set the long box on its surface, and slowly opened it.
Deep blue velvet lined the box, and a dark brown wand lay quietly within, its shaft straight and its appearance solid and steady.
"Elm, with a dragon heartstring core. The same type as your father Lucius's wand. Give it a try." Ollivander looked up at Draco, his tone as flat as ever.
Draco reached out and picked up the wand. The instant his fingertips touched its shaft, he could distinctly sense a faint fluctuation of magic.
Before he could examine the sensation closely, Ollivander urged him, "Don't just stand there. Give it a wave and see how well it suits you."
"Mr. Ollivander, wouldn't that be a little unwise?" Draco hesitated, his gaze sweeping over the stacked wand boxes around them. "There isn't much room in here. If I cast carelessly and damage another wand, that wouldn't be good."
"It's quite all right. Go ahead." Ollivander waved a hand and said with certainty, "Young wizards attempting magic for the first time still have weak magical power. They can't cause much damage."
"Then I'll try aiming at the floor. That should be safer, at least, and keep me from accidentally damaging any other wands." Draco said this, but inwardly he had another consideration.
Who knew whether the wand that truly suited me was hidden among these stacks?
If I damaged it through a moment's recklessness, wouldn't the loss outweigh the gain?
Ollivander, however, misunderstood his words.
A flicker of emotion instantly crossed his eyes, and his gaze softened as he looked at Draco.
He actually felt that the boy before him was pure-hearted and particularly treasured wands, quite unlike those young wizards who cared only about power.
In all his years running the wand shop, he had met countless wizards, yet very few had shown such concern for the safety of other wands.
At that moment, he even felt something of a kindred spirit in the boy before him. Still more unexpected was that such an understanding boy should be Lucius Malfoy's son.
"You're not bad, lad. It's rare to find someone so considerate." At last, a little genuine approval entered Ollivander's voice.
Draco was slightly taken aback. He had never expected an offhand concern to earn such an appraisal, but he paid it little further mind. Holding the wand, he pointed it lightly at the floor.
A faint spark flashed at the wand's tip, then nothing more happened. It did not produce even a decent ripple of magic.
Draco's expression turned peculiar as he silently muttered, Seriously? Could the wand that suits me actually be a Squib?
Ollivander frowned as well, his eyes full of confusion. "Eh? That's not right. Elm and dragon heartstring ought to suit the Malfoy family's bloodline... It seems this one isn't right for you after all. You really are different from your father."
As he spoke, he reached out and took the wand back from Draco, carefully returned it to its box, then put the long box back on the shelf.
Watching his movements, Draco felt somewhat helpless.
This old fellow was still judging me by my father's standards. Far too rigid.
Ollivander did not notice Draco's thoughts and turned toward another row of shelves.
A moment later, he drew out another brown wooden box and walked back toward Draco, saying casually, "As it happens, some new wands arrived recently and haven't found suitable owners yet. You might as well try one first."
Draco's heart gave a jolt, and he inwardly grumbled, So he's using me as a test subject?
On second thought, though, choosing a wand was a two-way selection process in the first place. At its core, it involved continually testing compatibility, so there was nothing particularly objectionable about it.
Ollivander placed the brown box on the counter and slowly opened it.
An oddly shaped wand lay inside.
Its shaft was smooth and lustrous, exquisitely polished, but instead of the straight shape of an ordinary wand, it wound through multiple S-shaped curves. Its lines flowed smoothly, like a miniature snake sword.
It looked remarkably like that snake sword in a game I played in my previous life, with a strange sort of beauty.
"Sir, what made you think of making a wand this twisted?" Filled with delighted surprise, Draco could not help asking.
"I certainly wouldn't make something so flashy." Ollivander shook his head.
He then explained, "The wood for this wand is pomegranate wood I purchased elsewhere, and its core is a snake's tongue. I didn't make it myself, and today is the first time I've brought it out for anyone to try."
A wry smile immediately appeared on Draco's face.
This old fellow actually dared to let me try a wand he hadn't even made himself. Wasn't he afraid of ruining Ollivander's reputation?
But there were thousands upon thousands of wands in the shop. If he chose one himself, who knew how long it would take? In the end, he still had to trust Ollivander's judgment.
Ollivander took in all the hesitation on Draco's face and offered a rather earnest warning. "Lad, remember this: it is always the wand that chooses the wizard, not the wizard who chooses the wand. Whatever this wand's origins, as long as it suits you, it is the best partner you could have. You needn't burden yourself with too many concerns."
Draco considered his words carefully and found them quite reasonable, so he hesitated no longer and reached out to grasp the snake-shaped wand.
The curves of its shaft fit his palm, its touch smooth and warm, and it sat more comfortably in his hand than he had imagined.
Draco drew a deep breath and gently waved the wand toward the floor once again.
A sharp hiss came from the wand's tip, like the sound of a venomous snake flicking its tongue. Then it fell silent again, turning out to be another Squib.
Draco lowered the wand and gave Ollivander a knowing look, waiting for an explanation.
Ollivander's expression did not change, however. Without the slightest embarrassment, he merely said calmly, "It seems this one isn't meant for you either."
With two consecutive attempts ending in failure, Draco could not help beginning to doubt the old man's professional competence.
After pondering for a moment, he could not resist voicing his question. "Sir, there's something I'm wondering, though I'm not sure whether I should ask. Does a wand's shape affect casting speed? In a duel between wizards, victory or defeat can be decided in an instant. Whoever can release magic faster holds an absolute advantage. With a wand as crooked as this, surely there would be more obstructions when channeling magic than with a straight wand. Its efficiency might not match the latter."
At this, Ollivander shrugged casually, his tone somewhat dismissive. "You said 'might' yourself. All I can tell you is never to underestimate any wand. Every wand has its own unique spirit. Its shape may appear to affect efficiency, but that isn't necessarily so. If it is highly compatible with its wizard, even an oddly shaped wand can unleash power far beyond the ordinary. Conversely, however regular its shape, a wand that doesn't suit is useless."
With that, he took the pomegranate wand and carefully returned it to its box, his brows furrowing slightly and his eyes filled with puzzlement.
It was rare for two wands in succession to have no affinity with a boy. This Draco Malfoy was far more unusual than he had imagined.
After putting the wand away, Ollivander's eyes suddenly lit up, as though something had abruptly occurred to him, and a barely perceptible mischievous smile curled his lips.
He pondered inwardly, Two conventional wands in a row haven't suited him. With this boy's spirit so distinctive, perhaps pairing him with that wand could set him on a completely different path from his father. How very interesting.
At this thought, Ollivander looked up at Draco and said with a hint of mystery, "Wait here a moment. I'll look in the back. There may be a wand that suits you."
With that, he turned and headed into the depths of the shop, stepped onto the rolling ladder, and glided slowly down the passage between the shelves. In a moment, he disappeared behind the stacked wand boxes, vanishing from sight.
Draco waited quietly beside the counter, filled with curiosity.
What sort of wand would this old man bring out next, for him to look so amused?
After roughly the time it took to drink a cup of tea, Ollivander finally reappeared, holding an exquisite long box as he walked slowly toward Draco.
The box was white as moonlight throughout, with a fine texture like the finest mutton-fat jade. Yet a few dark red markings adorned its edges, winding like congealed blood and breaking the purity of the white. It exuded a strange, mysterious air that inspired apprehension at the sight.
Draco's heart gave a sudden tremor as a powerful premonition rose within him.
This wand was clearly the very one that belonged to Draco in the original story!
Could it be that even after I transmigrated here, the course of fate remained difficult to change? Was this heaven's will?