The Old Ones of Hogwarts

Chapter 13: The Fated Choice!

Ollivanders Wand Shop has been manufacturing fine wands since 382 AD.

Ian stood at the entrance of the shop.

My heart was filled with indescribable excitement.

"If you're going to be so distracted while brewing potions, you'll probably only be able to avoid being blown to bits by Merlin's full protection."

Snape's sharp tongue may be late, but it will never be absent. Looking at Ian, lost in thought, Snape quipped in his characteristically sarcastic tone.

"Professor, I just thought of something interesting."

Ian responded with an awkward laugh.

"It seems Mr. Prince, like those foolish Hufflepuffs, has a brain just like a troll's," Snape sneered at Ian.

immediately.

He then took out seven shiny Galleons from his purse and threw them to Ian.

"Take your money and go buy your wand. I'll wait for you here." Snape seemed unwilling to go inside, simply giving Ian the money to buy his own wand.

Compared to the expenses of other wizards changing their wands, the price of a new wand at Hogwarts is very fixed, and everyone pays this price, which is of great significance in the magical world.

"Isn't the professor coming with me?"

Ian looked at Snape with clear eyes.

Are you a giant baby?

Snape gave Ian a mocking sidelong glance.

"All right……"

Ian took the Galleon from Snape's hand, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door that, in both the original story and fan fiction, represented the beginning of a dream.

"Ding-dong~"

A clear, resonant brass bell rang from the doorway. As Ian pushed the door open, the bell rang loudly, as if to alert the shop owner that a customer had arrived.

This is a shop that is not very large, and the space is somewhat crowded and cramped. The simplicity of its storefront is far less impressive than its reputation among many Harvard scholars.

Tens of thousands of wands were piled up on cheap shipping containers. No one could imagine that this would be the starting point for all wizards. The ordinary and unremarkable storefront looked very shabby.

"Good afternoon, a...special face."

The aged voice came from a hunchbacked old man. Although he had a full head of white, messy, and dry hair, his bright and piercing eyes were hard to ignore.

"Hello, sir."

Ian greeted the shop owner, the current Ollivander wand maker, with a slightly reserved air, his gaze lingering on the various wands on display.

"Yes, yes, it's the start of another school year, little wizard of Hogwarts... Did you come alone?" Ollivander looked the small figure up and down.

"My Hogwarts professor brought me here, is there a problem with that?"

Ian answered the questions honestly.

"Of course, no problem. I'm just... just consider it an old man's senility." Ollivander chuckled and glanced out the window.

"I should have realized sooner that only he could have brought you here. Hmm, birch, phoenix tail feathers, I remember, it feels like just yesterday," Ollivander muttered to himself.

Did this "predict" Snape's situation?

If Ian remembers correctly, this Death Eater professor's wand is indeed made of birchwood—it's surprising that this old charlatan selling wands is quite skilled.

Do you have the ability to predict the future?

Ian, taking advantage of his young age, spoke without thinking.

"It's just experience, just a feeling, kid." Ollivander chuckled, grabbing a measuring tape and starting to measure Ian's height and wingspan.

"Every wand chooses its most suitable master; this is the most magical characteristic of wands..." Ollivander said, brainwashing Ian while measuring his physical data, and at the same time, he didn't forget to ask that old question, "Mr. Prince, which hand do you prefer?"

There really is something there!

Ian didn't even introduce himself, but Ollivander called him by his last name!

"Do you know my name?"

Ian couldn't help but ask out of curiosity.

"That's not a question I should answer for you, Mr. Prince. I'm only responsible for selling my wands," Ollivander replied with a chuckle.

"Left hand, I'm used to using my left hand."

Ian answered Ollivander's initial question with a hint of resignation.

"That's a very rare habit."

Ollivander put away the measuring tape and walked toward the display case where the wands were placed.

"Many people think that wizards choose wands, but in fact it is the wand that chooses its master. Maintaining a humble attitude is a virtue that every wizard should have."

Ollivander began his brainwashing of Ian as usual.

"Um, do you instill this kind of idea in every little wizard?" Ian felt a very strong sense of déjà vu from Ollivander at this moment.

Just like the original story.

It's like a plot that's been overused in fan fiction.

"You rude child, I'm just teaching you the right way of thinking... How can business people's affairs be called indoctrination?" Ollivander glared at Ian with displeasure.

immediately.

He then picked out a wand from the shelf and handed it to Ian.

"Purple sandalwood, the nerves of a fire dragon..."

Almost as soon as Ollivander placed the wand in Ian's hand, he yanked it back—yes, yanked it back—with a force that was hard to imagine coming from a man in his seventies or eighties.

"No, no, try this one, birch, 17 inches, from..." This time, Ollivander didn't even finish his introduction before snatching back the wand.

"That's not right either."

Ollivander went back to the container and searched through it again.

"Ebony, ten inches, dragon's nerve."

"Cedar wood, twelve inches, Thunderbird head feathers"

"No, no, perhaps it should be this fir wood, fifteen inches long, a phoenix tail feather."

"Such a discerning customer. Then try this special combination: acacia wood, fourteen inches, and Mewtwo hair."

……

have to say.

The process of choosing a wand was more complicated than Ian had anticipated.

I wonder if every young wizard goes through such a difficult decision-making process. Anyway, with his hand already numb from holding it up, Ian finally couldn't help but speak up.

"Sir, perhaps I should try the wand made by your grandfather, or your great-grandfather?" Ian felt a strong sense of déjà vu about everything that was happening.

He offered advice based on his years of experience as a bookworm.

however.

"Is he/she a child who likes old things?"

Ollivander looked at Ian with a puzzled expression.

"Yes, that's exactly who I am."

Ian tried to make his eyes look serious. He really felt that the process of testing various wands was too agonizing, and perhaps this was the only solution for similar situations.

after all.

In many fan fiction novels, the protagonists eventually obtain the wand from Ollivander's grandfather. Perhaps he also possesses the same qualities as those time-traveling predecessors?

"Mr. Prince, it's a pity that each generation of Ollivanders only sells the wands they make. It's a matter of pride and respect for their predecessors."

Ollivander's response shattered Ian's hopes.

Ian couldn't help but make a bitter face.

He was forced to continue trying out the various wands Ollivander offered. It was a tedious process; in Ollivander's opinion, almost every wand was a poor match for Ian.

They tested dozens of wands.

"That's really rare."

"I have never seen such a picky customer."

"Perhaps... you possess some rare qualities."

Ollivander's expression was the complete opposite of Ian's; the harder it was to find a suitable wand, the brighter Ollivander's cloudy eyes became.

"Little wizard who likes old things, perhaps, perhaps you should try that wand." Ollivander seemed to remember something and rushed to his back room in surprise.

A moment later.

He then came out carrying a dusty box.

"Is this your grandfather's magic wand?"

Ian couldn't help but ask.

"No, this is my work, an early piece of work that I considered extraordinary... I read the story in that fairy tale, and that sparked a competitive spirit within me."

"You may not know the legend of the Elder Wand. In fact, this is my attempt to create something comparable to that legendary wand. It was a naive and ignorant attempt on my part."

Ollivander's eyes and expression were filled with nostalgia.

"I failed countless times. By the last time, I had become numb to failure. Perhaps elderberry and the core of a walking stick, which symbolizes beauty, are never meant to be together?"

"I began to waver in my beliefs, but perhaps with Merlin's help, one last time, on a stormy day, I thought I would fail as usual."

"1980, yes, 1980, July 7th... that lightning bolt, I don't know if it succeeded, all these years, I haven't been able to find a suitable wizard for it."

Ollivander looked at Ian with a burning intensity in his eyes.

"I have a feeling that you are the wizard he has been waiting for." Ollivander used an inappropriate honorific, and his eyes were filled with a slightly excited expectation as he looked at Ian.

"Give it a try."

Ollivander handed over the wand.

"Um... July 7th... this date..."

Ian took the wand from Ollivander with a somewhat strange expression.

Almost the instant the wand touched his palm.

He felt as if he had become one with the wand, a feeling that defied description, no matter how beautiful the words. The surging magic within him flowed clearly into the wand.

"Phew~"

Silvery-white threads gushed forth from the tip of the wand, swirling and billowing like clouds, filling the entire shop in the blink of an eye, with countless misty and illusory scenes constantly surging within them!

There are shadowy figures flashing.

It also sounded like a wild beast roaring.

"It actually works! It really works!"

"This is truly... truly a miracle of destiny!"

Ollivander's amazement lingered in the humble hut.

With a kind of... devout fervor.