Ollivanders Wand Shop.
The shop was even more cramped and oppressive than Borgin and Burkes. Dust motes danced in the thin sliver of moonlight piercing the grimy window. Thousands of narrow boxes were stacked floor-to-ceiling on the surrounding walls, looming like silent coffins.
Ivan stood in the center of the shop, but he didn't fidget or cower like most eleven-year-olds. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back, scanning the dusty shelves with the critical eye of an inspector evaluating a failing business.
"Is anyone here?"
Ivan's voice wasn't loud, but it echoed sharply in the silence.
"Oh... good heavens..."
A soft, quavering voice drifted from the back of the shop. A moment later, a sliding ladder rolled into view, and an old man with wild white hair and silvery, moon-like eyes descended.
Garrick Ollivander.
His pale eyes fixed on Ivan, pupils contracting slightly.
As a wandmaker, he could see things ordinary wizards couldn't. Around this boy in the ragged jacket, he perceived a faint, almost tangible magical field—not the soft, budding glow of a typical first-year, but a violent, crackling storm of dark gold lightning.
More terrifying was the weight of the boy's soul... it was astoundingly heavy.
"Good evening, Mr. Ollivander." Ivan gave a slight bow, executing a perfect aristocratic nod he'd learned from watching period dramas on the Dursleys' TV. "I'm here for a wand. But I'd appreciate skipping the foolish 'wave it around' ritual. I'm on a tight schedule."
Ollivander blinked, a flash of displeasure crossing his face. "A tight schedule? The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter. This isn't buying a cabbage at the market. This is a lifelong partnership."
"I know." Ivan walked to the counter and pulled out his homemade umbrella-rib wand, tossing it onto the wood with a clatter. "But I think it's less about the wand choosing me, and more about me 'calibrating' the wand. After all, most wands probably wouldn't last a minute in my hands."
Ollivander's eyebrows shot up. Arrogance! Pure arrogance!
But he didn't get angry. As a master obsessed with wandlore, he felt a long-lost sense of challenge.
"Since you are so confident," Ollivander pulled a tape measure from his pocket, "allow me to measure your arm length, finger span..."
"Unnecessary." Ivan cut him off, rattling off a string of data. "Arm length: 19 inches. Finger span: 8.5 inches. Wrist circumference: 5.5 inches. Furthermore, my core magical frequency is 'Chaotic Neutral,' leaning heavily toward 'Destruction' and 'Mental' dual attributes. I require a core capable of withstanding high-frequency magical surge. Unicorn hair? Forget it. That's for Boy Scouts."
The tape measure dropped from Ollivander's hand. Clack.
He gaped at Ivan as if looking at a monster.
Arm length and finger span could be estimated visually, but "Core Magical Frequency" and "Chaotic Neutral"? These were concepts from the absolute bleeding edge of wand theory! Most Aurors wouldn't even know what that meant!
"How... how do you know that?" Ollivander's voice began to tremble.
"Read it in a book," Ivan lied smoothly. In reality, he was just reading the [Compatibility Parameters] from his System interface. "Now, cut the chatter. Bring out the good stuff. I know you have a wand with a Thunderbird tail feather core, and another with a Dragon Heartstring from a Hungarian Horntail. Don't insult me with oak or hazel rubbish. I want Ebony, Yew, or if you must... Elder."
> [System Alert: Ollivander is experiencing emotional fluctuation!]
> [Emotion Analysis: Shock (50%), Offended (20%), Fanaticism of Meeting a Peer (30%)]
> [Congratulations Host! Emotion Value +200!]
Ollivander took a deep breath, his expression shifting. The dismissal in his eyes vanished, replaced by the solemn respect one gives a colleague.
"Since you know the trade, I won't hold back."
Ollivander turned and disappeared into the back storeroom. A moment later, he returned carrying a dusty black box.
"This wand was crafted ten years ago and has never been sold," Ollivander whispered, as if introducing a fragile work of art. "Wood: Ebony. Core: Thestral tail hair."
Ivan's eyes lit up instantly.
Thestrals! Creatures visible only to those who have seen death! It was practically made for him.
"I'll take it." Ivan reached out.
"Careful!" Ollivander warned. "Thestral hair is incredibly unstable. Wands made from it are often drawn to the Dark Arts, and... it is very picky."
Ivan grabbed the wand.
The moment his fingers brushed the wood—
Boom!
A bone-chilling cold shot up his arm and slammed into his brain! A vision flooded his mind: a desolate graveyard, ground littered with white bones, a massive black winged horse tearing at rotting flesh, its white, pupil-less eyes staring dead at him, screaming soundlessly!
An ordinary wizard would have wet themselves or suffered a mental breakdown from the sheer malevolence.
But Ivan just scoffed.
"Too weak."
He commanded internally: "System, activate [Mental Pressure: Dark Lord Template]!"
In the next second, an aura—ancient, desolate, and filled with endless murderous intent—erupted from Ivan!
It was the pressure of Voldemort's soul fragment, simulated perfectly!
The wand in his hand began to shake violently, emitting a high-pitched whine like a schoolyard bully suddenly facing a heavyweight boxer. The Thestral hair inside the core thrashed wildly, trying to escape the terrifying presence holding it.
"Quiet," Ivan growled low, a flash of red flickering in his emerald eyes. "Or I'll snap you in half and use you for kindling."
The wand instantly froze.
It submitted.
Not out of loyalty, but out of pure terror. The wand was sentient enough to realize that the soul inside this boy was far more terrifying than any dark wizard it had ever encountered.
> [System Alert: Wand "Thestral's Lament" has been forcibly tamed!]
> [Ollivander is mentally overwhelmed! Emotion Value +300!]
> [Current Total: 1220 Points!]
Ollivander stared, dumbstruck.
What had he just witnessed?
The boy had simply held the wand—didn't even cast a spell—and a wand notorious for being "uncontrollable" had rolled over like a submissive puppy!
"This... this is impossible..." Ollivander muttered. "Even Salazar Slytherin himself couldn't suppress the nature of a Thestral without using magic..."
"It's passable. Barely usable." Ivan gave the wand a swish. The air cracked with two sharp bangs. "Balance is a bit lighter than I expected, but it'll do for some 'small experiments'."
He twirled the wand and tucked it into his belt (actually depositing it into his System Inventory), then looked at Ollivander.
"How much?"
"Er... huh?" Ollivander was still dazed. "Oh, money... that's... no. Since you can master it, it belongs to you. No charge."
The old man rarely gave away wands. But right now, he just wanted this terrifying child out of his shop so he could sit down and process what he'd just seen.
"Excellent. I don't like owing favors."
Ivan fished a penny he'd saved from the Dursleys out of his pocket and flicked it onto the counter. "Consider this a down payment. The rest? I'll give you an autograph when I'm famous."
With that, Ivan turned to leave without a second glance.
At the door, he stopped suddenly and spoke without turning around.
"By the way, a piece of advice. Stop staring at the legend of the 'Elder Wand,' and don't bother researching that foreigner Gregorovich's experiments on 'wand replication.' Those things will only get you killed."
"And," Ivan glanced back, offering a smile that looked particularly grim in the moonlight, "if a little girl with red hair and green eyes comes in one day to buy a wand, make sure to find her one that... resonates with a phoenix feather. It's the kind of drama Dumbledore loves."
Ivan pushed the door open and vanished.
Leaving Ollivander standing alone in the dark shop, cold sweat soaking his shirt.
Gregorovich!
The foreign wandmaker's name was an industry secret! How did this child know?!
And the red-haired girl... phoenix feather...
"He's no child..." Ollivander collapsed onto his ladder, gasping for air. "He's a Seer... wearing the skin of a boy."
---
By the time Ivan walked out of Diagon Alley, the sky was lightening.
He stood on the street corner, looking toward the Leaky Cauldron. It was chaos over there—flashes of red light burst in the air. Clearly, Voldemort's remnants were skirmishing with Aurors, or maybe old Tom was just venting his rage.
"Emotion harvest complete for now."
Ivan checked the panel.
> [Current Emotion Value: 1520]
> [Redeemable Rewards List Refreshed]
> Animagus Transformation (Incomplete): Costs 1000.
> Master-Level Occlumency: Costs 500.
> Random Legendary Magical Item: Costs 800.
> Obscurus Seed (Counterfeit): Costs 1200.
>
>
Ivan rubbed his chin.
The Animagus form was strong, but took too long to master. The Obscurus was powerful, but likely to blow him up.
"System, redeem [Master-Level Occlumency] and [Random Legendary Magical Item]."
> [Ding! Redemption Successful!]
> [Remaining Emotion Value: 220 Points.]
Instantly, Ivan felt his mind encased in an impenetrable diamond fortress. If Dumbledore tried Legilimency on him now, he'd see nothing but white static—and might even get a headache from the psychic rebound.
As for the Legendary Item...
Ivan felt a weight settle in his pocket.
He reached in and pulled out something resembling a pocket watch. But it had no hands—only a single, closed eye on the face.
> [Item Name: Fragment of the True Eye (Replica)]
> [Function: Can use "True Sight" once per day. Pierces disguises, Invisibility Cloaks, or Disillusionment Charms up to 5 levels above the user.]
"Nice."
Ivan grinned.
With this, even Harry in his Invisibility Cloak or Peter Pettigrew in rat form would have nowhere to hide.
"Now, off to King's Cross."
Ivan looked toward the London morning mist, excitement dancing in his eyes.
"The Hogwarts Express... I imagine Professor Snape is already waiting in a compartment to deduct points from me. I can hardly wait."
He adjusted his collar, hid the expensive ebony wand up his sleeve, and strode toward the train station.
---
Meanwhile, in the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts.
Fawkes the phoenix, who had been sleeping, suddenly let out an uneasy cry.
Albus Dumbledore lifted his head from the Pensieve, adjusting his half-moon spectacles. A flicker of confusion crossed his blue eyes.
"Strange..." The old bee stared at the lemon drop in his hand. "Why do I sense a very... very 'interesting' chaotic aura approaching my school?"
"I hope it's not another Dark Lord." Dumbledore bit into a Cockroach Cluster and sighed wearily. "Children these days... they're getting harder and harder to manage."