Ollivanders Wand Shop – has been crafting fine wands since 382 BC.
Ethan followed Dumbledore to the entrance of the legendary shop, then fell silent.
The shop in front of him... was really too dilapidated.
The dust on the windows looked thick enough to build a new store if you scraped it off.
The gold lettering on the door was badly peeled, and the word "Ollivander" could barely be made out.
"Could the wizarding world be so particular about 'dated style'?"
Ethan couldn't help muttering to himself. "Look at Gringotts—they've got a monopoly too, but their marble pillars are polished so well you can see your reflection!"
And that broom shop over there was spotless. Why did this one look like a ruin?
His undisguised look of disdain (¬_¬)ﾉ was noticed by Dumbledore standing nearby.
The old headmaster smiled somewhat awkwardly and could only shrug, trying to salvage the impression: "Mr. Ollivander's craftsmanship is top-notch, without a doubt."
In the end, the desire to own a wand outweighed his dissatisfaction with the shop's appearance.
Ethan reluctantly pushed open the creaking door and stepped inside.
The interior looked... well, a tiny bit better than the exterior.
At least the mountain of wand boxes was stacked relatively neatly, though they were also covered in a layer of dust.
The store was quite crowded, so Ethan and Dumbledore had to wait in a corner.
He watched with great interest as the young wizards ahead chose their wands. The scene was like a disaster movie preview: one set a stack of parchment in the corner on fire, another swung without even a spark. Ethan's eyelids twitched as he watched.
Finally, the people ahead all left with their wands.
"Good afternoon, child."
A soft voice seemed to drift out from the dust itself.
Mr. Ollivander's large, light-colored eyes—like two moons in the dimly lit shop—stared intently at Ethan.
"Did you come alone?" he asked.
Ethan was a little confused but still replied, "Yes, sir. Is there a problem?"
Ollivander shook his head, his gaze still fixed on Ethan. "No, of course not. Child, what's your name?"
"Ethan."
Ollivander nodded, probably assuming this was a child from a Muggle family with a foreign-sounding name.
"Which hand do you prefer to use?"
Ethan found the question even stranger and honestly answered, "Both hands are fine."
Ollivander's mysterious smile froze for a moment: "...You have to choose one."
"Then let's go with the right hand," Ethan readily agreed.
After he spoke, Ollivander's magical measuring tape flew over automatically and began measuring Ethan's arm length, height, and even the distance from his shoulder to the tip of his middle finger.
Thankfully, the tape didn't try anything too personal—otherwise Ethan might have given this seemingly frail old man a good punch.
*He looks really easy to punch,* Ethan continued in his dangerous internal monologue.
After the measurements, Ollivander turned and disappeared into the maze-like shelves, muttering to himself.
Soon he returned with a long box.
"Here, try this. It's grapevine wood with a dragon heartstring core, thirteen and a half inches, fairly flexible."
The wand was handed to Ethan, and a warm sensation emanated from it.
He waved it gently as instructed—a soft, steady light immediately shone from the tip.
"Oh?" Ethan found it interesting; the feeling wasn't bad.
But Ollivander frowned and shook his head violently: "No, no, that's not it! The light is bright, but... it's too docile. It doesn't seem like it's found its master; it's more like... a polite response?"
He snatched the wand from Ethan's hand with astonishing speed.
He brought out another: "Ash wood, phoenix tail feather, twelve and a third inches, very tough."
Ethan waved again, and another burst of light appeared—even brighter than the last.
Ollivander refused to believe it.
"Walnut wood, unicorn hair, eleven inches!"
—Light.
"Apple wood, dragon heartstring, fourteen inches!"
—Still bright light.
"Holly wood, phoenix tail feather, thirteen inches!"
—Still shining!
They were all quite polite.
One wand after another was brought to Ethan. He was like a universal adapter; no matter the wood or core, it would light up with a glow—big or small, bright or dim—in his hand. No explosion, no repulsion, but also no earth-shattering resonance like the legends described when a wand chooses its wizard.
Ollivander grew increasingly alarmed as he searched, fine beads of sweat appearing on his forehead.
His eyes filled with disbelief and confusion as he looked at Ethan, muttering repeatedly, "Strange... so strange! I've never seen a child like this before..."
He glanced at Ethan, who looked innocent and even a little bored, then at the long queue forming outside again, and sighed deeply in desperation.
His belief in his career as a wandmaker seemed severely challenged.
Finally, Ollivander seemed to give up. Weakly pointing to the rows of shelves, he said in an almost exhausted voice:
"You... you go and choose one that you like."
After saying that, it was as if all his strength had drained away. He leaned against the counter, eyes vacant, muttering to himself:
"The wand chooses the wizard... the Ollivander family's rule... Today was just an accident, yes, it must have been an accident..."
Ethan blinked, not quite understanding why the old man was so upset, but he did as told and started browsing the store.
His gaze swept over the dusty boxes and finally settled on a wand in the corner.
Its material wasn't particularly rare, but its shape was exceptionally smooth and beautiful. The wood grain gleamed with a warm luster in the dim light—he fell in love with it at first sight.
"I like this." Ethan picked it up.
Ollivander glanced at it and listlessly reported: "Laurel wood, dragon heartstring, thirteen and a half inches... seven Galleons."
When he uttered the words "thank you," it was as if he'd used up his last bit of strength—completely contradicting his lifelong beliefs.
Ethan thought he'd angered the old craftsman to the point of serious injury, so he quickly counted out seven Galleons, placed them on the counter, grabbed his wand box and the cage containing his snowy owl like a startled rabbit, and rushed out of the shop without looking back. (╯°□°）╯
Ollivander was left alone, staring at the wands filling the room and questioning his existence.
Shopping completed, Dumbledore's task was finished. After bidding farewell to Ethan, he Apparated away.
[Burning successful, Apparition obtained], Ethan was overjoyed to have acquired his first spell.
Following the path he'd come from, Ethan arrived at the intersection with the trash cans.
He suddenly felt an itch in his leg and nudged the trash can aside with one foot.
Then, humming even more happily, he left, intending to go home and try out the first magic he'd acquired.