Ch: 9-15
Chapter 9: The Same wand as Before?
Draco had initially just made an offhand joke, never expecting Madam Malkin to read so much profound meaning into it.
With such perceptive insight, it's no wonder she managed to run this clothing store so successfully, making it a renowned tailoring establishment in the Wizarding World.
However, upon second thought, it became understandable. To have established a foothold in Diagon Alley for so many years and earned the trust of various great families, one simply couldn't have reached this point without the ability to accurately discern a customer's thoughts.
"You are most perceptive, Madam. I shall follow your suggestion," Draco replied frankly, saying no more. "I shall go purchase other items first and return at teatime to collect the robes."
"Of course, of course," Madam Malkin nodded with a smile, her tone warm. "Take care, Young Master Malfoy. When the robes are ready, I will keep them safe and await your return to collect them."
Having said that, she personally escorted Draco to the shop entrance, her attitude respectful and thorough, without the slightest hint of neglect.
This scene, witnessed by a family of three on the other side of the shop, left them utterly dumbfounded.
Although Madam Malkin had been polite when serving them earlier, it was far from the solemn enthusiasm and distinctly different attitude she showed towards this Young Master Malfoy.
It was clear she understood the weight of the Malfoy family and dared not show the slightest disrespect.
After seeing Draco off, Madam Malkin turned and returned inside the shop. Gazing in the direction he had left, a flicker of understanding passed through her eyes.
The Malfoy family was a top-tier Pure-blood family in the Wizarding World, immensely powerful and wealthy. Such a major client must never be neglected. Today, she must meticulously prepare his robes without any error.
Leaving Madam Malkin's clothing store, he headed straight for Ollivanders Wand Shop.
The bustle of Diagon Alley flowed around him, a mix of shopkeepers' calls and the cries of magical creatures.
Only that one wand shop, tucked away in the middle of the street, exuded a tranquility starkly different from the surrounding liveliness.
From a distance, the shop appeared small and old, its walls crawling with dark brown streaks. The gilded sign on the door was long faded and peeling, its corners curling up. Only the words 'Ollivander: Makers of Fine wands since 382 B.C.' were faintly discernible.
Having endured the passage of a thousand years, it was truly a veritable old establishment in the Wizarding World, its heritage profound and unfathomable.
The moment Draco pushed the door open, a unique scent blending wood, magical fibers, and time itself washed over him, calming his spirit.
He had thought he already knew this shop well, but experiencing it firsthand now, he realized he had still underestimated its presence.
The interior space wasn't particularly spacious, but the shelves on either side were stacked high, densely packed with wand boxes of all kinds.
Yet these wooden boxes were arranged neatly, layered and extending upwards until they touched the ceiling, filling the limited space completely yet orderly, without a hint of mess.
The passage left open in front was wide and level, clearly maintained with great care.
Such extreme tidiness rather suggested Mr. Ollivander might have a touch of obsessive-compulsiveness.
In the center of the shop stood a dark wooden counter, its surface polished to a smooth shine. An old, open book lay upon it, its yellowed pages covered in obscure runes.
Beside the old book, a brass oil lamp rested quietly, its warm yellow glow spilling onto the pages, adding an antique touch.
To the right of the counter sat a fabric sofa, clean and tidy, but devoid of any person. Presumably, Mr. Ollivander was hidden deep within the shop, focused on organizing wands.
"Mr. Ollivander, are you busy?" Draco called out clearly towards the depths of the shop, his voice piercing through the stacked wand boxes and echoing in the quiet space.
Shortly after his words fell, a wooden moving ladder slowly slid out from behind a shelf. Standing on its middle rung was an elderly man.
It was Ollivander.
He was slender in build, yet his back was ramrod straight. His silvery-white hair and beard fell, covering most of his face, leaving only a pair of deep grey eyes exceptionally sharp, as if they could see into one's soul.
The old man unhurriedly descended the ladder, his steps steady, showing no sign of old age, and walked straight to the counter.
His gaze fell upon Draco, studying him carefully for a moment before he slowly spoke: "Such platinum-blond hair, paired with pale skin. You must be a son of the Malfoy family."
"You have a keen eye, Mr. Ollivander," Draco nodded slightly, his tone carrying a measure of proper respect. "I've heard your skill in selecting wands is unparalleled in the Wizarding World. Surely you can find the one most suited to me."
"Naturally," Ollivander replied expressionlessly, his tone betraying no ripple of emotion. Clearly, such flattery was something he had long grown tired of hearing.
As soon as the words left his mouth, he turned and walked towards a nearby shelf. His fingertips lightly brushed over one wand box after another, occasionally muttering to himself as if screening suitable items: "No, no, no, this one is too fierce, not fitting... You're out too, lacking in heritage..."
After roughly examining for a dozen seconds, Ollivander's fingertip suddenly paused.
Then, from the middle layer of the shelf, he pulled out a fiery-red wooden long box. Gently stroking the smooth lid, a flicker of certainty flashed in his eyes: "Hmm, good. This is a wand of considerable power, ten inches long. Perhaps it came for you."
Having made his selection, he turned back to the counter, placed the long box on its surface, and slowly opened it.
Inside the box, lined with dark blue velvet, lay a deep brown wand. Its shaft was straight, exuding a sense of solid quality.
"Elm wood, 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 still flat.
Draco reached out and picked up the wand. The moment his fingertips touched the shaft, he could clearly feel a faint magical fluctuation.
Before he could savor the sensation, Ollivander urged, "Don't just stand there. Give it a wave. Test its compatibility with you."
"Old Mister Ollivander, is that really advisable?" Draco hesitated, his gaze sweeping over the stacked wand boxes around them. "The shop space is narrow. If a spell goes awry and damages other wands, it wouldn't be good."
"It's fine. Go ahead and cast," Ollivander waved his hand dismissively, his tone certain. "Young Wizards attempting magic for the first time have weak magical power; they can't cause much harm."
"Then I'll try aiming at the floor. That should be safer, lest I accidentally harm other wands," Draco said this, but he had other calculations in mind.
Who knew if among these stacked wands lay the one truly suited to him?
If it were damaged due to a moment of recklessness, wouldn't that be a pointless loss?
These words, however, were misinterpreted by Ollivander.
A flicker of emotion instantly passed through his eyes, and his gaze towards Draco softened considerably.
He actually thought this youth before him had a pure and kind nature, showing exceptional care for wands, utterly different from those young Wizards who only valued power.
Having run this wand shop for many years and met countless Wizards, he had rarely encountered anyone who considered the safety of other wands like this.
At this moment, he even felt a sense of kinship with the young man before him. But what surprised him more was that such a perceptive youth was actually Lucius Malfoy's son.
"You're not bad, lad. It's rare to have such consideration," Ollivander's tone finally carried a note of genuine praise.
Draco was slightly taken aback. He hadn't expected his casual expression of concern to earn such an evaluation. But he didn't dwell on it. Gripping the wand, he gave it a light tap towards the floor.
A faint spark flashed at the tip of the wand, then nothing more happened. Not even a decent magical ripple was stirred.
Draco's expression turned subtle. He muttered inwardly: Is this for real? Could the wand suited for me actually be a Squib?
Ollivander also frowned, his eyes full of confusion: "Eh? That's not right. Elm with dragon heartstringshould be compatible with the Malfoy family 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's hand, carefully placed it back in the box, and returned the long box to its place on the shelf.
Watching his actions, Draco felt somewhat helpless inwardly.
This old fellow was still defining him by his father's standards. How rigid.
Unaware of Draco's thoughts, Ollivander turned and walked towards another row of shelves.
A moment later, he pulled out a brown wooden box and walked back towards Draco, saying casually, "It just so happens some new wands arrived recently and haven't found suitable owners yet. Let's try this one on you first."
Draco's heart skipped a beat. He thought to himself: So, I'm being used as a guinea pig?
But on second thought, selecting a wand was inherently a process of mutual choice, essentially about constantly testing compatibility. That was fair enough.
Ollivander placed the brown box on the counter and slowly opened it.
Inside the box lay a strangely shaped wand.
The shaft was smooth and glossy, polished extremely finely. But instead of the usual straight form, it was sinuously curved in multiple S-shapes, its lines fluid, resembling a miniature snake sword.
It looked extremely similar to the snake sword from a game he played in his previous life, exuding a sense of eerie beauty.
"Old sir, what made you think of crafting a wand into such a twisted shape?" Draco, full of pleasant surprise, couldn't help but ask.
"I wouldn't make such a flashy thing," Ollivander shook his head.
He then explained: "The wood for this wand, pomegranate wood, was acquired by me from elsewhere. The core is Snake Tongue. I didn't craft it myself. Today is the first time I'm taking it out for someone to try."
A trace of a bitter smile instantly appeared on Draco's face.
This old man dared to let him try a wand he hadn't even made himself? Wasn't he afraid of tarnishing the Ollivander reputation?
However, with thousands upon thousands of wands in the shop, if he had to choose on his own, who knew how much time it would take. In the end, he had to trust Ollivander's judgment.
Ollivander took in the hesitation on Draco's face and spoke with a note of earnest admonishment: "Remember, lad, it is always the wand that chooses the Wizard, not the Wizard who chooses the wand. Regardless of this wand's origins, if it is compatible with you, it is the best partner. You needn't burden yourself overly."
Draco pondered his words carefully, found them quite reasonable, and hesitated no longer. He reached out and grasped the serpentine wand.
The curve of the shaft fit snugly in his palm, its touch warm and smooth, more comfortable to hold than he had imagined.
Draco took a deep breath and, holding the wand, gave it another light wave towards the floor.
A sharp hiss issued from the tip of the wand, like the sound of a venomous snake flicking its tongue. Then, once again, nothing happened. It had turned into another Squib.
Draco set the wand down and looked at Ollivander with a playful glint in his eye, waiting for his explanation.
But Ollivander's expression remained unchanged, not the slightest bit embarrassed. He simply said calmly, "It seems this one isn't destined for you either."
Two consecutive failed attempts inevitably made Draco somewhat doubt the old man's professional competence.
After a moment of contemplation, he couldn't help but voice his confusion: "Old sir, I have a question. I wonder if I should ask. Does the shape of a wand affect the speed of spellcasting? As you know, in Wizard duels, victory can be decided in an instant. Whoever can output magic faster gains an absolute advantage. Such a crooked, twisted wand must surely encounter more resistance in the process of channeling magic compared to a straight one. Its efficiency likely can't match the former."
Hearing this, Ollivander shrugged casually, his tone somewhat dismissive: "You said 'likely' yourself. I can only tell you this: never underestimate any wand. Every wand possesses its own unique spirit. While the shape may seem to affect efficiency, that isn't necessarily true—if it is highly compatible with the Wizard, even a strangely shaped wand can unleash power far beyond the ordinary. Conversely, the most regular wand is useless."
Having said that, he reached out and took the pomegranate wood wand, carefully placed it back in its box, slightly furrowed his brow, his eyes full of puzzlement.
Two wands in a row showing no affinity for this youth was quite rare. This Draco Malfoy was far more unique than he had imagined.
After returning the wand to its place, Ollivander's eyes suddenly lit up, as if he had suddenly thought of something. The corner of his mouth curled into a barely perceptible mischievous smile.
He thought to himself: Two conventional wands in a row weren't suitable. This youth's magical nature is so unique. Perhaps paired with *that* wand, he could walk a path completely different from his father's. How truly interesting.
Thinking this, Ollivander looked up at Draco, his tone carrying a hint of mystery: "Wait here for a moment. I'll go look in the back room. Perhaps there is a wand that might be compatible with you."
With that, he turned and walked towards the depths of the shop, stepped onto the moving ladder, and slowly slid along the passage between the shelves. In an instant, he disappeared behind the stacked wand boxes, out of sight.
Draco waited quietly by the counter, full of curiosity.
He wondered what kind of wand the old man would bring out next, to make him so amused.
After roughly the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, Ollivander's figure finally reappeared. He was holding an exquisite long box and slowly walking towards Draco.
The box was white as moonlight, its texture fine like high-quality mutton-fat jade. Yet, along its edges were dotted a few strands of dark red patterns, winding like coagulated blood, breaking the purity of the white and exuding an eerie, mysterious aura that inspired awe.
Draco's heart gave a sudden jolt. An intense premonition surged within him.
This wand was unmistakably the one that belonged to Draco in the original work!
Could it be that even with his transmigration, the tracks of fate were still hard to alter? Was this divine will?
Chapter 10: The Fourth wand!
Ollivander took in the look of deep emotion on Draco's face, a knowing, triumphant smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
He had presided over this wand shop for over a century, having seen countless people, and his skill in discerning wands and their spirits had long been perfected.
It was this ability that allowed him to accurately capture the aura of compatibility among thousands of wands, making the name Ollivander endure for millennia in the Wizarding World, unfading through the ages.
"Boy, open it and see for yourself. Perhaps this is the very wand you've been longing for." Ollivanderhanded the long, white-and-red box to Draco, his tone carrying a note of assured composure.
Draco raised his hand and gently lifted the lid. Inside, a layer of fine white velvet lined the box, making the wand within appear even more exquisite.
Compared to the previous pomegranate wood wand, its quality was clearly far superior.
Ollivander leaned in, introducing it with a proud tone: "This wand is ten inches long. The shaft is Hawthorn wood, and the core is taken from the tail hair of a Unicorn. Unicorns themselves are rare, and the magic condensed within their hair is pure and resilient, far surpassing ordinary wand cores."
This was the third time Draco had picked up a wand. The moment his fingertips touched the shaft, a strange fondness arose within him.
The black grip was polished to a smooth, comfortable finish. The shaft glowed with a faint, rosy hue, its color lustrous. It fit perfectly in his palm, the feel excellent.
Yet, even after holding it quietly for a moment, the wand remained as calm as still water, showing no unusual movement, not even the faintest tremor of magical resonance.
Seeing this, Ollivander, standing beside him, also suppressed his smile and fell into silence.
Normally, a compatible wand would react the instant it made contact with a Wizard, whether with a faint shimmer or a flow of magic. It should never be this silent.
This truly puzzled him.
Draco didn't need Ollivander's urging. He gripped the wand and gave it a gentle wave. A beam of magical light, white tinged with pale red, shot out abruptly and struck the floor.
A soft *crack* sounded. The smooth wooden floor was actually struck, leaving a fine, web-like crack.
Draco felt a flicker of joy. He hadn't expected his first spell to have such power. It seemed the compatibility between wand and wielder was indeed the key to performing magic.
But Ollivander frowned deeply, his eyes filled with confusion and doubt, showing no hint of approval.
"Old Mister, what's wrong? Is there something wrong with this wand?" Draco couldn't help but ask.
"Nothing's wrong with the wand itself. It's just... the power it unleashed feels off." Ollivander shook his head.
"Hawthorn wood paired with unicorn hair should contain immense explosive force. Even for a first attempt, it shouldn't have merely caused a light crack in the floor. This level of power falls far short of its true potential. There must be something peculiar at play."
With that, he raised the wand and tapped the floor lightly, murmuring an incantation. A soft white light fell upon the crack, and the fine fissure instantly repaired itself, leaving not a trace behind.
Draco hadn't expected Ollivander to be so stringent about wands. He smiled wryly: "Old Mister, isn't this good enough? If it really unleashed its full power, wouldn't it risk flipping your shop, bringing the roof down and the floor up before you'd be satisfied?"
"That won't do." Ollivander shook his head with firm resolve, his eyes filled with stubborn seriousness. "A wand is a Wizard's lifelong partner; there can be no compromise. If you settle for it reluctantly, you betray the wand's spirit, and I fail my responsibility to my customer. That is absolutely unacceptable."
Draco never imagined this seemingly ordinary old man possessed such rigorous and responsible dedication. He immediately felt a surge of deep respect.
Subsequently, he no longer insisted on his own view and asked sincerely, "In that case, do you have another wand here that might suit me better?"
Ollivander, however, ignored Draco's question. He remained deep in thought, muttering to himself, his expression full of bewilderment.
"It doesn't make sense... Where exactly is the problem? This shouldn't be happening normally... An ordinary Wizard usually finds a compatible wand within three tries at most. Why is it so consistently unusual with you?"
He muttered for a long while but still couldn't figure out the key. In the end, he had to give up.
Looking up at Draco, his tone softened slightly: "Boy, do you have any personal preference for a wandtype? The shape of the shaft, the type of wood, or the origin of the core—you can tell me."
Draco lowered his head in thought for a moment, and a bold idea suddenly sprouted in his mind.
Looking up at Ollivander, he tentatively asked, "Grandfather, do you... have any wands from China here?"
Hearing this, a flash of surprise instantly crossed Ollivander's eyes. He clearly hadn't anticipated such a special request from Draco.
Having run the wand shop for many years, he had occasionally acquired some Chinese wands during his travels. However, their wand-making craft differed greatly from the West, and their material selection was more unique.
Consequently, very few Wizards were willing to try them. Those wands had been left sitting in a corner, never publicly sold.
Now that this young man mentioned it himself, did he perhaps have some connection to Chinese magic?
Thinking this, a gleam flashed in Ollivander's eyes, his tone carrying a note of delight:
"Boy, you are truly fortunate! I recently happened to examine some Chinese wands and purposely kept aside the most special one, not yet revealed to the public. And here you are, asking about it yourself. Perhaps this is fate at work. Maybe it truly can bond with you."
As he spoke, he turned and walked towards the depths of the shop, rummaging through a bulging, coarse cloth sack.
The sack was plump, and a slight shake produced the sound of wooden objects clattering together, clearly indicating it still held many items.
Seeing this, Draco couldn't help but ask, "Old Mister, I've heard you've always focused solely on the three core materials—dragon heartstring, Phoenix feathers, and unicorn hair—and on Western woods for wand-making. Why would you suddenly acquire Chinese wands?"
"What do you know?" Ollivander waved a hand without turning back.
He continued with a somewhat self-satisfied tone: "In any craft, the greatest taboo is becoming stagnant and complacent. Only by advancing with the times, absorbing the strengths of wand-making techniques from various places, learning from others' strong points to offset one's weaknesses, can one continuously refine their skill and make my wands more spirited. If one stubbornly clings to the old ways, they'll inevitably be left behind by the era."
These words rather surprised Draco. Rumors painted Ollivander as a conservative, stubborn old man,
who to this day clung rigidly to traditional wand-making methods, unwilling to adapt in the slightest. Hearing it firsthand today, he realized the rumors were mistaken.
He was actually such an open-minded, clear-sighted, and progressive person.
Before Draco could ponder further, Ollivander had already pulled a long box from the sack and walked back slowly.
The box was entirely a pale yellow hue, a single, pure color without any superfluous decoration, simple yet substantial.
Considering how the boxes of the previous two wands corresponded to their shaft materials, the color of this box likely reflected the natural color of the wood inside. This seamless unity felt particularly fitting.
Ollivander gently handed the pale yellow long box to Draco, his tone tinged with anticipation: "Give it a try. This wand's spirit is extremely unique. Perhaps it truly can bond with you."
Draco reached out and took the box. The moment his fingertips touched the lid, a soft *snap* sounded, and the lid popped open on its own, as if the wand inside was already impatient to meet him.
Inside the box, lined with light brown velvet, lay a pale yellow wand. The shaft was straight, its texture smooth and warm, its surface glowing with a faint luster. It lacked complex patterns but exuded an aura of ancient simplicity and substance.
Ollivander's jaw dropped slightly in shock, his eyes filled with disbelief.
In his many years running the wand shop, he had never seen a wand actively pop open its own box lid. Such an extraordinary phenomenon was enough to indicate a profound connection between this wandand the young man before him.
And Draco, the moment he saw this wand, felt a powerful resonance within.
This was *his* unique wand, the partner destined to cross mountains and seas, fated to accompany him for a lifetime.
Draco eagerly reached out and tightly grasped the wand in his palm.
In that instant, a golden light pattern suddenly surged from the wand's shaft, slowly tracing along the wood grain, outlining the vivid silhouette of a Lion.
The light was gentle yet powerful. Warm, steadfast magic flowed slowly from his palm into every limb and bone, like a clear spring nourishing parched land, filling his entire body with comfort.
Ollivander couldn't hold back an exclamation of wonder, his eyes full of astonishment and joy:
"I never expected it, truly never expected it! Fate is so wondrous! Such a profound bond is exceedingly rare! It seems another brilliant, dazzling magical journey is about to begin!"
After his exclamation, he slowly calmed himself and explained to Draco:
"This wand is ten inches long. The shaft is Peach wood, unique to China. The core is taken from a Lion's mane. Its spirit is pure and resilient, containing immense vitality and protective power. It is extremely rare and precious."
Draco nodded solemnly, holding the wand and examining it carefully. The more he looked, the more joy filled his heart.
The warm feel of the shaft, the flowing golden light patterns, and that sense of compatibility merging into his very bloodline—all made him utterly certain.
This was the wand he had been searching for!
He was also the person the wand had been searching for!
[Ding! Original wand changed. luck value increased by 10!]
Just then, the shop door was gently pushed open. The brass bell above the lintel jingled, and a clear, crisp female voice came from the entrance: "Hello? Is anyone here?"
Chapter 11: The Long-Awaited Little Wife
Draco and Ollivander turned their heads simultaneously, their gazes falling on the doorway.
Backlit by the light stood two figures, one young and one older, their auras distinctly different yet inexplicably harmonious.
The girl was dressed in Muggle attire. She wore a light gray short-sleeved polo shirt with a small, neatly folded collar that added a touch of academic refinement. Over it was a casually open khaki knit cardigan, its fabric soft and draping.
Her sleeves were gently rolled up to her forearms, outlining their slender lines. She paired this with a deep blue pleated skirt, its hem naturally flared with neat, distinct pleats, the length just reaching her knees.
On her feet were classic, simple white canvas shoes, clean and spotless.
She carried a deep blue backpack on her shoulder, its shape square and proper, with a sturdy, practical feel. The color perfectly matched her pleated skirt.
Most striking was her hairstyle. Her thick, deep brown hair was neatly tied into a high ponytail, the smooth braid falling behind her shoulders. Only a few stray strands casually framed her forehead, fully revealing her smooth brow and clear facial contours.
Even though her attire was utterly different from the memory of her in Wizard's robes, Draco recognized her at a glance—it was Hermione Granger.
Her appearance was quite stunning. Though it carried a hint of unfamiliarity, Draco was utterly captivated.
Hermione's facial features were soft and rounded, without sharp angles. Her skin was fair and translucent, glowing with a fine, warm luster under the shop's warm butter lamps, like high-quality warm jade.
Her brows and eyes were delicate and elegant, with long, fine eyelashes. Her nose had a smooth, straight bridge. Her lips were lightly pressed together, her expression serene.
Her whole person exuded a quiet, introverted temperament.
If one hadn't read the original story and didn't know the vibrant sharpness within her, one might truly be deceived by this calm and reserved appearance, mistaking her for a gentle, soft-spoken girl.
The elderly woman beside Hermione wore Wizard's attire, creating a stark contrast.
And her appearance naturally required no guessing—it was Professor McGonagall.
Her signature emerald green Wizard's robe was stiff and neatly tailored, its tightly fastened collar exuding rigor, her entire presence radiating steady authority.
Over the robe, she wore a dark cloak, its hem reaching her ankles, adding further solemnity.
Her hair was meticulously combed and tightly pinned at the back, not a strand out of place, perfectly matching her rigorous nature.
Square glasses rested on her nose bridge. Her eyes behind the lenses were sharp and bright, as if able to see through people. Even standing quietly, she commanded an undeniable authority that instinctively inspired awe.
Such a distinctive appearance was recognized by almost everyone at Hogwarts.
Her presence here now was likely specifically to accompany Hermione to Diagon Alley to purchase her school necessities.
[Ding! Encountered Hermione and Professor McGonagall. luck value increased by 20!]
Draco, holding the Peach wood wand in his palm, tightened his fingers slightly, complex emotions churning within him.
He had never imagined his first meeting with Hermione would be in such a setting—without the noisy clash from the original story, but instead with an unexpected sense of calm.
She was currently dressed in Muggle clothes, her eyes filled with innocence and curiosity about the magical world. This was a stark contrast to the sharp, clever, and decisive Witch she would become later, yet it made her appear more real and vivid.
Ollivander clearly also recognized Professor McGonagall. A flicker of surprise passed through his eyes before he composed his expression.
He then slowly broke the silence, his tone carrying more gravity than before: "Professor McGonagall, what an unexpected honor. This young lady must be a new student for Hogwarts this year?"
Professor McGonagall gave a slight nod, her tone steady and gentle, with less of her usual sternness:
"Mr. Ollivander, pardon the intrusion. This is Hermione Granger. She is indeed a new student this year. I've brought her here today specifically to select a suitable wand."
Hearing this, Hermione quickly withdrew her gaze and looked at Ollivander. She gave a polite, slight bow and said in a clear voice, "Hello, Mr. Ollivander."
After the polite greeting, her gaze inadvertently swept over the wand in Draco's hand. A flicker of curiosity appeared in her eyes, but she said nothing more, maintaining proper decorum.
Draco's heart stirred. He promptly and carefully put away the Peach wood wand and turned to stride quickly towards Hermione.
His face was full of unconcealed enthusiasm and excitement. He reached out as if to greet her: "Miss Granger, this is the most renowned wand shop in Diagon Alley, Ollivanders. Might you need any assistance?"
This move was too abrupt and eager. Caught off guard, Hermione instinctively took half a step back, a look of alarm and bewilderment flashing in her eyes: "Um, you are?"
Hearing this, Draco suddenly realized his behavior had overstepped.
He promptly composed himself, a proper, faint smile curling at his lips as he calmly explained, "My apologies. I just finished selecting my own wand here. Seeing you're a new student, I thought I might offer a hand."
Hearing this, Hermione's tense expression eased slightly. Her gaze swept over the stacked wand boxes in the shop, and she gave a light nod: "In that case, it seems I've come to the right place."
Ollivander, watching from the side, took in Draco's unusual behavior. His previously calm expression suddenly underwent a drastic change, as if struck by a bolt of lightning.
His gaze fixed intently on Draco, no longer the detached look reserved for an ordinary customer, but rather like he was staring at a living miracle. His eyes churned with shock, confusion, and intense scrutiny, a complex and difficult-to-define mix.
Chapter 12: Ollivander's Good Guy Card
Because Draco's character seemed to have deviated, after a momentary daze, Ollivander actually walked straight out from behind the counter, slowly approaching him.
The aura around Ollivander grew heavy as he spoke, word by word, with extreme seriousness: "Boy, what you hold in your hand might be one of the most 'picky' wands ever to grace this humble shop."
He paused, his gaze falling on Draco's palm where the wand was hidden, his tone growing even more grave:
"Peach wood is pure in nature, most averse to spiritual filth and darkness; lion's mane hair is proud and fierce, only responding to genuine courage and sincerity. That it would choose you... is itself an unsolvable mystery. And today, I seem to see the answer to this mystery quietly revealing itself."
These words left Draco utterly bewildered, unable to grasp their meaning.
But Hermione beside him instantly caught the key point, a sharp glint flashing in her eyes. She subconsciously looked up and cast another deep glance at the wand Draco had hidden at his side.
To receive such high praise from Ollivander, this wand must be truly extraordinary.
Professor McGonagall, who was already wary due to Draco's rash action, became completely still upon hearing Ollivander's words, like a rigid stone statue.
The square glasses perched on her nose bridge reflected a cold light, and her gaze was as sharp as two precise scalpels.
Her eyes fell on Draco's face, which was etched with astonishment and confusion, scrutinizing his expression, trying to catch a hint.
Then they slowly lowered, settling on the wand in Draco's hand that still seemed to radiate a scorching light, her expression growing increasingly grave.
Finally, they slowly shifted back to Ollivander's aged face, now immersed in a sense of destiny, filled with incomprehension.
Ollivander paid no heed to the questioning look from Professor McGonagall, his gaze still intently fixed on the wand Draco had hidden at his side.
He slowly raised a fingertip, pointing gently through the air towards that Peach wood wand, his voice brimming with unconcealed reverence: "Look... the lion's mane hair core is resonating."
He said meaningfully, glancing at Hermione beside him:
"When you show a trace of genuine kindness that transcends blood prejudice, it can achieve perfect harmony with you. This wand has always been waiting... waiting for the slumbering lion within your heart to awaken, waiting for you to use the purity of Peach wood to dispel the dust and gloom that obscures your true nature."
Professor McGonagall could no longer endure. She clenched her fists tightly, mustering every ounce of self-control to barely maintain the dignity and composure befitting the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.
Yet every word squeezed from between her teeth carried a bone-chilling cold, as if laden with immense weight: "Garrick, you... are very well aware of the weight your words carry."
By deliberately using Ollivander's first name, Professor McGonagall shed her usual formality.
Clearly, the matter had become so serious that she felt compelled to speak in her most serious personal capacity, leaving no room for ambiguity.
"Wandlore itself is a subtle and profound discipline, with many variables; and... human nature is far more complex and unpredictable than any wand. How can one make such a definitive judgment based solely on a single wand?"
Hearing Professor McGonagall's words, cold enough to almost freeze the air, Ollivander showed no sign of retreat. Instead, he slowly straightened his usually slightly hunched frame.
His silvery eyes met Professor McGonagall's scalpel-sharp gaze without flinching. There was no fiery argument in his look, only a calm steeped in ancient destiny and truth.
He understood Professor McGonagall's concerns, yet he was even more certain of the truth glimpsed from the wand's resonance. This truth might rewrite the fate of the young boy before him, even affect the course of the entire Wizarding World.
The atmosphere in the shop grew even more oppressive, the warm yellow glow of the oil lamp seeming to dim slightly.
Hermione stood to the side, watching the three with a complex expression. Her gaze shifted between Draco and Ollivander, her mind filled with confusion and doubt.
This platinum-haired boy, this wand so highly praised by Ollivander, and Professor McGonagall's grave demeanor all made her feel that this matter was anything but simple.
"Oh, Minerva." Ollivander spoke softly after a long while, his tone shedding its previous gravity and returning to its usual dreamy, ethereal quality.
"Yes, I am aware. Precisely because I am fully aware of the weight these words carry, I must speak them frankly, without the slightest concealment."
He slowly shifted his gaze from Professor McGonagall's tense face, his eyes falling once more on Draco.
Or rather, precisely anchoring on the Peach wood wand lying dormant in the boy's palm.
Ollivander's eyes grew even more distant, as if piercing through the wood grain of the wand's body.
"Wandlore is indeed subtle. Yes, it is never a random assembly or forging, but a precise science that measures soul fluctuations and aligns with the essence of spirit."
He continued in a low voice.
"And human nature... is indeed complex and unpredictable. So complex that it often blinds others, confuses the bloodline marks on family trees, and even deceives oneself, wallowing in established appearances, unable to see the true self."
He deliberately paused, allowing the depth and weight of his words to settle slowly in the dead silence of the shop.
Then he looked up at everyone, his tone carrying a touch of almost kindly gentleness, yet also a cruel objectivity. He spoke the most impactful words, each syllable striking like thunder in their hearts:
"But wands do not lie. The wood that forms the wand body does not, and the core material hidden within even more so. Peach wood is pure, naturally despising utterly decayed, shadow-filled souls and would never actively choose a fallen spirit. Lion's mane hair is proud, fierce, and sincere, responding only to pure courage and sincerity, and would absolutely not tremble and resonate upon first meeting for a hopeless, utterly fallen soul."
After finishing.
Ollivander finally turned his gaze fully back to Professor McGonagall, his eyes clear and candid, appearing even more resolute.
His words had delivered a final verdict, stating that kindness and bravery were Draco's intrinsic nature, but being born into the Malfoy family had long suppressed and locked away these qualities.
"This Peach wood wand with a lion's mane core chose him at the age of eleven. This is the purest appraisal of his soul's essence."
Ollivander emphasized one last time.
He said no more, nor did he attempt to convince anyone further.
He simply stood quietly in place, his figure slender yet upright, like the thousands of silent wands stacked within the shop. Mute and still, yet he had already become the most concrete physical evidence of that 'possibility', undeniable and impossible to ignore.
Dead silence once again abruptly enveloped the entire wand shop. A heart-palpitating quiet spread, lingering for several seconds.
The shop was so quiet you could hear the faint sound of dust floating and falling in the warm glow of the oil lamp.
Those tiny particles drifted along the light, yet they could not dispel the stagnant heaviness in the air.
Professor McGonagall stood rigidly in place. Shock, confusion, and struggle churned in her sharp eyes. She was clearly shaken to the core by Ollivander's subversive words and, for a moment, did not know how to respond.
Chapter 13: The Young Master Malfoy's Persona Collapses
Unlike Professor McGonagall's shock, Draco now understood what Ollivander was saying—this was essentially a 'good person certification' for him.
He couldn't help but sigh inwardly, thinking that indeed, the Malfoy family had it good. One could become a saint simply by putting down the butcher's knife.
Amidst her shock, Professor McGonagall stared intently into Ollivander's silvery-white eyes.
Her gaze seemed to pierce through that calm surface, searching for any trace of uncertainty or deliberate exaggeration, attempting to overturn this perception-shattering statement.
Yet, in the end, she found nothing. What met her eyes was merely a scholar, deeply immersed in wandlore for years, displaying an extreme and unshakable certainty and openness towards magical truth—pure and flawless.
Beside them, Hermione had already been left dizzy by this relentless barrage of earth-shattering words, her clear eyes filled with confusion and inquiry.
Looking at Ollivander, then at Draco, and then at the grave-faced Professor McGonagall, Hermionemomentarily didn't know how to process everything before her, silently committing this discourse about souls and wands to memory.
Seeing this, Draco hurriedly broke the stagnant atmosphere, speaking gently to Hermione, "No, but Miss Granger is still waiting to choose a wand!"
He paid no mind to McGonagall and Ollivander's reactions, his heart and eyes completely focused on the girl before him, only hoping to get closer to her and help her smoothly embark on her magical path.
Seeing Draco's demeanor, Ollivander's lips curled into a knowing smile, and he couldn't help but speak to Hermione, "Miss Granger, this lad is a temporary helper I hired. He usually helps with the shop's trivial matters and is quite familiar with the characteristics of various wands. If you wish to know the many details about wands, you can let him introduce them to you. He'll certainly help you avoid some detours."
Upon hearing this, Hermione turned to look at Draco, then politely nodded and said softly to him, "Then I'll trouble you."
Draco gave Hermione a gentle nod, then turned to the nearby Professor McGonagall and spoke respectfully, "Hello, Professor McGonagall. There's a sofa for resting on one side of the shop. You must be somewhat tired after accompanying Miss Granger all the way here. Perhaps you could go over there and rest for a while."
Professor McGonagall slowly nodded, her gaze still carrying a hint of scrutiny as it swept over Draco, but she said nothing more and headed straight for the sofa.
Seeing this, Draco quickly stepped aside to make way, gesturing for Hermione to follow as he guided her towards the shelves deeper inside the shop.
As they walked, Draco gradually slowed his pace and very naturally struck up a conversation, "My name is Draco Malfoy. In a short while, I'll be heading to Hogwarts to start my studies. I imagine you're a new student preparing to enroll as well?"
Never expecting to run into a future classmate here, a flash of delight instantly appeared in Hermione's eyes.
After her steps paused slightly, she looked up at Draco, her tone gaining a touch of genuine warmth, "You're also a student about to start at Hogwarts? What a coincidence."
Seeing this, the smile on Draco's lips deepened as he candidly replied, "Indeed. From now on, we'll be classmates. If you ever need any help at school, please don't hesitate to ask."
Upon hearing this, Hermione gracefully extended her hand, her eyes bright and sincere, "Hello, my name is Hermione Granger."
Draco's heart surged with excitement. He hurriedly reached out to touch her palm, his voice carrying a barely noticeable tremor, "Hello, Miss Granger, it's a pleasure to meet you."
The moment their palms met, a firm and warm sensation instantly transmitted, dispelling some of the nervousness in his heart.
Her hand was not at all like the soft, reserved hands of ordinary girls. Instead, it carried a sense of neat, decisive strength.
Her five fingers gripped Draco's hand firmly. As their palms pressed together, he could clearly feel the slight calluses on her knuckles and palm, born from long hours of holding pens and flipping through books—rough yet substantial.
It was by no means the hand of someone pampered and naive about the world. It was the hand of a doer and a seeker of knowledge, concealing her passion for learning and resilient character.
After the brief handshake, Draco's attention was involuntarily completely captured by her large, hazel-brown eyes.
Those eyes were focused intently on me, bright and clear, like gems immersed in cool spring water, radiating a pure luster.
There was not a hint of evasion or shyness in that gaze, only curiosity towards a stranger and the cautious judgment brought by rapidly whirring thoughts—lively and sharp, making it obvious at a glance that she was exceptionally clever.
After getting acquainted, Draco gathered his thoughts and began earnestly introducing the many intricacies of wands to Hermione.
Draco said in a steady and meticulous tone, "I suppose you heard Mr. Ollivander's words earlier. When a Wizard chooses a wand, it is never a one-sided selection. In truth, it is a mutual pursuit between the Wizard and the wand; the wand is quietly choosing a master who suits it. Therefore, the key to selecting the wand most suited to you lies in the spiritual resonance between the Wizard and the wand. If a wand is incompatible with you, holding it in your palm will only feel cold and dull; it may even deliberately resist, making it difficult to channel even a trace of magic. Only when true compatibility occurs—perhaps a tiny spark at the wand's tip, perhaps a warm, gentle flow in your palm, or perhaps a strange resonance in your heart—that is the sign of the wand's acceptance of you."
As soon as these words fell, Ollivander, who was nearby preparing wands for Hermione, suddenly erupted with an unprecedented, blazing light in his eyes.
"Ah...!" A short, astonished gasp escaped his lips, filled with barely suppressed excitement.
Ollivander's voice trembled slightly, yet he spoke with absolute certainty and praise, "Exactly so! Very well said! You have truly felt the connection between wand and Wizard; you finally understand this silent dialogue! This is by no means rote knowledge from books, my boy. This is an experience from the depths of the soul, the most fundamental perception of magic. It is the wand whispering to you, speaking of mutual compatibility, and you are now listening to its voice with your heart."
After saying this, he abruptly turned to Professor McGonagall, his gaze burning, his eyes full of excitement and conviction, as if presenting a living miracle to her.
"Minerva, did you hear that? These words are not theories I imparted to him; they are genuine testimony from the depths of his soul! The wand's coldness and warmth, resistance and resonance—he is not describing a cold magical tool, but a lifelong companion, a bond of equality and respect! The Peach wood is silently testing the purity of his soul, the lion's mane hair is secretly examining the courage in his heart, and he is now responding to this test with his heart, having already understood the wand's intent!"
Listening to Ollivander's extremely exaggerated words, Draco was filled with helplessness, thinking to himself: Old man Ollivander, there's really no need to get so worked up. I'm just stating the facts.
After speaking to Professor McGonagall, Ollivander slowly turned back, deeply gazing at Draco, and solemnly admonished him in an almost reverent tone, "Remember this feeling, Mr. Malfoy. In the long years to come, when the world's clamor and prejudice try to drown your true self, when secular shackles attempt to bind your soul, take a moment to quiet your mind and listen to the whisper of the wood in your hand. It understands who you are better than any illustrious surname and can guide your path more truly than any external judgment."
These words struck like a precise Stupefy, hitting the very core of the rational fortress within Professor McGonagall's heart.
She had been sitting quietly on the sofa, but now she instinctively stood up, her body swaying slightly, her square spectacles nearly slipping from the bridge of her nose.
Chapter 14: Slapping the Face Right onto Professor McGonagall!
Professor McGonagall, who had risen to her feet, was once again taken aback, this time not by Ollivander, but by Draco Malfoy.
Her eyes churned with shock, disbelief, and a tremor of something deeply touched within her.
"...To perceive magical resonance so clearly and describe its connections and differences with such precision is truly rare among young Wizards."
The tone of Professor McGonagall's words now had subtly changed; it was no longer the cold skepticism from before, but tinged with an undeniable note of being moved.
Hermione stood to the side, listening with rapt attention, her intelligent and guileless eyes fixed unblinkingly on Draco.
She silently committed every word and detail he spoke to memory, clearly regarding these insights as extremely valuable experience.
Draco looked at the varied reactions of the three people before him, his heart filled with helplessness and reflection.
He had merely spoken a few candid truths about wands, yet it had provoked such intense reactions.
He supposed it was ultimately because the Malfoy family's past persona was too deeply ingrained—the labels of harshness, arrogance, and prejudice were already branded in everyone's minds.
Now, by revealing even a slight difference, it created a powerful sense of contrast, making it so unbelievable to them.
Seeing their reactions, Draco had no choice but to speak up once more, attempting to steer the conversation back on track.
"Mr. Ollivander's profound wisdom has always been captivating. This assertion regarding the soul and the wand is particularly thought-provoking. However, for now, perhaps we could take a small step back, allowing Miss Granger to connect with the wand in the most tranquil atmosphere, ensuring this silent dialogue can be fully heard and genuinely felt."
Upon hearing this, Ollivander nodded readily, a flicker of approval in his eyes. "Ah, what a thoughtful and considerate suggestion. Indeed, silence is often the best vessel for resonance. Only by clearing away distracting thoughts can a Wizard truly connect with a wand's spirit and perceive their mutual compatibility."
Professor McGonagall sat back down on the sofa. Listening to these words, she also gave a slow, slight nod, her tense expression easing a little.
She evidently also recognized the merit in this measured consideration, no longer as high-strung as before, though her gaze still held a degree of scrutiny, resting on Draco and Hermione.
Hermione, who had been holding her shoulders stiffly under the scrutiny of the wand selection, now felt a slight relaxation in her posture, replaced by increased focus and seriousness. She was clearly ready to meet the wand that belonged to her.
As Draco finished speaking, Ollivander turned and walked deeper into the shelves.
Not long after, Ollivander returned to the counter, carrying a small box. He placed it gently on the faded purple velvet cushion, as if handling a priceless treasure.
Opening the lid, Ollivander softly introduced: "Mahogany, unicorn hair core, nine and a half inches, pliant."
"This wand is extremely adaptable, especially well-suited to the field of Transfiguration, making the casting of Transfiguration spells particularly smooth."
Hermione looked up at Draco, her eyes seeking his opinion.
Draco gave her a gentle nod and said with a smile: "Being suitable for Transfiguration is excellent. Professor McGonagall of Hogwarts is the foremost contemporary master of Transfiguration. In the future, if you study Transfiguration, you will surely benefit greatly."
Though he spoke these words, his heart held a different calculation. In the original story, Hermione's wand was vine wood with a dragon heartstring core—that combination was the best match for her spirit and talent. This Mahogany wand was likely just a transitional step.
Hearing this, Hermione nodded reassuringly and cautiously reached out to take the wand from the box.
The shaft felt warm and smooth in her hand, carrying the fine texture unique to wood. But that was all; there was no other sensation.
She held the wand and gave it a gentle wave. Nothing stirred around her.
No tiny sparks flew, no gentle warmth flowed, not even a faint ripple of magic arose. It was like holding an exquisitely crafted but utterly spiritless ordinary stick.
Hermione slightly furrowed her brow, a flash of contemplation in her eyes, then spoke in a tone of rigorous analysis:
"It's... docile, not deliberately resisting. But I always feel that we haven't established a sufficiently stable magical connection. The channel for magical flow seems closed, difficult to merge."
Ollivander stood by quietly watching. Hearing this, he gave an almost imperceptible nod, a glimmer of approval in his eyes.
He then stepped forward, swiftly and gently retrieving the wand from Hermione's hand, placing it back in the box with a clean, decisive motion. Clearly, he had already judged this wand to be incompatible with her.
"A very precise description, Miss Granger," Ollivander said. "The connection between Wizard and wandis the very core of selection. Without merging, they can never truly become partners."
After speaking, he turned and walked towards the shelves again, continuing to search for a suitable wand for Hermione.
Taking advantage of Ollivander's search, Draco turned to Hermione beside him and proactively began explaining the intricacies of wands.
"The core of a wand essentially consists of two parts: the wood that forms the shaft and the core hidden within. They complement each other, jointly determining the wand's characteristics and compatibility direction."
Hermione nodded earnestly, instantly entering a focused information-receiving mode. Her clear eyes stared unblinkingly at Draco, afraid to miss any detail.
Seeing this, Draco continued his in-depth explanation, recounting the wand knowledge he knew:
"The wood of the shaft often defines the wand's basic personality, inherent moral inclinations, and the field of magical talent it best adapts to. It actively chooses Wizards whose traits align with its own; only when spirits resonate can they accompany each other long-term. The core is the wand's engine, directly determining the intensity of magical output, the style of spellcasting, and the closeness of the connection with the Wizard's soul."
"Mr. Ollivander's shop has always used only the three most powerful and stable core materials: dragon heartstring, phoenix feather, and unicorn hair. Of course, I am a special case. For most Wizards, these three cores are sufficient to match their own talents, without needing to seek others."
Ollivander, who was actually listening quietly behind the shelves, gently shook his head upon hearing this, a profound and knowing smile appearing on his face.
Then Ollivander peeked his head out from behind the stacked wand boxes and said warmly to Draco: "Ah, my boy, you are not an 'exception,' but a necessity of fate."
"Wandlore is a vast, boundless ocean. Cores derived from dragons, phoenixes, and Unicorns are merely the three most brilliant lighthouses, guiding the majority of Wizards."
"Yet deep within the ocean, other ancient and powerful spiritual resonances slumber. Those special cores are not inferior to these three; they are simply more discerning, quietly awaiting that specific individual whose soul frequency perfectly aligns with their own, before awakening their full power."
Draco didn't know whether to laugh or cry; this old man always loved to speak in such mysterious, profound terms.
Yet he had to admit, there was some truth in his words.
After speaking, Ollivander said no more, busily burying himself among the shelves again, focused on finding the right wand for Hermione.
Draco turned to Hermione and continued to add:
"Among these three core materials, dragon heartstring is the most powerful. Spells cast with it are often dazzling and flamboyant, with immense explosive force. It's also extremely quick to learn and easy to master, suitable for the studious. However, its loyalty is relatively low. It naturally admires power. If the Wizard's own strength is insufficient, or if it encounters a more powerful being, it may actively change allegiance and seek a new master."
Hermione paid particular attention to this core.
Draco continued to introduce:
"phoenix feather is the rarest and most precious. It encompasses an extremely wide range of magic, has superb adaptability, and possesses the highest autonomy and spirit. It is also the most selective core; only those who are an ultimate match can earn its recognition."
"As for unicorn hair, its two most prominent traits are: first, extremely stable magical output, making spellcasting less prone to errors; second, a natural repulsion to the Dark Arts. If used to practice Dark magic, its effectiveness would be greatly diminished. However, its loyalty is the highest. Once it recognizes a master, it will devote itself wholeheartedly. Even if taken by others, it would be difficult to unleash its original power, as it would be significantly reduced."
After listening to all of Draco's analysis, Hermione still thought dragon heartstring was very appealing!
Draco looked at Hermione's thoughtful expression and said with a smile: "Given your spirit and talent, I think you might be better suited to a wand with a dragon heartstring core. Strong explosive force and wide adaptability can better unleash your potential. As for the wood, you'll need to slowly sense and find the one that resonates with your soul."
Upon hearing this, Professor McGonagall, sitting on the sofa, suddenly raised an eyebrow and retorted: "Such an assertion is far too arbitrary. The compatibility between Wizard and wand is inherently profound and subtle. How can it be so easily determined by mere words?"
Draco merely smiled faintly, offering no further explanation. His certainty naturally stemmed from knowing the original plot—having
Foresight
—otherwise, he wouldn't dare make such bold assertions.
Of course, this could not be stated openly. He just thought to himself: I didn't expect this time, I would have to
slap the face
right onto Professor McGonagall.
Chapter 15: Professor McGonagall Concedes!
Compared to Professor McGonagall's cautious skepticism, Hermione's heart was already roiling with earth-shattering waves, leaving her utterly stunned.
With just a few words, Draco had precisely pierced the secret hidden deep within her heart—that powerful, insatiable thirst for knowledge and learning.
She stared at the boy before her, feeling as if she had been completely seen through in a daze. Even the traits buried in the depths of her soul were laid bare, filling her heart with astonishment and bewilderment, yet also giving rise to a faint, inexplicable sense of resonance.
Right at that moment, Ollivander emerged from behind the shelves, holding a dark wooden box in his hands.
Having overheard the conversation, he looked at Draco with full appreciation. 'Your insight, young man, is truly commendable. dragon heartstring cores are inherently spirited and assertive, perpetually craving talent and a thirst for knowledge, never settling for the mediocre. The immense power they contain is reserved only for minds that never cease striving and forging ahead. Only such a soul can truly wield its edge.'
Upon hearing this, Draco merely grinned without saying another word, though a glimmer of understanding was hidden in his eyes.
Sitting to the side, Professor McGonagall listened to Ollivander's firm endorsement. Her previously furrowed brow gradually smoothed, and her gaze towards Draco grew more complex.
She was clearly beginning to realize that this boy possessed a perception of the compatibility between wands and Wizards far exceeding his peers, and that his words were not mere idle talk.
Ollivander wasted no more time. He placed the wooden box on the counter, opened it slowly, and began a detailed introduction for Hermione:
'This wand is made of Chestnut Wood, also with a dragon heartstring core. It's ten inches long, with a hard and sturdy texture. Chestnut Wood wands have always favored Wizards with a particular talent for natural magic, herbology, or magical creatures. They are steady in nature, profound in substance—a wood belonging to the erudite, capable of deeply merging with the spirit of a knowledge-seeker.'
'Magical creatures!' Hermione's eyes instantly lit up, unable to conceal her delight. The textbooks on magical creatures she had just purchased immediately sprang to her mind, making her feel a surge of anticipation for this wand.
She carefully reached out and took the wand in her palm. But the moment her fingers touched the shaft, the delight on her face gradually solidified into caution.
This time, the wand tip was not completely inert. Instead, it emitted a faint wisp of silvery smoke that slowly spiraled upwards, vanishing into the air in an instant, leaving behind only the faintest trace of magical essence.
'Better than the last one,' Hermione evaluated objectively.
After carefully analyzing her own sensations, Hermione said, 'There's a hint of... an intent for resonance between us, but ultimately, it's too weak and extremely unstable. The flow of magic is intermittent, like a faulty electrical circuit in the Muggle world—difficult to merge smoothly.'
She casually used a Muggle analogy, her words plain yet precise. Although Ollivander was unfamiliar with Muggle objects, he instantly grasped the deeper meaning and nodded in agreement.
He did not immediately turn to fetch another wand. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, gazing intently at Hermione with profound focus, as if truly'seeing' the depths of her soul for the first time.
Ollivander's gaze slowly swept over her already somewhat bushy brown hair, over her bright, clear eyes brimming with a thirst for knowledge, missing no detail, as if carefully pondering the frequency of her soul.
'How foolish of me...' Ollivander murmured softly after a long while, his voice tinged with a sudden epiphany. 'Thinking only of erudition and talent before was far too shallow.'
He shook his head gently, now speaking with great certainty. 'What she harbors is a pursuit of lofty endeavors, a fervent passion hidden beneath calmness, and a resolve to break conventions and astonish the world... Yes, it must be that one. It has surely been waiting for you.'
With that, he stood on tiptoe, stretching his arm with effort towards a corner thick with dust on the highest shelf.
The spot was dimly lit, untouched for ages. He almost leaned his entire body into the shadows, his movements slightly clumsy yet filled with undeniable determination.
Moments later, Ollivander slowly turned around, holding an exceptionally long, dark wooden case.
The case's surface was layered with dust, as if recording the sediment of long years, exuding an air of antiquity and mystery.
He gently blew the dust off the case, his fingers brushing over the wooden grain as he slowly opened the lid.
Inside, lined with fine, dark blue velvet, lay a wand with a warm hue and unique spiral grain. The shaft gleamed with a faint luster, its spirit restrained yet unable to completely hide its edge. One glance was enough to know it was no ordinary object.
'vine wood,' Ollivander's voice instantly became solemn and deep. 'The core remains dragon heartstring, ten and three-quarter inches long, quite pliable in texture—able to bend and stretch, its Sharpness concealed within restraint.
'vine wood wands... are extremely rare in the Wizarding World and have always been exceedingly selective. They never choose Wizards who are merely 'clever' or 'powerful.' Their vision is uniquely profound. What they seek are souls whose eyes can gaze towards horizons unseen by ordinary people, whose hearts burn with a fervent flame to change the world, and who are destined to break conventions and leave all conformists dumbfounded. Only such extraordinary beings can earn its recognition.'
Hearing Ollivander's lofty praise, Hermione held her breath, looking at the wand before her with full anticipation. Then, she slowly reached out towards the vine wood wand.
Her fingertips had just touched the warm shaft.
*Hum...* A low, pleasant hum suddenly emanated from within the wand, soft yet clear, as if it had slept for ages and finally met its matching soul.
Then, the moment her fingers fully closed, firmly grasping the wand—
*Boom!*
A warm, bright, liquid-sunlight-like shower of golden sparks burst forth from the wand tip!
It was not a violent explosion but a gentle, resplendent bloom. The light was pure and Fiery, instantly filling the dim shop and dispelling all shadows.
Every floating speck of dust in the shop glittered clearly within the golden radiance, like stars fallen to earth, Lively and dazzling.
The light gently illuminated Hermione's astonished face. Her brown curls seemed edged with a dazzling golden halo, every strand visible in the glow, shimmering with a Radiant luster.
Her large brown eyes were wide open, their pupils reflecting the brilliance of the magical flames, filled with disbelief and ultimate joy.
A vast yet docile warm current rushed straight from her palm into her heart, instantly spreading to every limb, resonating perfectly with the speed of her thoughts, the grand ambitions hidden within her heart, and all her unspoken ideals.
This was no simple tool acknowledging its master. It was a confirmation between souls across time, a mutual greeting and acceptance, Closely connected, Inseparable.
'Oh!' Hermione gasped, her voice filled with pure, childlike delight and awe. In this moment, she shed all her rigor and steadiness.
Then, a huge, unreserved smile blossomed across her face.
'This is the one!' Hermione couldn't help but exclaim, her voice much higher than usual, brimming with irrepressible excitement and certainty. 'I can feel it! It's... it's not just in my hand; it's in my mind, in my heart! It's speaking to me, responding to my thoughts!'
Standing within the golden light, Ollivander's silvery-white hair and beard were edged with a warm glow. His face showed the deepest satisfaction, his eyes instantly turning gentle and kindly, as if witnessing the fulfillment of a destined bond.
He gave a slight nod, his lips moving as he whispered in a tone reminiscent of chanting an ancient prophecy:
'Of course! vine wood and dragon heartstring are a match made in heaven. This is a wand of prophecy awaiting fulfillment, carrying an extraordinary mission, an exceptionally rare and extraordinarycombination.'
'It has waited quietly in this darkness for far, far too long, Miss Granger... Until today, until you pushed open that door and walked in, this wait finally gained meaning.'
'This is not an end, but the first syllable of a great beginning. In the years to come, it will stand by your side and witness your brilliant.'
Once the topic involved the perfect match between wand and Wizard, Ollivander launched into a lengthy discourse.
Gradually, the golden light in the shop softened and slowly dissipated, yet it still left behind a faint warmth and magical essence in the air.
Witnessing this, Professor McGonagall spoke in her typical, hard-to-praise-or-criticize serious tone: 'Clearly, someone has done thorough Preview, applying theoretical knowledge to observing a companion—a commendable practice. However...'
She shifted her tone, her gaze sweeping over Draco and Hermione. 'The final say always lies between the wand and the Wizard, not in any theory.'
Professor McGonagall had conceded, just in an unconventional way.