"It does?" The green-eyed boy asked, a little confused. After all, he couldn't really believe that a piece of wood with something inside possessed a will of its own and could 'choose' its wielder.
"Indeed, Mr. Potter." Mr. Ollivander replied. "Wands made from different woods and different cores will prefer wielders with different temperaments and different strengths." Pausing for a moment, the aged wandmaker continued: "Now, let's see what wand will choose you as its owner, Mr. Potter..." He walked behind the counter and took down several boxes from the shelves. "Why don't you try this one, Mr. Potter: beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible." He said, while handing one of those wands to Harry. But before the young wizards could even wonder, how he was supposed to know, whether this wand was a good mach for him, Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand. "No, no, this won't work." The shop owner commented as he gave him another wand to try. "Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy."
That wand didn't work for Harry either. As didn't the next two dozens or so. But the challenge seemed to only inspire Mr. Ollivander: the man seemed to be getting happier and happier as the pile of the tried wands grew.
"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, there's the perfect match for you somewhere..." He said as he picked yet another wands from the shelves. "How about this one? Fir and dragon heartstring, ten and a quarter inches, reasonably springy." As Harry took this wand, he finally understood what the old wandmaker might have been looking for: the wand seemed to inexplicably resonate with him. And when he tried swishing it, a stream of golden sparks shot from its end. "Yes, it seems like we've found your match, Mr. Potter." Mr. Ollivander stated straightforwardly. "This wand would be seven galleons."
"O-okay." Harry said as he laid the wand onto the counter and pulled his money bag out of his pocket.
"I would also recommend you get a wand-care kit, Mr. Potter. After all, a wand that is kept in a good shape will serve you well and faithfully. Ignore it, however, and you might find it acting up at the worst possible time." Deciding that this was a sound advice, Harry agreed to buy the kit as well.
"Seems like you've got everything you'll need, Mr. Potter." Professor Flitwick said, once the two of them stepped out of Ollivander's shop. "I believe, it's time I take you back home." That made Harry pause. While his home life had improved quite a bit after his aunt and uncle decided that he will be attending to Hogwarts, he still wasn't exactly eager to return to #4, Privet drive.
"Sir-?.." The green-eyed boy spoke up. "You said that I can rent a room at the 'Leaky Cauldron', right? Perhaps, you could just leave me there?" He asked then hopefully. The Hogwarts' Charms Master, though, seemed to be in a disagreement with this idea.
"That isn't something I can do, Mr. Potter. I'm obliged to bring you back to your home after you finished shopping, and I will do so." He said surprisingly firmly. "But I have no control over you afterwards, so, if you really want to taste freedom, you can always escape your relatives' care after I leave." He then added rather mischievously.
"O-okay... Thank you, sir." Harry said after an uncomfortable pause.
"Now, let us be on our way back to you home, Mr. Potter." Professor Flitwick replied as the two of them headed towards the exit from the Diagon Alley.
While professor Flitwick did say that Harry was free to leave his relatives' house, the diminutive man recommended him to stay there for the time being. And the young Potter eventually agreed that right now he didn't know enough about the magical world and its ways to do well there on his own. Plus, he supposed that staying at #4, Privet drive might not be all that bad after all. Indeed, ever since they had revealed the existence of Magic to him, his aunt and uncle mostly left him alone as long as everything 'unnatural' was kept out of their sight. Of course, they still gave him some chores to do, but those weren't all that hard and Harry didn't mind them too much.
Thus, he ended up staying at the Dursleys' residence for the rest of the summer. Mostly in his new room, either reading one of the books he had bought during his trip to the Diagon Alley, or simply lazing... Before long, however, the summer came to an end.
"Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked cautiously as he approached the Dursley patriarch on the last Thursday of August. The man let out an unintelligible grunt indicating that he was at least willing to hear the 'freak' of his nephew out. "I know, this is a lot to ask for, but... Could you, perhaps, give me a lift to Kings Cross on September the first?" The green-eyed wizard asked hopefully.
"When do you need to be there, boy?" Vernon asked back, obviously not very happy with this request. Still, seeing as he had to drive to London on that day anyway – he was representing Grunnings at an industrial exhibition held during the first days of September – he decided that he wouldn't mind driving the brat to Kings Cross all that much. Provided it didn't screw his schedule for the day, of course.
"My train leaves at eleven o'clock." Harry replied honestly. While also omitting the fact that the said train, the Hogwarts Express, was supposed to depart from a hidden platform that only wizards and witches could access...