Vera watched Florean Fortescue’s back disappear behind the ice cream parlor’s curtain.
The condensation from the raspberry ice cream in her hand quietly dripped onto her skin, bringing a touch of coolness.
Daylin Fosco—this name had never appeared in the original plot.
Even Florean Fortescue was only mentioned once or twice as a minor character in the original story.
Did she really resemble his sister?
Considering the population of the British magic world and the tradition of intermarriage among pure-bloods, a slight resemblance should be considered normal.
Vera didn’t dwell on this small incident for too long and continued pushing her wheelchair forward.
Before long, she arrived at the narrow, dilapidated wand shop.
Vera had finished her ice cream and looked up at the sign, about to enter, only to find that the small step at the entrance had become an obstacle.
She frowned, pondering how to get up, when the shop door suddenly creaked open.
“Good morning, Miss Black,” a soft voice came from behind the door.
Mr. Ollivander greeted her warmly, his silver-white eyes particularly bright in the dimly lit shop.
His tall, slender figure stood at the doorway, looking down at the girl in the wheelchair, his face devoid of surprise or pity, only pure gentleness.
“Do you need help?” he asked.
Vera shook her head, raising her hand to touch the hidden pattern beneath the right armrest.
The next second, a pre-prepared Levitation Charm was released, gently lifting her and steadily carrying her up the step.
A hint of astonishment flashed in Ollivander’s eyes, but he said nothing, calmly leading her into the shop.
Vera looked up and around—the narrow shop was filled with dusty wand boxes, stacked all the way to the ceiling, and the air was thick with the scent of wood and magic.
In this cramped space, her wheelchair could barely turn.
“So,” Ollivander pulled a silver tape measure from his pocket, “which is your dominant hand?”
“Right hand,” Vera replied, noticing at the same time that the tape measure had automatically begun to measure, from her shoulder to her wrist, then to her fingertips.
Vera sat quietly, feeling the cool touch of the tape measure slide across her skin.
Like other magical items, she could also see the magic flowing on the ruler, tiny magical currents swimming on the metal surface like tadpoles.
“Every Wizard has their unique wand,” Ollivander put down the tape measure, muttering to himself as he moved between the shelves.
“Your father’s was vine wood, dragon heartstring, twelve inches, quite a special wand…”
He said, taking a long box from a high shelf, “Perhaps we can try this one, hawthorn wood, Unicorn hair, ten inches long, quite flexible.”
Vera reached out.
The moment her fingertips touched the wand, a biting chill suddenly shot up her arm from the tip of the wand.
“No, not this one,” Ollivander quickly retrieved the wand, his brow furrowed.
He turned and searched the shelves again, this time taking out a Black box: “Ebony, dragon heartstring, twelve inches, very rigid.”
This time, as soon as the wand was in her hand, dangerous sparks shot from its tip, and Ollivander quickly snatched it back.
Vera silently looked down at her slightly reddened palm.
She could feel the Magic Circuit within her body conflicting with these wands.
Those golden patterns shimmered faintly beneath her skin, seemingly warning her of something silently.
Could it be that because it’s Ancient Magic, modern wands can’t match it?
Then she couldn’t just follow Lord Voldemort’s example and go dig up the graves of ancient Wizards, could she?
Harboring a secret worry, she tried several wands in a row, but each time she only had time to wave it once before Ollivander quickly retrieved it and handed her another.
Then he continued climbing up and down.
From beginning to end, Vera could only sit in her wheelchair and watch his busyness.
She had read many Harry Potter fanfictions where the protagonist wouldn’t find a suitable wand until Ollivander had gone up and down ten or so times.
She just didn’t know if this behavior counted as elder abuse.
“I’ve got it,” the old man suddenly stopped, muttering to himself, then turned to Vera, his silver-white eyes gleaming with a strange light.
“Miss Black, perhaps… we need to try some unusual combinations.”
He turned and walked to the deepest part of the shop, taking out a dusty box from a dust-covered corner.
“Thestral tail-hair core, yew wood, eleven and a half inches.” He carefully opened the box.
Inside lay a completely Black wand, with spiral golden patterns entwined around its shaft.
“This wand was not made by me, but by my friend, another renowned wandmaker, Gregorovitch, who entrusted it to me. It is said to require… some special aptitude.”
Gregorovitch… the former owner of the Elder Wand?
Vera grew interested.
The moment her fingertips touched the wand, the golden patterns on the wand suddenly lit up.
At the same time, she felt the Magic Circuit inside her body resonate strongly with the wand.
The instant she gripped the wand tightly, a dazzling golden light burst forth from the tip, illuminating the entire shop.
Countless golden specks of light danced in the air, slowly spinning and disappearing into the air.
Ollivander’s eyes widened: “Remarkable! Ever since Gregorovitch entrusted this wand to my care, it has never reacted to any Wizard!”
Vera gazed equally in surprise at the wand in her hand.
The yew wood felt cool and smooth to the touch, and the golden patterns on the wand were identical to the faint Magic Circuit beneath her skin.
It was as if… it was an extension of her body.
“Yew wands bestow upon their owners the power over life and death, while Thestral tail hair…” Ollivander’s voice carried a hint of awe, “this core is extremely rare. Only a Wizard who has witnessed death can bring out its maximum effect.”
Vera tightened her grip on the wand slightly.
She had indeed witnessed death—not only the fatal car crash in the memories of the original Vera, but also the death of her own past life.
Ollivander’s gaze shifted back and forth between Vera and the wand, a complex gleam flashing in his silvery-white eyes: “Gregorovitch once said that this wand contains ancient magic. It does not easily choose a master, and only a Wizard with special talents can wield it.”
Vera gently stroked the flowing golden patterns on the wand.
A warm power was flowing from the core to her fingertips, circulating in her body like blood.
This wand naturally belonged to her.
“Thank you, and please also convey my thanks to Mr. Gregorovitch.” Vera said softly, taking out the gold coins she had prepared beforehand from her pocket, counting out seven of them and placing them on the counter.
At least she wouldn’t have to learn from a certain noseless fellow and go dig up Wizards’ ancestral tombs.