Marmalade truly did possess Kneazle blood.
The keen instincts inherited from her bloodline seemed to have detected something unusual.
Throughout the rest of the shopping trip, she kept circling around Ron, sniffing at him repeatedly.
Combined with her serious feline expression and piercing eyes, she frightened him so badly that his legs nearly gave out beneath him.
He didn’t even dare complain.
All he could do was silently mourn Scabbers’ future.
With the miscellaneous shopping finally finished, Molly crossed another item off the list in her hand and nodded in satisfaction.
“Alright, only Ollivanders left.
Ron, Vaughn, my dears, you’re about to get your very own wands.” At last, some good news managed to comfort Ron.
The family followed the crowd deeper into Diagon Alley.
Ollivanders Wand Shop was the oldest store in the area, predating even the Leaky Cauldron’s role as the gateway to the wizarding world.
The Leaky Cauldron had only been founded in 1500.
The shop sat hidden in the deepest part of Diagon Alley.
Its exterior was small and shabby.
The peeling paint and dusty display window gave no indication whatsoever of its glorious history.
Only the sign above the door hinted at its legacy: OLLIVANDERS Makers of Fine Wands Since 328 B.C.
The Weasleys entered the shop.
The interior was tiny, though perhaps it only felt that way because of the sheer amount of merchandise.
Long, narrow wand boxes filled every corner.
At a glance, there were probably thousands of them.
They were stacked haphazardly all the way to the ceiling.
The shop was eerily quiet.
Only the faint echo of the doorbell lingered after the door swung open, making the dust-filled stillness seem steeped in mysterious magic.
An old man with pale eyes emerged from behind the shelves.
The dim shop and towering racks made his eyes appear like twin moons glowing in the darkness.
“Ah, good afternoon, customers.
Welcome to Ollivanders.” His voice was soft and airy.
Beside Vaughn, Ron swallowed hard.
Molly, however, was long accustomed to this place.
She had entered this shop five times already, not counting her own school years.
Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, and George had all attended Hogwarts one after another.
Wands, unlike many other school supplies, couldn’t simply be handed down.
She greeted him loudly.
“Good afternoon, Mr.
Ollivander.
Do you still remember me?” “Of course, of course.” Ollivander nodded repeatedly.
“Molly Prewett Weasley.
You ask me that every time.
I’m not senile yet.” Then he turned his attention to Vaughn and Ron.
“So…
two new Weasleys entering Hogwarts?” “That’s right, Mr.
Ollivander.” “Ah, the beginning of every Hogwarts year is my favorite time.
Not merely because I earn money—though that’s part of it.
More importantly, the wands I’ve crafted with my own hands finally find their owners.” He raised a hand beside his ear and spoke mysteriously.
“Can you hear them?
Some of the wands are cheering.” Then he smiled.
“So, which of you will go first?” “Gulp.” Ron was thoroughly terrified.
He hurriedly grabbed Molly and tried dragging her back outside.
“Let Vaughn go first, Mum!
I need some fresh air!” Molly sighed helplessly and followed him out, leaving Vaughn alone with Ollivander.
The wandmaker seemed completely unconcerned.
He pulled a measuring tape from his pocket.
“Mr.
Vaughn Weasley, which is your wand hand?” “My right.” Ollivander nodded and began circling him, taking measurements while speaking softly.
“Mr.
Vaughn Weasley.
I’ve heard your name before.
The potions prodigy.” “Thank you for the compliment, Mr.
Ollivander.” “You don’t seem frightened of me.” Vaughn glanced at him.
“When I brewed potions for the first time, I made Ron cry too.
He thought I was putting some kind of curse on him.
Actually, I just have a habit of talking quietly while brewing.” Ollivander nodded repeatedly.
“Indeed, indeed.
Those who master a craft often possess little quirks, ideas, and convictions that outsiders fail to understand.” Vaughn raised an eyebrow.
“So measuring every customer is one of your convictions?” “Naturally.
Every person is unique, and every wand is unique as well.
The more I know about you, the easier it is to find the wand that suits you best.” Looking up at the thousands of wand boxes surrounding them, Vaughn asked, “I’ve heard that you only use unicorn hair, phoenix feathers, and dragon heartstrings as wand cores.
With such limited materials, how do you avoid creating duplicates?” “Oh!
A question from a potions genius.
I must say, you’ve identified the crucial point.” Ollivander looked delighted.
“For most young wizards, I simply explain that every unicorn, phoenix, and dragon is unique.
It’s easy for them to understand.
But since you’ve asked, I should answer honestly.
The wood matters just as much.” By the time he finished speaking, the measurements were complete.
After a moment of thought, he selected a box, withdrew the wand inside, and offered it to Vaughn with both hands.
“Twelve inches.
Dragon heartstring core.
Fir wood.
It favors focused, strong-willed, even forceful wizards.” Vaughn took the wand and gave it a gentle wave.
A fierce wind immediately erupted inside the tiny shop.
Ollivander snatched the wand back at once and winked.
“You see?
It likes you very much.
But you are not suited for each other.” Soon, he retrieved another box.
“Ten and a half inches.
Dragon heartstring.
Elm wood.
Legend claims it favors pure-blood wizards, though in my experience that’s nonsense spread by pure-blood families.
I believe it prefers wizards of dignity and leadership.” This time, the moment Vaughn swung the wand, countless golden sparks exploded into the air.
Yet once again, Ollivander took it away.
“It likes you as well, but you’re still not a match…” After two tests, combined with the insights granted by his maxed-out Potions talent, Vaughn had already begun forming a theory.
When Ollivander had spoken earlier of “wands cheering,” perhaps he hadn’t simply been putting on an act.
While testing those two wands, Vaughn had genuinely sensed their joy.
It was a vague sensation.
Faint and blurry.
Yet undeniably real.
So when Ollivander presented a third wand, Vaughn didn’t take it.
Instead, he asked, “You mentioned the importance of the wood.
Am I correct in understanding that every wand possesses its own personality and preferences, and those traits are determined by the wand wood itself?” Ollivander visibly froze.
His pale eyes blinked rapidly.
After a moment, he nodded.
“Remarkably perceptive, Mr.
Vaughn Weasley.
That is a wandmaker’s secret.
The core only determines what kind of magic a wand is suited for.
The wood is the true key to how a wand chooses its wizard.” Vaughn fell into thought.
He couldn’t hear the “cheering of wands” the way Ollivander supposedly could.
Yet recalling the previous two tests and Ollivander’s repeated statement— “It likes you, but you’re not suited for each other.” —combined with the fact that he was a transmigrator…
A realization slowly emerged.
Perhaps only a very special wand could truly suit him.
The relationship between wizard and wand wasn’t merely one of choosing and being chosen.
They completed one another.
That was why Ollivander called them incompatible.
Because he didn’t truly understand Vaughn.
He didn’t know about Vaughn’s transmigration.
With that thought, Vaughn closed his eyes.
He released his magic.
At the same time, he let go of the Occlumency he kept running constantly.
In the next instant, he felt something.
Walking toward a cluttered shelf, he pulled out a wand box.
The moment he opened it, he could feel the wand inside practically leaping into his hand in anticipation.
Crackle— As Vaughn swung the wand, arcs of electricity sprang through the air.
Like living serpents, they split apart, flowed, and danced across the surfaces of countless wand boxes.
Ollivander’s eyes widened.
“Fourteen inches.
Dragon heartstring.
And…” His voice trembled slightly.
“Elder wood.” “Proud, extreme, and explosive…” “It favors those with extraordinary destinies…”