Appearing rather thrilled to encounter a wizard of her own age for the first time, the young witch struck up a conversation with Shiro, her words tumbling out in a slight chatter.
“Yes, I honestly thought I was the earliest to arrive in Diagon Alley.
I didn’t expect someone to beat me to it,” Shiro replied with a polite smile.
From the moment he overheard Ollivander address the young girl, he had accurately deduced her identity.
Hermione Granger–a pivotal figure of the main trio.
Shiro wasn’t entirely certain whether this universe followed the cinematic or the literary adaptation of the Harry Potter world, leaving him unable to determine whether his future would entail the story of “Hermione and the two useless men.”
“When I first received the acceptance letter brought by the owl, I genuinely thought it was some sort of elaborate prank.
But reality has proven that all of this is absolutely real!
I mean, there is an actual school of magic in this world, which sounds infinitely more fascinating than attending some private secondary school.
I want to start learning wonderful magic as early as possible,” Hermione explained excitedly.
There was a profound reason she was ultimately sorted into Gryffindor rather than Ravenclaw, a house renowned for its intellect and wit.
The thirst for adventure embedded deep within her was not a fraction weaker than Harry Potter’s own.
“Trying to master magic without a teacher’s guidance can be quite an arduous endeavor, but I am entirely confident you can pull it off,” Shiro said, his heart perfectly aligned with his words, completely devoid of hollow flattery.
After all, at the commencement of the original story, Hermione had indeed successfully self-taught several spells, displaying a practical application of magic that comfortably surpassed Carrefour’s.
“That’s an absolute certainty!
I intend to commit every single textbook to memory before the school term even begins.
I was the top student at my previous ordinary school, and I fully intend to be the top student at the magic school as well.” Hermione hoisted her wand in her hand and tilted her chin up, looking precisely like a proud little swan.
*As expected of an academic prodigy.
Whether from a wizarding perspective or a mundane one, Hermione is destined to achieve an incredibly high level of success wherever she goes.*
Shiro gave Hermione a silent thumbs-up in his mind.
While his academic performance in his previous life had been quite respectable, it paled in comparison to Hermione’s sheer absurdity.
“You can call me Hermione.
Hermione Granger.”
Hermione extended a hand.
The impression Shiro projected was highly favorable; he didn’t relegate her to the status of a one-dimensional bookworm who only cared about studying, nor did he ridicule her for being overly ambitious.
He was already a massive improvement over her former schoolmates.
“Shiro Howard.”
Recognizing Hermione’s earnest intent to forge a friendship, Shiro extended his hand to reciprocate the gesture.
“Look at that, making a new friend so quickly!
It seems we won’t have to fret over your social life at the magic school after all,” Hermione’s father remarked as he stepped over to join them, a deeply comforted smile gracing his features.
As her father, he was naturally acutely aware of his daughter’s distinct personality traits: proud, overly academic, and occasionally a touch overbearing.
Back when she attended primary school, she had found it utterly impossible to make friends.
“Mr.
Howard, I must trouble you to look after my daughter a bit once school starts.
She can occasionally be rather poor at articulating her thoughts smoothly,” the middle-aged man requested, extracting a tin of sweets from his pocket and pressing it into Shiro’s hand with a subtle, pleading earnestness.
“Of course I will, provided your daughter doesn’t find me tiresome,” Shiro replied, accepting the sweets casually.
There was a high probability he wouldn’t end up in Gryffindor; the likelihood of him being sorted into Slytherin was considerably greater.
Gryffindor students typically harbored a deep-seated prejudice against Slytherins, and since Hermione was still quite young, the chances of her being swayed by that systemic bias were rather high.
“Shiro!
Are you implying that I would find my own friend tiresome?
How could I possibly commit such an awful act?” Hermione huffed, shaking her head so vigorously that her bushy, voluminous hair turned even more chaotic, resembling a thoroughly startled kitten.
She appeared intensely displeased by Shiro’s underlying skepticism regarding her loyalty as a friend.
“Just a minor jest.
When it comes to our future academic pursuits, I hope the brilliant Miss Granger will be generous enough to assist a poor student like myself.” Shiro raised both hands to the sides of his cheeks in a swift, universal gesture of surrender.
“Rest assured, I will absolutely guarantee that your final marks pass the examinations,” Hermione promised.
Stepping toward the exit alongside her father, she turned to wave farewell to Shiro.
“See you at the start of term!
I’m off to purchase a pet now–hopefully a reasonably intelligent cat.”
“Yes, see you at the start of term.”
Once Hermione and her family departed the premises, Shiro walked up to Ollivander’s counter to select his wand.
“Ah, the pure sentimentality of young wizards.
It truly brings back fond memories of my own youth,” Ollivander murmured.
For reasons unknown to the uninitiated, he produced a long tape measure and began measuring Shiro’s dimensions, mimicking a tailor preparing to craft a fine set of robes.
This was, in truth, his unique methodology for assessing a wizard’s compatibility with various wands.
Rumor had it that a wand’s optimal length maintained a distinct correlation with a wizard’s physical height.
“I believe I require a wand capable of enhancing my combat capabilities.
Preferably something exceptionally sturdy–something that won’t fracture or break easily under pressure,” Shiro stated with absolute gravity.
If a wand sustained structural damage, a wizard’s capacity to channel magic would become intensely compromised, and the volatile energy could easily backfire and strike the caster instead.
Consequently, Shiro didn’t strictly require his wand to be overwhelmingly powerful, but it absolutely had to be incredibly resilient.
The elderly wandmaker fell into a brief moment of silent contemplation before shuffling through the dense shelves lining the walls.
Before long, he extracted an elongated wand box and placed it firmly upon the counter.
“This particular wand satisfies every single one of your unique requirements.
Simultaneously, it stands as one of the most stubborn and difficult wands to tame across the entire shop.
It was crafted by my late father, and it has yet to discover an eligible master to this very day.”
Shiro slipped the lid off the box and retrieved the meticulously crafted instrument from its velvet lining, immediately channeling a smooth current of his active magic into the wood.
The raw, volatile magical reserves that typically required conscious effort to restrain suddenly flowed seamlessly into the core like a fledgling swallow returning to its nest, presenting absolutely no resistance or friction.
*The feedback feels quite exceptional.
Let’s try increasing the magical output a fraction.*
Following the influx of a substantial surge of magic, the tip of the wand ignited with a brilliant, dazzling purple luminescence.
In a fraction of a second, that condensed spark erupted violently outward.
A beam of concentrated magical energy, resembling a high-powered laser, shot directly from the wand’s tip, blasting a massive, ragged cavity straight through the ceiling of Ollivanders.
A dense shower of splintered wood and plaster rained down upon the floorboards.
“Ah…
how many Galleons is it going to cost to repair the roof?” Shiro asked, looking up at the passing clouds visible through the fresh hole, feeling a sudden pang of financial regret.
Were his freshly acquired Golden Galleons about to vanish before they could even warm up in his pockets?
“Reparo.”
Ollivander extracted a wand from beneath the counter with practiced ease and executed a few elegant flicks.
As if time itself were flowing in reverse, the scattered splinters and debris surged upward, knitting seamlessly back into the structure.
The gaping hole Shiro had blasted vanished in an instant, and the ceiling reverted flawlessly to its pristine state.
“Merlin’s beard!
You appear to have inadvertently manifested a completely unprecedented expression of magic.
Though it remains incredibly raw and unrefined, if you cultivate and perfect it once you enter Hogwarts, your future prospects will be absolutely limitless,” Ollivander remarked, his speech pattern accelerating to a rapid cadence, entirely distinct from his previous slow, deliberate demeanor.
“Ebony, dragon heartstring core, thirteen inches exactly.
The master of an ebony wand possesses a distinct quality: the unyielding capacity to discard all external pressures, clinging steadfastly to their own virtues and convictions, entirely resistant to changing their core purpose.”
“This is the absolute pinnacle of combat-oriented wands, and ebony wood is exceptionally dense and virtually impossible to snap easily.
Young man, if you choose to enter the Ministry of Magic in the future, you are bound to become an extraordinarily formidable Auror.” Ollivander’s eyes gleamed with a brilliant light, as if he were personally bearing witness to the dawn of a magnificent new star in the wizarding world.