Chapter 14: Ollivander's Experience

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Meanwhile, Morris, Harry, and Hermione had reached the far end of Diagon Alley, where Ollivanders Wand Shop stood directly before them.

“Is this Ollivanders?” Hermione stood at the entrance, gazing up at the unassuming little shop with shining excitement in her eyes. “I read about it in A History of Magic. They say every wand is unique!”

“That is correct,” Professor Morris said calmly from beside her. “It took a family several generations, with each generation spending most of a lifetime honing its craft, to give this shop its legendary reputation. Come along, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger. Today, you will find wands of your own.”

The three of them pushed open the door and entered the shop.

Inside, there was only a solitary bench. Beyond it, thousands of narrow boxes had been stacked in perfect rows, rising like a mountain and forming a strange bridge between floor and ceiling.

An old man was surrounded by the boxes, his head bowed as he busied himself with some unknown task.

“Mr. Ollivander.”

At the sound of the door, Ollivander raised his head. His gaze rested on Morris for no more than an instant.

“Thirteen inches, silver lime wood, dragon nerve.”

“You may call me Morris.”

Morris had grown accustomed to Ollivander’s peculiar habit after encountering it several times. Some people saw a person and called them by name; others saw a person and called them by a nickname. What difference was there, really?

Only this nickname happened to be rather long, containing a number, a type of wood, and a magical material, which made it sound somewhat strange.

After introducing himself again, Morris ushered Harry and Hermione forward.

“Mr. Ollivander, these two are Hogwarts students beginning this year. I have brought them to choose their wands.”

“Another new year…” Ollivander said with some emotion, his gaze shifting between the two children. “Well, who shall go first?”

Hermione immediately stepped forward. She had been waiting impatiently.

“I will!”

Ollivander smiled faintly and nodded. “Very well. Come here, young lady.”

After taking a few simple measurements and asking which hand she used, he turned and walked to a row of towering shelves. He pulled out a long, narrow box, then paused as though considering something. A moment later, he took a slightly smaller box from another drawer.

“Try this.”

Ollivander opened the first box. “Thirteen and one-third inches, vine wood, dragon heartstring core. Flexible yet resilient.”

Hermione lifted the wand with great care, but the moment her fingers closed around it, the wand remained utterly lifeless.

She gave it a tentative wave. The air around her did not stir in the slightest, and even the light at the tip of the wand seemed dull and feeble.

Ollivander frowned slightly but said nothing. He quickly opened the other box.

“Perhaps this one will suit you better. Thirteen and a half inches, hawthorn, phoenix feather core. Very well suited to a witch of your scholarly temperament.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up. She took the wand and gave it a try.

The result was the same. The wand produced no noticeable resonance with her at all.

Ollivander’s expression suddenly changed. He began searching rapidly through the shelves, muttering to himself without pause, nodding at times and shaking his head at others.

Hermione grew nervous, fearing that she had created extra work for him, and edged a little closer to Morris.

Morris glanced down at her and explained gently, “Do not worry, Miss Granger. Mr. Ollivander is delighted to have the opportunity to face such a challenge. To him, finding the wand that best matches its owner is like solving a complicated puzzle. That is where he finds his pleasure.”

Hermione relaxed slightly after hearing this, though she still twisted her fingers together anxiously.

“But… what if I cannot find a wand that suits me? Does that mean… I am not suited to being a witch?”

Morris gave a soft chuckle. “There is no witch who is unsuitable, Miss Granger. Choosing a wand is merely a process, not a judgment. It is simply waiting for the moment when one perfectly suited to you appears. Besides— you have me.”

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Hermione looked at Morris and nodded, seeming to understand only part of what he had said. At last, Ollivander stopped moving.

“Try this—fourteen inches, oak, unicorn hair core. Very stable.”

He handed it to Hermione, but it was no use.

“Or this one—fourteen inches, willow, dragon heartstring core. Suitable for a witch with a nimble mind.”

Still, there was no response.

Hermione tried again and again. She held every wand Ollivander placed in her hands, yet not one formed a true connection with her.

By then, Ollivander’s interest had been thoroughly awakened. He changed into a fresh pair of spectacles and was just reaching for several more boxes when a voice suddenly came from beside him.

“Try fourteen inches, vine wood, dragon heartstring core.”

“What?”

Ollivander stopped midway, staring blankly for a moment before turning toward Morris.

“Fourteen inches, vine wood, dragon heartstring core. Try that wand,” Morris repeated.

“Mr. Morris…” Ollivander pushed his spectacles higher on the bridge of his nose and asked uncertainly, “Are you giving me a suggestion? Since when did you become an expert on wands?”

“I would not dare claim expertise in wands, Mr. Ollivander,” Morris replied with a faint smile. “But sometimes intuition is more important than experience, is it not?”

Ollivander fell silent. His eyes narrowed slightly before he nodded, apparently deciding to accept the suggestion.

He turned and drew a rather distinctive box from a high shelf. Fine vines had been carved across its surface, and it was clearly a painstakingly crafted piece.

“Fourteen inches, vine wood, dragon heartstring core.”

Ollivander slowly opened the box, revealing a wand of gentle color and graceful lines.

“Give it a try, young lady.”

He handed the wand to Hermione.

She accepted it hesitantly. The instant her fingers closed around the handle, the wand suddenly erupted in a brilliant golden light.

“Ah—!”

Hermione cried out, but she did not let go. A warm current spread from her palm through her hand.

The sensation… was wonderfully comforting.

Ollivander’s eyes widened, and a rare excitement appeared on his face.

“Excellent! Excellent! This wand has chosen you.”

Hermione looked down at the wand in her hand, her eyes filled with delight.

“It feels… as though it were part of me.”

“Yes,” Ollivander said with a slight nod. “Vine wood wands generally choose witches and wizards who are perceptive, wise, and possessed of an endless thirst for knowledge. A dragon heartstring core gives it formidable magical power. Such a pairing is exceedingly rare, but clearly, it has found the witch who belongs to it.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed faintly as she stroked the surface of the wand.

“Thank you, Mr. Ollivander.”

“No, do not thank me.” Ollivander shook his head and turned his gaze toward Morris. “If you must thank someone, perhaps you should thank Mr. Morris. Had it not been for him, I doubt I would have thought of this wand.”

How modest.

This was the humility of a master.

Next came Harry’s turn.

Ollivander drew a deep breath and turned his attention to him, his expression becoming even more focused.

To be honest, he felt rather miserable.

Morris’s sudden answer earlier had felt rather like buying a piece of fish and chips, only to drop it on the ground just as he was about to eat it.

What a waste.

So this was his second piece of fish and chips.

He had to savor it properly.

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“Harry Potter.”

Ollivander murmured the name once, then said meaningfully, “Naturally, I have heard of you.”

Harry stood awkwardly where he was. “Er… yes. I am Harry Potter.”

A faint smile touched Ollivander’s lips. After measuring him and asking which hand he used, he hurried toward the shelves, muttering softly to himself.

“Harry Potter… Harry Potter… One of the most unusual customers of the year. Perhaps… I should try…”

He casually took a box from the shelf and opened it, removing a wand.

“Ten inches, poplar, unicorn hair core. Tough and stable. Possesses the qualities of a guardian.”

He handed the wand to Harry. “Give it a try.”

Harry took the wand. The instant his fingers closed around it, it slipped from his hand without warning and fell to the floor.

Silence filled the shop.

The corner of Ollivander’s mouth twitched, though his face settled into an exquisitely professional smile.

“No. Not this one.”

He bent down and picked up the wand in one smooth motion.

“Ten and one-quarter inches, maple, dragon heartstring core. Try this.”

Ollivander recommended another wand.

Harry accepted it cautiously, but the moment he gripped it, he felt a cold presence emanating from the wood. When he gave it a tentative wave, a gust of chilly air swept through the shop and extinguished more than half the lamps and candles.

“Not this one, not this one!”

Ollivander rapidly waved his own wand, rekindling the lights. He took the wand back, his brow furrowing even more deeply.

He was silent for a moment, and a strange expression appeared on his face, as though he had just bitten into a piece of fish and chips filled with thorns.

Then he turned and continued selecting wands from the shelves, muttering under his breath.

“How interesting… Very interesting… Harry Potter, you are quite the troublesome customer.”

Harry stood where he was, feeling increasingly uneasy.

He glanced at Professor Morris. After hesitating for a long while, he finally summoned his courage and said in a small voice, “Professor Morris, could you use… your intuition to choose a wand for me too?”

Morris raised an eyebrow and looked at him with an almost amused smile. Then he glanced toward Ollivander, who was sweating profusely as he searched through the wands.

After a moment, he said quietly, “My intuition does not—”

“Mr. Potter!”

Ollivander abruptly interrupted him. There was a trace of impatience in his voice, but even more of the stubborn insistence of a professional.

“Intuition may help once, but it cannot be relied upon forever. Sometimes, experience is the most dependable guide.”

As he spoke, he handed Harry another wand.

“Try this. Eleven inches, mahogany, unicorn hair core. Very stable, and well suited to a young wizard.”

Harry accepted the wand carefully, holding on to a sliver of hope.

But the moment he grasped it, the wand remained completely unresponsive, as though rejecting him outright. When he tried to wave it, it stirred only a faint chill, which blew a sheet of parchment from the counter onto the floor.

“Just as I thought…” Ollivander sighed helplessly. “Another failure.”

He returned the wand to its box, his brows tightly drawn together, and turned back toward the shelves.

This time, he seemed even more anxious than before. As his fingers moved among the boxes, they produced a dense, rapid rhythm resembling the beat of a drum.

Morris, standing nearby, changed his mind and slowly began, “Mr. Potter, my intuition tells me that you would suit a wand of—eleven inches, holly, phoenix feather core—”

“No!”

Ollivander spun around, his face filled with resentment and helplessness.

In his hand was the very box marked with the holly wand.

He had clearly been the first to think of that combination…

Was there anyone who could prove it?

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