(6) Ian Potter's Wand
The shop was small and shabby, with a faded gold sign above the door and a pot of withered impatiens swaying in the wind near the window.
The sign read: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
Ollivander—a master craftsman of wands!
"Are you sure… they really sell wands here?" Hermione asked, looking doubtfully at the shop in front of her.
Professor McGonagall didn't answer Hermione's question; instead, she simply pushed open the shop door. "Let's go in."
Ian and Hermione followed Professor McGonagall inside.
The shop was dimly lit, and the air was filled with the musty scent of old wood.
The walls were lined with endless shelves packed with wand boxes, making the place feel almost overwhelming.
"Good afternoon, Minerva," a raspy voice sounded nearby.
Ian turned and saw an elderly man with silvery eyes standing behind the counter, his thin, wiry frame seemingly appearing out of nowhere.
The man was gaunt, with sharp eyes and silver hair draped messily over his shoulders, giving him an unkempt look.
"Good afternoon, Ollivander," Professor McGonagall greeted with a nod. "These two children need wands."
"Oh? New students, are they?" Ollivander raised his head, his aged face lighting up with a sharp gleam in his silvery eyes. "Welcome to Ollivanders. Here, you'll find the wand best suited to you."
"Hmm? You..."
Ollivander leaned in and examined Ian closely, sensing a familiar look in his features. He spoke with a hint of curiosity, "Child, what's your name? You don't seem like a Muggle-born wizard, do you?"
"I remember every customer who's ever come to my shop, and you remind me of an old client from many years ago. May I ask who your parents are?"
"Sir, my name is Ian Potter. My parents were James Potter and Lily Potter," Ian answered truthfully, noting how much he resembled his mother with his red hair and green eyes.
"Oh, the Potter boy… Wait! Ian Potter?!" Ollivander's eyes suddenly widened. "You're alive! Well, well, no wonder you look so familiar. You look just like your parents—same red hair and green eyes."
"I still remember when your parents bought their first wands from me…" Ollivander's voice trailed off, overwhelmed with astonishment at Ian's presence.
Professor McGonagall couldn't help but step in, gently reminding him, "Ollivander, you're scaring the child."
"Oh, apologies, my boy," Ollivander said, snapping back to himself and apologizing hastily. "I'm just very surprised to see you here."
He then turned to Hermione. "And you, young lady? What's your name?"
"I'm Hermione Granger," she answered.
"Hermione Granger… Hmm, a Muggle-born wizard," Ollivander murmured as he observed Hermione thoughtfully. "No matter—you'll find the wand meant for you here."
He turned back to Ian. "Come now, child, let's see what kind of wand suits you."
Ollivander picked up a long measuring tape, which slithered across the floor like a snake.
Ian took a step back, gesturing for Hermione to go first. "Ladies first."
Ian is so thoughtful.
Ian is so courteous.
Ian is so kind.
Hermione glanced at him softly before turning to Ollivander. "What should I do?"
"Miss Granger, just stand there and don't move," Ollivander instructed gently.
The tape measure came to life, taking measurements around Hermione's shoulders, chest, waist, and finally down to her feet.
As he measured, Ollivander muttered to himself, "The choice of a wand is of great significance. A well-matched wand will enhance a wizard's strength considerably."
After finishing the measurements, he put away the tape and moved to the shelves, carefully selecting a wand.
"Try this one. Yew wood, unicorn hair core, eleven inches," Ollivander said, handing her the wand.
Hermione took the wand and gave it a gentle wave, producing a shower of red sparks from the tip.
"This one doesn't seem quite right either," Ollivander shook his head and quickly retrieved another wand. "Try this—vine wood with a dragon heartstring core, ten and three-quarter inches."
This time, as Hermione held the wand, it felt as though it came alive in her hand, a warm glow emitting gently from the tip.
"Perfect. Our Miss Granger has found her match," Ollivander said with a smile.
Hermione looked at the wand in her hand, her face breaking into a delighted smile. "Thank you."
"The price for this wand is eleven Galleons," Ollivander informed her.
Ian counted out eleven Galleons and handed them to Ollivander. "Here you go, Mr. Ollivander."
Ollivander accepted the coins, then turned to Ian. "Well then, Mr. Potter, it's your turn."
The measuring tape came to life again, taking Ian's measurements from head to toe.
"I still remember your parents well when they came to find their wands," Ollivander remarked thoughtfully, recalling the memory. "Your father, James Potter, tried nearly every wand in the shop before finding the right one—a mahogany wand. Your mother, Lily Evans, on the other hand, found her match on the very first try—willow."
"I wonder if you'll take after your father or mother," he said, watching Ian curiously.
Soon, the measurements were complete, and Ollivander returned to the shelves to make his selection.
"Try this one—walnut with a phoenix feather core, twelve inches, reasonably flexible," Ollivander said, handing the wand to Ian.
Ian gave it a wave, but nothing happened; instead, the wand produced a loud pop, sending a small stack of boxes tumbling from a nearby shelf.
"Well, it seems that's not quite the one for you," Ollivander said with a smile, taking the wand back. He handed Ian another. "Oak, with a unicorn hair core, ten inches."
Ian waved the wand again, but nothing happened once more.
"Oh! It seems you take after your father, a difficult wizard to match," Ollivander chuckled. "Just as stubborn in finding the right wand."
After trying several more wands without success, Ollivander seemed ready to give up but suddenly thought of something. He turned and reached into the back shelves, pulling out a box covered in dust.
"This one is special. It was made by my grandfather, and it has yet to find its rightful owner," he explained. "It's made of peach wood from the ancient East, with a dragon heartstring core, measuring twelve and a quarter inches, sturdy and representing vitality."
"My grandfather believed that anyone who could wield this wand would possess a formidable strength."
An ancient Eastern wand made of peach wood—wasn't that a specialty of mythical magic?
Ian took the wand in hand, and, like magic, warmth flowed through him as a soft glow illuminated the room.
"It's the one!" he exclaimed excitedly.
"Child, you are destined to become a masterful wizard," Ollivander said, his eyes gleaming. "And remember, it's the wand that chooses the wizard."
Ian smiled politely, though he couldn't help but wonder if the old man said this to everyone who found a wand here.
However, Ian still responded politely, "Thank you very much, Mr. Ollivander."
Then, he hesitated and checked his coin pouch. "Mr. Ollivander, how much do I owe you?"
"Thirteen Galleons, Mr. Potter," Ollivander replied, giving him a reassuring smile. "Wands choosing their wizards can be unpredictable, child. You're certainly not the first to have a bit of an… eventful tryout."
Relieved, Ian paid for the wand and, together with Hermione, they bid farewell to Ollivander and left the shop.