Chapter 5

Outside Gringotts, Ethan curiously examined the gold Galleons in his hand. "Professor McGonagall, are these actually made of gold?"

McGonagall smiled, explaining, "I'm not entirely sure. Goblins craft wizarding currency, and they imbue it with magic to keep it perpetually shiny and resistant to spells and wear."

She sighed internally, noting Ethan's inquisitiveness. This one's a natural Ravenclaw, she thought with a hint of amusement.

With McGonagall leading, they soon arrived at a small, weathered storefront: Ollivanders. The shop's modest, aged exterior contrasted starkly with Gringotts' grandeur, and McGonagall reassured Ethan. "Don't worry. The Ollivander family has provided wands to nearly all Hogwarts students for centuries. Their craftsmanship is unmatched."

Inside, shelves stacked with narrow, dust-covered boxes reached the ceiling. Ethan's gaze swept across the shop's cramped interior until he heard a voice.

"Good morning!" Ollivander greeted them, emerging from behind a stack of wands with a warm smile. His eyes sparkled as he glanced at McGonagall. "Nine and a half inches, fir, dragon heartstring. Exquisite, elegant—Minerva, it feels like yesterday you chose your wand here."

McGonagall gave a resigned smile. "Good morning, Garrick. That was quite some time ago."

Turning his attention to Ethan, Ollivander's expression grew serious. "And you, young man—your name?"

"Ethan Adrian," Ethan replied, stepping forward.

"And your dominant hand?"

"Right," Ethan said, raising it. With a flick of Ollivander's wand, a tape measure magically began taking his measurements.

Satisfied, Ollivander disappeared behind the counter and returned with a stack of boxes, setting them down with care. "Each wand is unique, Mr. Adrian. A wand chooses its wizard."

He opened the first box. "Try this one. Nine inches, apple wood with unicorn hair, suited for those with high ideals."

Ethan took the wand and gave a small wave. The boxes to his right toppled with a loud crash, releasing a cloud of dust.

"Not quite right," Ollivander said calmly, returning the boxes to their places with a flick of his wand. "How about this one?" He handed Ethan a new wand. "Redwood, dragon heartstring, eleven and a half inches—a powerful wand."

The moment Ethan gripped it, his palm tingled with heat. He gave it a tentative wave, and a burst of flame erupted from its tip, nearly singeing Ollivander's hair. Startled but unfazed, Ollivander quickly took it back.

And so it went. Wand after wand, box after box, each attempt ending in some chaotic display or resounding rejection. A vase shattered, only to be promptly repaired; other wands felt smooth and responsive but were dismissed by Ollivander as merely "close." With each test, Ethan felt the spells he knew—like Petrification and siphoning energy—surging more readily, yet Ollivander continued his search.

Finally, after an hour and dozens of trials, Ollivander's eyes gleamed with newfound insight. "Mr. Adrian, wait here a moment. I believe I know exactly what you need."

He vanished into the back room, his excitement palpable. Though Ollivander's preferred wand cores—unicorn hair, phoenix feather, and dragon heartstring—covered most needs, Ethan seemed to require something different. Recalling materials like Thunderbird tail feathers, jackalope antlers, or even veela hair, Ollivander pondered the rare components in his inventory.

After a few moments, he returned with a wand encased in a unique box. "Mr. Adrian, let's try this one. Eleven inches, blackthorn, infused with Thunderbird tail feather—a powerful wand with an affinity for stormy, determined souls."

Ethan took the wand, feeling a strong surge of magic channel through him as he raised it. A faint crackle of energy danced along the wand's length, resonating deeply with him. Ollivander's face lit up.

"Yes, that's the one. Blackthorn and Thunderbird—a formidable pairing. This wand will bring you strength and adaptability in equal measure."