Chapter 3: The Wand and the Gift

"Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C." 

At their final stop, John finally arrived at the most exciting moment. 

If anything in the Harry Potter world represented the magical realm, it would undoubtedly be the wands that everyone had. 

Without a wand, even Voldemort would have to behave. 

Ollivanders Wand Shop. 

This was the largest supplier of magical "weaponry" in the wizarding world. 

John couldn't help but praise, "As expected of a wand maker since 382 B.C., truly extraordinary." 

Then, like a little adult, he instructed Mrs. Wick to keep an eye on her overly curious middle-aged husband. 

John entered the shop with unusually excited steps. 

Upon entering, the first thing he noticed wasn't a person but the thousands of long, narrow boxes containing wands. 

The already small shop felt even more cramped and confined with all those boxes. 

The thick layer of dust everywhere made John wonder how Ollivander managed to live there—did he not clean at all? 

As John examined the interior, Ollivander was also examining him. 

"Good afternoon." 

Emerging from behind the stacks of boxes, Ollivander wore a friendly smile. 

"Hello, I'd like a…" 

"A wand, of course, everyone wants a wand." 

Ollivander chuckled, finishing John's sentence, and walked out from behind the counter. 

"A new Hogwarts student. What's your name?" 

"John Wick." 

"Very well, Mr. Wick. Which is your dominant hand?" 

"Right hand… actually, I can use my left hand too." 

John was ambidextrous, thanks to his two and a half years of practicing his pencil skills, which allowed him to swiftly handle enemies on both sides. 

"Let's go with the left hand then." 

After some thought, John decided on his left hand. 

Ollivander took out a measuring tape and began taking measurements of John's body. The tape measure was enchanted. 

Watching Ollivander's serious expression, John felt a strange sensation. 

This old man seemed less like a wand seller and more like a tailor. 

"Each wand is unique. It's not the wizard who chooses the wand, but the wand that chooses the wizard." 

After the measurements, Ollivander left John with this mysterious smile and statement. 

Returning to the counter, Ollivander first took down a box from the shelf. 

Opening the box, inside lay a black wand. 

Ollivander introduced it, "Willow with unicorn hair, seven and three-quarter inches. You should give it a try." 

With an excited heart, John took the wand—his first wand. 

He tried to wave it forcefully to the side, and a cabinet in the shop exploded, sending wood chips flying everywhere. 

The wand's immense power left John stunned. 

"Looks like it's not the one. Let's try this one." 

Ollivander carefully took back the wand and brought out a mahogany wand. 

John took it, and the box next to him exploded immediately. 

"You are a picky one. Try this one, yew with dragon heartstring." 

Time passed, and it seemed like none of the wands suited him. 

With continuous changes, John became somewhat numb. 

The previously tidy shop had been blown to pieces, even to the point where Watson, who was held back outside by Mrs. Wick, began to suspect that the shop was selling firearms rather than wands. 

"Mr. Wick, if I may be honest, I have never seen a student as destructive as you." 

Even the normally gentle oak with unicorn hair wand could produce explosive power in John's hands, making Ollivander more and more excited. 

The more selective the customer, the greater the sense of accomplishment for Ollivander. 

"I remember now, there was a wand just as picky as you." 

Suddenly remembering something, Ollivander clapped his forehead. 

Despite his age, he swiftly climbed the shelves, moving so quickly that John doubted how old he really was and worried he might fall. 

After rummaging through the boxes on the shelf, Ollivander's hand emerged with a dust-covered box. 

With one breath, he blew the dust off, sending a gray cloud into the air. 

"Red oak and Thunderbird tail feather, nine and three-quarter inches, flexible." 

With a smile, he took out the wand inside. Ollivander handed it to John, full of anticipation. 

His eyes fixed on John, tense as if watching his daughter get married. 

As John took the wand, an inexplicable thought popped into his head. 

"This is the one." 

With a sense of intuition, he gracefully waved the wand. 

There was no explosion. Instead, tiny sparks of light emerged from the wand's tip, gently falling like bubbles on his face. 

"This is it!" 

Ollivander clapped his hands in joy, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. 

Every wand is like a willful child, and finding a companion for each child brings the greatest happiness. 

Ollivander explained to John, "A red oak wand thrives in the heat of battle. It is the warrior of wands." 

"That sounds even better than a pencil," John laughed, feeling relieved that he wouldn't need to carry pencils anymore. 

He hoped the red oak would be more durable than pencils, so he wouldn't have to worry about it breaking. 

The price of the wand was seven Galleons. After paying, John rejoined his parents. 

Throughout the way, Watson showed great interest in John's wand, even trying to use it to make a morning glory flower bloom on his wife's head. 

John quickly snatched his wand back, preventing his father from causing any more mischief. 

"Oh, I still need to buy an owl," John suddenly remembered, slapping his forehead. 

He almost forgot that there were no phones at Hogwarts. Without an owl, he'd have to rely on the school's public owls. 

Thinking about the grumpy school owl, John decided it would be better to buy his own. 

... 

Eeylops Owl Emporium. 

The store was filled with fluttering and noisy owls, and the smell of birds and their droppings made Mrs. Wick retreat outside. 

"That's the one." 

Among the many owls, John immediately spotted a white one. 

It was a snowy owl, which John named Basil. 

Basil tilted its head, its round eyes fixated on John as if trying to remember its new owner. 

Back home, Watson's playful side emerged as he took various photos with John's wand. If he could have fit into John's wizard robes, he would have taken a few more pictures wearing them. 

Mrs. Wick leaned against the cupboard, watching him with a mix of amusement and resignation, like she was watching an overgrown child, her eyes twinkling with a smile. 

Meanwhile, Harry also received a gift. 

A snowy owl he named Hedwig. 

It was the happiest day of his life. 

... 

John received a gift. 

When Mrs. Wick brought out the present, John was startled by the moving gift box, instinctively drawing his wand in a reverse grip, ready for anything. 

When he unwrapped the box, a small dog emerged. 

With big ears, a brown patch on its head, and a black back. 

A Beagle, fully named a Beagle Hound. 

The puppy immediately started licking John's face vigorously, its affectionate nature on full display. 

Mrs. Wick smiled at this heartwarming scene, leaning into Watson and saying warmly: 

"Your father and I thought you shouldn't take a spider or a rat to school. This little one is our gift for your school start." 

Watson nodded in agreement, silently mouthing that it was all her idea. 

Watson, who had somehow become a wizardry enthusiast, didn't mind rats. 

Come on, taking a rat to school is super cool. 

John thought if his father were a wizard, he'd definitely be in Gryffindor. 

This spirit of exploring everything and the fearless adventurous spirit perfectly embodied the little lions. 

"Thanks, Mom. I agree, taking a rat isn't good." 

John, who also had no fondness for rats, loved the gift. After all, rats reminded him of a plot in Harry Potter. 

Apparently, a greasy middle-aged man turned into a rat, and when he changed back, it was revolting. 

Holding up the puppy, John noticed it was only a few months old, its tail wagging like a powerful propeller. 

"Give your pet a name. I named the first toy car my grandma gave me." 

Watson regretted not being able to buy a black widow spider as a pet for his son. 

When it came to naming things, father and son always had good taste. 

John held the puppy, enduring its enthusiastic licking. 

"A name, huh? Let me think. I'll call him Tom." 

Yes, this Tom is from "Tom and Jerry," definitely not Voldemort's original name. 

And so, John had his first dog.