Power

"Right hand."

Hermione confidently extended her right hand, not appearing intimidated by Ollivander's unusual demeanor.

"Very well."

Ollivander nodded, snapped his fingers, and a tape measure floated out from the corner, automatically measuring Hermione's body, even accounting for the space between her nostrils. A quill and notebook suspended in mid-air recorded the measurements diligently.

Meanwhile, Ollivander delved into the back of the shop, sifting through stacks of wand boxes.

Curious, Artel glanced at Professor McGonagall and inquired softly, "Why do they need measurements for buying wands?"

"The belief is that each wand must be a perfect fit for the young wizard," Professor McGonagall responded, though she appeared uncertain and hesitant to explain fully.

"But these young wizards' bodies grow, and they grow fast—perhaps within a year, maybe less. The data might become inaccurate after three months or so. Moreover, these wands are not crafted on the spot; they have been made beforehand and then personalized to some extent later."

"You're quite astute," Ollivander interjected, suddenly appearing from behind the counter with a wand box in hand.

"However, this ritualistic process is a sign of respect for the wands," he added.

Ollivander approached Hermione, opening the box and removing a wand.

"Made from grapevine wood and dragon heartstring, nine and three-quarter inches. Give this a try, my dear."

Hermione accepted the wand and looked to Ollivander.

"Wait a moment, like this."

Hermione mimicked Ollivander's gesture, waving the wand. A gentle breeze materialized out of thin air, enveloping her, while a brilliant light emanated from the wand's tip.

"An excellent match. This wand has chosen you. Grapevine wood is suited for those with lofty aspirations and exceptional foresight. I hope you will make the most of it."

Ollivander concluded, his attention shifting to Artel.

Hermione, her face illuminated with delight, snapped out of her reverie, admiring the wand in her grasp.

"Now, let's get your measurements."

The tape measure whirled once more, capturing Artel's dimensions as the quill transcribed the details. Artel found himself curious—were these measurements taken from countless wizards throughout history?

After a while, Ollivander reappeared with another wand in hand.

"Holly wood with unicorn tail hair, eleven inches... oh, gently, put it down! Put it down!"

As Ollivander calmly introduced the wand, Artel reached for it, only to have the wand crackle and sizzle in his grip.

Though Artel had released it promptly, the damage was done. The holly wood was fractured, and the unicorn tail hair within had been singed.

"The formidable aptitude, the dark magic... The unicorn tail hair couldn't withstand it."

Ollivander regarded Artel thoughtfully before retreating to search through the shelves.

Professor McGonagall wore a deep frown but remained silent. While Artel appeared to possess an extraordinary talent for dark magic, he was still a child. With proper education at Hogwarts, any potential issues could likely be addressed.

Artel turned around to find both Professor McGonagall and Hermione observing him, prompting him to shrug helplessly.

It was the influence of the Ring of Power. The bond he shared with it bestowed upon him unparalleled dark power. Furthermore, his necromancer abilities unlocked him to the realm of black magic and necromancy.

After a brief hiatus, Ollivander returned.

"Yew wood, symbolizing death, an apt choice for black magic. The wand's core is the hair of a marsh werewolf—a perfect match for dark magic. Twelve and three-quarter inches."

With confidence, Ollivander presented the wand to Artel. As Artel waved it, a mournful sound seemed to echo from within it.

"Oh, it seems this isn't the one either."

Ollivander retracted the wand and scrutinized it.

"The yew wood hasn't changed, but the core of the wand is compromised. The marsh werewolf hair isn't adequate. Let me think, let me think."

Ollivander mumbled to himself before departing once more.

He appeared slightly distressed—the marsh werewolf's hair was not a common core material in his collection, and his store housed only a few wands with it.

"I apologize for the inconvenience," Artel expressed apologetically to Professor McGonagall.

"It's alright, Artel. Your abilities are unique. A wand is a wizard's closest companion, and patience is required. However, remember that it's not our powers that matter most but the choices we make."

Professor McGonagall reassured Artel with a smile.

Artel nodded, understanding that his previous display had concerned Professor McGonagall. As a student born into a criminal family and inherently connected to black magic, his presence might raise apprehensions, especially if he ended up in Slytherin.

"It must be this one; I have a strong intuition about it."

Just then, Ollivander returned, bearing a peculiar, ancient-looking box in his hands.

==========

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