Before long, the two arrived in front of a quaint little shop—small and dilapidated. The gold lettering on the door was peeling, but it still read clearly:
Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
This was the place. Buying a wand in Diagon Alley meant coming here. Ollivander—the best wandmaker in all of Britain. Most Hogwarts students had their wands crafted by his skilled hands.
Standing before such a legendary shop, Devon felt a rush of excitement. He followed Snape inside.
[Secret Realm — Diagon Alley Exploration: 35.1%]
Devon raised an eyebrow. This was the highest exploration rating he'd received for any Diagon Alley location so far. Clearly, the information density here was immense.
Just as they entered, a soft tinkling sound came from somewhere behind the shop.
The shop interior was cramped. Besides a single long bench, there was no other furniture. Snape gestured for Devon to sit down, while he remained standing.
Devon looked around curiously. Towering stacks of long cardboard boxes filled the space, nearly reaching the ceiling. If Snape hadn't been there, Devon would have definitely tried rummaging through them.
Suddenly, the sound of wood clattering and pulleys turning echoed from the back.
An old man with round, coin-sized eyes appeared before them.
"Good morning, gentlemen," he said softly.
"Mr. Ollivander, hello," Devon stood up from the bench and greeted him.
[Name: Garrick Ollivander]
[Age: 61]
[Spell Library: …]
[Tags: Magical Ability (Blue), Natural Wandmaker (Gold)]
[Natural Wandmaker (Gold): Born to craft wands. Possesses the bloodline and instincts of a wandmaker, destined to create lifelong partners for countless wizards.**
Devon wasn't surprised that Ollivander had a gold tag. After all, wandmaking had been passed down in his family for generations. In the original story, almost every Hogwarts student's wand was made by him—he was truly exceptional.
Devon was eager to load both of Ollivander's tags. But unfortunately, the gold tag was still on cooldown. He could only copy the blue one for now.
As Ollivander approached, Devon suddenly felt something peculiar—as if countless spiritual whispers echoed around the room.
"Hm, a fresh face. Could it be that no one in your family has ever bought a wand here before?"
Devon didn't get a chance to respond.
"This is Devon Alexander," Snape said in a low voice. "His mother is French, and his father is Chinese. So no, his family hasn't bought a wand here."
Ollivander looked up and immediately recognized Snape.
"Severus! Severus Snape! It feels like just yesterday I sold you your wand—birch, thirteen and a half inches, wasn't it?"
"Yes," Snape replied, his voice still gloomy.
It was obvious to Devon that seeing Ollivander didn't bring Snape any joy—though to be fair, Snape rarely looked happy around anyone.
"Birch is used across Europe to ward off evil spirits," Ollivander mused, turning to Devon. "In ceremonies, birch wands are often used to dispel ancient spirits. It has a sacred, noble aura."
Snape's expression darkened even more. Without a word, he turned and walked out of the shop, letting the door slam behind him.
Devon was left standing awkwardly next to the long bench.
After finishing his musings about birch, Ollivander smiled warmly.
"I've always believed a person's qualities are reflected in the wand they choose—or rather, the wand chooses the wizard."
He turned his gaze fully to Devon.
"Alright, Mr. Alexander. Which hand do you use most often?"
"Right hand," Devon replied.
"Good. Don't be afraid. Just cooperate with them," Ollivander said as several floating tape measures sprang into the air and began taking Devon's measurements.
The tape measures flew around him with remarkable precision, measuring every aspect of his body.
Ollivander nodded frequently while jotting notes in a small booklet.
Then he disappeared into the mountain of boxes, rummaging through them until he finally returned with a wand box.
He opened it and pulled out the wand.
"Here. Oak and dragon heartstring. Eleven inches. Very strong," he said, handing it to Devon.
As soon as Devon touched it, he felt the wand was too heavy. He gave it a casual wave.
Sparks shot out violently, shattering a chandelier overhead.
He felt unbalanced—like the right side of his body had suddenly grown heavier.
"No, no, no. Very strong, yes—but unbalanced!" Ollivander exclaimed as he quickly retrieved the wand.
He dove back into the pile and returned with another.
"Try this one. Cherry and water snake nerve. Eight and a quarter inches. More flexible."
Before Devon even grasped it, he felt the wand was far too light.
Ollivander seemed to agree and snatched it back before Devon could even give it a proper try.
Several wands later, and still nothing felt right.
"No, no, no… What was I thinking… Such a picky customer," Ollivander muttered to himself as he ventured into the deepest part of the shop.
"Too special… hmm… French… Chinese… Maybe this one…"
He returned carrying an antique wooden box.
Inside was a wand with a smooth, elegant shape and a handle slightly thicker for easier grip. Its wood shimmered with a faint purple luster and a delicate grain pattern.
The moment Devon saw it, he felt drawn to it. Even without wandmaking knowledge, he instinctively knew—this was the one.
"Purple sandalwood," Ollivander explained. "Originally, I wanted to match it with unicorn hair… but somehow, this wand simply formed on its own. It's very peculiar. Picky, yes—but perhaps perfect for you."
Devon took the wand—and instantly, it felt like an extension of his body.
Gone was the dissonance he had felt with the previous wands. Now, it felt like the wand and he were one.
He gave it a casual wave.
The entire shop trembled ever so slightly.
An idea struck him suddenly.
"Restore!"
He cast the spell on the shards of the broken chandelier.
The fragments lifted into the air and seamlessly reassembled themselves back into their original form.
Ollivander stood in stunned silence.
Outside, a few passersby who had seen the spectacle through the window paused to watch.
After all, it wasn't every day an eleven-year-old cast such a perfect restoration charm.
"Oh, Merlin's beard!" Ollivander gasped. "What have I just witnessed? This wand would only choose a remarkably gifted master—one talented in several magical fields. It seems, Mr. Alexander, your future has already been recognized by the wand."
Devon, too, was stunned.
He had to admit—the wand was extraordinary.
And perhaps, he was too.
A dual-magical genius, a future star in the wizarding world—it made sense that he'd bond with such a rare wand.
Still, his face was lit with excitement.
After all, this had been his first time casting that spell.
According to his system, he was only at the entry-level for it.
Could it be that the wand had boosted his success rate?
The thought excited him.
He suddenly wanted to try every spell in his textbook—but forced himself to stay calm.
This wasn't the time.
"Sorry, Mr. Ollivander," Devon said sheepishly. "I may have made a mess in your shop. How much… uh… does the wand cost?"
As his excitement faded, he realized something else.
Snape was no longer outside the shop.
Now what?
He'd just bonded with the perfect wand, only to be left awkwardly wondering how to pay for it.
Running out to find Snape would be too embarrassing.
Just then, Ollivander smiled.
"It's alright, Mr. Alexander. Professor Snape has already paid for it. I saw him heading left. You can find him that way."