Under McGonagall's lead, the two walked through Diagon Alley and soon arrived at their destination.
If Gringotts is the most luxurious building in Diagon Alley, then Ollivander's Wand Shop is certainly one of the three most dilapidated establishments. The dust on the windows had settled like grime, obscuring the view inside, and a crooked wooden sign hung above the door.
[Ollivander; has been making wands since 382 B.C.]
Seeing the words, Wayne couldn't help but sneer in disbelief. Over three hundred years B.C., this land was not even under the control of the Anglo-Saxons; the Roman legions hadn't reached here yet either. The concept of Britain didn't even exist back then; it was dotted with Celtic tribes. What on earth would prompt someone to open a wand shop?
However, as the only arms dealer in all of Britain, Ollivander probably didn't need to make such claims to bolster his reputation, did he?
Seeing Wayne hesitating, McGonagall thought he might have been taken aback by the shabby decor meant to look war-torn. She stepped forward to push open the wooden door, reassuring him, "Ollivander is just... a little unconventional; his wand-making skills are definitely masterful..." *BANG!*
Before McGonagall could finish her sentence, perhaps distracted by explaining things to Wayne and using a bit too much force, the entire door of the wand shop was pushed down. Dust flew everywhere, and even some mud from the windows shook loose and fell to the ground, turning to dust. Wayne quickly used his backpack to shield himself, avoiding getting covered in dirt.
"Professor, are you okay? Pfft! Sorry, I didn't mean to do that!" Once the dust settled a bit, Wayne stepped aside, glancing at McGonagall, whose robes had gone from a vibrant green to a pale gray. Unable to hold it in, he burst into laughter.
[Mocking the Professor in person: +10 points.]
Damn, that system. Wasn't this laughing? This was sympathy!
Wayne fumed inwardly, while McGonagall's expression darkened. Luckily, an elderly voice broke the awkwardness.
"Didn't you see the sign that says to open the door gently? Why would you... Minerva, is that you?" An old man with snow-white hair peeked out from behind a shelf.
He started by scolding her, but as soon as he recognized Professor McGonagall, a smile instantly spread across his face. His ability to change expressions was remarkable.
"Garrick, your shop really could use a renovation," McGonagall said with a hint of annoyance, but Ollivander merely smiled and shifted the topic.
"Minerva, you know, seeing you every summer brings me the greatest joy. When you, Filius, or Pomona appear, it signifies that a wand is about to meet its owner."
After saying this, his deep blue eyes turned towards Wayne.
"This little wizard, could you tell me your name?"
"Wayne Lawrence," Wayne replied while subtly distancing himself a bit from the shelf. He had just noticed that one of its legs was broken and wondered when it might collapse.
"Ah, Mr. Lawrence, that's a rare surname. Were your ancestors Roman or French?"
"I suppose they were French, but have been in England for many years."
Indeed, the Lawrence family had come from Normandy along with William the Conqueror, and the surname was more common in French.
"It seems your ancestors made the right choice; no French hounds here."
As Ollivander chatted with Wayne, a measuring tape flew into the air and settled in front of the young wizard.
Wayne couldn't help but twitch his lips at how the long-standing conflict between England and France even extended into the wizarding world; Ollivander seized any chance to insult. Ridiculous!
"Which hand do you write with?"
"Left."
"Good, then let's try this one."
After glancing at the measurements on the tape, Ollivander vanished briefly, only to return with a large stack of wooden boxes.
"Child, remember, it's the wand that chooses the wizard. When a wizard and a wand resonate in a marvelous way, the wand can realize its full potential."
"Let's start with this; some young wizards can be very particular, like Minerva here..."
Professor McGonagall's voice chimed in: "Cedar, nine inches, with a dragon heartstring core, suitable for transformation spells."
"Garrick, you always bring that up when you see me."
"Forgive an old man for having to use such methods to remember things." Ollivander smiled, handing Wayne a wand.
As Wayne took it, he felt a strong urge to cast something. He decided to follow his instinct.
*BANG!*
A burst of white light shot from the tip of the wand towards the ceiling, making a large hole.
Instead of getting angry over the damage to his shop, Ollivander's face lit up with joy.
"Remarkable, truly remarkable!"
"This wand may not be suitable for your future achievements, Mr. Lawrence. While cedar is good for clever people, it's ultimately too gentle. How about trying this?"
"This is a combination of dragon heartstring and purplewood."
The wand in Wayne's hand was snatched away and immediately replaced. This time, a fiery orb erupted from it.
Wayne frowned.
He didn't like displaying uncontrolled magic, and in the next moment, the fireball mysteriously vanished.
*Clap clap clap!*
Ollivander grew even more excited, saying, "Mr. Lawrence, your talent is truly remarkable to see with the naked eye. Very few young wizards can control their magic right from the start."
"However, I beg you not to force it; just go with the flow, and you'll find the wand that suits you best."
Wayne could only nod awkwardly, indicating he wouldn't interfere again.
Even Professor McGonagall showed a hint of a smile at this. It seemed Hogwarts had welcomed another little genius; it would be perfect if he could end up in Gryffindor.
After all, Slytherin had won the House Cup for six consecutive years, which had been weighing on her mind for quite some time.
One by one, boxes on the table opened as Wayne tried out various combinations of wands. From cedar to walnut, from dragon heartstrings to the feathers of a thestral.
Ollivander had completely gotten into the groove, murmuring incantations under his breath.
He relished picky customers.
The more particular a wizard was, the more it proved their extraordinary nature.
In the wizarding world, blending in meant being forgotten; only wizards with distinct characteristics and personalities could reach the peaks of success.
Eventually, when Wayne made a name for himself and took up his wand, it would reflect well on Ollivander too.
After all, his grandfather had bragged for decades about selling a wand to Dumbledore, successfully overshadowing the other two wand-making families.
Ollivander wished for such a day himself.
At that time, the three great wand-making families would cease to exist; when wands were mentioned, people would only think of him, Ollivander!
This trial lasted a full half-hour, with nearly a hundred wands.
Wayne remained calm.
So what if he was a special traveler? It just meant trying out a few more wands.
"Well then, let's try this one." Ollivander pulled out another box.
"Swishwood, unicorn hair, eleven and a half inches."
Wayne casually accepted the wand, and the next moment, he felt a surge of connection to his magic.
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