After bidding farewell to the plump witch, Libera led Nolan to begin his shopping.
Upon learning that Nolan was heading to Hogwarts, Libera was initially astonished, then quickly dejected. On the way, she complained incessantly: "Why couldn't my mother have had me a few years later? Why can't I attend school with Your Highness?"
When Nolan was about to lose his patience, Libera finally realized it and changed the subject: "If you're going to Hogwarts, Your Highness, the first thing you'll need is a wand. Oh, but no vampire has ever wielded a wand before…"
Nolan, however, wasn't particularly concerned. He firmly believed that vampires were a superior species, transcending both wizards and Muggles. If others could use certain tools or weapons, there was no reason he couldn't. So far, the reason vampires didn't use magic, he thought, was simply that they found it unnecessary. After all, why bother learning complex theories when claws and fangs could resolve most issues?
"There are magical practitioners even among werewolves, aren't there? Or do you think vampires are inferior to those devolved beasts?"
Libera laughed awkwardly, quickly clarifying that she had no such opinion.
Diagon Alley had three wand shops, but Libera confidently proclaimed Ollivanders as the best.
"Did you know, Your Highness? Ollivanders has been here for over 2,300 years. The craft has been passed down through generations—his great-great-great-grandfather was already making wands. When it comes to skill, no one surpasses Ollivanders."
"This is what you call the best?"
Nolan stared at a shabby little shop barely larger than a Muggle newsstand. The grimy window displayed a single lonely wand.
He failed to understand the appeal of showcasing a wand. Was its design particularly unique? But at the end of the day, wasn't it just a stick?
The two stepped inside. The cramped shop was filled with small drawers stacked to the ceiling.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Ollivander!" Libera called cheerfully as she entered, her lively voice filling the space.
Ollivander—an ancient-looking man who seemed ready to climb into a coffin at any moment—emerged from the back room, polishing his glasses. He greeted them in soft, old-fashioned English: "Good day, Miss Rousseau. And to you… the enigmatic young gentleman spoken of only in legends."
Nolan blinked, then chuckled softly. "Good day, Mr. Ollivander. I didn't expect a wizard to recognize my identity so easily."
"Of course, of course," Ollivander murmured. "The scarlet eyes, pale and otherworldly complexion, the silver-embroidered crest of the Von Draugr clan on your cloak… there's no room for doubt."
Libera glanced at the brooch enviously, swallowing hard.
Nolan chuckled dryly, a playful glint in his eye. "So, Mr. Ollivander, would you sell a wand to a vampire? Even knowing that a vampire with magic might bring trouble to the wizarding world in the future?"
Unperturbed, Ollivander replied, "The Dark Lord's wand came from me."
At this, Nolan froze, his playful demeanor replaced with solemnity. He inclined his head slightly and said, "I spoke out of turn. My apologies. Mr. Ollivander, I have received an invitation to attend Hogwarts and require a wand."
Ollivander's lips curved into an odd, lopsided smile. "Let us see, then." He retrieved a measuring tape. "Do you favor your left hand or your right?"
Nolan was puzzled. "What do you mean by left or right?"
Libera, ever eager to assist, chimed in, "It means, Your Highness, which hand do you use to hold a dinner knife?"
Nolan waved his hand dismissively, clearly annoyed. "What dinner knife? We drink blood and never eat wizard food. When we eat blood pudding pies, we use our hands."
"Fine…" Libera retreated pitifully, her romanticized image of vampires seemingly shattered once again.
Nolan continued, "We vampires have exceptional control over our bodies. I can write with either hand and kill with either hand. Does that affect my use of a wand?"
"No, of course not," Ollivander said indifferently. He measured Nolan's arm length with his tape measure, then asked, "How do vampires mature? If Mr. Von Draugr maintains this height for decades or centuries…"
"No, vampire growth rates are the same as humans. However, our aging stops somewhere between sixteen and twenty-eight years old. I have reason to believe I'll reach my physical prime within five years."
Ollivander nodded. "I see… Every Ollivander wand is unique. We use the most powerful magical substances to create their cores. Unicorn hair, phoenix feathers, or dragon heartstrings, for example."
Nolan, bored by the old man's lengthy explanation, began to feel drowsy. Meanwhile, Ollivander, having taken the necessary measurements, climbed a ladder to select a wand. He gently wiped it with his fingers and said, "Perhaps there's no need to hesitate when choosing a wand for Mr. Von Draugr. Is there a more fitting combination in existence?"
It was a wand of pure white.
Its handle was as smooth as jade, with a flat tip that subtly radiated an aura of malevolence.
Libera swallowed nervously and cautiously asked, "Mr. Ollivander, what is this?"
In a voice as soft as if he were afraid of waking a sleeping infant, Ollivander replied, "Every wand has its purpose. Wands are neither good nor evil, though the maker of this one was undoubtedly wicked. A unicorn's horn and the heart of a pureblood elf—two of the purest magical substances in the world…"
Harvesting a unicorn's horn meant killing it, an act that incurred a terrible curse. The same was true for pureblood elves.
This wand was crafted from two pure but cursed materials, making it an undeniably sinister creation.
"Seven and a half inches long… Here, Mr. Von Draugr, give it a try."
Nolan accepted the wand. He didn't even need to wave it; an intense heat surged from his fingertips to the wand's tip, condensing into a pure black energy mass!
"Oh! Without a doubt! Without a doubt!" Ollivander exclaimed, muttering excitedly.
Nolan paid thirteen Galleons for the unicorn wand—more expensive than the average wand, but certainly worth the price.
The young vampire was delighted with his wand. It was powerful, beautiful, and as exceptional as any vampire should be.
"Next, we need spellbooks!" Libera cheered. "There's only one choice: Flourish and Blotts. The owner has ties to the Ministry of Magic, which is why no one else can open a bookstore in Diagon Alley."
"Boring bureaucracy…" Nolan sneered disdainfully.
Libera took Nolan's hand and, laughing mischievously, added, "Because of the monopoly, Flourish and Blotts' books are ridiculously overpriced. But young wizards have no choice but to buy them. We have reason to believe the owner has connections with Hogwarts as well."
"All pursuits are driven by profit," Nolan remarked dryly.
Even Hogwarts, it seemed, wasn't immune to the mundane.