Silver light swirled and shimmered for a moment before slowly withdrawing back into the wand. Only faint glimmers of silver remained, flickering as they gradually faded away.
"I never imagined it would truly wait for its master. Merlin above, I'm clearly witnessing the beginning of a new chapter in history. You are destined to achieve greatness worthy of the record books," Ollivander murmured, his clouded eyes fixed on Ian. His hunched figure seemed even more bent than before—
As if bowing slightly.
"This is the elder wand wood?" Ian looked down at the wand that felt like it shared a heartbeat with him. Whether it was a feature of elder wands or something else, he could feel his magic pulsing fiercely, surging with unusual intensity.
"Elder wood is the rarest of all wand woods. It's far more difficult to master than any other, which is why few wandmakers use it. It only chooses those with an extraordinary destiny."
"Every owner of an elder wand throughout history has been someone who stood out in the tides of time… which means you, too, will undoubtedly become a figure without equal."
Ollivander seemed genuinely delighted.
Perhaps it was the bond between Ian and this wand that reassured him his earlier ambition hadn't been in vain. This was a wand that not only worked—but worked in perfect harmony with its wielder.
"Thank you for the blessing. I hope I really can achieve something great when I grow up," Ian replied sincerely. He was very satisfied with his wand.
He couldn't bear to part with it.
"This isn't a blessing, Mister Prince. This is the fate revealed by the wand itself. When I tried to prove myself all those years ago, I even chose unicorn tail hair for the core."
"That combination alone defied all conventional wisdom—completely contrary to the rules of wandmaking," Ollivander said, his aged eyes now burning with a kind of youthful brightness.
A kind of… vitality? Ian couldn't quite describe the look on Ollivander's face. It was more suited to someone decades younger.
"Huh?" Ian tilted his head slightly.
But Ollivander only smiled more warmly.
"You may not understand it yet, but this wand's unique nature will guide you to the future it has already seen…" In terms of cryptic riddles, Ollivander might even outmatch Dumbledore.
"I can't tell you what the future holds, but I know this—you will shake and change many things," he said, eyes drifting back to the wand in Ian's hand.
"Uh, well… the thing I'd most like to shake up right now is the high price of this wand. Considering it's been gathering dust all these years, could you maybe give me a discount?" Ian blinked innocently, attempting a childlike bargaining tone.
He figured with all the praise and awe Ollivander had just poured over him, plus his own well-practiced haggling skills, he was bound to get a good deal.
However—
"Seven Galleons. That's the fixed price."
Business was business. In a blink, Ollivander's reverent demeanor vanished, replaced by the cold pragmatism of a seasoned merchant.
"Just one Galleon less? Please?" Ian pleaded. "If I really do become someone important in the future, I'll make you head of the Hogwarts Wand Protection Society. You'll get to charge all Hogwarts students an annual wand usage tax!"
With the most innocent expression, Ian pitched the most shameless fantasy.
"…"
Even the well-traveled Ollivander was momentarily speechless.
"Seven Galleons. That's Ministry policy," he said at last, clearly unimpressed by Ian's grand vision.
"The Ministry actually regulates that?" Ian squinted suspiciously. Ollivander was definitely bluffing. Just like all that talk about destiny earlier. Couldn't even knock off a single Galleon…
And he wanted Ian to believe he was destined for greatness?
"Yes, quite right. In fact, this is already the discounted price for young wizards. If you wanted to buy a second wand, even Dumbledore himself would have to pay twenty Galleons," Ollivander said with unwavering confidence. If anything, he was the very definition of "money talks."
"What if Dumbledore promised to let you collect that annual wand tax?" Ian asked, genuinely curious.
"Well…"
To his surprise, Ollivander actually paused to consider it.
Right. Got it. So it really was about status.
All that "fate" talk? Total nonsense.
Ian pursed his lips in silent grumbling and finally began pulling out the coins. Snape had given him exactly seven Galleons, and despite all his efforts, he couldn't even keep a single Knut for himself.
"Best of luck with your studies," Ollivander said with a smile as he took the money, giving a slight bow as he watched Ian leave the small shop.
Ding-a-ling!
Just as Ian opened the door to leave, a young girl and her guardian approached the entrance.
"Step aside, boy."
The speaker was an elderly woman with a distinct aristocratic air. She wore a tilted formal hat, her face partially veiled in sheer lace, and her tone was one of clear condescension.
Not wanting to stir up trouble, Ian quickly stepped to the side.
However,
he also let go of the doorknob, forcing the old woman to open the door again herself. She entered the shop with the platinum-haired girl by her side, never once sparing Ian even a glance.
The girl, on the other hand, stared at Ian for quite a while. Whether she was annoyed by his little stunt or just curious, it was hard to tell from her expression alone.
"Same dead-fish face as Professor Snape… These two must be his perfect match," Ian grumbled internally, casting only a brief glance at the girl's delicate face.
A high, sharp nose.
Defined cheekbones.
And a pair of thin, symmetrical lips.
Even among the famously handsome Germanic bloodlines, this girl's looks were clearly exceptional. But what truly caught Ian's attention wasn't her face.
It was her eyes—heterochromatic. One blue, one white. Rarer even than her beauty.
"A pure-blood noble, huh…"
Ian didn't linger.
Once the two entered, he gave them a casual second glance, then stepped forward, reopened the door, and walked out.
As the door slowly swung shut behind him, the voices inside could still be heard clearly.
"Madam Rosier, it's been a long time. I never expected to see you in London."
"And you've brought a young witch with you… Let me take a look. Oh, heavens… Merlin above, she's… Yes, yes, I won't draw any unwanted attention to you."
"I truly never imagined… that this family would still have descendants, let alone one who's inherited such extraordinary talent. I believe—she is destined for a brilliant future."
That voice was all too familiar.
Unbelievable.
He complimented everyone?
Whoever walked through the door was apparently "extraordinary" and "destined for greatness."
If this wasn't proof Ollivander was the magical world's version of Seria, then nothing was.
(End of Chapter)