Chapter 4: The Chosen One, the Wand, and Fate

"Good afternoon." Ollivander immediately slipped into business mode.

Silven noticed that the moment he saw who had come in, his eyes lit up instantly, shining in the dim shop like two bright moons.

"H-hello." The boy looked a little ill at ease; once inside the door he kept himself hunched up, trying hard not to bump into anything around him, and glancing back every now and then at the giant.

"Oh, yes, I knew I'd be seeing you soon, Harry Potter. Your eyes are just like your mother's — she bought her first wand here…"

Ollivander fell into reminiscence; he rarely said so much before reporting a wand's specifications.

But the more he went on like that, the more nervous Harry Potter became.

While the two of them were interacting, Silven's gaze kept drifting to Hagrid; he noticed that inside the giant's open coat, half a pink umbrella was faintly visible.

And when Ollivander mentioned the wand that had been snapped in two, Hagrid even gave that umbrella a tight squeeze.

This kind of disguise was utterly pointless, especially in front of Silven.

【Willow (oak), phoenix tail feather, sixteen inches】

【Status:???】

【Traits: Unbreakable. After some kind of alteration, this wand seems to have undergone a slight change. Trust me, no one would want to be stabbed by it.】

The status line was blank — probably because it had been snapped and then repaired.

Perhaps Silven's gaze was too obvious; Hagrid looked a little guilty, tightened his coat to hide the umbrella properly, and began shuffling his feet slowly toward the door.

"This is just… just an ordinary umbrella… nothing worth looking at…"

"I can repair it for you."

"What?" Hagrid's steps faltered, and legs as thick as pillars actually gave an involuntary shudder.

"I don't know what you're talking about… this is just… an old umbrella, it doesn't need fixing… yes, that's all it is."

"I don't think so." Silven shook his head and said thoughtfully, "Everyone thinks the most important part of a wand is the core, but the truth is exactly the opposite. What looks like an ordinary shaft is actually the most important component, and it hides the wand's true secret."

Hagrid's expression grew more and more solemn. Ollivander, listening from the side, didn't mind it, taking it merely as Silven explaining the wonders of wandlore.

"Repairing the core isn't hard, but the shaft is different. Even if you fix it with absurdly powerful magic, it can never be quite the same as before. Over time it may crack open again. At that point you'd need to wrap another layer of magical tape around it, or bind it with another layer of wood — say, an umbrella handle, for instance."

"Then what should I do…" Hagrid blurted out, and once he realized what he'd said, he clamped his hand over his chest again.

"I… I was just curious."

"To repair a wand completely is very simple." Silven pretended not to notice his movement and went on, "You just need to find a highly skilled wandmaker — Ollivander, for instance."

Hagrid grew more and more serious, but at that moment Silven suddenly turned around and went back behind the counter.

"You must be a Hogwarts professor too. Pleased to meet you." Silven stopped there, saying no more.

Even when Hagrid looked over, he merely raised his head and flashed a bright, sunny smile — the kind only an eleven-year-old child could have.

But Hagrid was a different story.

What Silven said was absolutely right. After several decades, his repaired wand was already covered in cracks, and he could only wrap another layer of willow around the outside to hold it together.

Although Dumbledore's craftsmanship was superb, and the cracks didn't affect spellcasting, it was still a nuisance, big or small.

Hagrid had always wanted to get it properly repaired.

He hadn't expected Silven to give him such an unexpected surprise — only to stop at the most crucial point and say no more.

He stood there frozen, staring at Silven, his expression utterly wretched, and that expression lasted all the way until they left the shop.

The shop door opened and then closed; Harry left, carrying his longing for the magical world.

Ollivander gazed through the dusty glass at the two increasingly blurred figures and sighed.

"So this is fate, is it? He really did take that wand after all."

Silven shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

A few days earlier, Ollivander had turned the place upside down and pulled out a wand from ten years ago — the very one he'd classified as that legendary gold-tier premium piece.

Looks like Ollivander knew Harry Potter would be coming to Diagon Alley soon, and had been preparing since then?

Tch, the sly old wandmaker.

Fortunately, Ollivander had no idea what filial thoughts were running through Silven's mind, and went on:

"I did consider letting him try a few other options."

"Other options?"

Ollivander didn't explain, just pointed at the great pile of wands on the counter that Harry Potter had tried.

None of them suited him.

Silven swept a glance around and narrowed his eyes.

Beechwood symbolizing wisdom, and the heartstring of a powerful dragon — only a wizard both wise and brave could earn its favor.

Maple, phoenix tail feather… constant growth and hope.

Ebony, unicorn tail hair… in the pursuit of power, do not forget loyalty.

In the wand lore passed down through the generations of the Ollivander family, these combinations were almost all tailored to the Chosen One's character — yet not a single one suited him.

Harry still walked off with the wand tied to his fate.

Holly: purity, rebirth.

Phoenix tail feather: hope, rebirth.

After taking up wandlore, Silven learned that these two materials actually shouldn't have been paired together, because of the overlap.

Only by dying once can one be reborn.

And purity — purity of the soul? That soul fragment of Voldemort's?

Silven suddenly felt a bit of regret; he shouldn't have kept staring at Hagrid, his future materials supplier.

If only he'd paid more attention to Harry.

"What are you thinking about?"

Ollivander's voice pulled Silven back to himself.

"Nothing," he shook his head. "Just wondering which house I'll be sorted into."

"They're all fine, as long as it's Hogwarts." Ollivander blurted out, then added, "I almost forgot — you still haven't picked a wand for yourself."

As he spoke, his interest was immediately piqued.

"How about it — would you like me to help you pick one?"

"A new wand?" Silven blinked.

"Do I need one?" Without waiting for Ollivander to speak, he pulled a fistful of… well, things that could loosely be called wands, out of his pocket.

Unlike traditional straight wands, the ones Silven produced were, to varying degrees, unconventional.

Curved, semicircular, perfectly circular, right-angled, Z-shaped, lightning-shaped… a whole fistful, roughly seven or eight of them.

But it wasn't that there were only seven or eight — it was that Silven's hands were too small to hold any more.

Looking at those bizarrely shaped wands, veins instantly popped on Ollivander's forehead, throbbing one after another.

"At least they were passed down, passed down…"

Ollivander took a deep breath, forcing himself to try to accept this new thing.

After all, he had tried those wands himself, and they all worked.

Whether they worked well was another matter — at the very least, they worked, they really were wands, and that was enough.

Besides, when he was eleven he was still carving wood, while Silven at eleven could already make real wands — and more than one at that.

This kind of talent — not to mention him, even flipping back through several centuries of the Ollivander family tree, you wouldn't find a single one to compare.

It's just a fondness for bending wands into circles — what's the big deal? Just swing them around and use them, right?

Before the next customer arrived, Ollivander finally managed to convince himself… well, probably.

Though for the rest of the time, he never brought up the new-wand matter again, as if he had never said anything about it at all.

……

(End of chapter)