Chapter 7: Ollivander

After buying his textbooks, Hagrid insisted on giving Harry a birthday gift, so Harry chose a white owl and named her Hedwig.

Then Hagrid took him to the final stop of their journey: Ollivander’s Wand Shop.

Ollivander was a sharp-eyed old man with an excellent memory; he accurately named the wands Harry’s parents had used.

But none of the wands they liked suited Harry—until he finally took one made of holly with a phoenix feather core, which left Ollivander deeply startled.

“Oh, I remember now—this wand has a brother. They both contain feathers from the same phoenix,” the old man said, gazing at him with deep eyes. “It was the Dark Lord’s wand. Perhaps this is fate…”

“When that moment comes, I hope you’ll come back,” Ollivander said abruptly.

“Uh, okay,” Harry replied, utterly confused—but the eccentric old man fit the image of the magical world perfectly. He agreed, then carefully chose his words.

“The brother wand you mentioned—is it the one the Dark Lord once used?”

“Yes. Violet wood and phoenix feather. I’m sorry my wand harmed you,” Ollivander said with slight regret. “Wands with identical cores may produce extraordinary phenomena. Earlier… the Department of Mysteries came to me. I think I must tell you: when that moment comes, we will need your help.”

“That moment? What exactly do you mean?”

“Don’t rush to dig for answers, child,” Ollivander’s stern expression vanished, replaced by a smile. “It’s a prophecy. You’ll understand when the time comes.”

Harry had never liked such vague talk, but since Ollivander refused to elaborate, he didn’t press further—instead, he asked indirectly: “By the way, you mentioned the Department of Mysteries. Are they the ones who handle prophecies?”

“Somewhat related,” Ollivander hesitated, as if withholding secrets. “It’s too early to tell you much now, but I can say this: in the entire Ministry, only the Department of Mysteries stands firmly on your side.”

Harry thought—if the magical world was governed by the Ministry, then old Ollivander must have powerful connections. No wonder—he was the only wandmaker on the whole street. But why did he say “on your side”? Did some in the Ministry support the Dark Lord?

Thinking about this weighed heavily on Harry, especially since he still knew so little about the magical world. Fortunately, Hagrid interrupted Ollivander, clapping Harry on the shoulder: “Don’t worry, lad. The Dark Lord’s fallen, and we’ve got Dumbledore!”

“Yes, we’ve got Dumbledore,” Ollivander smiled, though Harry thought it looked forced. “Forgive me for speaking so seriously. Perhaps that moment won’t come at all. Go on—buy the rest of your things.”

Though there was nothing left to buy, Hagrid eagerly pulled Harry out of the wand shop.

“Harry, don’t take prophecies too seriously—you look so gloomy. Let me take you home,” Hagrid said, pulling out an envelope. “Here’s your ticket to Hogwarts. September first, King’s Cross Station. All the details are written on it.”

“Alright, Hagrid,” Harry replied. “Thank you—this has been the most unusual birthday I’ve ever had. Oh, you should come to Tang Dun’s dinner too.”

“No need,” Hagrid shook a small cloth bag, “I still have to deliver this little thing to Dumbledore right away.”

Harry stared at the small cloth bag, no bigger than a fist, and thought—if this thing was truly important, leaving it in Hagrid’s hands too long seemed worrying.

“Alright then, Hagrid,” he said. “Carson has already moved your motorcycle to the garage.”

When they returned to Tang Dun, Harry didn’t want to part with Hagrid—he was the only friend Harry had made in the magical world. He saw Hagrid to the garage, watching as he mounted his motorcycle and slowly rose into the air.

Now Harry understood why Hagrid had first appeared on the third-floor balcony.

After bidding farewell to the magical flying motorcycle, Harry turned to rejoin the banquet hall. Then he noticed a brand-new dark green sedan parked at the very front of the garage, and curiosity drew him closer.

“Young Master Harry,” the butler Carson appeared beside him, seemingly out of nowhere. “This is a gift from Master— a Bentley Turbo R. You may test-drive it on the lawn, but only with a driver present.”

“Wow,” Harry said, recalling the flying brooms in Diagon Alley—his enthusiasm for the car instantly faded.

“Alright, I’ll call Grandfather later to thank him properly. But Hogwarts is a boarding school—I probably won’t need it for a while.”

That night, Ivy eagerly questioned Harry about everything in the magical world, and Harry enthusiastically answered each question. The banquet was lavish, and joy filled every corner of the manor.

Yet as Harry lay in bed, he unexpectedly remembered his third-year birthday—the first time anyone had ever celebrated it with him, and the last time he’d seen his first friend.

The magical world was mysterious and beautiful, but the Dark Lord was not. Harry thought of Jacob, of his aunt and uncle, and began imagining his unknown parents. From Ollivander’s words, he vaguely sensed that since stepping into the magical world, a vast whirlpool had already engulfed him.

The “moment” Ollivander spoke of—perhaps it was the time when Dumbledore could no longer suppress the Dark Lord. After all, Harry had heard Dumbledore was old, while the Dark Lord might still be in his prime. Then Harry Potter would stand at the front line, facing the terrifying Dark Lord who had killed his parents, his aunt, and perhaps even his friend.

In these musings on fate, the young savior drifted into sleep. In his dream, he still lived with his aunt’s family, thrilled at the thought of escaping into the magical world. He didn’t know that when the Dursleys had taken in the infant Harry Potter, they had been as noble as his parents who had stood before the Dark Lord that night.

In the remaining month, Harry eagerly browsed his textbooks, while Ivy continued her vocal and dance lessons with Miss Maria. Sir Crowley called a few times, saying the paperwork in Italy was far more complicated than he’d expected—he might not make it to see Harry off to school.

Crowley showed no surprise at the magical world—he seemed to have prepared himself long ago. After some hesitation, Harry told him about the Dark Lord and Ollivander’s “semi-official” warning. Crowley advised Harry not to worry too much, and said he would strengthen Tang Dun’s defenses, even arranging for “a few wizard friends” to help if necessary.

The bird feeder beside the mailbox suggested Crowley might not be entirely ignorant of the magical world.

Finally, the long-awaited September first arrived. The driver took Harry to King’s Cross Station in his new sedan and helped him arrange his luggage.

Harry declined the driver’s offer to accompany him onto the train—he felt magical matters were his own. Besides, the ticket’s “Platform Nine and Three-Quarters” likely wasn’t accessible to Muggles.

As he stood between Platforms Nine and Ten, wondering whether he had to tap a specific brick like in Diagon Alley, Harry heard a loud commotion.

It was a plump woman speaking to four boys with fiery red hair. Each boy pushed a trunk, and each had an owl.

These must be new Hogwarts students—no ordinary person would bring an owl on board. Harry thought: I’ll follow them.

“Nine and Three-Quarters!” the red-haired girl cried. “Mum, can I go…?”

“You’re not old enough, Ginny. Be quiet. Percy, you go first.”

The eldest boy strode toward Platforms Nine and Ten. Harry stared, afraid to blink and miss it. Just as the boy reached the dividing line between the platforms, a crowd of tourists suddenly surged forward—when they passed, the boy had vanished.

“Fred, you go next,” the woman said.

The boy set off, his twin urging him to hurry—and he did, vanishing in an instant. Then the third boy stepped lightly toward the ticket barrier, and just before reaching it, he disappeared. Harry still hadn’t seen how.

Finally, only the youngest son remained. He was tall, thin, and frail, with freckles across his cheeks beside a long nose, and large hands and feet—he looked nervous.

“Don’t worry—just walk straight through. If you’re nervous, run. Go on now.”

Encouraged by his mother, the boy slowly pushed his trolley forward. He hesitated, then closed his eyes and accelerated.

Harry clearly heard his mother’s words and saw the boy’s direction—the third ticket barrier. He now understood what “Nine and Three-Quarters” meant.

He did the same, pushing his trolley toward that barrier. A strange courage surged in Harry—his instinct once again defied reason. He somehow believed he wouldn’t crash into the barrier. He believed he could do it.

As he passed through the barrier, the scene instantly changed—not the low ticket boxes anymore, but a red-haired boy standing frozen in place.

Harry couldn’t stop his trolley in time and crashed into him.