Chapter 03 Wands and Gifts
1654 Words
“Mr. Ollivander’s Wand Shop, crafting fine wands since 382 B.C.”
At last, John arrived at the most exhilarating moment of the day.
When it came to Harry Potter, the most iconic representation of the magical world was undoubtedly the wand—everyone had one.
Without a wand, even Voldemort would have to behave.
Ollivander’s Wand Shop.
This was the largest supplier of magical weaponry in the wizarding world.
John couldn’t help but exclaim, “No wonder it’s been making wands since 382 B.C.; it truly is extraordinary.”
Then, with an air of authority, he cautioned Mrs. Weasley to keep an eye on her overly curious husband.
John stepped excitedly into the shop.
As he walked in, the first thing he noticed wasn’t a person but a mountain of narrow boxes filled with wands.
…
The shop, already small, felt even more cramped due to the stacks of boxes.
Thick layers of dust made John wonder how Ollivander could possibly live in such a place without cleaning.
While John examined the interior, Ollivander scrutinized him in return.
“Good afternoon.”
Emerging from behind the towering stacks of boxes, Ollivander wore a kind smile.
“Hello, I’m looking for a…”
“A wand, of course. Everyone wants a wand.”
Ollivander chuckled, seamlessly taking over John’s sentence as he stepped from behind the counter.
“A new Hogwarts student, I presume? What’s your name?”
“John Weasley.”
…
“Excellent, Mr. Weasley. Which hand do you prefer?”
“Right… but I can use my left too.”
John was ambidextrous, a skill developed over two and a half years of pencil practice to swiftly handle opponents on either side.
“Let’s go with your left hand, then.”
After a moment of thought, John decided on his left.
Ollivander retrieved a measuring tape that was enchanted and began to measure John.
Watching Ollivander’s serious demeanor, John felt an odd sensation.
This old man seemed less like a wandmaker and more like a tailor.
“Wands are unique; it’s not the wizard who chooses the wand, but the wand that chooses the wizard.”
After taking the measurements, Ollivander mysteriously left that remark hanging in the air.
…
Returning to the counter, Ollivander first pulled a box from the shelf.
As he opened it, a black wand lay inside.
Ollivander explained, “Willow wood with a unicorn hair core, seven and three-quarters inches. You should give it a try.”
With a heart full of excitement, John took the wand; this was his very first wand.
He swung it vigorously to the side, causing the nearby cabinet to explode into splinters.
The immense power left John momentarily stunned.
“Seems that’s not the one; let’s try this.”
Ollivander gingerly took back the wand and retrieved another, made of mahogany.
John took hold of it, and the box next to him burst open.
“You’re quite the picky one; let’s try this: purplewood with a dragon heartstring.”
Time passed, and it felt as if no wand would suit him.
After constantly changing wands, John felt somewhat numb. The shop, which had once seemed fairly tidy, was now in disarray, reduced to a chaotic mess of scattered boxes. Even Watson, who had been stopped outside by Mrs. Weasley, was beginning to suspect they were selling explosives rather than wands.
“Mr. Weasley, I must say, I’ve never encountered a student as destructive as you,” Ollivander remarked, his eyes gleaming with excitement. Even the usually docile oak and unicorn hair wands were capable of explosive power in John’s hands, which only thrilled Ollivander further. The more discerning the customer, the greater the satisfaction for him.
“I just remembered! There was a wand that was as picky as you are,” Ollivander suddenly exclaimed, smacking his forehead as a thought struck him.
With surprising agility for someone of his age, he darted up the shelves, moving so swiftly that John momentarily wondered just how old the man truly was and feared he might slip and fall.
Rummaging through the boxes on the shelves, Ollivander soon produced a dusty package from the depths. Blowing on it with a puff, the dust formed a gray cloud that wafted into the air.
“Red oak with a thunderbird feather core, nine and three-quarters inches, wonderfully flexible,” he announced, his smile widening as he carefully withdrew the wand from the box and presented it to John with great anticipation.
His eyes fixed on John with a nervous intensity, as if he were watching his daughter walk down the aisle.
As John took the wand in his hand, an inexplicable thought flashed through his mind.
“This is it.”
A stroke of inspiration.
With a graceful flick of his wrist, John waved the wand. Instead of an explosion, tiny sparks of light shimmered from the tip, drifting softly like a gentle breeze and landing on his face like bubbles.
“This is it!”
He clapped his hands in delight, and Ollivander’s face broke into a satisfied smile. Each wand was like a temperamental child, and finding a child their perfect companion was the greatest joy.
“The red oak wand is passionate about battle, a true warrior among wands,” Ollivander explained, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.
“It sounds much more suited to me than a pencil,” John replied, grinning. Finally, he could leave his old pencil behind. He hoped the red oak wand would prove more durable than his trusty pencil; he certainly didn’t want to risk it breaking.
The price of the wand was seven Galleons. After handing over the money, John made his way to reunite with his parents.
As he walked, Watson showed an enormous interest in John’s wand, even attempting to conjure a morning glory flower on his wife’s head with it.
“Give that back!” John exclaimed, snatching the wand from his father’s grasp to prevent him from causing further mischief.
“Oh, and we still need to buy an owl,” John suddenly remembered, slapping his forehead.
He had almost forgotten that there were no telephones at Hogwarts, and without an owl, he would be forced to rely on the school’s communal owls, which were notorious for their grumpy demeanor. The thought of that ill-tempered owl made him realize it was definitely better to get one of his own.
In the Eeylops Owl Emporium, the shop was bustling with activity, the hooting of owls filling the air, while the scent of bird droppings made Mrs. Weasley recoil and step outside.
“That’s the one!”
Among the many owls, John spotted a pure white snow owl immediately. He named her Basil.
The snow owl Basil tilted her head, her round eyes fixed on John as if she were memorizing her new owner.
Upon returning home, Watson’s playful side took over as he began taking all sorts of pictures with John’s wand. If it weren’t for the fact that John’s wizarding robe was too small for him, Watson likely would have put it on just to snap a few more shots.
Mrs. Weasley leaned against the cupboard, watching him with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, as though he were a child who had never quite grown up.
Meanwhile, Harry was also receiving his gift—a snow owl he named Hedwig.
It was the happiest day of his life.
…
John was presented with a surprise gift as well.
When Mrs. Weasley brought out the animated box, John jumped back in surprise, instinctively drawing his wand in a defensive posture.
As he opened the box, a small puppy popped out.
It had large ears, a brown patch on its head, and a black back.
The little puppy that bounded out was a Beagle, officially known as a Beagle Hound.
As soon as it emerged, it launched into a frenzy of enthusiastic licking on John’s face, its eager nature clear for all to see.
Mrs. Weasley watched the heartwarming scene and smiled, leaning into Watson’s embrace as she spoke softly, “Your father and I thought it wouldn’t be right for you to bring a spider or a rat to school. This little darling is our gift to you for starting your new school year.”
Watson nodded in agreement, silently forming the words to say it was your mother’s idea.
John couldn’t help but notice that ever since becoming a fan of wizards, Watson didn’t seem to mind the idea of a rat at all.
Please, bringing a rat to school would be so cool!
John mused that if his father were a wizard, he would undoubtedly be in Gryffindor.
That spirit of exploration and the fearless adventurousness perfectly embodied the essence of those little lions.
“Thank you, Mum. I also think a rat wouldn’t be a great idea,” John replied, genuinely pleased with the gift. After all, rats reminded him of a certain plotline in Harry Potter.
It seemed there was a greasy middle-aged man who transformed into a rat, and when he returned to human form, it was absolutely disgusting.
Scooping up the little puppy, which was barely a few months old, John felt the tail wagging furiously, resembling a propeller whirling with excitement.
“Let’s give your pet a name. I even named the first toy car your grandmother got me,” Watson said wistfully, regretting that he couldn’t buy his son a black widow spider as a pet.
The father and son had always shared a taste for naming things.
As John cradled the little puppy, he was met with another round of eager licks.
“What shall we call you? Let me think… how about Tom?”
Yes, this Tom was inspired by the beloved cat-and-mouse cartoon, definitely not the Dark Lord’s given name.
And so, John welcomed his first dog, affectionately named Tom.
- Writer
