The little bell ting-a-lings from the back as Lynn pushes open the creaky-ass door to Ollivanders Wand Shop. Light drops like someone hit the dimmer.
"Welcome."
A soft voice floats up. Old-man Ollivander materializes behind the counter, face like a crumpled paper bag.
"Hogwarts first-year, right?"
His eyes are gentle, sizing up Lynn as the kid gawks at the dusty chaos.
"Yessir." Lynn flashes a grin. "Here for a wand."
"Perfect. This way."
Ollivander steps out, flicks his wrist—measuring tape floats like it's on strings.
"Right hand or left?"
"Right."
"Arm up."
The tape starts dancing—shoulder to wrist, ear to elbow—while Ollivander drops knowledge bombs:
"Every Ollivander wand's packed with supercharged magic core. That's the juice. I stick to unicorn hair, phoenix feather, dragon heartstring. No two wands are ever identical."
"Your wand's your ride-or-die. You pick it, but it picks you back."
He hands Lynn a stick. "Ash wood, unicorn hair, eleven inches, straight, tough. Give it a swing."
Lynn flicks—psssht—silver sparks shoot out like a Fourth-of-July sparkler.
"My eye's still 20/20," Ollivander chuckles. "First try? Rare. Most kids cycle through a dozen. But this? Chef's kiss."
"Ash wands guard their owner. Lend it out? Hell no. Pair it with unicorn hair? Loyalty on steroids."
He pauses. "Unicorn cores aren't the nuke—phoenix and dragon hit harder. But treat it right, and it'll never ghost you."
Ollivander locks eyes, wrinkles softening. Kid's vibing. He likes him.
"Sir… you saying wands have souls?"
Ollivander's eyes sparkle. "Call it spirit. Wands can die. Unicorn hair especially. Abuse it—dark spells, rough handling—and it gets depressed. Spells fizzle, aim sucks, it fights you. Then the core croaks. No swap? Game over."
"Usually after theft… or when the wizard pumps evil through it."
"Black magic?"
Ollivander shakes his head. "Magic's not good or evil—people are. Wand's a tool. Knife cuts rope or throats. Your intent decides."
"Magic's heart power. Wand's the bridge between your soul and the world."
"It's alchemy—bio-alchemy branch. Same family as Potions. We activate magic materials, fuse 'em. Not just 'stick core in wood.' Full ritual. That's why no duplicates."
Lynn's mind blown. Curiosity on overdrive. Ollivander's wrinkles unfold—kid's hooked. Been decades since someone geeked out over wandcraft.
Ollivander family's been at this since before the Ministry. Money? They're swimming in galleons. They want legacy.
"If you're down…" Ollivander claps Lynn's shoulder. "Wanna see how the sausage's made?"
"Hell yes, sir!"
Lynn follows him into the back.
Meanwhile, back at Hogwarts…
Dumbledore's locked in his office, fingers steepled, staring into the void like he's buffering.
How the fuck did Harry turn into Harley?!
Not a glitch. He's sure. Trelawney's prophecy in the Hog's Head was legit. He's seen Grindelwald's visions come true every time. Trelawney's a hot mess, but she's Cassandra's great-grandkid—bloodline magic is real. Purebloods marry cousins for a reason.
A frantic knock-knock-knock rattles the door.