A crisp ringing sound accompanied the creak of the wooden door being pushed open, and a warm, woody scent filled Ollivander's wand shop.
As soon as Moen entered, he saw Harry standing at the counter, holding a newly chosen wand.
It was a slender wand, slightly curved at the end, with a smooth and deep wooden surface.
Just as Harry lightly waved it, a golden glow emanated from the wand's tip, instantly enveloping Harry's entire body, and the halo spread out like the warm morning sun.
A gentle breeze wafted from all directions, rustling the open pages on the counter and softly lifting the hem of Harry's clothes.
The entire room instantly fell silent, with only the golden light quietly flowing.
"Oh… it's magnificent, truly magnificent!" Ollivander's voice was filled with disbelief, tinged with a strange and somewhat awestruck tone.
Hearing this, Harry turned to look at Ollivander, his face full of bewilderment: "Sorry, but what do you mean, magnificent?"
Ollivander's gaze was focused, his voice lowered, but with a solemnity: "Harry, this wand, holly, Phoenix feather, eleven inches. This is a very special wand… Its core feather came from a Phoenix, and that Phoenix only provided two feathers."
He paused, his voice slightly hushed, as if recounting a heavy secret: "The other feather is the core of the wand belonging to the owner of that scar on your forehead."
Harry's eyes widened, his lips slightly parted, clearly too shocked by this news to know how to respond.
"So you see, Harry…" Ollivander's tone was complex, with a hint of underlying worry in his eyes, "The wand chooses the Wizard, and this wand… has an unbreakable connection to that evil wand."
Moen stood at the doorway, looking at the silent Harry, and said in a low voice: "This wand chose you, no matter who its core is connected to, it is yours now."
Harry turned to look at Moen, with a hint of hesitation in his eyes: "But… don't you think this sounds very ominous?"
Moen took a step closer, his voice low and calm: "Perhaps. But if it chose you, it means you have the potential to make it shine. Don't forget, the wand chooses the Wizard."
Harry stared at the wand in his hand, a faint smile slowly appearing on his lips as he softly said: "Thank you, Moen. You're right."
Moen nodded slightly, gently patting Harry's shoulder: "There will always be a unique story for you, Harry."
Ollivander turned to look at Moen, his eyes filled with enthusiasm: "Come on, young man, it's your turn. Let's find a wand that belongs to you!"
Moen nodded and walked to the counter.
His gaze swept over the neatly arranged wand boxes on the shelves, and he vaguely felt that choosing a wand would not be as simple as it looked.
Ollivander took a dark brown wand from the shelf and handed it to Moen: "Try this one, mahogany, dragon heartstring, nine inches, good flexibility."
Moen grasped the wand, and just as he raised his hand, a harsh, sharp sound emanated from the wand, like a protest of discontent.
Ollivander quickly took the wand back, shaking his head: "Clearly not right, this wand doesn't like you."
Next, he took another one from the shelf and handed it to Moen: "Maple, Unicorn hair, twelve inches, excellent flexibility."
Moen gently held the wand and waved it, but there was no reaction at all, just like an ordinary stick of wood.
"Hmm… a picky little fellow." A hint of excitement flashed in Ollivander's eyes; he seemed to find this complex selection process quite interesting.
Wand boxes were opened one by one, and then put back one by one.
Moen tried six or seven wands, but without exception, none of them worked.
Some wands emitted a sharp hum as soon as he held them, while others had no reaction at all, as if protesting their owner.
Harry, standing nearby, couldn't help but speak, trying to comfort Moen: "It's okay, Moen, it took me several tries to find the right one too. It just… means you're more special."
Moen looked at the wand in his hand, his tone tinged with a helpless self-deprecation: "But too special, perhaps."
Ollivander said with a smile: "Don't rush, don't rush. Sometimes, the hardest wands to choose often have the deepest bond with their owners."
With that, he walked to a corner behind the counter, carefully took down a dusty box, his movements cautious, and his tone became solemn: "Try this one."
Ollivander opened the box, revealing a silver-grey wand with a delicate metallic sheen on its surface, like an exquisite work of art.
The wand was streamlined, with delicate patterns carved on the handle, and a small, transparent crystal embedded at the end.
"This is laurel wood, Phoenix feather, thirteen inches." Ollivander said slowly, with a hint of reverence in his voice, "It's very unique, but also very picky."
The moment Moen took the wand, a warm energy emanated from his palm, quickly spreading throughout his body.
The wand emitted a soft silver glow, and a faint whisper of wind seemed to pass through the air.
Harry, standing nearby, couldn't help but exclaim softly: "Wow… it's beautiful." His voice was full of envy.
Moen looked down at the silver-grey wand in his hand, his tone calm and certain: "It's very special, I like it very much."
Ollivander nodded with satisfaction: "It seems this wand has found its owner."
Just then, a familiar sound of footsteps came from outside the door.
Immediately after, Hagrid strode in, carrying a cage with a pure white owl inside.
"Happy birthday, Harry!" Hagrid grinned, handing the cage to Harry, "This is my gift to you, it will be a good companion."
"Wow, that's amazing!" Harry's face showed unconcealed joy as he stared intently at the owl in the cage, "Thank you, Hagrid!"
"No problem, no problem." Hagrid waved his hand, then turned to Moen, his gaze falling on the silver-grey wand in his hand, his tone tinged with curiosity: "Oh, Moen, have you chosen your wand? It looks very special."
"Yes, just chose it." Moen nodded, a hint of relief in his voice.
"Alright, two young Wizards, it's time for us to get something to eat." Hagrid waved his large hand, his voice booming, "You must both be hungry after a busy morning!"
The three left Ollivander's wand shop and walked towards a restaurant in Diagon Alley.
The sunlight fell on them, dispelling the summer heat, and the air was filled with the aroma of food.
Moen looked down at the silver-grey wand in his hand, a slight smile playing on his lips.
In a restaurant in Diagon Alley, Hagrid shared a sumptuous dinner with Moen and Harry.
The table was laden with Butterbeer, pumpkin pasties, and fragrant steaks. Harry, holding the cage with his snow-white owl, had a face full of joy.
"Harry, this owl will be your good companion!" Hagrid grinned, his tone full of pride.
"Thank you, Hagrid!" Harry looked up, his voice filled with unconcealed gratitude, "It's truly wonderful."
"No problem, no problem! You two are new students at Hogwarts, you need to prepare well." Hagrid said, taking a hearty gulp of Butterbeer.
After dinner, the three left the restaurant, walked through Diagon Alley, and returned to the Leaky Cauldron.
Hagrid escorted Harry to a carriage, instructing the coachman to take him home safely.
Before getting into the carriage, Harry turned to Moen, his eyes shining with anticipation: "Moen, remember to arrive early at King's Cross Station on September 1st. I heard Platform 9 ¾ is very special, we need to gather early."
"Of course." Moen nodded, a hint of ease in his voice, "We'll meet at the station at 10 AM on the 1st."
"Okay, see you at the station!" Harry smiled, waved, and then climbed into the carriage.
Only after seeing Harry get into the carriage did Hagrid relax and pat Moen's shoulder.
"Moen, it's time for us to part ways." Hagrid's voice held reluctance, yet also a hint of relief, "Don't forget, September 1st, King's Cross Station, Platform 9 ¾, don't be late!"
"I won't forget." Moen nodded, his tone resolute.
Hagrid turned and walked towards the other end of the alley, his massive figure disappearing into the dim yellow light.
Moen glanced at the departing carriage, then turned and walked towards the orphanage.
In the dead of night at the orphanage, the dim yellow light spilled onto the wooden floor, and the air was filled with a faint, damp smell.
Most of the children were already asleep; only the Matron was still in the kitchen clearing dishes.
Moen put down his luggage and walked directly to the Matron, taking a heavy small pouch from his pocket and handing it over.
"Matron, these are for you." Moen's voice was calm, but his gaze held a hint of determination.
The Matron put down the bowl she was holding and looked at the pouch in confusion: "What is this?" She took the pouch, opened it, and her eyes widened instantly.