Mr. Ollivander opened his mouth, clearly surprised by Harry's words. He had not expected such a direct response.
To avoid an awkward silence, he quickly changed the subject.
"Thank you, Mr. Potter," he said, turning toward the counter as he picked up a thin, silver measuring tape. "Now tell me— which arm do you usually use to hold your wand?"
"My right hand, sir," Harry replied politely.
"Very good. Raise your arm… excellent."
The measuring tape sprang to life, measuring Harry from shoulder to fingertips, from wrist to elbow, elbow to shoulder, and even from shoulder to the floor.
Harry watched with curiosity. He couldn't understand why buying a wand required so many measurements— it seemed far more complicated than buying clothes.
As the tape moved, Mr. Ollivander spoke almost to himself, explaining about wand cores— dragon heartstring, phoenix feather, unicorn hair— but to Harry, it sounded like a long technical monologue without any clear explanation of why it all mattered.
After some time, the tape finally dropped to the floor, curling in on itself.
Harry let out a quiet sigh of relief.
"Very well," said Ollivander. "Mr. Potter, try this one. Maple wood, phoenix feather core, eighteen centimeters, quite flexible."
Harry had barely taken the wand when Ollivander snatched it back.
"No, no… this won't do. Try this instead— ebony, unicorn hair, twenty-two centimeters, very flexible."
Harry obediently reached for it, but once again, before he could even flick it, the wand was taken from his hand.
"No, no…" Ollivander muttered, rummaging through boxes. "Perhaps this one… poplar, dragon heartstring, thirty centimeters."
This time, Harry didn't reach out at all.
"Mr. Potter?" Ollivander prompted, thinking Harry had drifted off. "Please, do try it."
"Are you sure this one suits me?" Harry asked calmly. "I think you'll realize it doesn't even before I hold it."
"Hm… indeed," Ollivander replied, seemingly oblivious to the faint sarcasm. He lowered his head and examined the counter for a long moment, as though sensing something unseen.
Then his eyes lit up.
"Ah… here it is."
He pulled an old box from the very back of the counter and opened it with great care.
"Beech wood, dragon heartstring, eleven inches."
Harry didn't take the wand immediately; instead, he looked at Ollivander.
"Go on," the old man said patiently, extending it toward him.
Harry finally grasped the wand.
The instant his fingers touched the wood, a warm current surged up his arm. The tip of the wand burst into a golden beam of light, scattering through the air like fireworks and sparking against the walls of the shop.
"That's it! That's the one!" Ollivander cried, covering his mouth in awe. "Beech wood— I knew it. Beech wands choose wizards who possess wisdom beyond their years when young, and sound judgment and experience when grown."
Harry watched as the glow slowly faded and calmly assessed the wand.
"Not bad," he said.
Without hesitation, he pulled out his coins and lined up seven gold Galleons on the counter. Ollivander bowed slightly and escorted him to the door of the shop.
Outside, Hagrid was waiting, holding a large cake in a simple box.
"Ah, Harry!" he said, stepping forward and handing it to him. "I know your birthday's still a few days away, but we'll be parting soon, and you'll be goin' back to the Dursleys. Consider this an early birthday present."
Harry looked down at the cake. Written on top were the words:
"HAPPEE BIRTHDAE HARRY"
Two of the three words were spelled wrong— but his name was right.
"Thank you, Hagrid," Harry said, smiling broadly. "I really love it. How about we head back to the Leaky Cauldron and share it before we say goodbye?"
"Ah, Harry…" Hagrid said fondly, ruffling his hair with his enormous hand.
They returned to the Leaky Cauldron carrying several bags. In addition to books and school supplies, Hagrid had also given Harry a snowy owl as a birthday present.
"I'll call her Hedwig," Harry decided.
The snowy owl was beautiful and elegant, watching him with calm curiosity.
"If the Dursleys give you any trouble, write to me," Hagrid said as Harry ate his cake. "Use the owl. She'll find me wherever I am."
"All right, Hagrid," Harry replied, nodding.
As he ate, his thoughts wandered. It had been almost a full day since he had left the Dursleys… and, to his own surprise, he found himself missing Dudley.
After finishing the cake, Hagrid led Harry outside.
They made quite a sight: Hagrid, tall and imposing, laden with bags; Harry walking beside him with a snowy owl perched nearby. A few passersby stared curiously, but no one interfered— after all, keeping snowy owls was perfectly legal in Muggle Britain.
"Ah— come to think of it," Hagrid said suddenly, "I should've called the Knight Bus."
"The Knight Bus?" Harry asked innocently.
In truth, he had almost forgotten about it. He'd ridden it several times before… a hundred years ago.
"It helps witches and wizards in trouble," Hagrid explained. "Can take you anywhere on land. Here— raise your wand."
Harry did as instructed.
The moment he lifted his arm—
Whoosh!
A purple, triple-decker bus appeared in front of them, screeching to a halt.
Harry noticed that the people who had been staring at them moments earlier had suddenly lost interest.
"Muggle-Confounding Charm," he murmured to himself. "Must be built into the Knight Bus."
"Oi! You two gettin' on or not?" shouted the conductor from the doorway.
Hagrid grabbed the bags and ushered Harry aboard.
"Number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging," he said.
As the bus lurched violently into motion, Harry thought to himself:
If I put Dudley— who gets carsick just from short rides— on the Knight Bus…
The look on his fat face would be priceless.
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