Jingle~
The sound of the door swinging open made Harry Potter and Ron Weasley turn their heads, though Mr. Ollivander remained entirely absorbed in rummaging through wand boxes.
That single glance was enough to stiffen Harry and Ron’s expressions. If there was anyone they least wanted to run into, Draco would surely be at the top of the list. No contest.
Watching him step inside, Harry felt a tangle of emotions. Looking back, there wasn’t really any deep-seated hatred between them—just a string of unpleasant encounters. So when had he started treating Draco like an enemy?
Almost reflexively, Harry averted his gaze, as if he didn’t recognize him at all.
What was strange, though, was Ron’s silence. The boy who usually blew up at the mere sight of Draco was uncharacteristically quiet...
‘Something’s not right. He’s a Hogwarts student too?’
Astoria, of course, didn’t realize that the boy before her was the famous Savior.
But sharp as she was, she immediately sensed the shift in the air after stepping inside. The furtive glances the two boys cast their way made it obvious they knew Draco.
Seeing how Draco ignored them completely, Astoria wisely held her tongue. Instead, she offered the boys a flawless, polite smile. That smile alone made Harry flush red. Whether it was because he’d been caught sneaking glances, or simply because Astoria’s charm had unsettled him, it was hard to say.
Thankfully, Mr. Ollivander’s sudden voice broke the tension.
“If not for your hair color, I might not believe you were a Weasley. Now then, try this one—a wand unlike any other your family has held.”
From Draco’s position, he could see the wand in its box. It looked to be about thirteen and a half inches long. The details, however, came straight from Mr. Ollivander’s mouth.
And Draco also saw it: the moment Ron Weasley’s fingers closed around the wand, a glow flared, magic flowing smoothly with a clear ripple of energy.
The match was undeniable.
“Thirteen and a half inches, willow. I must say, the Weasley family has always favored willow. But... I expected a unicorn hair core—that’s your family’s hallmark. Yet this one carries a phoenix feather... yes, from a powerful and extraordinary phoenix. Quite unexpected, and most curious.”
But the words barely registered with Harry and Ron. To them, wand cores were just materials—not worth fussing over.
In overlooking it, they also missed the puzzled look on Mr. Ollivander’s face. His expression made it clear he was stunned, as though such a pairing simply shouldn’t have belonged to Ron Weasley.
Still, faithful to his belief that “the wand chooses the wizard,” Mr. Ollivander accepted the result.
With a pained expression, Ron handed over seven Galleons and left the shop with his new wand. Neither he nor Harry gave Draco so much as a glance as they passed.
Instead, before stepping out, Harry gave Astoria a quick, polite nod, as though wanting to show a touch of goodwill.
Only then did Mr. Ollivander’s gaze fall on Draco and Astoria.
“Good morning, Mr. Ollivander.”
“It has been some time, young Mr. Malfoy. Ten inches, hawthorn wood, dragon heartstring—ah, a perfect piece of work. You must know, very few wizards achieve such flawless harmony with a wand strung with dragon heartstring.”
His peculiar way of speaking made Draco wonder if the man remembered customers more by their wand’s wood and core than by their names or faces.
Draco only shrugged, saying nothing, and stepped aside—leaving Astoria, who had been curiously watching their exchange, in full view of Mr. Ollivander.
“I see. Another new Hogwarts student, is it? Now, tell me—which hand do you use to hold your wand?”
“Right hand.”
As soon as Mr. Ollivander slipped into work mode, his demeanor grew far more serious. His almost feverish intensity made Astoria’s smile falter a little. If Draco hadn’t been standing right beside her, she might have been frightened by his manner.
“Miss Greengrass, correct? Every Ollivander wand carries a powerful magical essence—that is its core. Each wand is utterly unique, for no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are ever the same.”
“Then how do I know which wand is right for me?”
“Ah, well, that depends on luck.”
Watching Mr. Ollivander tuck away his measuring tape, Astoria suddenly felt he wasn’t entirely reliable. Catching her glance, Draco could only give a helpless shrug. He wasn’t an expert here, so he had no answer to give her...
“Try this one—beechwood, snake nerve, nine inches. Very flexible. Give it a wave.”
“...”
“No, no, that won’t do. Try this one... still not right. Ah! Another troublesome customer.”
Despite his words, the gleam in Ollivander’s eyes showed how much he relished the process.
With each wand she tried, Astoria’s excitement dulled into weariness, her hopeful glances beginning to drift toward Draco.
Then, suddenly, warmth bloomed at her fingertips. A red light burst from the wand’s tip, scattering golden sparks like fireworks across the shop’s walls. The sudden spectacle left Astoria momentarily stunned.
“Oh, excellent! Nine and a half inches—perfect for a young lady. Yew wood, with a White River Monster spine core. A wand for magic both powerful and elegant.”
Astoria didn’t fully understand what he meant by “the wand chooses the wizard,” but she felt it—the closeness, the connection. Joy lit up her face as she turned to Draco, her eyes narrowing into a delighted smile.
It was plain to see she was truly happy.
Draco had already noticed it before: whenever this girl felt genuine joy, a pair of dimples would appear on her small face—dimples she rarely showed.
And only in moments like this did her truest self come to light....