Mr. Ollivander opened his mouth slightly, clearly not expecting Harry to say something like that.
To avoid an awkward silence, Mr. Ollivander decided to change the topic.
"Thank you, Mr. Potter," he said, turning back to the counter. He pulled out a measuring tape and then asked, "Which arm do you usually use for your wand?"
"My right hand, sir," Harry replied, maintaining a polite smile.
"Raise your arm, oh good." Mr. Ollivander began taking Harry's measurements, from his shoulder to fingertips, then wrist to elbow, and even from his shoulder to the floor.
Harry couldn’t figure out why buying a wand required such precise measurements. It wasn't as though he was buying clothes. Did they really need to measure his waist, too?
As he measured, Mr. Ollivander explained—though to Harry, it sounded more like a lecture about dragon heartstrings, phoenix feathers, and unicorn hair. He didn’t explain why he needed to take so many measurements.
After what felt like ages, the measuring process finally ended, and Harry let out a small sigh of relief.
"Alright," Mr. Ollivander said, letting the tape measure drop to the floor where it coiled itself up. "Now then, Mr. Potter, try this one—maple wood, phoenix feather core, seven inches, quite springy. Give it a go."
Harry took the wand and barely gave it a wave before Mr. Ollivander snatched it back.
"No, not this one. Try this—ebony wood, unicorn hair core, eight-and-a-half inches, very strong flexibility," he said, handing Harry another wand.
Harry obediently took the wand, but before he could even wave it, Mr. Ollivander grabbed it from him.
"No, no. Try this one instead," Mr. Ollivander muttered to himself. "Aspen wood, dragon heartstring core, eleven and three-quarter inches."
This time, Harry didn’t reach for the wand.
"Mr. Potter? Please, give it a try," Mr. Ollivander prompted, thinking Harry had zoned out.
"Are you sure this one is right for me?" Harry asked. "I feel like you’ll just decide it doesn’t suit me before I even try."
"It does seem like you and this one don’t quite match," Mr. Ollivander murmured, ignoring Harry’s sarcastic tone. He dove back into his shelves, rummaging for a long while.
"Aha!" he finally exclaimed, pulling out a box from the very bottom. He opened it carefully, almost reverently. "Beechwood, dragon heartstring core, eleven inches."
Harry didn’t take it right away. Instead, he looked at Mr. Ollivander.
"Go on, try it," Mr. Ollivander said cheerfully, holding the wand out to him.
Harry finally took the wand. The moment it touched his hand, he felt a warm surge flow through him. The wand’s tip emitted a glowing light that burst into sparks, scattering like fireworks and even splashing onto the walls around them.
"Ah, yes, yes, that’s it!" Mr. Ollivander exclaimed, covering his mouth in delight. "Beechwood! I knew it would be beechwood—you see, a true match for a beechwood wand signifies a unique individual. If they are young, they possess wisdom beyond their years. If they are an adult, they are insightful and experienced."
Harry’s lips twitched downward into a faint frown as he muttered, "Not bad."
He quickly pulled out some Galleons and, after confirming the price with Mr. Ollivander, laid out seven Galleons on the counter to purchase the wand. Mr. Ollivander bowed deeply as he escorted Harry out of the shop.
Outside the shop, Hagrid stood waiting with a large cake in his hands.
Seeing Harry emerge, Hagrid walked up and handed the cake to him. "I know your birthday’s coming up, but we’ll be parting ways soon. You’re heading back to the Dursleys, so consider this an early celebration."
Harry looked down at the cake. On it, the words "HAPPEE BIRTHDAE HARRY" were spelled out. Two of the three words were misspelled, but his name, at least, was correct.
"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry said, giving him a wide smile. "I love it. If you don’t mind, how about we share it back at the Leaky Cauldron before we part ways?"
"Ah, Harry," Hagrid said, ruffling Harry’s already messy hair with his large hand.
Back at the Leaky Cauldron, they enjoyed the cake. Along with all the books and supplies Harry had purchased, Hagrid also gifted him a snowy owl for his birthday. Harry decided to name her Hedwig.
Thankfully, keeping snowy owls as pets was legal in England, so there was no need to worry about the authorities. However, the stares they received along the way were unavoidable.
"Ah, I regret it now," Hagrid sighed. "I should’ve called the Knight Bus."
"The Knight Bus?" Harry asked, pretending not to know.
He had nearly forgotten about the Knight Bus, which he had taken a few times during his school years.
"The Knight Bus helps stranded witches and wizards. It can take you anywhere on land," Hagrid explained. "Just take out your wand and stick it up in the air—"
Following Hagrid’s instructions, Harry raised his wand into the air.
A double-decker bus appeared almost instantly. At the same time, Harry noticed that the passersby, who had been gawking at their unusual group, suddenly stopped paying attention.
Confundus Charm, Harry thought. It was likely embedded in the magic of the Knight Bus.
"Hey, you two, are you getting on or not?" the conductor called from the bus door.
Hagrid quickly grabbed their bags and led Harry aboard.
"To Little Whinging, Number Four, Privet Drive," Hagrid told the conductor.
As Hagrid dealt with the conductor, Harry couldn’t help but smile to himself. The thought of Dudley, who got carsick easily, experiencing a ride on the Knight Bus was amusing. The look on his pudgy face would’ve been priceless.
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