Diagon Alley was even more crowded in late July. Helping out in the shop, Harold leaned forward to get a look at the little girl at the counter with two golden braids.
"I'm sorry, have we… met before?" Eleven-year-old Hannah instinctively looked up, trying to recognize this young wizard who looked about her age.
He was a very handsome boy, his pale face still carrying a hint of baby fat typical of kids their age. His black hair was slightly wavy, a bit messy, hanging over his forehead like he'd just finished an intense Quidditch match.
Without a doubt, out of all the peers Hannah had met, this shop boy was the best-looking one.
But she didn't know him—not even a flicker of recognition.
"We haven't met before, but we might be classmates soon. I'm also starting at Hogwarts this year," Harold said.
"As for how I know you…" He grabbed a brown leather-bound ledger from the side and flipped through it quickly.
"Oh, found it. Mr. Abbott's appointment from yesterday—ten o'clock to pick out a new wand for his daughter. That sound about right?"
"Yes." A tall wizard stepped forward, frowning slightly at Harold.
"But I thought the shop owner here was Ollivander…"
"Ollivander's Wand Shop. My grandfather never sold this place, that much is certain," Harold said with a half-joking smile.
Hearing that, the man nodded and let out a breath of relief.
They had come to get a wand for their daughter, who was starting at Hogwarts soon, but had been surprised to walk into the familiar wand shop and see a stranger behind the counter.
For a moment, the man had even wondered if the store had changed hands.
He wasn't being paranoid—it was just that, in all his memories, Ollivander had never hired any staff. Whether making or selling wands, he always did everything himself.
That had been the case when the man was a student, and nothing had changed in all the years since.
He remembered the way the boy had referred to Ollivander.
"You said… grandfather?" The man asked, a little curious.
"Harold Ollivander." Harold extended his hand.
The man didn't seem the least bit thrown by Harold's young age, shaking his hand seriously and respectfully.
"Judging by your age, Garrick must be your grandfather. Strange—I don't recall ever seeing you."
"Probably because not many people come back to a wand shop," Harold shrugged.
"Ah, that's true." The man nodded in understanding.
Wand shops weren't like other places. He hadn't been here in over ten years. Today's visit was only because his daughter needed a wand for school.
At that moment, a wild, frizzy head suddenly popped up from behind a shelf—nearly smacking into another one.
"Mr. Ollivander?" the man called hesitantly.
"Customers…" Ollivander looked up. "Terribly sorry—just a moment, I'll be right there."
He was holding a dusty old box as he hurried over to the counter, muttering under his breath:
"Found it—knew I wasn't wrong. It's only been ten years, after all…"
"What was that?" Harold hadn't quite caught it and asked, glancing at the open box in his grandfather's hands. "Is that the thing you've been looking for the past two days?"
[Holly, Phoenix Feather, Eleven Inches]
[Traits: Righteous Courage – Dark Magic -10%, Light Magic +10%
Disarming – Expelliarmus +20%
Twin – A matching wand with the same core exists. When the two meet, a mysterious effect will occur.] ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡•𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚•𝙣𝙚𝙩
Harold raised an eyebrow.
No question about it—this wand was ridiculously overpowered. Brand new, unused, and already stacked with three distinct traits. It crushed 99% of the wands in the shop.
If this were a video game, this holly wand would at least be "Legendary Gold." Top-tier stuff.
Harold couldn't help but covet it a little, but he also knew—this wand was only meant for one person. No one else could wield it properly.
Out of sight, out of mind. Harold turned his head away and stopped looking at it.
Ollivander blinked. He found Harold's reaction a little odd but didn't think too much of it. Instead, he snapped right into work mode.
"Oh yes, hawthorn, eleven inches, dragon heartstring—exactly as it was. Feels like just yesterday…"
It was a pleasant transaction all around. Ten minutes later, young Hannah walked out of the wand shop, hopping along happily with her new wand.
Ollivander, meanwhile, carefully recorded her name and wand details in a notebook—a habit he'd developed over many years.
Harold turned his gaze back to the box.
"Yes," Ollivander replied, looking up.
"What's special about it?" Harold asked curiously. "You went digging through storage just to find it."
"Special? You could say that." Ollivander thought for a moment, then nodded. "I've got a feeling—the wand's true owner is about to show up."
He looked mysterious, eyes shining with a bit of excitement.
Harold was just about to ask more when a crisp chime rang through the shop.
The sound came from the bell hanging behind the door. Someone had entered.
"No, Ron, we don't have the money to buy you a new wand. I think Charlie's old wand will do just fine."
"Fine?" a boy's sharp voice cut in as he held out a wand. "Look at it! The unicorn hair's coming out—!"
A noisy family poured in. Leading the way was a plump witch, followed by a tall, thin red-haired man and six children.
So many red-haired kids—Harold instantly knew who they were.
The Weasleys. Only they would be unable to afford a new wand for a first-year.
With so many of them filing in, the already small shop instantly felt packed and crowded.
"Bit cramped in here, isn't it?" The man looked around. "Fred, George—could I ask you to run over to the secondhand bookshop? Help Ron find his first-year textbooks."
"Happy to, Dad." Identical voices chimed in unison from two identical boys.
They exchanged a knowing, mischievous glance and dashed out the door.
Whether they were actually going to the bookshop? Harold seriously doubted it.
The famous Weasley twins were not known for doing anything "proper."
"Dad, I want to go somewhere else too," said another boy with horn-rimmed glasses.
"Of course, dear. Go on," said the witch in front. "You can think about what gift you'd like while you're out."
"I want a gift too…" the youngest boy muttered.
"If you become a prefect, Ron, I'll get you a gift too," came the mother's firm reply.
They had made it to the counter by now.
"Good morning." Ollivander offered them his usual professional smile.
"Wonderful to see you again, Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley. Now, how many times have we met?"
"If I'm counting correctly, this is our sixth visit," Mr. Weasley stepped forward. "And every time, you've correctly recalled both Molly's and my wand materials—never once made a mistake."
Harold noticed that his grandfather, who had just opened his mouth to say something, suddenly shut it again—like he'd just swallowed his words.