In front of a small shop with a worn wooden door, a faded golden sign reading Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 BC swayed gently in the breeze. A flowerpot near the dusty window displayed a wilted balsam plant, as if reflecting the shop's humble appearance. Yet, beneath its simplicity, a mysterious aura made Larry Potter's heart beat faster.
Beside him, Hermione gazed at the shop with a raised eyebrow, her hand clutching a leather pouch filled with gold coins. McGonagall stood behind them, her face stern yet attentive.
"They… really sell magic wands here?" Hermione asked, her tone full of doubt as she eyed the dusty window and slightly crooked door.
McGonagall didn't answer, only pushed the door open with a soft creak. "Come inside," she said, her voice firm yet inviting.
Larry and Hermione followed, their steps hesitant but brimming with anticipation. As they entered, the scent of old wood and melted wax greeted them. The shop was dim, lit only by a few flickering oil lamps in the corners. The walls were lined with tall shelves, each stacked with long, neatly arranged boxes, like a secret library. The air felt heavy, as if carrying traces of magic from thousands of wands awaiting their owners.
"Good afternoon, Minerva," a hoarse, aged voice echoed from behind a worn wooden counter at the far end of the room.
Larry turned, his bright green eyes, like spring leaves, catching sight of an old man emerging from the shadows. The man was thin, his long silver hair tangled and falling to his shoulders like a forgotten waterfall. His pale gray eyes shone sharply, as if they could see beyond the faces before him.
"Good afternoon, Ollivander," McGonagall replied, nodding politely. "These two children need wands."
"Oh? Young witches and wizards?" Ollivander looked up, his eyes narrowing as he studied Larry. "Welcome to Ollivanders. Here, you'll find the wand that chooses you."
He paused, staring at Larry longer, his brow furrowing. "Young man, what's your name? You… feel familiar. Not a wizard from a non-magical family, are you?"
Larry smiled faintly, his charm flowing naturally even in this moment. "My name's Larry Potter," he said, his voice calm yet clear. "My parents were James Potter and Lily Potter."
Ollivander's eyes widened, his breath catching. "Potter? Larry Potter?" He stepped closer, his hands trembling slightly. "Merlin's beard, you're alive! No wonder… that red hair, those green eyes like Lily's. You look like your mother, but there's a hint of James in how you stand."
He chuckled, as if lost in memory. "I remember their wands. James, always causing chaos before finding the right one. Lily, she knew hers the moment she held it."
McGonagall sighed softly. "Ollivander, you're frightening the boy," she said, her tone half-warning.
Ollivander snapped out of it, rubbing his face. "Sorry, lad," he said, smiling awkwardly. "I was just… surprised. Didn't expect to see another Potter here."
He turned to Hermione. "And you, miss?"
"My name's Hermione Granger," Hermione replied, her voice eager though tinged with nerves.
"Granger… non-magical family, eh?" Ollivander nodded, his eyes assessing. "No matter. Wands don't care about lineage. Let's find the right ones for you both."
He looked at Larry again, his smile widening. "But Miss Granger first." He glanced at Larry, who politely stepped back.
"Ladies first," Larry said, his smile soft but with a hint of mischief that made Hermione's eyes sparkle. Polite but still charming, he thought, feeling a small spark in his chest—maybe points from his strange system, maybe just Hermione's gaze.
Hermione gave a small smile, then turned to Ollivander. "What do I do?"
"Stand here, don't move," Ollivander said, pulling out an old measuring tape that moved on its own like a living snake. The tape floated, measuring Hermione's shoulders, arms, and legs with eerie precision.
"The right wand is everything," he muttered. "Power, balance, connection… all must be perfect."
When the tape finished, Ollivander walked to the shelves, his fingers tracing the boxes with surprising speed for his age.
"Try this," he said, handing her a slender wand. "Yew, unicorn hair core, eleven inches."
Hermione took it, waving it gently. Red sparks sputtered from the tip, but nothing more.
"Not quite," Ollivander said, shaking his head. He retrieved another wand. "This one. Vine, dragon heartstring core, ten and three-quarters inches."
The moment Hermione held it, the wand seemed to come alive. A soft golden light radiated, enveloping her like a warm embrace. Hermione beamed, her eyes shining.
"This… it's amazing."
"That's the one," Ollivander said, smiling. "The wand has chosen you, Miss Granger. Eleven Galleons."
Larry pulled coins from his pouch, counting quickly. "Here, Mr. Ollivander," he said, handing them over with a smile that made the old man nod in appreciation.
"Now, your turn, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
The measuring tape floated again, sizing Larry up with swift movements. "I remember your parents," Ollivander muttered. "James tried a dozen wands, made a mess of this shop. Lily knew hers instantly. You… who are you like, I wonder?"
Larry just smiled, letting the old man ramble. Let's see what wand picks me, he thought, his heart racing.
The tape finished, and Ollivander walked to the shelves, pulling out a box.
"Try this. Hawthorn, unicorn hair core, ten inches. Contradictory, but powerful."
Larry took the wand, waving it gently. A sudden shockwave slammed into a table in the corner, splintering it into wooden shards. Hermione let out a small yelp, her hand covering her mouth.
"Sorry!" Larry said, grinning sheepishly as he handed the wand back. "Not my fault, right?"
Ollivander chuckled. "Not at all. That wand wasn't for you."
He grabbed another. "This one. Oak, phoenix feather core, eleven inches."
Larry tried again. This time, a small explosion rattled a nearby shelf, knocking several boxes to the floor. Hermione stared at him, half-alarmed, half-amused.
"Larry, are you trying to destroy the shop?"
"I didn't mean to!" Larry protested, but his cheeky grin made Hermione shake her head.
Ollivander remained undeterred. He tried wand after wand—hazel, willow, cedar—but none fit. Empty boxes piled up on the floor, and the shop began to look like a small battlefield.
Finally, Ollivander paused, his brow furrowing, then his eyes lit up as if recalling something.
"Wait," he said, walking to a darker corner of the shop. He pulled a dusty old box from the deepest shelf. "This was made by my grandfather. Rare rosewood, phoenix feather core, twelve and a quarter inches. This wand… has been waiting for someone with extraordinary magic."
Larry took the wand, feeling warmth spread through his palm, like a living stream. He waved it gently, and a dazzling golden light filled the shop, soft yet powerful, as if greeting the world. The fallen boxes floated back to their shelves, and the shattered table repaired itself.
"That's it!" Ollivander exclaimed, his fists clenched with excitement. "The wand has chosen you, Mr. Potter!"
Larry stared at the wand in his hand, an odd feeling flowing through him—like an inexplicable bond. This is mine, he thought, sensing a spark of points from his strange system, perhaps from Hermione's awe or Ollivander's gleaming eyes.
"You'll be a great wizard, lad," Ollivander said, his eyes full of hope. "The wand chooses the wizard, and this… this is an extraordinary choice."
Larry smiled, holding back a laugh. He says that to everyone, doesn't he? he thought, but he nodded politely.
"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander." He glanced at the mess in the shop, his face sheepish. "Uh, for the damage… how much do I owe?"
"Thirteen Galleons for the wand," Ollivander replied, waving a hand. "The mess? It happens. A few repair charms, and it'll be fine."
Larry sighed in relief, counting out the coins and handing them over.
"Thank you," he said, his smile charming enough to make Ollivander smile back.
They left the shop, Hermione clutching her wand tightly, her eyes still shining.
"Larry, your wand… that was incredible," she said, her voice full of awe. "But next time, try not to wreck the shop, okay?"
Larry chuckled, slinging an arm around her shoulder briefly.
"No promises," he teased, making Hermione swat his arm lightly, though her smile couldn't be hidden.