"Did you do it?" Dumbledore asked with a smile.
Aaron wanted to play dumb, but the other's gaze was full of confidence.
It seemed his little tricks couldn't be hidden from this big shot of the wizarding world.
"Yes, I was just giving him a little lesson."
"Well, it's no big deal, the Malfoy family is a bit arrogant."
Dumbledore's voice changed: "I remember you haven't learned magic systematically, have you, boy?"
"You don't have a wand."
"Without a wand, he can cast spells easily... Don't you want to explain it to him?"
Aaron didn't answer the question, but said to himself, "I remember coffee is difficult to make, why don't you forget that?"
Hearing this, Dumbledore looked thoughtful and shrugged: "Boy, let's stop there."
"This is a secret between us."
"Deal!" Madam Malkin's Robe Shop.
Malfoy walked out of the shop with his hands on his bottom and smiled.
Madam Malkin had used a quick-healing spell to heal his bottom, but it still hurt.
It was really strange; how could the stool move on its own?
He was in a very bad mood!
"Cuckoo..."
Suddenly, a bird sang overhead, causing him to subconsciously look up.
He saw a parrot as fat as a chicken squatting on the lamppost above him.
He was in a very bad mood at the moment, and seeing a fat, ugly chicken he'd never seen before, he picked up a stone from the ground and threw it up.
But it missed the chicken.
"Damn it! Where did this ugly chicken come from?! Get out of here!"
Seeing that he had missed the target, Malfoy covered his back and went to find his parents while cursing.
[Target locked.]
On the lamppost, the plump parrot's eyes suddenly shone, and a human word came out of its mouth.
Then, flapping its wings, it bobbed and followed Malfoy.
At the corner of Diagon Alley.
Aaron finally spotted this famous wand shop.
However, despite being a relatively famous shop in the wizarding world, this shop looked shabby and small.
The sun shone on the golden sign, which was already a bit chipped.
Ollivander: Started making wands in 382 BC.
In the dusty shop window, a faded purple cushion stood alone with a wand.
The overall facade looked very shabby, but there was a reason for it.
After all, there weren't many people in the entire wizarding world, and wizard wands were usually used for a long time. And most wizards only had one wand in their lifetime.
Ollivander's business depended entirely on the birth rate in the wizarding world.
Besides, there was more than one wand shop in the wizarding world, but this one was more famous.
Seeing Aaron's hesitation, Dumbledore thought he was worried about the wands in this shop and explained as he entered,
"Don't be frightened by their appearance. Mr. Ollivander's craftsmanship is some of the finest in the wizarding world."
As he said this, he raised his hand and pushed open the door. The shaky door creaked and fell to the floor.
A cloud of dust rose.
Dumbledore's hand stopped in midair. He wiped the dust from his eyes without a trace and coughed,
"We're only concerned with wands, aren't we?"
Aaron almost laughed out loud at this.
He went inside.
The space inside wasn't large. The containers were filled with thousands of narrow crates, stacked to the ceiling.
The sun shone through the windows, and a thick layer of dust could be seen swirling in the column of light.
At that moment, a ding-dong sound was heard.
An old man came out from the back. His pale eyes suddenly lit up at the sight of Dumbledore.
"Good heavens! Albus Dumbledore!"
"What are you doing here?"
Dumbledore smiled politely: "Bring a little wizard to buy some things." He gestured to Aaron at his side.
Mr. Ollivander turned his gaze, saw Aaron, and quickly approached.
He grabbed his hand.
Aaron was startled by this action, and then saw the old man pressed up against him, staring into his eyes.
"How odd."
He murmured, then lifted Aaron's hair with his long, pale fingers.
After a moment, he looked at Dumbledore: "Isn't that the boy?" Seeing the other nod.
Ollivander's eyes showed a flicker of excitement. He rubbed his hands together and went to the shelf to choose:
"Apart from him, which other children can you personally guide? I'm very much looking forward to seeing them."
"Oh, right." Mr. Ollivander looked at Aaron and said, "By the way, what's your name? Aaron Brooke? What a fine name!" He took a long, silver-scaled tape measure from his pocket and said, "Mr. Aaron, which hand are you good with?"
"The right."
Aaron touched his nose. In effect, he meant he was good with both hands.
If possible, he wanted to buy a few more. After all, for Aaron, who came from a country of etiquette,
The root of fear comes from a lack of firepower. If you could carry a bunch of magic wands and tie them around your arms in a ring, wouldn't that be a magical Gatling gun?