Ollivander's Wand Shop.
After several trials, Harry could charm and conquer any wand he used, but the effects were all pretty much the same—nothing special.
Seeing the old man's tangled expression, Harry gave a mighty shudder, unleashing his aura of astounding charm at a full 5 points.
Countless boxes leaped and tumbled over, as if they were all vying for Harry's favor.
It choked back whatever exclamation the old man was about to make, like "It's not the wizard who chooses the wand; it's the wand that chooses the wizard."
"No, why are you all acting so flashy today? How am I supposed to boast about this? Show some restraint, ladies."
In the end, Harry still ended up with—"An extraordinary combination: holly wood, phoenix feather core, eleven inches long."
The effect was better than with the other wands—exactly how much better, Ollivander knew more clearly. It was like shoe sizes; Harry's high charm forcibly resized all the shoes to fit him, but this one felt more like it was custom-made.
Harry was quite satisfied with it. This wand looked no different from the others, but in terms of destiny, it seemed to carry an extra weight, much like certain famous swords burdened with prophecies or regional legends—
This was one of the many abilities granted by an extremely high charm value. Harry could discern a person's talents better than any mortal monarch with the gift of insight, and this supernatural appraisal even extended to objects.
In a critical moment, this "extraordinary" wand could probably handle channeling the Lightbringer for a bit.
Though it wasn't a sword at all and didn't match, so it would probably break down in less than two minutes—but that would be enough.
A regular wand wouldn't last even two seconds; it'd probably shatter instantly.
Ollivander boxed up Harry's wand, wrapped it in brown paper, and kept muttering, "Extraordinary... extraordinary..."
Harry asked, "What about it strikes you as extraordinary?"
He figured it probably had something to do with the wand's unusual weight.
Mr. Ollivander stared at Harry with his pale, colorless eyes.
"I remember every single wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single one. And it's like this: two tail feathers from the same phoenix—one made this wand, and the other made another. You're destined to wield this wand, and its brother—cough—yes, its brother is the one that gave you that scar."
"That's right, thirteen and a half inches long. Yew wood. How could such a thing happen? It's truly extraordinary. Even after what just happened, in the end, it's still the wand that chooses the wizard... I expect you'll do great things, Mr. Potter..."
Harry raised an eyebrow. So there was that connection.
Come to think of it, the moment he first touched this wand, among the various forces suppressed in his forehead, one seemed to react.
It had to do with Voldemort, no doubt—that other magic he'd been entangled with all along, the power that felt completely opposite to the Killing Curse. Was that what had allowed his former self to survive?
It was time to learn magic properly. It was knowledge worth studying in its own right, and it clearly tied into his own background. This summer, besides recovering his body and robbing the bank, he should also preview the first-year material ahead of time.
If Hagrid could learn it well—mastering plenty of everyday spells before getting expelled in third year—then Harry had no reason not to.
He paid Ollivander seven Galleons for the wand, and Ollivander bowed as he saw them out the door.
Hogwarts started in September, leaving more than a month to go.
Hagrid had already returned to Hogwarts, but Harry didn't go back to the Dursleys—he was utterly sick of them. Instead, he rented a room from old Tom and stayed at the Leaky Cauldron.
He didn't have many personal belongings anyway, so it was fine.
Before leaving, Hagrid had said that Dumbledore hoped Harry would go back, on the grounds that he was still too young.
But thinking of Harry's performance, Hagrid figured it wasn't necessary and reported back to Dumbledore accordingly.
Later, a letter came: Dumbledore agreed, but he hoped Harry would go home once after first year ended.
Harry thought, We'll see about that—Dumbledore sure meddles a lot.
Ordinary wizard kids probably didn't get this kind of treatment, but it made sense; after all, he had that ridiculous feat from when he was one year old. It warranted some attention.
Time passed in Harry's fulfilling routine of study and training.
He devoured meat like crazy, channeling his vitality to restore his strength and hone his skills while adapting to his body. At the same time, he happily waved around that little wand he'd previously looked down on:
"Aguamenti," "Incendio," "Reparo," "Petrificus Totalus," "Wingardium Leviosa," "Alohomora," "Locomotor Mortis"—
"Lumos," "Lumos," "Lumos."
Though he'd learned plenty of new spells, Harry's favorite was still the Lighting Charm—just a personal preference, and it didn't interfere with combat.
He also discovered that Alohomora, the unlocking spell, was particularly subjective; as long as you considered something a lock, it would open. For Harry, he didn't need to hypnotize himself to change that perception—he could use his high charm to alter the object's own recognition.
It was hard to explain the feeling: it was like conquering certain items and rewriting their classification. A very difficult sensation to describe—Harry's charm operated above some rules.
Take Locomotor Mortis, that minor jinx, for example: Harry could not only make a person's legs go rigid instantly, but he could make a running machine seize up too.
Charm really did have a powerful influence on magic, just as the system described. Charm, divine power, intelligence—they all seemed like higher-tier attributes above magic and vitality, and both magic and vitality could naturally transform the body.
Additionally, Harry was practicing potion-making extensively.
He found he had some talent for it—whether from his parents or family genes, he wasn't sure—but it required a lot of practice to show.
And that often required a lot of money.
Nothing more to say: on a dark, windy night, Harry got what he wanted.
He opened those ancient vaults on the upper levels that hadn't been touched in at least a century. To be safe, Harry only took gold coins and used his divine power to cleanse any aura.
Incidentally, even with his charm boosting it, his Alohomora didn't work. Charm was useful, but the problem was his spell was still too novice; he had a feeling that with more practice and higher proficiency, it would open naturally.
No problem—Alohomora might not work, but Harry had his Mighty King's Opening.
Moreover, by visiting Muggle libraries, Harry finally figured out what language his system's initial text was in.
Forgive him for only having gone to primary school before—he couldn't tell them apart. Turns out that script wasn't Japanese; it was from Japan's suzerain country, China—Huaxia.
Could this system have been created by Chinese "Taoists" or "immortals"? Everything was still unknown.
The annoying part was that Harry now had a new subject to study: learning Chinese, to get firsthand knowledge about the system and a bunch of annotations and "cultivation methods" that had never been translated or were mistranslated.
Hearing translations from others always added a layer of separation; you couldn't grasp the original intent.
Damn the Seven Gods! This was much harder than learning magic.
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