Chapter 2: A Golden Legend
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"Hannah Abbott?"
Diagon Alley was even livelier at the end of July. Siron, who was helping watch the shop, leaned forward slightly and sized up the little girl standing at the counter—a young witch with two golden braids.
"I'm sorry, but… do we know each other?" Eleven-year-old Hannah instinctively lifted her head, trying hard to recall this young wizard who looked about the same age as herself.
He was a very good-looking boy. His fair face still carried a hint of baby fat typical of his age. His black hair was slightly curly, a bit messy as it fell across his forehead, as if he had just finished an intense and thrilling Quidditch match.
Without a doubt, among all the peers Hannah had ever seen, this shop assistant was the best-looking one.
But she didn't know him.
Not at all.
"We didn't know each other before," Siron said, "but we might become classmates soon. I'm also a Hogwarts first-year this year."
"As for how I know you…" He picked up a leather-bound ledger from the side and flipped through it quickly.
"Oh, here it is. Mr. Abbott's appointment yesterday—ten o'clock, here to choose a new wand for his daughter. Am I right?"
"Yes."
A tall wizard stepped forward, facing Siron, his brow slightly furrowed.
"But I remember the owner of this shop is Ollivander…"
"Ollivanders Wand Shop," Siron replied with a half-smile. "My grandfather hasn't sold the shop—there's no doubt about that."
Hearing this, the man nodded and finally let out a breath of relief.
They had come today to buy a wand for their daughter, who was about to start at Hogwarts. Who would have thought that upon entering the familiar wand shop, they would be greeted by a completely unfamiliar wizard?
For a moment, the man had even suspected that the shop had changed owners.
It wasn't that he was being overly suspicious—it was just that, in his memory, Ollivander had never hired any shop assistants.
Whether it was making wands or selling them, everything had always been done personally.
It had been that way since his own school days, and it hadn't changed for decades.
But then…
He recalled how the young wizard had referred to Ollivander just now.
"Did you say your grandfather?" the man asked, curiosity creeping into his expression.
"Siron Ollivander." Siron extended his hand.
"Ah… a pleasure."
The man didn't find it strange at all despite Siron's young age, and likewise extended his hand seriously.
"Judging by your age, Garrick should be your grandfather. Strange—I don't think I've ever seen you before."
"That's probably because very few people come back to a wand shop more than once," Siron shrugged.
"Ah, that makes sense." The man suddenly understood.
Indeed, wand shops were different from other stores. He himself hadn't been here in over ten years. Today's visit was only because his daughter was heading to Hogwarts and needed her own wand.
Bang!
At that moment, a fluffy, wildly disheveled head suddenly popped out from behind the shelves in the back, nearly colliding with another rack.
"Mr. Ollivander?" the man asked tentatively.
"Customers…" Ollivander raised his head. "My deepest apologies. Please wait just a moment—I'll be right there."
Holding a dusty old box, he hurried toward the counter, muttering softly as he went:
"Found it. I knew I couldn't have remembered wrong—after all, it's only been ten years…"
"What did you say?" Siron hadn't caught it and asked, glancing at the box that had already been opened in Ollivander's hands. "Is that the thing you've been looking for for two days?"
[Holly Wood, Phoenix Feather, Eleven Inches]
[Status: Perfect]
[Traits:
Courage of Justice: Dark Magic −10%, Light Magic +10%
Disarming: Disarming Charm +20%
Twin: Two completely different wands born from the same core. When they meet, a certain mysterious reaction will occur.]
Siron couldn't help raising an eyebrow.
He had to admit—this wand was absurdly luxurious. Brand new and unused, yet it already possessed three distinct traits, utterly crushing ninety-nine percent of the wands in the shop.
If rarity were measured by color, this holly wand was at least legendary gold-tier—top-grade goods.
Siron felt a pang of envy, but he also knew very well that there was only one person in the world who could wield this wand.
No one else.
Out of sight, out of mind. Siron turned away, no longer looking at it.
Ollivander blinked. Though he found Siron's reaction a bit puzzling, he didn't dwell on it and swiftly slipped into work mode.
"Oh, hawthorn wood, eleven inches, dragon heartstring—yes, yes. Just like yesterday…"
…
It was a transaction that left both sides very satisfied.
Ten minutes later, the young witch Hannah hopped out of the wand shop, clutching her new wand happily.
Ollivander carefully recorded her name and wand details in a notebook, a habit he had maintained for many years.
Siron, meanwhile, turned his gaze back to that box.
"That's also a wand?"
"Yes," Ollivander replied, looking up.
"What's so special about it?" Siron asked in confusion. "Special enough that you had to dig it out of storage."
"Special… you could say that," Ollivander nodded after a moment's thought. "I have a feeling that this wand's owner will be arriving very soon."
He looked mysteriously excited, a trace of barely concealed anticipation shining in his eyes.
Siron was just about to ask more when a crisp ringing sound interrupted him.
It 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 is perfectly fine."
"Fine?" a boy's sharp voice rang out as he stretched out his hand excitedly. "Just look at it—the unicorn hair is practically sticking out…"
A noisy family walked in together.
At the front was a plump witch, followed by a tall, thin red-haired man, and a total of six children.
So many children—and all redheads.
Siron instantly confirmed their identities.
The Weasley family.
After all, they were the only ones who couldn't afford to buy a new wand for a first-year.
With so many people entering at once, the already small shop was immediately packed and felt rather cramped.
"We might have a few too many people here," the man said, glancing around. "Fred, George—could I ask you to head to the secondhand bookshop first and help Ron find a set of textbooks?"
"Happy to help, Dad."
Two identical voices came from two identical twins.
They exchanged a glance, grinned mischievously, then turned and dashed out the door.
As for whether they would honestly go to the secondhand shop—Siron reckoned the chances were slim.
The famous Weasley twins were hardly the type to behave themselves and do something properly.
"Dad, I want to go somewhere else too," said another person wearing horn-rimmed glasses.
"No problem, dear. Go ahead." The witch at the front turned her head. "You can think about what gift you'd like."
"I want a gift too…" the youngest boy muttered.
"If you can become a prefect as well, Ron, I'll buy you a gift too."
As they spoke, the group reached the counter.
"Good morning," Ollivander said, offering a standard professional smile.
"It's wonderful to see you again, Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley. How many times has it been now?"
"If I remember correctly, this makes the sixth time," Mr. Weasley stepped forward. "And every single time, you've been able to name Molly's and my wand materials exactly—never once getting it wrong."
Siron noticed that his grandfather's mouth, which had just opened, suddenly closed again, as if he had forcibly swallowed something he was about to say.
(End of Chapter)