"Let's go to Gringotts to exchange some money. I don't think you can wait," Professor McGonagall said, aware that Anduin had substantial savings.
"Gringotts is the only magical bank in the UK. It's run by a group of goblins and is known as the second-safest place in the world after Hogwarts," she explained as they walked.
Under Professor McGonagall's guidance, Anduin reached a fork in the road. One side bore a sign reading Knockturn Alley, while the other led to the main street of Diagon Alley. At the intersection stood a white building with goblin guards in scarlet-and-gold uniforms stationed at the entrance.
After entering, they passed through the first gleaming bronze door. Goblin guards on either side bowed as they walked by. Crossing the second silver door, they found themselves in a spacious marble hall. Around a hundred goblins sat behind a long counter, hurriedly scribbling in massive ledger books. Some weighed coins on scales, while others examined gemstones with specialized magnifying glasses.
The chaos of the outside world seemed to have little impact on the goblins' lives.
With Professor McGonagall's help, Anduin approached a counter, presented his Hogwarts acceptance letter, and received a twelve-Galleon scholarship for underprivileged students. Though Anduin had his own money to exchange, he couldn't refuse the aid he'd already applied for. He decided to convert a hundred gold Galleons into British pounds—a considerable sum for an eleven-year-old.
Anduin left Gringotts with a sheepskin pouch full of Galleons. He pulled one out and inspected it. "It looks like pure gold, but it feels different from ordinary gold."
"They're all crafted from gold by goblins using unique magical methods. Rumor has it they've cast special enchantments to prevent outsiders from counterfeiting them," Professor McGonagall remarked.
"I suppose you can't wait to get your own wand. You can't take a single step in the magical world without one," she added with a smile, watching Anduin clutch the coin pouch.
As they spoke, she led him to Ollivander's Wand Shop, a centuries-old establishment. Anduin followed her to the entrance.
The shop appeared small, narrow, and cluttered. A lone wand rested on a faded purple cushion in the display window. Floor-to-ceiling shelves were crammed with thousands of long, narrow boxes. Behind the counter, a thin old man silently polished a wand.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Ollivander. We're here to purchase a wand," Professor McGonagall announced.
"Ah, Minerva. Nine and a half inches, fir wood. Haven't seen you in ages. Time flies! It's that season again for new students to gear up," Ollivander said, glancing at McGonagall before turning to Anduin. "Times are troubled lately. Did you hear about yesterday's…?"
"Yesterday's disturbances won't continue! You must have faith in the Ministry and Dumbledore," Professor McGonagall interjected sharply, shooting Anduin a wary look to shield him from Ollivander's ominous remarks.
"Yes, Dumbledore. If he weren't in charge, I'd have closed shop and left long ago. Enough of that. Let's see what wand suits this young gentleman," Ollivander pivoted, focusing on Anduin.
"Hello, sir. My name is Anduin Wilson."
"Hello, Mr. Wilson. Rare to meet such a polite young man these days," Ollivander replied, pulling a silver measuring tape from his coat pocket. "Which is your dominant hand?"
"I'm right-handed."
Ollivander began measuring Anduin—shoulder to fingertip, wrist to elbow. "Uncommon to see such strength in someone so young!" The old man marveled, prodding Anduin's firm arm muscles.
Anduin suppressed a shiver. What's wrong with this guy? The measuring tape was one thing, but all the touching? Is a physical exam part of buying a wand?
Ollivander moved swiftly. Before Anduin could dwell on it, the man had already pulled a wand from the shelves.
"Try this: ash wood, phoenix feather core, eleven and a half inches. Sturdy and bold."
Anduin gave it a gentle wave, and a fireball erupted from the tip.
"Well, clearly not the one," Ollivander snatched it back and fetched another. "Elm, dragon heartstring core, ten inches. Symbolizes wisdom and elegance."
The moment Anduin gripped it, Ollivander yanked it away. "No, this won't do either."
"Now, red oak, male unicorn hair, ten and a half inches. Very nimble."
Anduin waved it, and a nearby vase shattered.
"Goodness! You're quite sensitive. This is too intense," Ollivander frowned.
"Don't worry—there's one here for sure." But after several more attempts, none seemed right.
"Try this: thunderwood from a solid ebony tree, thunderbird feather core, twelve and a quarter inches. Unyielding determination. Newt gave me the materials years ago. A challenge to carve, but worth it. Though it tends to spark—not everyone can master it," Ollivander handed over a jet-black wand.
The moment Anduin held it, he felt an instant connection. The wand fused with his being, like an extension of his arm.
A flick of his wrist sent an electric flash dancing from the tip.
"That's the one! Delighted when a wand chooses its wizard. You've clearly selected each other," Ollivander smiled, genuinely pleased.
"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander. I love it too," Anduin said, twirling the wand in awe.
"Ebony excels in combat magic and transfiguration. You'll shine with this. A wizard's first wand costs seven Galleons. If you need another later, Hogwarts will subsidize it. Don't lose or break it!"
"I won't, sir," Anduin paid eagerly, thanked the old man, and exited the shop with Professor McGonagall.