Nios sighed softly, his eye-patch-covered eye "watching" Ollivander dispassionately.
"It's not that I don't want to buy it; it's that I can't use it."
Ollivander's silver-white pupils suddenly constricted, and he spoke to Nios sternly.
"Young sir!"
"Before a Wizard's power becomes strong enough, casting spells must rely on a medium! Even the most powerful Wizard is stronger using a wand than not using one!"
"The Ollivander family has served the Wizarding World for over a dozen centuries! Except for Squibs, I have never seen a Wizard who couldn't resonate with a wand!"
His tone was firm and unquestionable, as if he were defending the dignity of the Ollivander family.
Nios merely shrugged indifferently.
"I tried Dumbledore's wand; it really didn't react."
The shop instantly fell silent.
Harry and Hagrid were bewildered, but Ollivander's face, like old tree bark, instantly drained of color.
Dumbledore's wand? That legendary... Elder Wand?!
Ollivander took a deep breath, his cloudy eyes a mix of shock and confusion.
"That... perhaps it's because it's too 'picky'," he murmured.
His gaze locked onto Nios again, "Please, let me try! In my shop, perhaps... the one meant for you is hidden here!"
His tone was almost pleading, as if Nios was the greatest enigma of his life.
Nios looked at the stubbornness in the old man's eyes. Although it was troublesome, he still nodded, just to satisfy an old man's dying... cough, curiosity.
The following scene was a "hell-level assembly line" version of a wand shop.
After measuring, Ollivander plunged into the pile of wands, bringing out stack after stack of wand boxes.
Nios, meanwhile, transformed into a ruthless waving machine.
He took the wand, waved it casually, got no reaction, and threw it back into the box.
His movements were as fluid as stamping "scrap" on defective products.
Outside the window, the splendor of the sunset was gradually swallowed by the night.
When the last sliver of daylight was extinguished and the shop was completely engulfed in dimness, Ollivander finally couldn't hold on any longer.
He was hunched over, his hands propped on the counter, his chest heaving like a broken bellows, sweat soaking his robes, his silver-white hair clinging messily to his forehead. He looked at Nios as if he were looking at a walking magical accident that had ruined his thousand-year-old reputation.
In the corner, Hagrid's snores had long since made the wand boxes tremble, and Harry was leaning against his furry "wall," sound asleep.
Only Azazel sat at Nios's feet, idly fiddling with the pink heart at the tip of his tail.
"I'm... I'm sorry, sir."
Ollivander caught his breath, his voice weak.
"It seems... it seems there is no wand here that can match you."
Nios glanced at the shop, which looked as if it had been ransacked by a Troll, and at the stubborn old man before him, who had instantly been drained of all his spirit.
He thought for a moment and proposed a more practical solution: "How about... you sell me a half-finished wand without a core? I'll put some 'stuff' in it myself."
"Absolutely not!"
Ollivander straightened his hunched back instantly, like a mongoose whose tail had been stepped on.
"Ollivander's Wand Shop! We will never sell defective products!"
Nios looked at this unyielding old-timer and sighed silently.
Seeing that Nios seemed to have given up, Azazel immediately perked up and flew over to Hagrid.
"Shhh—" He covered Hagrid's big mouth with his hand and whispered.
"Big guy, time to pack up!"
Then he darted back to Nios, skillfully took the Undetectable Extension Charm bag.
With quick little paws, he swiftly put Nios's and Harry's items into it, then picked up Hedwig's cage and flew out.
Hagrid gently picked up Harry.
The three slowly walked towards the door.
But Ollivander suddenly reached out and grabbed Nios's cold wrist.
"Mr. Chaos!"
The old wandmaker's voice held a hint of stubbornness, and he said to Nios with burning eyes, "I will definitely make... the wand that belongs to you!"
Nios didn't answer, but simply patted Ollivander's hand with his other hand.
The three ultimately chose to spend the night at the Leaky Cauldron.
It's worth mentioning that the puddle of little pink Azazel had forgotten at the Leaky Cauldron became a persistent nightmare for Tom, the owner.
Flame Charm? Not a ripple. Freezing Charm? No reaction.
He wanted to throw it away? But he was afraid this bizarre thing would cause headlines like "Pink Jelly Devours London" in the Muggle World.
In the end, poor Tom could only shove the table and the little pink into the storage room together, for out of sight, out of mind.
The next morning, Nios, upon hearing about it, merely raised his chin.
Azazel reluctantly flew over, asked Tom for a large handful of salt, and casually scattered it over the pink jelly like exorcism powder.
The little pink quickly dissolved, turning into a clear, harmless liquid.
Azazel also secretly hid a small piece when Tom wasn't looking.
After the trio had breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron, they went their separate ways.
Nios walked straight out, hailed a taxi, and drove away, as if behind him wasn't the entrance to the Wizarding World but some vegetable market.
Hagrid dutifully put the still-yawning Harry onto the train back to the Dursley's, and only then did he mount his sidecar motorcycle, roaring deafeningly as he drove towards Hogwarts.
One week before the start of term, Hogwarts.
With term about to begin, the Professors had successively returned to the thousand-year-old castle.
In the Principal's office.
Professor McGonagall sat ramrod straight, like the square-framed glasses on her bun.
Professor Sprout sat next to her, still carrying the fresh scent of the greenhouse soil.
Professor Flitwick sat on a specially elevated chair.
Professor Snape sat alone in the shadows at the very edge.
Next to Professor McGonagall, a noticeably larger chair sat empty, awaiting a certain giant.
Dumbledore sat behind his desk, his gaze, gentle behind his half-moon spectacles, swept over everyone.
Heavy footsteps like muffled thunder approached. Hagrid's massive frame squeezed with difficulty through the entrance of the spiral staircase, almost filling the doorway.
"Ah, Hagrid, please sit."
Dumbledore tapped his wand lightly, and the oversized chair obediently slid next to Professor McGonagall.
Hagrid carefully sat down, and the chair let out a groan of protest under his weight.
Dumbledore interlaced his fingers: "With the new term approaching, I ask everyone to bear with us during this time. We need to check the condition of all facilities within the school. Furthermore,"
He paused, an elusive glint in his eyes. "This year, Hogwarts will welcome a... special new student."
Except for McGonagall and Hagrid, the other Professors unconsciously straightened their backs. They all thought the Principal was referring to "The Boy Who Lived," Harry Potter.
Dumbledore's next sentence was like a bucket of ice water poured into a boiling cauldron:
"This year, we have admitted a young Wizard from Chelmsford."
"What?!" Professor Flitwick nearly jumped out of his chair.
Professor Sprout covered her mouth, her eyes wide.
Even Snape's perpetually frozen face showed a crack, his dark pupils suddenly constricting.
Although Professor McGonagall was aware, her hands, resting on her lap, quietly clenched.
Dumbledore didn't stop, calmly dropping the second bombshell: "What's even more special is that this young Wizard is deeply influenced by Muggle fantasy stories... He firmly believes that a Wizard's power comes from demons, so..."
Dumbledore looked around at their shocked, petrified faces. "He, following the methods in those stories, personally created a demon."
"Merlin's beard!" Professor Sprout exclaimed in shock.
Professor Flitwick held his forehead, as if in need of resuscitation.
Professor McGonagall's face turned completely white. She had thought coming from a cursed place was the limit, but she never expected such a thing! Creating a demon?!
"There's no need to worry excessively." Dumbledore's voice carried a soothing power, but its effect was minimal.
"This child... possesses extraordinary creativity. For 'safety's sake, he forcibly blended two completely opposite elemental powers, Lust and Chastity, and injected them into that demon, and then signed a powerful contract with it. Only under specific conditions can that demon exert its power. Hagrid, you can explain the specifics."
Hagrid's massive body shifted uneasily in the chair, his huge hands rubbing together nervously, and he began to recount in a muffled voice how he and Nios and Harry had "picked up" Azazel on the border of Chelmsford, and their adventures in Diagon Alley.
He tried his best to portray Nios as a "good kid" who "lacked proper guidance" and "had a unique understanding of magical creatures," attempting to beautify "creating a demon" into "raising a rather special pet."
After Hagrid finished speaking, Dumbledore spoke again: "I hope everyone, both inside and outside the classroom, will give Mr. Chaos extra… attention and guidance. His astonishing talent and creativity have only temporarily veered off track. I believe that with the inclusiveness of Hogwarts and the wisdom of everyone present, he will surely find the right direction."
Snape suddenly stood up, his black robes billowing like surging venom.
His cold voice, like a poisoned dagger, pierced through the gentle facade Dumbledore had created.
"The right direction? Dumbledore! The place he truly belongs is not the Great Hall of Hogwarts, but the very bottom of Azkaban!"
His pale face was full of sarcasm, "An eleven-year-old child who can create life out of thin air? And immortal life? This kind of 'genius,' do you think we can 'teach' him? Or will he… or his 'pet,' drag the entire Hogwarts into the abyss?"
After speaking, he rushed out of the Principal's office like a black whirlwind, carrying suppressed fury, without looking back.
Dumbledore gazed at the doorway where Snape had disappeared, his blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles as deep as an ancient well, neither refuting nor trying to make him stay.
Only heavy breathing and deep worry for the unknown remained in the office.
Meanwhile, Branded Manor.
"Hey! Nios! Is it really necessary to bring so many books?! Are you going to school or are you expanding the Hogwarts library?!"
Azazel floated in the air, looking at the three bulging boxes in front of him.
Ever since Nios obtained the Undetectable Extension Charm bag from the Goblin named Glock, he had been obsessed with reverse engineering, spending a week to barely grasp the basics of the Undetectable Extension Charm and the Stabilization Charm, and creating these three semi-finished products with questionable spatial stability.
Nios didn't even lift his head, continuing to stuff thick religious texts, alchemy manuscripts, and even a few scrolls into the boxes: "These are my 'treasures.' And," he paused, saying in a flat tone, "it's time to prepare the theoretical foundation for the birth of your next 'colleague.'"
Azazel desperately slapped his forehead with his little paw: "What kind of 'treasures' are coming?! Also, you could have just put a stronger Extension Charm on one box, why did you have to break it into three half-baked ones?"
Nios finally stopped, made a peace sign to Azazel, and said matter-of-factly: "Because I like the number 'three.'"
He would never admit that his current reverse analysis was incomplete.
Azazel was speechless at Nios's stubbornness: "Alright, alright, whatever you say. By the way, do we really have to go to that Hogwarts? Branded Manor is so much more comfortable! Once we go there, our actions will be restricted, and we'll be constantly monitored!"
Nios's movements stopped, and the room fell into a brief silence.
After a while, he spoke, his voice deeper than usual: "You should be able to feel it, right, the overwhelmingly rich Soul Sea aura on Harry…"
Azazel didn't say anything, just nodded silently, a rare seriousness on his dog-like face.
"Before, I said I didn't know where we were."
Nios turned around, his eye on the eye patch staring at Azazel.
"But the moment I saw Harry, I understood."
"But the moment I saw Harry, I understood. We are in a story, a story called 'Harry Potter.'"
"But… this world is real. So,"
He tilted his head slightly, the eye on his eye patch seemingly flickering with a cold light.
"What power is pushing Harry's destiny forward? Making him the 'Boy Who Lived'?"
"There's only one answer, the Soul Sea chose him, tagging him as the 'Protagonist.'"
"Dumbledore also has a similar aura, but it's already as thin as a dying candle wick. If I'm not mistaken, he's probably… the previous 'Protagonist.'"
"The moment he completes his 'guidance' of Harry and passes the baton…"
Nios's voice carried a hint of coldness.
"That's the moment he loses his favor and heads towards his end. And that wand… ultimately, it will surely fall into Harry's hands."
Azazel's small wings flapped uneasily: "Then we're still going to get involved?! Aren't you afraid… that 'It' will detect our plan?"
Nios didn't answer directly. He just gave Azazel a meaningful smile.
Azazel instantly bristled, all seriousness gone, and he spun wildly in the air in anger: "Riddler, get out of Gotham! Will speaking normally choke you to death?!"
A week later, King's Cross Station.
Harry pushed his luggage trolley, circling between platforms nine and ten like a headless chicken.
That big fellow Hagrid had told him everything, except he forgot the most crucial step: how to get to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters!
Uncle Vernon had dumped him at the platform like trash and sped off.
He had asked everyone who looked like a staff member, getting either looks of a lunatic or dismissive "Don't cause trouble."
The hands of the platform clock turned mercilessly; only ten minutes remained until the train departed.
Harry told himself to calm down, but cold sweat still soaked the hair on his forehead.
Just then, a savior appeared!
Nios's pale figure and iconic cartoon eye patch came into view.
Azazel, meanwhile, looked like a porter, carrying a large box in each hand and clenching another in his mouth, flying unsteadily like a severely overloaded toy airplane.
"Long time no see, Nios!" Harry's voice was filled with the excitement of finding hope in desperation.
Nios also gave him a faint smile: "It has been a while. Are you waiting for me?"
He asked knowingly, the eye on his eye patch even winking.
Harry was so embarrassed his toes curled: "I… I can't find Platform Nine and Three-Quarters…"
Nios said nothing, just tilted his head slightly, his gaze passing over Harry to look at something not far away.
Harry followed his gaze; it was a group of red-haired, boisterous people.
A very kind-looking lady was directing two red-haired boys.
He watched as the three boys, pushing their luggage trolleys, took turns rushing towards the load-bearing pillar between platforms nine and ten.
There were no expected broken heads or Muggle screams.
Their figures, like illusions cast into water, instantly vanished into the solid stone pillar.
The bustling Muggles around them paid no attention.
Harry instantly understood, just like the wall behind the Leaky Cauldron!
"Come with me!" Harry pushed his luggage and walked towards the family.
"Mumble mumble (Finally caught on)!" Azazel could only make muffled grumbles because he was holding a box in his mouth.
"Hmm, the reaction time is a bit long." Nios agreed, his tone flat.
"Mumble mumble! (Hurry up! The train's leaving!)" Azazel urged anxiously, flapping his small wings faster.
Seeing Harry excitedly waving by the pillar, Nios brought his comically shaped demon over.
"This is it! This kind lady just told me, her children have already gone in!"
Harry excitedly told Nios, then turned to the red-haired lady, Molly Weasley, with sincere gratitude on his face.
"Thank you very much, Madam!"
Molly Weasley had a warm smile on her face: "You're welcome, dear! Go on, don't miss the Hogwarts Express!"
Harry nodded, took a deep breath, and poured eleven years of suppression and all his longing for the magic world into this charge.
He closed his eyes and pushed his trolley hard, crashing into the solid stone pillar!
Nios smiled and nodded to Mrs. Weasley, then stepped into the entrance of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.