The weight of the Galleons made the Scotts' money pouch heavy, but it also made every step of their shopping trip feel solid and delightful.
Their first destination was Flourish and Blotts.
The shop was filled with the distinctive scent of fresh ink mingled with old parchment. Alan and his family wandered among towering bookshelves that stretched to the ceiling. Overhead, several heavy tomes flapped their pages like wings, slowly gliding back to their proper sections.
Lilia's eyes were quickly caught by a most unusual book.
It rested alone on a small display stand, its cover thickly covered with brown fur. There was no title—only two gleaming green eyes that seemed almost alive.
The Monster Book of Monsters.
Alan recognized it instantly.
"Don't touch!"
His warning came a heartbeat too late.
Driven by curiosity, Lilia had already stretched out a finger and poked at the soft fur.
In the next instant, the spine split open into a mouth lined with jagged paper fangs, snapping hungrily at her finger.
"Ahhh—!"
Her scream pierced the shop's quiet. She yanked her hand back, a neat bite mark left on her fingertip. Tears welled in her eyes from the sting. The "living" book thrashed on the stand, growling menacingly.
From nearby wizarding families came a few chuckles—clearly, they had seen this scene many times before.
"You need to stroke its spine, Lilia—gently," Alan said as he hurried over. While soothing his frightened sister, he deftly ran his fingertips along the book's spine.
At once, the vicious volume calmed, purring contentedly as it opened itself to the first page.
After purchasing all their required textbooks, they headed next to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.
No sooner had they stepped inside than a measuring tape zipped over on its own, winding around Alan and recording his dimensions with uncanny precision. Overhead, silver needles trailed black thread, stitching sleeves onto a half-finished robe, darting back and forth without a single human hand to guide them.
Carla's brow furrowed again. She instinctively pulled Lilia close behind her, eyes fixed warily on the flying needles, her voice betraying unshakable tension.
"Alan, are you sure these… these things are safe? What if one of those needles goes out of control and stabs someone?"
"Mom, look over there," Alan pointed toward a corner where a hot iron floated, automatically pressing a robe. "It's no different from the robotic arms we use in our factories."
He carefully guided her gaze, his voice steady and persuasive.
"Behind all of this is a fixed 'program.' Wizards call it magic. At its core, magic is simply a form of energy we don't yet understand—a more efficient, more convenient tool, much like electricity powering machines. Any tool carries risk if misused. A knife can cut, electricity can shock. The key lies in how it's controlled, and in the skill of the wizard who designed it."
Alan's "down-to-earth explanation" worked again. By framing unknown magic in terms of familiar industrial automation, he dispelled Carla's unease.
Finally, they arrived at the last and most important stop—Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
This shop was unlike the other bright, polished storefronts of Diagon Alley. It was small and narrow, the once-gilded letters on its sign long since flaked away. Its display window held no dazzling array of wares—only a single wand lay on a faded purple cushion, like some forgotten relic.
Alan pushed open the door.
Ding-a-ling—
The soft ring of a bell shattered the silence inside.
From the shadows at the back of the shop, a figure glided forward. An old man, his long silver hair and beard glowing faintly in the gloom. His silver eyes were piercing, cutting straight into the soul as they studied Alan from head to toe.
"Good afternoon," Mr. Ollivander's voice was soft, drifting, tinged with an ancient resonance. "Another Scott. I remember your grandaunt—hawthorn wood, unicorn hair. A very nostalgic wand, quite suited to brewing healing draughts. Now, it's your turn."
What followed became a trial filled with drama.
From the tall shelves, Ollivander retrieved a long, narrow box and opened it.
"Maple, phoenix feather, ten inches, rather supple. Give it a try."
Alan accepted the wand. A searing heat surged into his palm. Before he could even flick it, the tip spat a stream of blinding sparks, blasting an entire stack of wand boxes from a nearby shelf. They clattered to the floor in a noisy heap.
"Not that one," Ollivander said calmly, reclaiming the wand without a trace of surprise.
He reached for another.
"Ebony, dragon heartstring, twelve and a quarter inches, very powerful."
Alan grasped it. This time, a cold, resisting force coursed up his arm. He tried to guide his own magic, but the wand shuddered violently—the water in a vase on the counter instantly froze, shattering with a sharp crack.
Once.
Twice.
Dozens of times.
Each attempt ended in some minor disaster. Gales whipped through the shop, lightning crackled in the corners.
But inside Alan's mind palace, thought raced with every failure. Vast streams of data were being processed, analyzed at lightning speed.
[Cause of failure: Magical frequency output incompatible with wand core 'phoenix feather'; resonance unstable.]
[Cause of failure: Mental force model strongly repelled by ebony wood's conduction properties.]
…
He wasn't passively enduring failure—he was actively collecting data, constructing his own theory of wandlore.
Ollivander's expression shifted from composed, to serious, to something else entirely—a flicker of excitement and puzzlement even he hadn't noticed.
He no longer reached for the ordinary shelves. Instead, muttering softly, he walked to the farthest, dustiest corner of the shop. Bending down, he pulled a plain wooden box from beneath a pile of clutter.
The box bore no decoration, not even an elegant grain—utterly unremarkable.
"Try this," Ollivander said, his voice low. "Ash wood, unicorn tail hair, thirteen inches, very supple. An exceedingly rare combination—unique, even."
Alan stretched out his hand and took the wand.
No heat.
No chill.
Instead, a warm, pure sensation spread from his palm, flowing gently up his arm and into his body. It felt like holding a solid shaft of sunlight.
Within his mind palace, all analytical models fell silent.
In their place came clarity. For the first time, he could hear the resonance—his magic and the wand's were vibrating in perfect harmony, like twin tuning forks aligned to the same frequency.
He gave it a light flick.
No explosion.
No frost.
From the wand tip blossomed a flower.
A bloom of pure silver light, intricately woven from threads of magical energy. Each petal shimmered with delicate strands, while at its heart a soft glow pulsed gently.
It opened silently in midair, lingering for several seconds before dissolving into a thousand motes of light.
The shop fell utterly still.
Robert and Carla held their breath. Lilia's mouth hung open in astonishment.
"Oh…" Ollivander released a long sigh, his silver eyes blazing with brilliance. He clapped his hands together, breaking the silence.
"Splendid! Yes—yes! That is the one! A magnificent pairing!"
"Ash wands are loyal to their true masters, never bending to another's will. Unicorn hair symbolizes purity and wisdom. Child, this wand… it can listen to all things. It is especially suited to those of pure heart and keen intellect."
"Listen… to all things…" Alan murmured, holding the wand thoughtfully.
His mind palace provided a more rational interpretation: this wand possessed an extraordinary sensitivity to magical fluctuations, material structures, and energy signals. It functioned as a supreme receiver and amplifier, feeding these subtle streams of information back to its wielder.
It would greatly enhance his perception and analytical ability.
The so-called "listening" stemmed, at its core, from the wielder's own intelligence and capacity to interpret.
Turning back to his astonished family, Alan gave a confident smile.
After paying seven Galleons, he walked out of Ollivanders with this one-of-a-kind wand in hand.
With that, he had completed the most crucial step of his preparations—truly setting foot on the path to becoming a wizard.