The goblin employee saw Lucien and Professor McGonagall out with a level of respect bordering on reverence. His attitude toward Lucien had become overwhelmingly enthusiastic, almost fawning. It was unavoidable; the sheer amount of gold Lucien had exchanged for Galleons had single-handedly fulfilled the goblin's entire annual quota. The creature's smile was so wide it crinkled his entire face. This was just the first transaction, and he was certain larger ones would follow.
Lucien waved his hand and took the small money bag the goblin offered, which contained 300 Galleons. The vast remainder of his new fortune had been deposited into a secure Gringotts vault. As Professor McGonagall led Lucien toward Ollivanders, she found herself marveling at the young wizard. She had never seen a student exchange so many Galleons at once.
"You seemed quite knowledgeable about finance when you were discussing the exchange with the goblin just now," she remarked.
Lucien nodded. "I have some experience, Professor. Knowledge knows no bounds; I believe the more one possesses, the better."
"A very wise sentiment, Lucien. You have a maturity that is well beyond your years." Professor McGonagall, known for her strictness at school, had a particular fondness for students who took knowledge seriously and demonstrated a true love of learning.
Soon, a dilapidated shop appeared before them. Lucien looked up at the peeling, golden letters of the sign, which was covered in dust and the marks of time: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. What an antique, he thought, over two thousand years old.
Entering the shop, he felt a fine layer of dust settle on his shoulders. From the outside, the shop had seemed ancient; from the inside, it was even more so. The sheer number of narrow boxes stacked to the ceiling was dizzying. Well, Lucien mused, it seems Ollivander's wands must be of genuinely high quality. Otherwise, this place would have gone out of business long ago. It couldn't possibly be the only wandmaker in all of Britain, could it? He comforted himself with that thought.
"Ah, Minerva, we meet again," a soft voice said. An old man with wispy white hair and pale, silvery eyes emerged from behind the counter. "Fir, nine and a half inches, with a dragon heartstring core." He smiled at Professor McGonagall, accurately recalling the details of her wand. Garrick Ollivander's memory for the wands he sold was astonishing; he remembered every single one.
Lucien looked at the old man, whose hair seemed to defy gravity, and noticed that he was also being observed. Ollivander was accustomed to this scene; every year, Hogwarts professors would bring newly admitted students to his shop to be chosen by a wand.
"A young wizard in need of a wand. What is your name?"
"Lucien Grafton."
"And your wand arm?"
"My right."
Ollivander pulled a tape measure from his pocket. It sprang to life, flying over to Lucien and beginning to take his measurements on its own. Once it flew back, Ollivander glanced at the readings and walked directly to a row of cabinets, pulling out a long, thin box and dusting off the accumulated grime.
"Chestnut and unicorn tail hair. Twelve inches," Ollivander announced, handing it to Lucien.
Lucien took the wand and immediately felt his own magic stir, becoming more active. He naturally guided a current of that magic into the wand and released it. A soft, warm white light emanated from the tip, casting a comfortable glow over the three of them. However, Lucien felt that the release of magic was still somewhat constricted, not as smooth as it should be, as if the wand couldn't quite handle the full flow of his power. He glanced at his mental panel; the Magic Power talent was still 'locked.'
Without Lucien having to say a word, Ollivander had already seen the issue. He took the wand back, muttering, "Not to worry. The wand chooses the wizard. I am certain I have the perfect match for you here! A more powerful magic than his peers, let me see..."
He pulled out another wand. "Ebony and dragon heartstring. Fourteen inches. Resilient and powerful. Try this."
Lucien took it and released his magic again. A roaring plume of deep green flame erupted from the tip, shooting straight for the ceiling. Lucien, however, was prepared. He immediately restrained the flow of magic within him. The serpent of green fire instantly contracted, changed direction, and spiraled harmlessly away into the air.
Ollivander wasn't angry that his shop had nearly been set ablaze. Instead, he marveled, "Excellent control! Perhaps this wand is too impetuous, not suitable for a calm young wizard like you."
The cycle began: Ollivander would find a wand, Lucien would test it, and finding it unsuitable, they would try another.
"Dogwood... ah, too lively."
"Spruce... no, too rigid."
"Thunderbird tail feather... a bit too volatile."
Ollivander went back and forth dozens of times but could not find a suitable wand for Lucien. Yet, he remained patient, even seeming to enjoy the challenge. Wizards who were difficult to match often possessed distinct and powerful characteristics. Such wizards frequently went on to shine brightly in one or even several fields, and Ollivander relished the process of finding their perfect wands. Handing the most suitable wand to each young wizard, helping them take their first step into the world of magic, was something that gave him a profound sense of accomplishment.
Professor McGonagall waited patiently nearby, her curiosity piqued. She too was eager to see what kind of wand could possibly match Lucien's extraordinary talent.
Just as Ollivander was rummaging through yet another cabinet, a disturbance occurred in the deepest, dustiest corner of the shop. A large cloud of dust billowed from an old cabinet as a yellowed, ancient box was flung open. A dark shadow shot out from it, streaking directly toward Lucien.
The quick-reacting Professor McGonagall raised her wand, ready to cast a blocking spell, but she held back. The object had already stopped, floating steadily in the air before Lucien's chest.
It was a wand of pure, shimmering silver-black. Though solid, it gave off an illusion of constant, fluid motion, as if it were perpetually changing.
Startled, Ollivander nearly fell off the ladder he was perched on. Disregarding the dust covering him, he hurried over, his eyes fixed on the wand hovering before Lucien. He examined it carefully for more than ten seconds, his expression shifting from surprise to bewilderment. Ollivander, with his legendary memory, looked uncertain as he mumbled, "Wicked Branch, twelve and a half inches, with a Sphinx's spinal feather core."
Lucien was also observing this wand that had come to him of its own accord. Semi-illusory symbols would occasionally flare to life on its surface, some coalescing into complex sigils before quickly retracting into the wood. Being closest to the wand, Lucien could hear a faint, intermittent sound... was it snickering? It conveyed a sense of mockery and superiority.
A Sphinx, he recalled, was a creature from Egyptian mythology, a lion-bodied beast that delighted in posing riddles. Did such creatures exist in this world? But what was a 'Wicked Branch'?
"Mr. Ollivander, what is a Wicked Branch?"
The words Ollivander spoke next filled Lucien with a sense of both familiarity and profound astonishment.
"It is wood from the Loki fir.