Ollivander tapped the counter, and a set of measuring tools shot out from the corner, bouncing their way over to Leonard before starting to take a series of strange measurements.
Arm length and height were fine, but the distance between his eyes and even the width of his nostrils? Leonard swore he saw a tiny ruler slide into his nose to check.
What, was Ollivander afraid he might shove a wand up there?
Thankfully, the awkward ordeal ended quickly. Ollivander examined the results, tapped his own forehead with his wand, then rose and went to a shelf, rummaging around.
Soon he returned with a blue box.
"Cherry wood, unicorn tail hair, nine and a quarter inches. A sensitive little fellow," Ollivander said, pulling it out and handing it to Leonard.
The moment Leonard took hold of it, a surge of uncontrollable force pulled at his arm, forcing him to swing.
Boom! A shelf blew apart, and wands scattered across the floor. The wand boxes on the shelves even gave a little jump.
"No, not good. Too excitable," Ollivander muttered, shaking his head as he retrieved the wand.
Leonard frowned. He had clearly felt the wand's emotion and thought that meant it suited him—but it reacted like that?
"Try the next one." Ollivander brought over another. "Apple wood, phoenix feather, ten inches. A gentle wand."
As soon as Leonard grasped it, he again felt a rush of emotion. Gentle? Hardly. It felt more like an overly friendly golden retriever.
He gave it a tentative wave, and flames burst from the tip, nearly setting Ollivander's beard alight.
A wand case on a nearby shelf sprang open, and a spiral-patterned wand leapt out.
Ollivander eyed it suspiciously, picked it up, and set it back.
"No good… let's try this—hawthorn."
Another shelf toppled, sending wands spilling everywhere. Ollivander had to cast a spell to force them back into their boxes.
"Then this one. Classic holly."
The vase by the door exploded into shards.
Londo's face twisted, though whether he was tallying up the damages or thinking something else, Leonard couldn't tell.
"Poplar won't do either." Ollivander stowed away another wand, then shook his head with a sigh. "This is troublesome. I may not have a wand here that suits you."
Leonard's eye twitched. Looking around at the shop that was quickly turning into a disaster zone, he didn't even know what to say.
"Mr. Ollivander… what does this mean? Is my grandson untalented?" Londo asked nervously.
"No, no," Ollivander said, his expression brightening. "It isn't a lack of talent—it's an abundance of it. The reason these wands don't suit him is because they grow too excited in his hands. It means any wand he holds could shine with brilliance."
He glanced around at the shelves. "I should have realized sooner. These wands are all eager."
Any wand? So he was a prize catch after all.
Leonard thought it over. It was very likely connected to his Friend of Plants talent.
Literally, it meant gaining the friendship of any plant—even the Whomping Willow, though hopefully that one wouldn't smack him.
In a sense, wands carried the will of the wood they were made from. In the hands of a wandmaker like Ollivander, that plant's essence was bound with the core, forming the wand's consciousness.
Even after processing, the wand retained the feelings of the tree it came from. No wonder they were all so drawn to Leonard.
"This is incredible! I suspect even the most loyal ash wand would abandon its master to choose your grandson," Ollivander said with excitement.
Londo didn't understand why Ollivander was so worked up. He only caught the part about Leonard being able to use any wand.
"Then why not just pick one at random?"
He was getting impatient, like an anxious father afraid his daughter might never marry—worried that the slightest accident would turn Leonard into some pitiful outcast, shut out from the wizarding world.
"No, absolutely not. Those wands are possible, not suitable. Every student who buys a wand here must find the one that truly matches them," Ollivander said proudly.
"But didn't you just say there wasn't a suitable wand for me?" Leonard asked quietly.
"I was referring to the ones on the shelves. They're the more common varieties. That's perfectly normal—someone like you is very rare."
Ollivander tucked his own wand behind his ear, turned, and retrieved a box from behind the counter. Written across it were the words Unfinished.
"In fact, I've worked on a few wands using special materials. They were never completed, though."
He opened the box, revealing a straight wand with knuckle-like ridges along its length.
The instant Leonard laid eyes on it, a wave of confusion struck him. That shape—he recognized it. It was identical to the wand he'd once seen in the films of his previous life, clutched in the hand of Hogwarts' headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.
The Elder Wand. The legendary, most powerful wand of all.
But wasn't that supposed to still be in Dumbledore's possession? What was Ollivander doing with one here?