CRASH!
Harry Potter's wand selection process was a lengthy one. It wasn't until a small mountain of wands had piled up on the long chair that he finally found a suitable one. In the process, Harry had even lost control of a wand and shattered a pale vase.
Marcel watched as the tip of the wand now in Harry's hand shot out golden sparks, as bright as fireworks, casting dancing spots of light on the walls.
Hagrid clapped and cheered, and Mr. Ollivander cried out, "Oh, splendid! Oh, truly, excellent. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious..."
He put Harry's wand back in its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious..."
"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"
Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather, just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother... well, its brother gave you that scar."
Harry swallowed.
"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things. Terrible, yes, but great."
Harry shivered. He wasn't sure he liked Mr. Ollivander too much. He paid seven Galleons for the wand, which seemed to have a deep connection to him.
"Yes, alright then," Mr. Ollivander nodded, turning his sharp gaze to Marcel. "Mr. Maclean, it's your turn now. Please step forward and let me have a look."
"My wand arm is my right," Marcel said. Having already seen the process, he immediately cooperated with Ollivander's measurements.
The tape measure automatically unrolled and floated over to Marcel, measuring him from shoulder to fingertip, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and finally, around his head.
Even having seen it once, Marcel still couldn't figure out what purpose these measurements served.
As the tape measure did its work, Mr. Ollivander continued to ramble. "Yes, yes, as I was saying, every Ollivander wand is unique. Using another wizard's wand will never give you the same results! Always remember, the wand chooses the wizard."
Finally, as the tape measure floated in front of Marcel to measure the distance between his nostrils, he felt he hadn't experienced such a silly scene in a long time.
"Alright," Mr. Ollivander said, and the tape measure dropped to the floor, rolling into a coil. "Well now, Mr. Maclean, try this one. Maple and dragon ear nerve. Ten inches. Sensitive, slender, yet powerful. Give it a wave."
Marcel took it and gave it a casual wave. A soft red light glowed at the tip.
"Oh! Not bad, I didn't expect it to be so smooth..." Ollivander trailed off. "Wait, try this one. Boxwood and unicorn hair. Nine and three-quarter inches. Equally sensitive, but more resolute."
Marcel paused, put down the wand in his hand, and took the other one.
Whether it was because he waved it differently or for some other reason, this time a small golden glow appeared at the tip, and a hint of a sacred aura spread out.
"Wha- what's going on?" Ollivander looked as if he had seen something unbelievable, his sharp eyes filled with confusion. "How about... you try this one?"
He pulled another box from the shelf behind him. "Rosewood, dragon heartstring, fourteen and a quarter inches long. Unyielding, powerful, and full of might."
His choice this time seemed to be the complete opposite of the previous two, which left Marcel even more bewildered.
Marcel took the slightly purplish-red wand and waved it again. A fiery red beam of light shot out from the tip, violently knocking over the entire shelf behind Ollivander with a tremendous crash.
All four people in the shop jumped in fright, but after the initial shock, Ollivander once again fell deep into thought.
Marcel, Hagrid, and Harry looked at each other, none of them knowing what had just happened. Seeing Mr. Ollivander's silence, they all wisely stayed put, trying their best not to disturb his thoughts.
In the wizarding world, wandlore had always been an extremely complex field of study, and those who could craft wands were few and far between. At this moment, besides Mr. Ollivander, you probably couldn't find a second person in all of Diagon Alley with a deep understanding of wandlore.
"I don't understand, I really don't understand," Ollivander suddenly looked up and shouted at Marcel. "That pile of wands on the chair, pick each one up and give it a wave. Quickly!"
Marcel glanced at the wands Harry had tried and left there, then looked back at the shelves behind Ollivander.
"But, sir, that shelf..."
"It doesn't matter, it's fine. Don't worry about that. Just wave them."
Seeing that the man himself didn't care about the consequences, Marcel no longer felt any burden. He immediately picked up the wands one by one and began to wave them. In an instant, lights, smoke, wand boxes, and even shelves flew wildly around the shop as Marcel waved, turning the entire Ollivanders shop into a complete mess.
"Alright, that's enough," Ollivander quickly called for Marcel to stop. He looked at the boy's hand, his expression a picture of pure confusion. "I don't understand. This makes no sense at all. A perfect match for every wand? How is that possible?"
If even Ollivander couldn't figure it out, Marcel was naturally clueless. In the end, under Mr. Ollivander's extremely reluctant gaze, Marcel chose the wand that had caused the biggest commotion and left the shop, which now resembled a junkyard, with Hagrid and Harry.
After leaving Ollivanders, the three of them went through the list and bought everything they needed. When they reached the end of the alley, Marcel looked at Potage's Cauldron Shop and remembered something.
"Oh, no! I was supposed to meet Mrs. Weasley at the cauldron shop. This is terrible."
"Mrs. Weasley?" Hagrid looked into the shop. "Don't worry, I see her. You haven't missed them."
Marcel looked at Hagrid and mentally repeated, "Goodness, you're so tall," before bidding them farewell and squeezing his way toward the cauldron shop.
It was almost noon, and Diagon Alley was even more crowded than it had been in the morning, making it almost hard to breathe.
"Mrs. Weasley, hello..."
Marcel had just managed to squeeze his way to Mrs. Weasley and Ron when he was cut off.
"Oh, I'm so sorry! I thought you had already gone back!" Mrs. Weasley didn't seem angry at all, instead apologizing first. "Ron's rat got into a gnome hole in the garden and was chased all over the place. It made us a bit late..."
Ron took over with a miserable expression, "And then Mum told me off for not looking after Scabbers properly, but you know..."
"That's enough! It was clearly your fault, don't make excuses!" Mrs. Weasley shouted, exasperated.
Seeing that Mrs. Weasley was about to start another lecture, Marcel quickly changed the subject. "Oh, Mrs. Weasley, I don't think it's a problem. In fact, I ran into Hagrid when I was getting money from Gringotts. Oh, and Harry Potter."
Mrs. Weasley's spirits lifted immediately upon hearing the name. Of course, Marcel had expected this.
After buying the cauldron, Marcel's shopping trip was finally over. To be honest, he was exhausted, but he still had to carry a huge pile of things as he walked, even though Ron was already helping him with a lot of it.
"Marcel, give me some of that. I'll help you carry something," Mrs. Weasley said.
"No, absolutely not. How could I let a lady carry things!" Marcel insisted.
This sentence made Mrs. Weasley extremely happy. She snatched the owl cage from Marcel's hands, her face wreathed in smiles. "Oh, little Marcel, you're such a smooth talker. I bet you'll charm a whole flock of girls when you're older."
Actual unmarried young women are much harder to please than you are, Marcel grumbled internally.
It was mid-July, and the weather in England was as mild as ever, but the constantly shifting skies from clear to overcast were still draining.
To be honest, Marcel didn't want to stay at the Weasleys' home, but in the end, he stayed at The Burrow for a few days.
It wasn't until the following month that he finally left, renting a room above The Leaky Cauldron where he stayed until the start of the Hogwarts term.
During this time, Marcel devoted all his energy to studying his magic textbooks in advance. He found that he was quite interested in this fascinating knowledge, although he still felt that the contents of the book Magical Theory were somewhat vague and unconvincing.
"...So, where exactly does this formula come from?" Marcel stared at a magical formula in the book, feeling a bit annoyed.
During his reading and memorization, he discovered that many of the key magical theories in this book had a distinct characteristic: the author never explained the origin of their formulas. This was a truly heartbreaking discovery for Marcel.
"Knowing what it is but not why it is... Could it be that magical theory is just the accumulation of experience from every generation of wizards since ancient times?" he groaned, a weary look on his face.
However, besides the dry magical knowledge, a small incident also occurred during this last month or so. But today was the last day of August, and tomorrow was September 1st. Hogwarts was about to begin!