Bang!
Harry Potter's wand selection took a long time. By the time he finally found one that suited him, the wands he'd tried had piled up on the bench into a small mountain—and at one point, one of them had even gone out of control and shattered a pale-colored vase.
Maka watched as golden sparks sprayed from the tip of the wand now in Harry's hand, bright as fireworks, scattering dancing flecks of light across the walls.
Hagrid clapped and cheered. Mr. Ollivander cried out, "Oh, excellent! Oh, truly—splendid! Dear me, dear me… marvelous. Absolutely marvelous…"
He slid Harry's wand into a box and wrapped it in brown oiled paper, still muttering marvelous under his breath.
"Sorry," Harry asked, "what exactly is marvelous?"
Mr. Ollivander stared at him with those pale, colorless eyes.
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single one. In fact—yes—two wands were made from two tail feathers of the same phoenix. One feather went into your wand… and the other went into its brother."
Ollivander paused, then continued, "You were destined to have this wand—and its brother… yes, its brother is precisely the wand that gave you that scar."
Harry sucked in a breath.
"Yes. Thirteen and a half inches. Yew." Mr. Ollivander's voice trembled with fascination. "How extraordinary… truly extraordinary. Remember—the wand chooses the wizard! I believe you will do great things, Mr. Potter… and after all, the one I cannot name did great things too—terrible, yes, but great all the same."
A chill crawled up Harry's spine. He wasn't sure he liked Mr. Ollivander anymore, but he still paid seven Galleons and bought the wand that seemed bound to him by fate.
"Yes—good," Mr. Ollivander nodded. Then his sharp gaze swung toward Maka. "Mr. McLean—now it's your turn. Step forward and let me have a look."
"I'm right-handed," Maka said at once, having already seen the routine.
The tape measure unspooled by itself and floated to Maka, measuring from shoulder to fingertip, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and finally the circumference of his head.
Even after watching it once, Maka still couldn't figure out what half these measurements were supposed to be for.
While the tape measure worked, Mr. Ollivander kept muttering, "Yes, yes—just as I said. Every Ollivander wand is unique. If you use another wizard's wand, the effect will inevitably be diminished. Always remember—the wand chooses the wizard."
By the time the tape measure floated right in front of Maka and began measuring the distance between his nostrils, he felt he hadn't experienced anything this ridiculous in a very long time.
"Alright," Mr. Ollivander began—
The tape measure dropped to the floor and rolled itself into a neat little coil.
"Now then, Mr. McLean. Try this one. Maple, with dragon ear nerve. Ten inches. Sensitive, delicate—yet still powerful. Give it a wave."
Maka took it and flicked it casually. A soft red glow bloomed at the tip.
"Oh! Not bad—how surprisingly smooth…" Mr. Ollivander's words cut off mid-thought. "Wait. Try this instead. Boxwood, unicorn hair. Nine and three-quarter inches. Sensitive as well, but… firmer. More resolute."
Maka blinked, set the wand down, and accepted the next.
This time, whether his grip was different or something else had changed, a faint golden light shimmered at the tip—and with it came a subtle, almost sacred feeling that spread through the air.
"What—what is this?" Mr. Ollivander stared as if he'd seen something impossible, the sharpness of his eyes turning into open bewilderment. "Perhaps… try this one?"
He drew a box from the rack behind him.
"Rosewood. Dragon heartstring. Fourteen and a quarter inches. Hard, strong, full of power."
This choice was the complete opposite of the last two, which only made Maka more confused.
He took the reddish-purple wand and waved.
A blazing red beam shot from the tip, slammed into the shelves behind Mr. Ollivander, and sent them crashing to the floor with a violent roar.
All three of them—Maka, Harry, and Hagrid—jumped in shock. Mr. Ollivander, however, after that first jolt, fell into thought once again.
The boys exchanged looks, completely lost. Seeing Mr. Ollivander's silence, they wisely stayed where they were and tried not to interrupt.
In the wizarding world, wandlore was an extraordinarily complex field of study, and true wandmakers were vanishingly rare. At this moment, aside from Mr. Ollivander himself, one would be hard-pressed to find anyone along all of Diagon Alley who understood wand theory in depth.
"I don't understand," Mr. Ollivander suddenly said, lifting his head. "I truly don't understand. Those wands on the bench—every single one Harry tried. Pick them up and wave them. Quickly!"
Maka looked toward the pile of wands Harry had tested, then glanced at the toppled shelves behind Mr. Ollivander.
"But sir—the shelves…"
"It's fine, it's fine. Don't worry about that. Wave them."
Since the wandmaker clearly didn't care about the consequences, Maka had no reason to feel guilty. He began picking up the wands and flicking them one by one.
For a while, the shop became complete chaos—bursts of light, drifting smoke, wand boxes, and even shelving jolting and skidding as the wands in Maka's hand sent magic crashing around the room. The entire Ollivanders shop was turned upside down.
"Alright—enough," Mr. Ollivander hurriedly called, forcing Maka to stop. He stared at Maka's hand, bewilderment written plainly across his face. "It makes no sense. Every wand—perfectly compatible? How could that be?"
If even Ollivander couldn't make sense of it, Maka certainly had no hope.
In the end, under Mr. Ollivander's reluctant stare, Maka chose the wand that had caused the biggest commotion—and left the shop with Hagrid and Harry, abandoning behind them a wand shop that now looked dangerously close to a rubbish heap.
Once outside, the three of them went through their lists together and bought each item one by one. Near the end of the street, Maka finally noticed Patchett's Cauldron Shop again—and remembered something important.
"Oh no! I was supposed to meet Mrs. Weasley at the cauldron shop. This is bad."
"Mrs. Weasley?" Hagrid peered into the shop. "No need to panic. I can see her—you haven't missed her."
Maka looked at Hagrid and silently repeated, Good heavens, you're tall, one more time. Then he said goodbye and shoved his way toward the cauldron shop.
It was close to noon now, and Diagon Alley was even more crowded than it had been in the morning—so packed it was hard to breathe.
"Mrs. Weasley—hello…"
Maka finally squeezed his way over to Mrs. Weasley and Ron, but he barely got the words out before she cut him off.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry! I thought you'd already gone back." Mrs. Weasley didn't seem angry at all—in fact, she apologized first. "Ron's rat crawled into a hole in the garden, and the gnomes chased him all over the place… that's why we were late…"
Ron pulled a miserable face and added, "And then Mum told me off again, said I wasn't watching Scabbers properly, but you know—"
"Enough!" Mrs. Weasley snapped, indignant. "That is very clearly your fault. Don't make excuses!"
Seeing she was about to launch into another lecture, Maka quickly changed the subject.
"Oh—Mrs. Weasley, I think it's fine. Actually, when I went to Gringotts to get money earlier, I ran into Hagrid—oh, and Harry Potter."
The moment she heard that name, Mrs. Weasley lit up—exactly as Maka had expected.
After they bought the cauldron, Maka's shopping trip finally came to an end. To be honest, he felt exhausted, but he still had to carry an enormous pile of things forward—though Ron had already taken quite a lot for him.
"Maka, give me some of that. I'll carry a few things too," Mrs. Weasley offered.
"No—absolutely not," Maka insisted. "How could I let a lady carry things?"
The words delighted Mrs. Weasley. She snatched the owl cage from Maka's hands, smiling broadly.
"Oh my—little Maka, you really know how to talk. I'd bet anything you'll have a whole crowd of girls swooning over you someday."
Real unmarried girls are a lot harder to please than you, Maka grumbled inwardly.
It was mid-July, and England's weather was as mild as ever. Still, the constant shifting between sun and gloom left people feeling strangely drained.
Truthfully, Maka didn't want to live at the Weasleys'. In the end, though, he stayed at the Burrow for a few days.
Then, the next month, he finally left and rented a room upstairs in the Leaky Cauldron, living there until Hogwarts began.
During that time, Maka poured himself into previewing his textbooks. He discovered he was genuinely interested in this kind of knowledge—though even at the end, he still felt the contents of Magic Theory were… somehow not quite convincing.
"…So where did this formula even come from?" Maka muttered, irritated, staring at a magical equation in the book.
As he read and memorized, he noticed a frustrating pattern: many of the textbook's key theories shared one glaring feature—the author never explained where the formulas came from at all.
It was a heartbreaking discovery.
"Knowing that it works without knowing why it works…" he groaned, exhausted. "Is magical theory really nothing more than generations of wizarding experience piled on top of each other?"
But in that final month and more, besides dry magical knowledge, there was also a small episode—an aside, really.
In my view, though, it doesn't belong here yet.
Because today is the last day of August—and tomorrow is September 1st.
Hogwarts is about to begin.