I was speechless, truly speechless. Ryan realized how naive he was. After all, no wizard's name was written on their face; even if he encountered characters from the original story, he wouldn't instantly recognize them.
It was disappointing that he wasn't old enough to buy a wand yet. But the thought struck him: Had he suffered brain damage after his reincarnation? Couldn't he have bought one beforehand?
"Dad, can I buy a magic wand?"
"You can. But I'd advise you to get it when you start Hogwarts at age 11," Jack replied.
"Of course, Jack never refuses. Hehe, my magic wand, here I come."
Ryan and Jack walked down to the far end of Diagon Alley to Ollivander's wand shop.
The shop was small, quiet, and dilapidated, its peeling gold letters on the door reading: Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 BC. A single, dusty wand rested on a faded purple cushion in the window.
As they entered, a faint, rhythmic clanging echoed from the back of the room. The shop contained little save for a long bench. While Jack sat down to wait, Ryan took in the thousands of narrow, stacked boxes stretching almost to the ceiling, feeling an unexpected shiver run down his spine. The pervasive dust and absolute silence seemed humming with hidden magic.
As the books noted, the atmosphere was eerily still. Yet despite his high magical power of 16 and Level 2 Thinking, Ryan—feeling anxious enough to nearly wet himself—couldn't actively perceive the dense magical fluctuations Harry Potter had supposedly sensed.
Indeed, as Ryan suspected, wizards possessed distinct areas of expertise beyond their baseline magical nature. For instance, Nymphadora Tonks' Metamorphmagus ability allowed her to freely alter her physical appearance at will. Similarly, Harry Potter was remarkably gifted in combat perception; despite his poor eyesight, his situational awareness was exceptionally sharp, allowing him to produce a fully corporeal Patronus by his third year—a feat beyond many adult wizards.
"Good day," a soft, breathy voice whispered, startling Ryan.
An old man emerged from the shadows, his pale, wide eyes gleaming like twin moons in the dim shop.
"Hello," Ryan replied politely, his young face tensing. The old man was undeniably theatrical; he must have been standing quietly out of sight for a while. Both Harry and Hagrid had been similarly startled in the original tale.
"Ah, yes," said the old man. "Yes, yes, I knew I'd see you soon, Ryan Smith. No mistake. Your eyes are just like your father's. It feels as if he was just here yesterday to buy his first wand—fifteen centimeters, ash wood, stubborn, unfaithful... well, actually, we were discussing business just last week."
Mr. Ollivander approached, examining Ryan closely.
"Your mother was different. She preferred acacia. Thirty-eight centimeters, flexible, quite unique. It's a wood that rarely finds its match, yielding its true power only to the most skilled. But of course, as I always say—the wand chooses the wizard."
He nodded, immediately recognizing "George Smith" under Jack's disguise, which allowed Ryan to breathe a sigh of relief. The old man was exceptionally talkative and possessed an astonishing memory. I wonder, Ryan thought, if every wizarding child gets a detailed genealogical breakdown of their parents' wands upon arrival?
"George! George Smith! I am so glad to see you again... An ash wand, six inches, wasn't it?"
"You're spot on, Ollivander. Why do you always bring up my wand whenever we meet?" Jack replied smoothly.
"We were discussing the price of acacia wood just last week, you know. I require a considerable supply, and I consider you an old customer. The Smith family has maintained ties with my family since 382 BC. What are your thoughts on a fair price?" Ollivander asked, adopting a suddenly shrewd tone.
"As far as I'm aware, you don't require that much acacia. Owners of acacia wands are typically cautious wizards, and such exceptional qualities are rare. Not every wizard is as prudent as my wife," Jack answered, adopting a persona so convincing Ryan briefly wondered if his real father was still alive.
"Very well, very well, let's set that aside for now. Mr. Ryan, let's see." Ollivander pulled a long silver-marked measuring tape from his pocket. "Which arm do you use for casting?"
"My right arm," Ryan said.
"Raise your arm. Good."
The tape began measuring autonomously: from shoulder to fingertip, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and finally around his head. While measuring, Ollivander recited his familiar pitch:
"Every Ollivander wand contains a powerful magical substance—unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, or phoenix feather. No two are alike, because no two magical creatures are identical. And a wand meant for another wizard will never yield the same results."
First-class customer service, Ryan thought wryly. He hasn't changed a single word from the script.
Ollivander began sliding tall boxes from the shelves, while the self-operating tape dropped into a crumpled heap on the floor.
"Try this one. Hawthorn and dragon heartstring, seven inches, nice and flexible. Give it a wave."
Ryan picked it up, but the moment he raised it, Ollivander snatched it back. "Alder and phoenix feather, eight inches, unbendable... No, no. Apple wood and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, very flexible. Come on, try that."
Ryan cycled through wand after wand, a secret thrill washing over him. Trying out so many varieties genuinely made him feel like the protagonist of an adventure.
The pile of rejected boxes grew higher on the counter. Ollivander looked thoroughly pleased by the discerning customer.
"A picky buyer, eh? Well, the right match is always here waiting. Let me think... Ah, of course. holly wood and phoenix feather, eleven inches, supple and pliable."
Ryan reached for it—it was Harry Potter's legendary wand. But Ollivander whipped it away just as quickly.
"No, no. Try this instead—trembling aspen with a rare unicorn heartstring core. A truly uncommon material."
Ryan picked it up. A pleasant warmth bloomed instantly at his fingertips. Raising it above his head, he gave it a sharp flick downward, slicing through the dusty air. A brilliant burst of white light and crackling golden sparks erupted from the tip.
Jack clapped lightly, while Ollivander gasped, "Oh, magnificent! Truly exceptional. Oh my, oh my... How wonderful!"
Ryan carefully slid the wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, listening to the old man mutter praise under his breath.
"Excuse me," Ryan asked, "what makes this one so special?"
Ollivander stared at him with pale, colorless eyes.
"Poplar is a fine-grained, pale wood. Its ivory-like elegance and natural aptitude for precision make it prized by master wandmakers. Those suited to poplar are usually destined to be duelists, as the wood excels in combat magic. But that isn't the true marvel."
"The core is what makes it extraordinary. Unicorn hair is normally gathered from naturally shed strands; harvesting from other parts carries a curse unless offered voluntarily. Combining it with poplar creates a remarkably potent synthesis."
"That will be twenty Galleons," Ollivander announced.
Ryan blinked in surprise. "Is it really that expensive?"
"Every first-year student receives a Ministry subsidy for their standard wand purchase," Ollivander explained. "If purchased outside the standard school allotment, it runs nine Galleons with the standard discount."
Even with a discount, this wand costs two Galleons more than Harry Potter's, Ryan thought with a silent grin.
At a nod from Ryan, Jack paid the total, adding an extra three Galleons for a durable leather wand holster and a maintenance kit.