Under Professor McGonagall's guidance, Lewis arrived in front of a shop.
The entrance was old and narrow. In the display window sat a faded purple cushion, upon which rested a single wand.
Above the door hung a peeling golden sign:
Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C.
Lewis seriously doubted that claim.
If the sign was true, then when this shop started making wands, the china had still been in the Spring and Autumn period, Rome wasn't even an empire yet, and Britain was Celtic land where Druidism prevailed. The Anglo-Saxons and Normans hadn't even appeared.
The two pushed the door open. A bell rang crisply.
The shop was small. Aside from a counter and a bench, every inch of space was filled with towering shelves stacked with thousands of long, narrow wand boxes reaching all the way to the ceiling.
Although it was the school season, it was still early, and there were no other customers. The silence was almost suffocating.
Lewis unconsciously softened his breathing.
Despite the existence of cleaning spells, the shop was covered in dust—something he found hard to accept.
"Good morning, Madam McGonagall. This must be this year's young wizard, yes?" a gentle voice sounded.
An old man suddenly slid out from behind a counter, appearing before Lewis. His large, pale eyes examined the boy with great interest.
"Excellent. You're the first customers of the day. I am Garrick Ollivander."
So this is Britain's wand-making master.
As if noticing Lewis's curiosity, Ollivander explained, "Most young wizards tend to visit other shops first and come here last. Quite strange, really. A wand is a wizard's most important companion."
As a newcomer, Lewis simply shrugged and offered no comment.
"Well then, let's begin. Hold out your hand, child."
At Ollivander's words, a tape measure flew up from the counter and began measuring Lewis automatically.
"Which is your dominant hand?"
"My right."
Lewis extended his right hand, then suddenly asked, "Forgive me, Mr. Ollivander, but does your surname mean that your ancestors used olive wood wands?"
"Ollivander"—it practically looked like a combination of olive and wand.
"Oh, yes, quite right! What a clever young wizard. Perhaps you'll be sorted into Ravenclaw," Ollivander praised while continuing the measurements. "Now raise your other arm. Good."
Fortunately, the tape measure was magical—saving Lewis from being physically handled by the elderly man.
It measured everything: shoulder to fingertip, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and finally head circumference.
Lewis knew that at eleven, he was in a rapid growth phase. He could grow several centimeters a year, and clothes that fit now might be too small in a few months.
He had no idea how these measurements helped choose a wand, but he cooperated anyway.
"Try this one!"
With a flick of his hand, a box flew over.
"Eleven and a quarter inches, alder wood, dragon heartstring. Alder suits helpful, considerate, and likable wizards. Give it a wave."
Lewis took it and gave it a flick.
A burst of sparks flared, and the box began smoking.
"So in his eyes, I'm a likable wizard?" Lewis thought.
Ollivander nodded in satisfaction. "Good fortune. This will do. Nine Galleons—"
"Wait, that's it? Can I try a few more, Mr. Ollivander? It doesn't feel quite right," Lewis interrupted, stunned that the first wand had already been deemed suitable.
In his mind, protagonists were supposed to struggle with wand selection.
"You want to take longer? That's unusual. Most young wizards want to find their wand as quickly as possible… but very well."
Perhaps due to Lewis's earlier remark—or perhaps influenced by Charm Person—Ollivander agreed.
"If you insist, try this. Twelve inches, apple wood, phoenix feather. Powerful, but unsuitable for dark magic…"
But the moment Lewis touched it, before he could even wave it, Ollivander snatched it back.
"No, no—not this one."
He gave Lewis a strange look.
Lewis frowned inwardly. Is he implying I might become a dark wizard?
"What about this? Cedar wood, phoenix feather…"
Ollivander's wands all used one of three cores: phoenix feather, unicorn hair, or dragon heartstring.
Other wandmakers used different materials—like Veela hair, or in America, Thunderbird tail feathers and other exotic cores.
One wand after another, Lewis tested them.
These wands were all capable of casting powerful spells—even dark magic.
Yet no matter which one he picked up, Lewis could use it effortlessly. Each one responded perfectly.
But in Ollivander's eyes, that was the problem.
If every wand fit perfectly, then none of them was the perfect fit.
At first excited, Ollivander was now sweating.
"Mr. Green… this is the first time I've encountered a wizard like you—one who accepts everything. The good news is, in the future, you'll be able to use other people's wands with ease."
After some thought, he disappeared into the back room and returned with a box wrapped in smooth silk.
Lewis, on the other hand, was quite pleased with himself.
This wasn't a flaw—it was aptitude.
Like rivers flowing into the sea, embracing all.
There was a saying: when someone gets along with you effortlessly, understands you instantly, it's usually because their emotional and intellectual capacity surpasses yours.
The same applied here—being compatible with every wand meant his aptitude transcended their limitations.
"Try this one," Ollivander said solemnly. "Eleven inches. Acacia wood. Phoenix feather core."
The wand shimmered with a faint golden-red glow.
The moment Lewis saw it, he felt something different.
Even before touching it, a faint attraction radiated from the wand.
When he finally grasped it, there was no dramatic reaction.
Instead, everything felt… natural.
A subtle, profound connection formed.
The wand felt like an extension of his body. With a single thought, his magic flowed through it with perfect precision.
"Ah! Now that is a match!" Ollivander beamed.
"Acacia is a peculiar wand wood. It rarely finds a suitable wizard, which is why I keep very few in stock."
"But when it does… it reveals its full potential only to the most gifted. And you, Mr. Green, are undoubtedly one of them."
Lewis paid ten Galleons for the wand.
Then the two stepped out of the shop.
McGonagall seemed quite satisfied. "Good. Next, we'll have your school robes tailored."