"It's alright, I was just a little disoriented from landing, but I'm much better now." As he spoke, Ethan had already recovered considerably. Looking at him now, it seemed the incident wasn't such a big deal after all.
Seeing that Ethan was indeed fine, Professor McGonagall explained, "Apparition is one of the ways wizards travel. It's taught as a sixth-year subject, but it requires self-funded study and an examination at the Department of Magical Transportation. It's a very dangerous form of magic."
She continued, "The Leaky Cauldron is only visible to wizards. It serves as the entrance to Diagon Alley. Remember this place—you'll need to come here alone next year for your school supplies."
As she spoke, Professor McGonagall led Ethan further into the pub.
Perhaps due to the early hour, or simply because it was morning, there were no other customers. Only a slightly hunched man was wiping down chairs with a rag.
Seeing someone enter, the man set down his rag, looked up, and greeted them casually, "Good morning, Professor McGonagall. Guiding new students again, I see!"
"Good morning, Tom," she replied warmly, leading Ethan further inside.
As they passed, Ethan couldn't help but feel puzzled. Why was this man cleaning by hand? If there was a Cleaning Charm, why bother wiping tables manually? He wasn't a Squib—he could use magic.
They continued through the pub until they reached the backyard. It was surrounded by high walls, with only some weeds and trash cans in the corners.
Stopping in front of the trash cans, Professor McGonagall turned to Ethan with a serious expression. "Mr. Adrien, please remember what I'm about to do. Count three bricks up, then two across."
She tapped a brick lightly with her wand three times.
Immediately, the bricks seemed to come alive, rearranging rhythmically until they formed an archway.
Beyond the archway lay the real magical world: cobblestone roads, winding streets, crooked houses, and bustling crowds of wizards in robes.
"We'll go exchange for Galleons first—that's the wizarding currency," Professor McGonagall said.
She had done this countless times over the years and knew the routine like the back of her hand. After exchanging for Galleons, they would buy a wand, then stop by the bookstore, clothing shop, cauldron store, and pet shop—all in one go. Then her duty would be done.
The reason for buying a wand first wasn't just convenience—it was tradition. Young wizards were always the most excited about getting their wand. Professor McGonagall couldn't even remember how many times she'd been begged to go there first.
Soon, under her guidance, Ethan found himself standing in front of the white marble building of Gringotts.
As they stepped through the bronze door, Ethan noticed a warning carved onto the second, silver one:Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.Still, Ethan couldn't help but think—weren't goblins themselves the greediest of all? Their archetype in mythology was always about hoarding treasure and stirring up trouble.
"Professor McGonagall, is there anything I can help you with?" A goblin in a suit approached them the moment they entered the grand hall.
As Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, McGonagall held considerable status in the wizarding world. The goblins took her seriously—and her wealth was no small matter to them either.
"Helping a new student exchange currency," she replied, pointing at Ethan.
"Please come this way."
They followed the goblin to a free counter on the right.
The exchange rate was five pounds for one Galleon, with a maximum of 100 Galleons.
According to Professor McGonagall, 100 Galleons was more than enough for a new student, provided they weren't looking to splurge. There also weren't many places to spend money at Hogwarts, anyway.
Outside Gringotts, Ethan examined the Galleons in his hand, then looked at Professor McGonagall with curiosity.
"Professor, are these Galleons actually made of gold?"
"I wouldn't know," she replied. "The goblins mint all wizarding currency using magical processes. The coins are always shiny, resist Summoning Charms, and never wear down."
She sighed to herself. This child might end up in Ravenclaw—he's too curious.
Forget it. Let's just get this over with.
As they walked through Diagon Alley, Professor McGonagall led Ethan to a small, worn-down shop.
Compared to the grandeur of Gringotts, this place was its polar opposite.
"Don't worry," she said. "The Ollivander family's wand craftsmanship is the best. Almost every student at Hogwarts has bought a wand from them."
Thinking Ethan was nervous about the shop's appearance, she walked in first.
Inside, the cramped space was filled with narrow boxes stacked almost to the ceiling. It made the already small shop feel even more packed.
"Good morning!" A soft voice greeted them. Ollivander emerged from behind the stacks, his kind smile as recognizable as ever.
"Nine and three-quarter inches, fir, dragon heartstring, delicate and elegant—ideal for someone with strong willpower and talent in Transfiguration. Minerva, it feels like just yesterday you bought your wand."
Ollivander's habit resurfaced again. He remembered every wand he sold, always recalling the moment with the customer.
"Good morning, Garrick. That was decades ago," McGonagall replied, somewhat helplessly. She heard this story at least once a year.
"Young wizard, your name, please? Step forward."
After a brief exchange, Ollivander got down to business.
Helping young witches and wizards find the wand best suited for them was his passion.
"Ethan Adrien!" he answered, stepping forward.
"Right hand, sir!"
Ollivander nodded, and an enchanted ruler floated over to take precise measurements of Ethan's arm, shoulder, fingers, and even nostrils.
The measurements seemed strange—Ethan was only eleven, and he'd grow more—but Ollivander didn't say a word.
After reviewing the data, he disappeared into the shelves, then returned with a stack of wand boxes.
"Every wand is unique. It's not the wizard who chooses the wand, but the wand that chooses the wizard."
"Mr. Adrien, try this: apple wood, unicorn hair, nine inches. Suitable for wizards with lofty ideals. Give it a wave."
Ethan took the wand and waved it.
Immediately, a stack of wand boxes to his right collapsed with a loud crash, raising a cloud of dust.
"Cough, cough! Not the one," Ollivander said calmly.
"Reparo!"
He waved his wand, and the boxes flew back to their shelves.
"No matter. Try this one."
"Redwood, dragon heartstring, eleven and a half inches. A wand that brings good fortune and holds great power."
Ethan took it. He felt a heat in his palm and waved it.
A burst of crimson flame shot from the tip, nearly singeing Ollivander's white hair.
Touching his head, the old wandmaker said nothing, simply retrieved the wand.
"Cedar, phoenix feather, ten and three-quarter inches. For wizards with sharp insight."
This time, Ollivander backed up two steps before handing it over.
Bang!
A centuries-old vase shattered behind them.
Another Reparo.
And then another wand.
"Boom!"
"Try this."
"Crack!"
"Not this one."
Ethan tried dozens of wands over the next hour.
Some caused explosions. Some fizzled. Others felt smooth—but Ollivander rejected them all.
A few wands felt perfect to Ethan. Magic coursed through them easily. He even felt confident he could cast spells like the Petrification Charm or Rainbow Siphon Energy.
But Ollivander only shook his head.
"Mr. Adrien, wait here. I believe I know which wand is right for you."
He disappeared into the back warehouse.
If he were just a businessman, he might have turned Ethan away. But Ollivander wasn't like that. He relished the challenge.
Helping someone this particular find the perfect wand was deeply satisfying.
The wands Ethan had tried so far used traditional British cores: unicorn hair, phoenix feather, and dragon heartstring.
Unicorn hair wands were loyal and stable but avoided dark magic.
Phoenix feather wands were versatile but picky and hard to tame.
Dragon heartstring wands were powerful but unstable and prone to dark influence.
But Ollivander had experimented with other materials, learning from wandmakers around the world: Thunderbird tail feathers, Jackalope antlers, Kneazle fur, Veela hair, Kelpie mane, Troll whiskers, Thestral tail hair, Horned Serpent horn…
He returned with a long box.
"Blackthorn, Thunderbird tail feather, eleven and two-thirds inches. Very powerful, suited for warriors, and excellent for Transfiguration. But difficult to control."
He opened the dusty box and carefully handed the wand to Ethan.
The moment Ethan touched it, sparks of electricity crackled across his skin. Yet he felt no pain.
He waved it.
Magic flowed freely—like the wand was part of his own body.
"Mr. Ollivander, I think this is the one."