Chapter 96. Buying a Wand and Knockturn Alley
According to what the centaurs said about "darkness spreading through the Forbidden Forest," Adrian Wesson guessed that the one wandering the Forest lately was most likely Lord Voldemort, who was occupying Quirinus Quirrell's body.
After all, based on what the original story tells us, Voldemort at this time should be extremely weak and in dire need of a unicorn's blood to keep himself alive.
However, Hagrid and he had not encountered anything unusual in the Forbidden Forest.
Wesson was not surprised. Creatures like unicorns have an innate sense for evil presences such as Voldemort.
Catching a unicorn would not be easy for Voldemort.
At the weekend, under the Devil's Snare's insistent urging, Wesson took it to Ollivanders in Diagon Alley.
This was the most famous wand shop in the wizarding world; Wesson's main wand had been made by Ollivander himself—ash, unicorn hair, twelve inches exactly—and it had always served him well.
The moment Wesson opened the door, the scent of wood spilled out to meet him. Ollivander was dozing in a chair. "Mr Ollivander?"
Wesson stood at the doorway and rapped lightly on the wooden doorframe—not loud, not soft—just enough to wake a light sleeper without seeming abrupt.
Ollivander woke at once, stood up from his chair, and fixed his gaze on Wesson.
Taking quick, small steps, Ollivander hurried to stand before Wesson and held out a withered hand. "Your wand, sir."
Wesson took out his wand and handed it to Ollivander.
Ollivander carefully took the wand and studied it for a few seconds, holding it up before his eyes.
"Hmm…" His silvery eyes gleamed in the dim light. "Ah—ash and unicorn hair, twelve inches, Mr Wesson. Welcome. Do you require maintenance for your wand?"
That was Ollivander for you—he recognised people by their wands rather than their faces.
Wesson had heard he remembered the name of every witch or wizard who had ever bought a wand from his shop. Judging by this, the rumour was not without basis.
He took the wand back from Ollivander and shook his head. "I'm here to buy a wand."
Hearing this, Ollivander froze for a moment, then twisted his fingers anxiously. "Your wand no longer suits you, Mr Wesson?"
"Of course not," Wesson said with a smile. "My wand suits me perfectly. But my friend here seems to want a wand of its own."
As he spoke, the cuff of Wesson's robe trembled, and the Devil's Snare slipped a tendril out, restlessly reaching toward a nearby shelf.
Ollivander's silvery eyes widened slightly as he watched the Devil's Snare coil a tendril around a display wand and begin to toy with it.
The wand was already sputtering sparks.
"Oh, heavens—that one won't do for you!" The old man hurried forward and rescued the poor wand from the Devil's Snare's grasp. Then he turned back to Wesson. "This is the friend you mentioned?"
Wesson nodded.
"This is… truly unprecedented," said Ollivander in astonishment. "In fact, there have been witches and wizards who wanted me to fit a wand to a non-human creature, but I refused."
"Why refuse?" Wesson asked, puzzled.
Ollivander sighed slowly, then said, "Do you think a troll can perform magic? With their brain capacity… they'd likely do nothing but use a wand to dig in their ears. Besides, I've no idea which wand would choose a troll."
"You needn't worry—my friend can use magic."
Wesson passed his own wand to the Devil's Snare. The plant coiled a tendril around it and gave two clumsy flicks.
A burst of white light flared from the tip, illuminating the entire shop.
"See?"
Wesson folded his arms and looked at the utterly stunned Ollivander.
"Very well, I shall try," Ollivander said after a moment's thought. He went over to a shelf piled high with wand boxes and began searching carefully. "Let me think… this likely won't do… what about this one?"
Ollivander drew out a box, took out the wand inside, and handed it to the Devil's Snare. "English oak, unicorn hair, thirteen inches."
However, when the Devil's Snare tried a wave, only a few sparks fizzed from the tip.
"Right, that won't do, it seems…"
After trying who-knows-how-many wands, Ollivander sank back onto the bench, looking disconsolate. "I knew it—no wand will choose a plant…"
Seeing this, Wesson felt a twinge of disappointment but still offered comfort. "It's all right, Mr Ollivander. Fitting a wand to a plant was a fanciful idea to begin with. I wasn't really hop—"
"No!" Ollivander suddenly shot up from the bench, cutting Wesson off, his voice fervent. "This must be because my wandmaking technique is not yet up to the mark."
For a moment, Wesson was taken aback. He didn't know what to say.
"Please give me some time, Mr Wesson!" Fire all but burned in Ollivander's eyes. "I will make a suitable wand."
"…Thank you, Mr Ollivander," Wesson said carefully. "Do you need anything from me?"
Ollivander nodded, then looked at the Devil's Snare. "Could I have something from your friend?"
Before Wesson could reply, the Devil's Snare was already acting: it twisted off about a metre of its own tendril and laid it before Ollivander.
"Excellent," said Ollivander, satisfied. "You may go for now. This could take quite some time."
After Wesson left Ollivanders empty-handed, Ollivander immediately hung a "Closed" sign on the front door and locked it tight.
Wesson stood at the threshold for a moment, then said to the Devil's Snare peeking a little from his cuff, "Looks like you'll have to wait a bit."
The Devil's Snare gave a wobble to show it didn't mind.
Leaving Ollivanders, Wesson walked back into Diagon Alley.
Though it was the off-season, Diagon Alley was still fairly crowded.
Before he knew it, Wesson had reached the fork leading to Knockturn Alley.
There wasn't a soul in sight.
The most prosperous street in the wizarding world and its darkest were separated by only a few steps.
What a strange sight…
With that thought, Wesson was ready to leave.
He had no intention of stepping into that gloomy place today.
Unless one wanted to buy or sell items not entirely legal in the open, no one would choose to wander there.
Who knew when some Dark wizard you didn't recognise might launch a sneak attack?
There were plenty of desperadoes there.
Just as Wesson was about to turn away, however, he caught sight of a familiar figure.
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