"What is that? It looks like a coin..."
Marcel mumbled to himself, fiddling with the object in his hand while secretly recalling the mysterious blue light he had just seen. He temporarily set aside his plan to leave and pulled a piece of broken wood from another large basket nearby.
He feigned curiosity and asked about it. After listening to the short wizard's ambiguous explanation, he feigned interest and asked for a price.
"Ten Galleons! This must be ten Galleons! It's worth it, you see how rare it is..."
Seeing that the man was about to continue his spiel, Marcel had to wave his hand to interrupt the speech and made a counteroffer. "Three Galleons. As far as I know, it's only worth three."
Marcel's tone was exceptionally firm, as if he knew the true value of this so-called "wood from Herpo's coffin."
"No! That's impossible! Eight Galleons at the very least! You must know, that infamous dark wizard of old, Herpo the Foul, buried himself in..."
Before he could finish, Marcel interrupted again. "Four Galleons! Not a sickle more!"
Just as the short wizard hesitated, Marcel feigned a low, angry growl. With a deliberately casual motion, he plucked an object from the gap between the shelves and said loudly, "Alright! Add this in, eight Galleons for both! Otherwise, I don't want either of them!"
Marcel slapped eight Galleons down on the nearby counter and then stared intently at the short wizard.
The man suddenly fell silent. He looked down at the object in Marcel's palm, then at the eight Galleons on the counter, a look of pure grievance on his face.
It was a very old-looking coin. It felt heavy in the hand, but it was grimy and seemed to have no special features.
"Fine, fine. Consider it a gift from me. That'll be eight Galleons." He muttered under his breath with a resigned look, sweeping the coins from the counter into a locked drawer...
Out on the street, Marcel was in high spirits. He played with the old coin in his hand, feeling smugly pleased with himself. It seemed as if even this gloomy alley had brightened up.
Of course, he had no chance to see the equally smug smile on the face of the short wizard inside Merlock's Emporium.
"Arrogance is man's most precious treasure; it brings profit to Merlock." The short wizard, Merlock, patted the money drawer with a rapturous expression, causing the coins inside to jingle.
The old coin in Marcel's hand had, naturally, been enchanted by the short wizard. In reality, it was just a dirty, cast-iron coin.
Setting aside the conman's little tricks for a moment, the satisfied Marcel estimated that it was about time, so he headed back the way he came.
"Huh?"
As Marcel reached the fork in the road, he immediately spotted a towering figure in the crowd, emerging from the entrance of Gringotts.
"The half-giant, Hagrid?" Marcel muttered to himself and walked over.
When he squeezed through the bustling crowd, he immediately noticed the small figure next to Hagrid.
"Oh! Excuse me, are you the famous... Mr. Harry Potter?" Marcel deliberately looked the boy up and down before speaking.
The boy hadn't even had time to react before the people around them who had overheard started to gather.
"Oh, my goodness, it's Harry Potter!"
"Really? Oh!"
"Good heavens! I feel like I'm dreaming!"
The crowd immediately erupted into a flurry of discussion. Several people pushed forward desperately, as if they had just seen a rare magical creature.
Marcel looked around, immediately grabbed Harry's sleeve, and started running, shouting for Hagrid to keep up. Only after they had all ducked into a junk shop did Marcel and Harry finally catch their breath.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't expect them to react like that," Marcel said with an embarrassed expression.
"Oh, it's nothing," Harry said, shaking his head at the boy who was his own age. "But, why? This is the second time. Am I famous or something?"
Marcel glanced at Hagrid and nodded as if he understood.
"Um... I'm sorry, but I don't think I'm the right person to explain it to you," Marcel said, scratching his head. In truth, he was just too lazy to go into detail.
Just as Harry tried to press for more, Hagrid came over.
"Alright, alright, since we're here, why don't we go buy a wand first!" Hagrid patted Marcel's shoulder cheerfully. "You come along too! Er..."
"Marcel. Marcel Maclean," Marcel said with a nod.
"Oh, right, Mr. Maclean," Hagrid said, nodding along.
"No, I mean, just call me Marcel."
As Marcel spoke, he suddenly put his hand on Hagrid's bottom. He noticed it immediately and felt a wave of awkwardness.
"Goodness, you're so tall!" To alleviate the awkwardness, Marcel deliberately put on a high-pitched voice.
Hagrid, hearing this, gave an embarrassed laugh but said nothing.
Marcel then realized that Hagrid was probably still sensitive about his heritage. Of course, knowing Hagrid's personality, he was likely more concerned with what children thought of him rather than his own bloodline.
Marcel immediately moved his hand back, not caring if it landed on a shoulder or a back, and said with an easy laugh, "A goblin in Gringotts said the same thing to me just now."
"Hahaha! At your age, you're not much taller than a goblin," Hagrid wasn't stupid; he clearly realized Marcel was actively trying to ease the tension.
Standing to the side, Harry looked at the two of them, a bit bewildered. He couldn't figure out what they were talking about, but he felt the atmosphere was a little strange.
"Alright, let's go! We'll go to Ollivanders across the street. You're sure to get the best wands there."
Yes, wands. The very thing both Marcel and Harry had been dreaming of.
It was a small, shabby-looking shop. The gold letters on the sign above the door were peeling, and it read: "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C."
In the dusty window, a single wand lay on a faded purple cushion.
When they entered, a tinkling bell rang somewhere in the back of the shop. The shop was tiny, with nothing but a single long chair.
Hagrid sat on the chair to wait, while Harry had the strange feeling of being in a very strict library.
He suppressed the many new questions that had just popped into his head and started looking at the thousands of narrow boxes stacked almost to the ceiling. For some reason, he suddenly felt a shiver of apprehension. The dust and silence here seemed to be imbued with a hidden, mysterious magic.
"Good afternoon," a soft voice said, making Harry jump.
Hagrid, who was sitting, also seemed to get a fright, because there was a loud cracking sound, and he hastily stood up from the chair.
An old man stood before them, his large, pale eyes shining like two bright moons in the dim shop.
"Good day, Mr. Ollivander," Marcel said politely as a greeting.
Harry looked a little timid but followed Marcel's lead and said, "Hello."
"Oh, yes," the old man said. "Yes, yes. I knew I'd be seeing you soon, Harry Potter. There's no question. You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. A nice wand for charm work."
Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit unnerving.
"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for Transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it, it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."
Mr. Ollivander didn't seem to notice Marcel at all. He moved closer and closer to Harry, his nose almost touching Harry's face. Harry could even see his own reflection in the old man's cloudy eyes.
"And that's where..." Mr. Ollivander said, touching the lightning-bolt scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger.
"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."
Mr. Ollivander sighed softly, then looked up past Harry's shoulder. He seemed to recognize Hagrid, which finally made Harry let out a breath of relief.
"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again... Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"
"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.
"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.
"Er, yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though."
"But you don't use them?" said Mr. Ollivander sharply.
"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink umbrella tightly as he spoke.
Of course, Marcel had no time to worry about Hagrid's battered little umbrella, because Ollivander had finally turned his gaze upon him.
"Oh, a new face. Hello, my boy." Ollivander's interest in Marcel was clearly not as strong as his interest in Harry, which was only to be expected. Marcel didn't have some fantastic backstory that made everyone know him. "What is your name?"
"Marcel Maclean," Marcel replied.
"Ah, yes, Mr. Maclean." Mr. Ollivander said, sweeping a sharp gaze over the two of them. "Well now, gentlemen. Who's first?"
He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings from his pocket, a serious expression on his face. Marcel patted Harry on the back, gesturing for him to go first.