Hector was naturally someone who loathed shopping. In his past life, his family had not been well-off, and his grandfather's personality clearly did not fit that of a man who enjoyed browsing the shops. Under the long-term influence of his grandfather's spending philosophy, Hector had grown completely indifferent to retail therapy.
Shopping was just a waste of money and time; he would rather spend that energy eating something delicious.
Yet this was Diagon Alley. How many people dreamed of coming here without ever getting the chance?
Hector still wandered around a bit to satisfy his curiosity. He had to admit that the shops in Diagon Alley were thoroughly tailored for children—they had truly mastered the code of wealth. With a candy store every three steps and an ice cream stall every two, it was a blatant, merciless assault on children's pocketbooks.
But was Hector a child? Would he fall for such cheap temptations? Did they really think they could test a veteran cadre with this?
That was until he saw the Chocolate Frogs.
Come on, these were Chocolate Frogs that could actually jump and be eaten! How could you not fork over the Galleons for that?
Clutching a massive bag of snacks, Hector somehow found himself wandering right up to the doorstep of the wand shop.
It really wasn't that this brother didn't want to save money; there were simply traitors among the masses!
Hector looked at the slightly faded golden sign above the door: "Ollivander: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C." The shop looked somewhat dilapidated, and a single wand rested on a purple cushion in the window. The shop was tiny, the wooden entrance door looked its age, and a very peculiar bell hung from it. Carrying the huge bag of snacks in one hand, Hector pushed open the door.
The interior was diminutive, containing nothing except a single chair and a counter. The walls were covered with a vast assortment of wands, and towering right up to the ceiling were rows of cabinets haphazardly stacked with wands of every conceivable material. Wand boxes littered the floor, giving the place an intensely cramped feel.
Hector set his snacks down on the chair. A ladder slid out from behind the rows of wand cabinets, carrying an elderly man with a head of snowy, fluffy hair and slightly outdated yet immaculate clothing. He climbed down the ladder and strode quickly over to Hector, his pace belying his advanced years.
"A muggle-born young wizard? Aren't you cutting it a bit late?" Ollivander's piercing eyes fixed on Hector. Dubbed the wizarding world's paternity testing machine, the old man scanned him thoroughly but could find no family resemblance to match.
"What is your name, my boy?"
"My name is Hector, Hector Dumbledore, sir."
Ollivander's gaze lit up. He leaned in closer, close enough that Hector could smell the scent of wood resin off the old man.
"A Dumbledore, you say?"
Hector nodded.
Ollivander adopted a thoughtful expression. "And Aberforth Dumbledore is your..."
"He is my grandfather, sir."
"That explains it." Ollivander turned and stepped behind the counter, lowering his head to examine something out of sight.
As for why Ollivander hadn't first asked about Hector's relation to the world-famous Albus Dumbledore, Hector knew the reason, but he wasn't going to say.
Don't ask—ask, and nobody says a word.
After a long while, Ollivander raised his head.
"Your father was a Squib?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then there is no problem." Ollivander emerged from behind the counter and launched into a routine reminiscence. "Aberforth Dumbledore, and Albus Dumbledore as well—they both bought their first wands from my father. He always considered it a great honor to sell wands to those two Dumbledores. I've always envied him. I never thought I would have the chance to host a Dumbledore myself." Ollivander looked profoundly moved.
(Albus Dumbledore: Who exactly are you taking a jab at?!)
Hector caught the subtext as well, wanting to laugh yet not quite daring to. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. Completely oblivious to what he had just implied, Ollivander continued.
"So, Hector, which hand do you use for your wand?"
"My right hand."
Ollivander gave his wand a light flick. A measuring tape rose from the counter, measuring from elbow to wrist, knee to armpit, and checking the circumference of Hector's right arm and head before snapping back to the counter.
"Good, very good." Having recorded the data, Ollivander stepped onto the ladder, which immediately glided away and vanished from Hector's sight, leaving only his voice behind.
"Mr. Dumbledore, every single wand I craft is made by my own hand, and they are the finest of the fine. Every Ollivander wand contains powerful magical substances, helping you achieve a better mastery of your own magic—"
Ollivander soon drifted back into Hector's field of vision, this time holding several boxes. He stepped off the ladder with a brisk, springy stride that betrayed no sign of old age.
Hector stood up from the chair and watched as Ollivander laid a piece of purple velvet cushion cloth on the counter, carefully pulling a wand from one of the boxes.
"Remember, Mr. Dumbledore, a wand is not a toy, but your most trusted partner."
Patiently and meticulously, Ollivander wiped the wand down with the cloth before handing it to Hector.
"Many people say the wizard chooses the wand, but I have always believed the wand chooses the wizard. Try this one. Chestnut, dragon heartstring, nine and three-quarter inches. A rather clever combination."
Hector took the wand, feeling nothing unusual at all. It simply felt like a very finely whittled stick.
"Wave it gently," Ollivander instructed.
Hector complied, giving the wand a truly gentle wave.
A blinding flare of light erupted from the tip of the wand, flooding the entire shop. Hector thought to himself that while he had expected something, he hadn't quite expected *this*. To be honest, Hector had long suspected that his innate talent wasn't some fancy spell-mastery, but rather a mastery of the Lumos charm at grandmaster level.
"Merlin's beard!" When had Ollivander ever witnessed a spectacle like this? Squinting, he reached out and plucked the wand from Hector's grip, though the wand continued to blaze brilliantly as if reluctant to stop, only returning to normal after a few moments.
Ollivander rubbed his aching eyes. "That is very Dumbledore, isn't it? Such overflowing magical power."
Returning the wand to its box, Ollivander handed Hector a fresh one. "Try this instead. Redwood, phoenix feather tail-feather, ten and a quarter inches. This one should suit you."
Hector took it, still feeling not the slightest hint of a connection. He gave it a gentle wave, wanting to test its power.
Unsurprisingly, another blinding flash of light followed.
Hector hurriedly lowered the wand and glanced at Ollivander. The old wandmaker had lost his initial excitement, his expression turning solemn instead.
Noticing Hector's gaze, Ollivander forced as friendly a smile as he could manage. "A very picky customer. No matter, we will always find the right match."
Compared to the first two times, Ollivander's selection this time was visibly much more cautious. After a long wait, he finally picked out another.
"Try this one. Poplar, unicorn hair, nine and a quarter inches. Very powerful, and very loyal."
This time, Hector felt a tiny, faint sensation. It wasn't strong, but it was certainly better than complete numbness.
"Wave it gently, Mr. Dumbledore. Gently." Having naturally noticed that subtle connection, Ollivander widened his eyes.
Having learned from his previous two experiences, Hector preemptively covered his eyes with his hand before testing it.
Thank goodness he covered his eyes; this time the light was even more violent than the first two, accompanied by a series of sharp cracking sounds.
Keeping his eyes tightly shut, Hector lowered the wand with both hands and waited a good long while before opening them. Meanwhile, Ollivander, entirely unprepared, was sitting flat on his floor, both hands pressed firmly over his eyes.
(Ten minutes ago, Ollivander: I've sold wands for all these years, what haven't I seen?
Ten minutes later, Ollivander: No, seriously, I have never seen this.)
Hector hurriedly stepped forward to help Ollivander up, feeling rather sheepish as he looked at the old man's dazed expression.
If you said he did it on purpose, Hector was just a little kid who had only just entered the wizarding world and genuinely knew nothing; if you said he didn't do it on purpose, it was pretty hard to explain how he had managed that pre-emptive eye-shielding maneuver.
Confidence—let's just call it self-confidence.
Hector no longer doubted whether his golden talent had been swapped out for a Lumos mastery; given the current situation, it was clearly Flashbang Mastery.
"Sir, are you alright?" Hector asked with genuine concern as Ollivander panted heavily on the bench. Ollivander had nothing to say. Given his understanding of wands, this was most likely an accident, but could the boy at least give him a heads-up before shielding his eyes? At his age, he simply wasn't as durable as these young whippersnappers.
Of course, Ollivander wouldn't blame Hector. Glory and prestige were no longer his primary concerns; his singular obsession right now was to quickly find a suitable wand for this little ancestor standing before him and hustle him out the door.
"It's quite alright, Mr. Dumbledore," Ollivander said, feeling he had caught his breath, a smile returning to his face. "Shall we continue?"
Hector nodded.
From half a street away, Aberforth had spotted intermittent flashes of blinding white light. Just as he was wondering what was going on, he saw a crowd gathered outside Ollivander's Wand Shop, which immediately made him tense up.
Aberforth hurried over, discovering that the white light was indeed spilling out from inside Ollivander's shop. The flashes were irregular, but the intensity of the light was growing stronger by the second.
*With power like that,* Aberforth thought, *is that old fool Ollivander running some kind of new experiment? Oh no, what if Hector's in there? I need to go in and check.*
With that thought, he shoved his way through the crowd, threw the door open, and promptly got a face full of blinding white light.
*Holy Merlin, pure white!* For some reason, those were the first words that popped into Aberforth's head. When the glare finally subsided, Aberforth hurriedly blinked his eyes open to find his precious eldest grandson sitting safely and soundly on the bench. Ollivander was holding something resembling a protective mask, and a towering pile of wand boxes had accumulated beside the pair. Judging by Ollivander's expression, he clearly hadn't found a match yet.
Ollivander was lost in deep thought and didn't even notice Aberforth until he walked right up beside him.
"Ah, hello, Mr. Dumbledore. Are you here to pick up your grandson? I'm afraid you'll have to wait a little longer; young Mr. Dumbledore here is quite the demanding customer." He offered a polite greeting before turning back to mutter to himself.
"Dragon heartstring or phoenix tail-feather makes a fine core, but we still haven't found quite the right wood... The chestnut's performance was far too poor... Poplar is holding up reasonably well, though..." Mumbling away, Ollivander dove headfirst back into the rows of wand cabinets, leaving Aberforth and Hector alone in the shop.
Aberforth sat down on the bench, looked at Hector—who was staring down and playing with his fingers—and said,
"Not going very smoothly, eh?"
Hector nodded. You bet it wasn't; he had just witnessed Ollivander's entire evolutionary process, from simply shielding his eyes to inventing a welding mask. He truly had to admire Ollivander's wild imagination—for a business to run this long, their capacity for innovation was genuinely extraordinary.
"It's fine. A wand is meant to accompany you for the rest of your life, and choosing the right one is critically important. You don't want things going haywire when you're casting magic later on, do you?"
Hector raised his head, looked at Aberforth, and asked,
"Grandfather, what about your wand?"
Aberforth smiled and proudly drew a well-maintained wand from his robes.
"Hawthorn, dragon heartstring, fourteen and a half inches. A most distinguished piece of work." Emerging from the wand cabinets and catching sight of the wand now resting in Hector's hands, Ollivander rattled off fluently, "A product of my father's hands. He always had a soft spot for hawthorn. I've tried crafting a few myself, but they always felt like something was missing. By comparison, I've always preferred holly."
This time, Ollivander really had dug to the very bottom of his inventory; the wand box looked ancient, its webs still uncleaned.
"Try this one, young Mr. Dumbledore. Willow, phoenix tail-feather, fourteen inches. An older piece, but still exquisite."
Hector cautiously took the wand, while Ollivander preemptively placed the protective mask in front of his own face.
"Wave the wand gently. Remember, gently."
This time, the sensation was entirely different. Hector fancied he could hear the affectionate call of a phoenix from within the wand. It felt like an extension of his own arm; as he gave it a soft wave, a silk-like ribbon of blue light poured from the tip, gently transforming into the shape of a phoenix and circling around him.
"Exquisite, utterly exquisite," Ollivander murmured, a look of spellbound fascination in his eyes as he stared at the pale blue phoenix, his expression turning intensely devout.
"A flawless match, Hector. A most flawless match." Ollivander looked slightly unhinged at the moment, and it was plain to see how intensely excited he was.
"A true Dumbledore indeed. I finally understand what my father felt back then." Ollivander wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "Pardon my loss of composure. I have never witnessed anything so magnificent. For a wandmaker, this is nothing short of a blessing. Merlin's beard."
It didn't take long for Ollivander to recover from his manic state. He straightened his robes and said gravely to Hector,
"Willow wands have always served only witches and wizards of immense potential. They are fiercely proud, and anyone lacking the talent to match cannot win their approval—phoenix tail-feathers are much the same."
Ollivander took the wand back from Hector's hands. "But when they do accept you, they remain supremely loyal." He flicked the wand, but nothing happened.
"Just as now—it has already begun to reject me." Ollivander packed the wand away and slipped it into its box.
"You are rather early among the new arrivals, so... seven Galleons, please."
Aberforth stepped forward to pay and handed the wand over to Hector.
Ollivander escorted the two of them to the door. As they parted ways, he leaned down and looked into Hector's eyes.
"Farewell for now, young Mr. Dumbledore. Please take good care of that wand—it is a joint piece of work between my father and myself. I look forward to seeing your name in the *Daily Prophet* one day."
"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander." Hector gave Ollivander a slight bow, and Aberforth nodded to him in acknowledgment as the two of them walked away from the shop.
*Such a fine boy,* Mr. Ollivander thought to himself.
With a light flick of his own wand, the sign hanging on the door instantly flipped from "Open" to "Closed."