Chapter 25. Ollivander’s.
A thin, small old man walked out from behind the counter. He wore thick, round-rimmed glasses, had a long, thin nose, and eyes as sharp as a hawk's - it was Ollivander. He walked slowly to Edward, looked him up and down, his gaze resting on his fingertips for a moment, but he didn't see anything unusual, just nodded.
"Ah, a new customer." Ollivander's voice was hoarse and mysterious, carrying an ancient charm, "A child of the House of Black... I remember your father, Regulus Black. His wand was oak, dragon heartstring, eleven inches, pliable. Very suitable for casting Non-verbal Spell. He was a quiet child, a pity."
Edward nodded slightly, his tone calm: "I need a wand that suits me."
"The wand chooses the Wizard, child." Ollivander smiled, turned around, took down a wand wrapped in purple silk from the shelf, and handed it to Edward, "Try this one. Walnut, Unicorn hair, ten inches, rigid. Very suitable for beginners."
Edward took the wand and waved it gently. There was no reaction. Instead, the flame in his palm uncontrollably darted out, scorching the wand's shaft and leaving a faint burn mark.
Ollivander raised an eyebrow and took another one down from the shelf: "Cherry, dragon heartstring, twelve inches, swishy. Suitable for offensive spells."
Edward waved the wand again. A faint red light flashed at the tip of the wand, but it was instantly swallowed by the flame in his palm, without even causing a ripple.
Ollivander didn't ask any more questions, just turned and shuttled between the shelves, changing wands in his hand one after another. Edward patiently tried one after another; some wands made the flames at his fingertips restless, while others were directly scorched by the flames, and he still hadn't found the right one.
"Interesting." Ollivander's eyes lit up. He searched for a long time and finally took down a wand wrapped in black velvet from the deepest shelf, "I have kept this wand for many years. Try it."
Edward reached out, his fingertips gently touching the walnut wand. The moment he touched it, a warm current instantly coursed through his whole body. The orange-red flame in his palm seemed to have found its home, suddenly rising, flowing slowly along the wand's shaft, and finally condensing into a small flame at the tip, jumping quietly. There was no scorching, no backlash, only a feeling of perfect harmony and incomparable compatibility.
Edward waved the wand gently, and the flame at the tip instantly turned into a thin line of fire, precisely hitting a brass bell behind the counter. A crisp "ding-a-ling" sound rang out, but the moment the flame touched the brass bell, it slowly retracted and returned to the tip of the wand, leaving no trace.
"Perfect." Ollivander exclaimed, his eyes full of wonder, "Walnut, Phoenix feather core, thirteen and a half inches, pliable. It has been waiting for you for a long time, child."
Edward gripped the wand in his hand, feeling the warm touch from the wand's shaft, a hint of a smile flashing in his eyes. This was the wand that belonged to him.
After paying seven Galleons, Edward took his brand-new wand and walked out of Ollivander's Wand Shop. Sunlight spilled onto him, the obsidian at the tip of the wand shining in the sun, and the flames in his palm echoing with the patterns on the wand's shaft, like a silent resonance.
Kreacher was already waiting for him at the door, carrying the full shopping bags, his face beaming with a satisfied smile.
The carriage drove back to 12 Grimmauld Place. Edward sat in the carriage, looking at the passing scenery outside the window, gripping the walnut wand tightly in his hand.
Hogwarts. This name had been circling in his mind for a long time. There, there were magical courses he had never been exposed to, peers who were Wizards, the legendary Castle, and countless unknowns and challenges. He gripped the wand in his hand, the flame in his palm dancing gently.
The banquet at Malfoy Manor was just an insignificant beginning. The real stage was at Hogwarts.
Back at the old house, Kreacher started busy packing for school. He put the Potions textbooks, cauldron, and robes into the suitcase one by one, and even secretly stuffed many candied fruits and cookies inside, muttering: "Master Edward must take good care of yourself at Hogwarts! Kreacher will miss you every day!"
Edward sat at the desk, stroking the walnut wand, watching the setting sun gradually sinking outside the window, a glimmer of anticipation flickering in his eyes. The day of school opening was just around the corner. The magical journey belonging to Edward Black had just begun.
On the last day before school started, the bedroom at 12 Grimmauld Place constantly echoed with Kreacher's incessant nagging.
The old elf, hunched over, bustled back and forth beside the trunk, smoothing out the neatly folded silver-green Slytherin school robes over and over again, and stuffing it full of two large bags of candied fruits and biscuits, his muttering never ceasing: "Master Edward, the Potions class Professor at Hogwarts, Mr. Snape, is the Head of Slytherin House, you must win his favor! potion ingredients must be sorted and stored properly, remember to wipe the cauldron clean after use, don't be like those clumsy freshmen who break them!"
He paused, as if remembering something, then took an obsidian pendant engraved with a thorn emblem from his bosom and solemnly hung it around Edward's neck: "This is Master Regulus's amulet, it can ward off low-level Dark Arts, you must wear it close to your body! And for the Sorting Ceremony, you must keep your back straight and let the Sorting Hat see the pure-blood pride in your bones! You will definitely enter Slytherin, a child of the House of Black should be a descendant of Slytherin!"
Edward leaned against the desk, twirling his walnut wand with his fingertips, listening to Kreacher repeatedly emphasizing "Slytherin," and couldn't help but ask: "Kreacher, are all members of the House of Black in Slytherin? Or are all pure-blood wizards sorted into Slytherin?"
Upon hearing this, Kreacher abruptly stopped his movements, a trace of disdain flashing through his cloudy eyes, as if he had heard a huge joke: "There are fools among pure-bloods who get sorted into other houses, but the House of Black is different! From our ancestors to now, except for that traitor - Sirius Black! Everyone else is Slytherin!"
When mentioning Sirius's name, his voice suddenly rose, carrying undisguised hatred: "That traitor! Abandoning the noble pure-blood honor, insisting on mingling with a bunch of Muggle-borns and Mudbloods, and even getting kicked out of the family! He is the shame of the House of Black!"
He caught his breath and began counting on his fingers, evaluating the four houses with an extremely subjective tone: "Slytherin is the only true noble house! It only accepts the most ambitious and talented pure-blood wizards. Countless great wizards have come from here; it is the pillar of the wizarding world! Gryffindor is full of hot-headed, reckless fellows who only know how to show off brute courage; the bookworms of Ravenclaw have nothing but useless theories in their heads and don't even know how to use real magic; Hufflepuff goes without saying, they are all mediocre people, the trash can of the houses!"
Edward listened quietly, the records he had seen in the library flashing through his mind - Gryffindor's courage, Ravenclaw's wisdom, Hufflepuff's loyalty, Slytherin's ambition.
So, in the eyes of a pure-blood house elf, the differences between the four houses were so distinct.
He gently stroked the obsidian pendant on his neck and nodded: "I understand."
Seeing that he had taken it to heart, Kreacher smiled satisfactorily and began to busy himself with checking the items in the trunk, afraid of missing anything.
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