The blonde boy cried and ran out of the shop, shouting, "I'm telling my father!" He didn't even know their names.
It was no exaggeration to say that at St. George's School, Dudley's name alone was enough to make other students cry; it was a well-documented phenomenon. Perhaps in the boy's eyes, Dudley's "hello" had sounded more like, 'Hello, may I taste the saltiness of your brain matter?' The sheer sense of oppression one felt when facing Dudley head-on, especially at close range, was something you couldn't understand without experiencing it yourself.
"My goodness, what just happened?" Madam Malkin bustled back into the room, looking completely bewildered after seeing the Malfoy boy flee in tears.
"Nothing at all, Madam," Dudley replied with a placid smile.
Though puzzled, Madam Malkin didn't have time to investigate. The shop was filling up with other new students, and business was business.
"Don't bully people next time," Hermione whispered, poking Dudley in the side.
"Hermione, I didn't bully him," Dudley protested, his face a perfect mask of innocence. "You heard me. I just gave him a friendly greeting."
Hermione stared at him, unconvinced. While it was, technically, a greeting, it was most certainly not friendly.
"I am a very refined and easygoing person," Dudley insisted.
'It's necessary to redefine the meaning of 'refined and easygoing,'' Hermione and Harry thought simultaneously. The words reminded Hermione of what had happened at Oxford Dragon Primary. At first, everyone had thought Dudley was an easy target, until a group of arrogant boys... The memory was too brutal to revisit.
"You can't be like this when we get to Hogwarts," she said softly.
"Mhm, mhm, I know, I know," Dudley nodded repeatedly. "I will get along well with my future classmates and build good relationships."
Soon after, their uniforms were fitted and their robes purchased. The next stop was the wand shop. The mere mention of wands sent a thrill of excitement through Hermione and Harry. Hermione, especially, had been chattering nonstop about it ever since she'd learned she was a witch. Compared to their enthusiasm, Dudley was much more subdued.
Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. The sign was old and faded. Pushing open the slightly decayed door, a tinkling bell announced their arrival. The shop's interior was much narrower than expected, with no sign of an Undetectable Extension Charm. Thousands upon thousands of narrow boxes were piled high to the ceiling, each containing a wand.
"Hello," a soft voice sounded from their left. An old man had appeared at the counter, his silver-white eyes glowing like two full moons in the dim light. His gaze immediately locked onto Harry.
"I wondered when I'd be seeing you, Mr. Potter," he said slowly. "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."
"Is your cousin very famous?" Hermione whispered to Dudley. She hadn't read any of the standard magic books yet and knew nothing of the legendary Boy Who Lived.
"Much more famous than you can imagine," Dudley whispered back into her ear.
While they were talking, Ollivander had already begun measuring Harry's arm. He then pulled a wand from a nearby shelf. "Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Try it out."
Harry took the wand and gave it a foolish little wave.
"Oh, how wonderful," Ollivander murmured, snatching the wand back. "Try this one..."
And so it began. Harry tried wand after wand, each one producing a different, chaotic result.
"Will it be this much trouble for us to choose a wand too?" Hermione asked softly, watching the spectacle.
Dudley paused. "I think, perhaps, only Harry is this special."
Finally, after a dozen or more attempts, Ollivander took out a particular wand. "Holly and phoenix feather. Eleven inches. Nice and supple."
As Harry held the wand, a warmth spread through his fingers. He gave it a wave, and a shower of red and gold sparks erupted from the tip. It was a perfect match.
Next, it was Hermione's turn. As Dudley had predicted, Ollivander selected the most suitable wand for her on the first try. She held it, gave it a swish, and a beautiful rainbow arched through the dusty air. "Vine wood, dragon heartstring core. Ten and three-quarter inches."
"And finally... for this gentleman," Ollivander said, turning his pale, silvery eyes to Dudley. He observed him for a moment, then casually pulled a wand from a nearby box. "Try this one. Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy."
Dudley took it and waved it. A soft whoosh was the only result. There was no reaction at all.
For the first time, a frown creased Ollivander's ancient brow. He hadn't reacted this way even when choosing a wand for Harry Potter. He took out another one. "Ebony and unicorn hair. Eight and a half inches."
Another whoosh. This time, the frown deepened.
The third wand. The fourth. Dudley changed wands one after another, but unlike the varied, chaotic reactions Harry had produced, his attempts yielded nothing. It felt like a Muggle waving a stick—utterly, completely foolish.
Ollivander's forehead was now furrowed into a deep 'Sichuan' character. Hermione looked from Dudley to Harry, then down at the wand in her own hand. Was mine a bit too hasty? she wondered. Maybe I could have tried a few more.
Even Dudley, no matter how slow on the uptake, realized something was terribly wrong. After returning yet another unresponsive wand, he casually reached out and grabbed a box from a nearby shelf.
"I feel like this wand is calling to me," he declared, his tone a perfect imitation of mystical reverence. "Didn't you say the wand chooses the wizard? Alright, this is the one." Without giving Ollivander a chance to object, he slapped twenty-one Galleons on the counter and dragged Hermione and Harry out of the shop as if fleeing a burning building.
Ollivander watched them go, a strange, thoughtful expression on his face. He looked down at the box Dudley had taken.
"Ironwood and Thestral tail hair. Nine inches," he murmured to himself. "Ironwood is too hard, and Thestral tail hair is too unstable. Neither the wood nor the core is to my liking." He shook his head slowly. "That was the most unsuccessful wand I ever made. Rather than calling it a wand, it was more like... a dagger."
***
(End of Chapter)
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