Harry Potter: I am the Legend

The voice was unmistakably familiar, the raucous laughter had just ceased.

A tall, lean figure shoved open the door of Ollivander's shop. An attractive boy stepped out, his eyes glowing red, his body trembling slightly as he gazed at the yew wand in his hand with exhilaration. He paid no attention to Hoffa and Indor, who were standing right outside the shop.

The air was filled with violent magical energy, strong enough to blow Hoffa's hair into disarray.

Watching the boy's retreating figure with lingering fear, Indor whispered, "Who is that? How can someone that young wield such powerful magical energy?"

Hoffa, of course, knew exactly who it was.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The future Dark Lord, Voldemort, had just acquired the first companion of his life—a potent yew wand. No wonder he was so ecstatic. Too bad that same wand, after accompanying him for over fifty years, would eventually be discarded without sentiment.

Shaking his head, Hoffa turned to Indor and asked, "Shall we go in together?"

Indor shook his head. "Go ahead on your own. Goblins don't use wands, and we don't enter shops like this. That old man uses goblin bones for his wand materials—I'm afraid if I see him, I'll kill him."

Speechless, Hoffa had no choice but to step into Ollivander's shop alone.

The moment he entered—

Ding!

A hazy fragment appeared in Hoffa's mind.

He wanted to investigate the fragment, but it was completely out of reach. Reluctantly, he gave up and focused on his surroundings.

In front of him, thousands of boxes were stacked densely from floor to ceiling. The air was heavy with silence and stillness.

Ollivander's Wand Shop was a family-run business with a history of wand-making dating back to 382 BC. The name "Ollivander" itself means the one who owns an olive wood wand. Many, including the current Garrick Ollivander, believed their ancestors had arrived in Britain alongside the Romans.

The current proprietor, Garrick Ollivander, looked much younger than the elderly man described in the books fifty years later. He was a vigorous middle-aged man.

However, at the moment, he appeared somewhat dazed.

Ollivander hadn't noticed Hoffa enter. He stood amidst scattered wand boxes, mouth slightly open, still lost in the shock of recent events.

It wasn't until Hoffa waved a hand in front of his face that he snapped out of it.

"Hey, hello there."

Garrick Ollivander jolted and turned, quickly rubbing his face upon seeing a new customer. "Sorry, I was distracted. You have no idea what just happened."

Hoffa calmly replied, "I know. I'd like to buy a wand."

Ollivander mumbled, "Of course, everyone who comes here is looking for a wand. Left-handed or right-handed?"

"Right-handed."

"Raise your arm."

He began measuring Hoffa's dimensions—first from shoulder to fingertip, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and finally the circumference of his head.

As he measured, he spoke. "Every Ollivander wand contains a core of powerful magical substance—that's its essence. We use unicorn hair, phoenix tail feathers, and dragon heartstrings…"

Hoffa chuckled. "Do you say the same thing to everyone who comes in?"

Interrupted, Ollivander looked mildly annoyed.

"Rude child, do you understand business? I'm a businessman!"

Grumbling, he briskly tidied up the scattered boxes and started handing wand after wand to Hoffa.

"Holly, phoenix feather, eleven inches… nope, not right!"

"Unicorn hair, rosewood, thirteen inches… nope, still wrong!"

"Dragon heartstring, walnut, nine inches… no, not this one either!"

"Beech, veela hair, ten inches… not right. What was I even thinking?"

As he muttered and worked, he rapidly retrieved boxes and handed wands to Hoffa one after another.

The wands came and went like a carousel in Hoffa's hands, but every single one felt as ordinary as a stick. Nothing happened.

"Applewood, seventeen inches… not right."

"Acacia, fourteen inches… not right."

"Cypress, nine inches… nope."

"Ashwood… nope."

"Pearwood… nope."

"Firwood… not this one!"

"Cedar… nope!"

"Cherrywood… still no!"

"Blackthorn… oh, not this either!"

Time ticked by. The pile of empty boxes beneath them grew ever taller. Hoffa could barely suppress a yawn. If it weren't for his Hogwarts acceptance letter, he might've started doubting whether he had any magical aptitude at all.

He glanced outside. Indor was pacing impatiently.

Finally, when both Hoffa and Ollivander stood knee-deep in boxes, Ollivander stopped, out of breath. "Are you sure you're a wizard? Or… could you be a Squib?"

Buried in the box pile, Hoffa replied helplessly, "Do you want to see my Hogwarts acceptance letter?"

"Ugh!" Ollivander groaned in frustration.

"This shouldn't be happening! It doesn't make sense!"

Hoffa was equally puzzled. He hadn't expected to be incompatible with so many wands. But he needed one to attend school.

Scratching his head, Hoffa hesitated before asking, "Are there other wandmakers in Diagon Alley?"

This question hit a nerve. Ollivander's pale gray eyes flared.

"What? You dare question my craftsmanship? Let me tell you, from 100 B.C. until now, there hasn't been a single wizard whose wand I couldn't make. Even Merlin himself used a wand crafted by my family!"

Hoffa stayed silent, and the two stared at each other amidst the mountain of boxes.

The air grew thick with awkward tension.

After a long pause, Ollivander suddenly asked softly, "You're not entirely British, are you?"

"Half and half, I suppose. I'm not entirely sure, but my father was Chinese," Hoffa replied.

"Ah, from the East?" Ollivander smacked his lips thoughtfully. "That explains it. Their traditions are indeed quite different from ours."

With that, he flicked his wand, and all the boxes closed themselves, their contents returning neatly to their places.

"Follow me," he said.

Hoffa followed Ollivander into the shop's backroom.

Here, a variety of materials were piled up: feathers, strands of hair, nerves, hearts, spider legs, various types of wood, and even the skeleton of a goblin. Hoffa thought to himself that it was no wonder Indor didn't want to come in. Crafting wands was, in a way, a rather cruel process.

Beneath the piles of materials, Ollivander bent down and rummaged around for a long while before finally pulling out a wrinkled gray box. He blew on it, and a cloud of dust rose into the air.

The gray box turned black.

With a solemn expression, Ollivander stood in front of Hoffa and opened the box.

Inside lay a wand. Or rather, it seemed more like a tree branch. It was rough, with knots still visible, a far cry from the finely crafted wands displayed outside. It looked as though it had been cut straight from a tree.

A strange feeling stirred within Hoffa.

It's watching me.

Hoffa realized this instantly.

It was excited.

Without hesitation, Hoffa reached out and grabbed the rustic branch.

In that moment, a faint sensation of connection coursed through him. A wave of warmth, both ancient and gentle, flowed through his entire body. The thousand-year loneliness carried by this branch was almost enough to bring tears to his eyes.

Nothing dramatic happened, but Hoffa knew—this was his destined partner.

He released the wand, and something extraordinary occurred. It didn't fall; it hovered above his palm.

As it floated, he noticed the one artificial mark on the wand.

At its base, there was a deep engraving painted with slightly faded red lacquer.

It was a single, square character: 封 (Seal).

After admiring the wand's entirety, it gently fell back into Hoffa's hand.

A smile appeared on Hoffa's face. He looked at Ollivander with delight, hoping for an explanation.

But Ollivander's eyes were filled with doubt. With his hands behind his back, he paced back and forth.

"How could this be... how could this be?" he muttered.

"What's the matter?" Hoffa asked. "How much is this wand? I want it."

"Money..." Ollivander coughed. "Never mind. The wand chooses the wizard, as they say. However, I must warn you: this wand is an unfinished product. If anything happens, I won't be held responsible."

"What?" Hoffa exclaimed. "Unfinished? What do you mean?"

Ollivander began to explain.

"Over a hundred years ago, my grandfather, Gawber Ollivander, traveled to India with the Queen's fleet. Near the border between the Qing Empire and India, there was a towering snow-capped mountain. At the foot of the mountain stood a tree, which the locals called the Bodhi Tree.

My grandfather stayed there for some time. When he was about to leave, an elderly monk gifted him this branch, saying it contained mystical powers.

But my grandfather never sensed any magic in it. He brought it back as a keepsake. Neither my father nor I could discern anything special about it either.

A few years ago, I attempted to craft it into a wand, only to discover that it couldn't pair with any wand core. Dragon heartstring, phoenix feather, unicorn hair—none of them worked. So, it's been sitting here ever since."

As he spoke, Ollivander sighed. "I always thought my grandfather brought back just an ordinary, non-magical piece of wood. But now it seems truly remarkable—wood capable of casting spells without relying on magical cores…"

"So, you're saying it's just a branch?" Hoffa asked, incredulous.

"Exactly," Ollivander shrugged. "But it's also a valuable keepsake of mine. If you want it, you'll have to pay double the price."

Hoffa...

By the time Hoffa left Ollivander's shop, the sky was already darkening.

In the distance, fiery clouds lit up the horizon. On the street, hurried wizards bustled about. Judging by their attire, many seemed to be stopping by Diagon Alley after work at the Ministry of Magic.

Standing outside Ollivander's shop, Hoffa beamed as he admired the Bodhi branch engraved with the character 封(Seal).

Hoffa thought to himself that he had finally obtained a wand of his own.

After spending 20 Galleons, Hoffa now had his wand. Additionally, Ollivander "generously" gifted him a small leather holster, which could be strapped to his arm for daily wand carrying and maintenance.

Outside, Indor had nearly fallen asleep from waiting. When he saw Hoffa finally come out, he couldn't help but scold him, "Did you fall in love with that old man? What took you so long in there?"

Hoffa was in a good mood and didn't want to argue. He put away his wand and patted the goblin on the shoulder.

"All right, young goblin, no need to be so impatient. Want to grab a drink together?"

"Drink my foot!" Indor snapped, clearly annoyed. "I waited just to tell you this: I promised to get you your books and wand before nightfall, and I've done that. Our contract is now fulfilled."

"Wait," Hoffa froze for a moment. "Where are you going?"

"Where am I going? I already told you—I'm a goblin from Helgoland, Germany. I'm going home," Indor replied.

Germany… Hoffa, still in high spirits, couldn't resist making a remark. "Well, just don't get caught up in a war."

"What, you think there's going to be a war too?" Indor glanced at Hoffa. "The folks here in Britain don't seem to think so. What's that word Muggles use… appease something…"

Indor tilted his head, trying to recall.

"Appeasement," Hoffa sighed. It couldn't be helped. Everyone hoped for peace, even if it was just an illusion of it.

"That's it—appeasement. You're pretty sharp," Indor muttered. "Don't worry, I'm not a fan of war either."

With that, he raised a finger.

Hoffa took a step back—was this the gesture for casting a spell to leave?

However, nothing happened. Indor hesitated, looking at Hoffa.

"Hey, do you know how to get to King's Cross Station?"

Hoffa nodded. "I do."

"The platform is between Nine and Ten. You have to run straight at the barrier to get through."

Hoffa chuckled. He already knew these things, but hearing them from this goblin felt oddly amusing. Maybe Indor wasn't as much of a jerk as he seemed.

"Got it. Thanks for letting me know—it's a big help."

"Hmph!" Indor snorted smugly. "You're a bit clever, but don't forget, you're only 11 years old."

"All right, all right. Go back to your Helgoland," Hoffa said, exasperated.

Indor raised his finger again but then lowered it.

Hoffa sighed. "Now what?"

The goblin did something unexpected. He removed one of his silver earrings and, with a snap, clipped it onto Hoffa's ear. The sharp pain nearly brought tears to Hoffa's eyes.

Hoffa glared at Indor. "What the hell was that for?!"

Indor burst into laughter. "I admire a boy who dares to go out and work at such a young age. If you ever want a job, come find me. Don't waste your time looking in Diagon Alley—the jobs here aren't worth it."

With that, he snapped his fingers.

The goblin's figure instantly vanished into thin air.

Hoffa was left standing there, rubbing his now-bleeding ear, shouting angrily into the air, "You bastard!"

(End of Chapter)

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