HP: Hogwart's Journey

"This wand wasn't crafted by me." Mr. Ollivander's voice came from nearby. He lifted his head slightly, his eyes filled with reminiscence. "The best wands are made by combining a core of strong magical properties with a wood that complements the core's characteristics. I use unicorn hair, phoenix tail feathers, and dragon heartstrings for cores—not just because they are powerful magical substances, but because they suit most wizards and witches."

"My father, however, was different. He loved to innovate, producing creations that were either astonishing masterpieces or completely useless failures," Mr. Ollivander said with a mix of exasperation and pride. "His lifetime of research provided me with an enormous wealth of data to reference, leading to what Ollivander's is today."

As he caressed the box in his hand, Ollivander spoke softly, "If you enjoy fairy tales, you might have heard of a certain legendary wand. My father was deeply inspired by that tale and was determined to create one just like it. He befriended a Thestral—an exceptionally intelligent creature—during his pursuit. Though they eventually parted ways, the Thestral's generosity gifted him a vital material for his work."

"Thestral tail hair is a powerful and complex substance, only manageable by those who have truly faced death. In reality, very few people can achieve this. Afterward, he scoured the globe searching for elder wood to pair with it, only to discover, to his surprise, that the two materials refused to merge." Ollivander glanced at the wand in Robert's hand, his expression tinged with regret. "This wand was his last attempt. He crafted it from the wood that best harmonized with the tail hair, but he never had the chance to find it a worthy partner."

Robert felt an impulse to throw the wand away but hesitated, unable to bring himself to part with it. Honestly, it was the most appealing wand he'd seen, and giving it up would probably keep him tossing and turning all night.

"But it's a Thestral!" Robert grimaced. Just thinking about the magical creature so closely linked to death sent shivers down his spine.

Especially in the world of Harry Potter, where the line between life and death was far blurrier than in ordinary circumstances. Even a wizard could feel fear when faced with such proximity to death.

He looked down at the wand in his hand, then looked again. Finally, Robert gazed skyward.

Fine, you win.

Resigned, he accepted the wand.

"Ebony wood, Thestral tail hair, twelve inches long. Remember, Mr. Leslie, it is the wand that chooses the wizard, not the other way around," Ollivander said softly, his tone a mix of reluctance and satisfaction.

As Robert left Ollivander's Wand Shop, he glanced back at the faded sign: *Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.*

"Old traditions certainly come at a price," Robert muttered. "There goes 30 Galleons. Who claimed every wand costs 7 Galleons, anyway?!"

One unicorn tail hair alone cost 10 Galleons. If every wand really were 7 Galleons, the Ollivander family would've starved in the streets. Harry's wand must have come with special intervention from Dumbledore!

As for why ebony and Thestral tail hair cost Robert 30 Galleons? Robert figured it included labor fees and warehouse storage. Thirty Galleons was probably the discounted price.

Well, he thought, maybe I'll just head to the Forbidden Forest once I get to Hogwarts and pluck a few unicorn tail hairs myself!

"Dear, you've kept us waiting for quite a while." Aunt Elsa approached, pinching Robert's cheek to snap him out of his thoughts.

Outside, the others—claiming to wait for him—were each enjoying an ice cream cone.

"You're so slow, Robert!" Fred teased, handing him a newly purchased strawberry cone. "We were about to eat your share if you didn't come out soon."

Robert snatched his cone and happily began licking it. Sweet! He couldn't help but marvel at the British obsession with sugar.

While savoring his ice cream, they made their way to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

Madam Malkin, a short and plump witch with a friendly smile, dressed in purple, greeted them. "Looking for Hogwarts uniforms, dear?"

Under her guidance, Robert stepped onto a fitting stool and was draped in a robe while Madam Malkin pinned it to his size.

Out of habit, Cliff observed the process for a while, then asked hesitantly, "Madam, is this robe supposed to be so... loose-fitting?"

Madam Malkin gave him a dazzling smile. "Oh yes, dear. It's the standard uniform for all young witches and wizards."

"Is that so..." Cliff fell into thoughtful silence.

The store was nearly empty that morning, with only the Weasleys and Robert's group inside. Sensibly, no one questioned why Mrs. Weasley wasn't buying new robes for the twins. After Robert's measurements were done, he hopped off the stool.

Mrs. Weasley was just about to lead them to the next stop when the young, somewhat handsome Cliff began whispering to Madam Malkin. Moments later, the astonished seamstress approached Mrs. Weasley.

What followed was a whirlwind of activity that left Fred and George standing on fitting stools, dumbfounded, as they signed a contract.

The twins had somehow become brand ambassadors for Madam Malkin's shop.

With Cliff's persuasion, the lifelong robe-maker decided to branch out a bit. After all, who only wore robes with nothing underneath? That was clearly impractical!

If robes were her specialty, why not offer customers complementary shirts to go with them?

And where there were shirts, trousers weren't far behind.

Trousers called for shoes, and shoes demanded the perfect pair of socks!

Of course, these were seasonal garments. Cliff was already discussing what styles and colors of sweaters would pair best under robes without looking too bulky.

"Everyone enjoys a bit of fashion," Cliff declared. "Even in the wizarding world."

He looked eager to start suggesting tracksuits and sneakers next.

Thus, after the Weasley twins unwittingly signed a large contract, Robert found himself holding one too, equally bewildered.

"Since we don't live in the wizarding world, kiddo, you'd better figure out how to make this venture profitable," Cliff said.

The contract—with a distinctly Muggle twist—stipulated that Cliff would design a range of wizard-appropriate attire, including shirts, trousers, shoes, and socks. Madam Malkin would pay him a commission based on sales volume.

"Oh, Cliff, this is..." Mrs. Weasley hesitated before continuing, "We can't accept these free clothes mentioned in the contract, let alone this... um, what's it called—endorsement fee?"

Cliff asked curiously, "Don't wizards have endorsements?"

Mrs. Weasley glanced around, looking utterly confused. 

(End of Chapter)