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[HP:Failed Art Student]-Chapter 3: Ollivander’s Most Speechless Day
🕑 Added 2025-07-22 06:08:56 +0000 UTCThe old door hinge let out a grating squeak.
Ethan Vincent pushed the door open, his cobalt-blue eyes blinking uncomfortably in the dim light of the room.
A few wizards, who looked like they belonged on the fringes of society, glanced at him briefly before turning back to their drinks, uninterested. Only one witch with thick lips and a prominent chest gave him a suggestive whistle.
Ethan flashed her a charming smile, which left her momentarily stunned.
Well, damn—this kid’s pretty handsome!
Tap tap.
Ethan stood on his tiptoes and knocked on the counter, addressing the hunched man cleaning glasses behind it with polite courtesy. “Hello, I’m a new student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and I don’t have a wand yet. Could you help me tap the bricks?”
At that, Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron, raised an eyelid and peered down at the primly spoken boy. Ethan was slight, dressed plainly, with pale skin and slightly curly black hair. His features were strikingly refined, and even at his young age, it was clear he’d grow up to break countless hearts. On his otherwise colorless face, his cobalt-blue eyes shone vividly, like a vast night sky—calm, profound, and speckled with a thousand stars. They radiated a maturity far beyond his years.
He’s here alone…
Tom lingered on Ethan’s appearance for a moment but didn’t dwell on it. “Follow me,” he said, setting down the glass and heading toward the back door.
As expected, not everyone got the “Chosen One” treatment.
Ethan noted Tom’s slightly cool demeanor but didn’t mind. Instead, he took a moment to curiously survey the pub’s decor. Hmm, quite rustic. The fruit bowl oil paintings on the walls were covered in cobwebs, their frames practically fused with the plaster. They were neither creative nor appetizing.
“Different decor can create different vibes for customers, Mr. Tom,” Ethan remarked. “Those paintings look like they’ve seen better days.”
Tom waved a hand dismissively. “The regulars don’t care about that. They come here for peace and quiet. Besides, what’s a few paintings gonna do?”
Ethan didn’t reply but made a mental note about the Leaky Cauldron’s wall art issue. This place was a direct gateway to Diagon Alley, with massive foot traffic. If he wanted to make a name for himself, hanging his own artwork here would be a perfect opportunity. But first, he’d need to create a piece worthy of being framed—something truly artistic, not just a casual sketch.
His thoughts wandered as he followed Tom through the back door into a small, walled courtyard. A loyal rubbish bin stood diligently in its corner.
“Three up, two across, tap three times with a wand,” Tom instructed.
Tap tap.
Tom’s worn wand struck the designated brick. A series of clicks and clacks followed, and then, an unbelievable sight unfolded. The bricks around the tapped one began to fold outward, as if slipping into another dimension. The small opening expanded into a wide, welcoming archway.
Suddenly, a wave of noise hit him. Cobblestone paths stretched out, lined with shops on both sides. Colorful awnings fluttered in the sunlight, casting a vibrant glow that felt like stepping into a sea of flowers.
“Did someone really break into Gringotts? Merlin, who’d be that reckless…”
“Kid, you’re too young for Madam Primpernelle’s beauty potions.”
“Lacewing flies for two Galleons? They’re out of their minds!”
Wizards in flowing robes mingled with the occasional Muggle-dressed passerby, and children’s excited squeals punctuated the air. Despite being prepared, Ethan was utterly awestruck by the scene.
“Wow!”
His mouth hung open, eyes wide, wishing he had eight more to take it all in.
“Heh, enjoy your new life, kid,” Tom said with a crooked smile.
Ethan snapped out of his daze. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Tom.”
“No need to be so formal,” Tom replied, waving him off. Everyone liked a polite, well-mannered kid, though. “My daughter, Hannah Abbott, is starting at Hogwarts this year too. You might run into her. Good luck, kid.”
Ethan nodded, watching as Tom turned back to the pub. Then, with a thrill of excitement, he stepped into Diagon Alley.
He didn’t have a vault, so Gringotts was unnecessary. His first stop, naturally, was the one he’d been most eager for—Ollivanders Wand Shop.
Ding-a-ling.
As Ethan pushed open the dusty glass door, a faint chime echoed from somewhere in the back. Rows of shelves stacked with rectangular wand boxes greeted him, giving the shop the air of a library. The bustle of Diagon Alley was shut out, and even the floating dust seemed to carry a solemn weight. Ethan looked around with interest, feeling a sense of calm and serenity.
Suddenly, a rattling sound came from the depths of the shop. An old man with white hair and pale, moon-like eyes stood atop a sliding ladder, staring intently at Ethan.
“Oh—”
Ethan smiled back at him.
“Oh” went on for a while, but Ollivander didn’t say a word.
An awkward silence settled over the shop.
Why? Because Ethan had no wizarding family history tied to Ollivanders, and no witch or wizard had accompanied him. Ollivander couldn’t flex his famed (or rather, performative) memory. Even Muggle-born students usually came with a professor or volunteer guide, as Diagon Alley’s maze of shops could easily lead one astray into Knockturn Alley.
This rare situation reminded Ollivander of a dark-haired boy from decades ago, and an extraordinary yew wand…
“Ahem, welcome to Ollivanders Wand Shop, young wizard,” he said, quickly changing the subject. “Let’s find the wand that’s right for you—or rather, the wand that chooses you. Which is your dominant hand?”
“Right,” Ethan replied, stifling a laugh. It was also his painting hand.
As an enchanted tape measure began taking precise measurements, Ollivander darted through the cluttered shelves. “Calluses on your right hand—do you often hold a quill or tool? Let’s try this: elm, thirteen and a half inches, unicorn hair, ideal for elegant and powerful magic.”
Ethan took the sleek wand and gave it a wave.
Bang!
A nearby vase shattered.
“Oh, no, no! Not that one. Let’s see… perhaps cedar, for a wizard with a resilient character and keen insight.”
That one didn’t work either.
Just as Ethan began to think he’d be there all day, Ollivander let out an “Aha!” and hurried to a shelf, pulling out a wand box with enthusiasm.
“Yes, yes! The moment I saw those calluses, I should’ve thought of this one. Hornbeam, dragon heartstring, fourteen inches.”
The light brown wand had faint horizontal ridges. As Ethan took it, a warm current flowed from the wand into his palm, resonating with the magic within him.
This is it!
His heart surged. Following the impulse, he waved the wand in a grand arc.
Whoosh—
A rich blue pigment unfurled in the air, with a moon and stars slowly swirling within, mysterious and beautiful.
Ollivander’s eyes crinkled with a smile of appreciation. “Hornbeam favors those with a pure, passionate devotion to something they love,” he said slowly. “It seems the calluses on your hand come from painting.”
Ethan gazed up at the oil-paint night sky, its deep blue blending seamlessly with his own cobalt eyes. Only when the pigment faded did he turn to Ollivander, who was now holding out a hand with a grin.
“Seven Galleons, please.”
“…”
The rapidly deflating coin pouch yanked Ethan back to reality.
Damn it!
Making money was now priority number one!
