As he entered the shop, no one was there. The silence was striking after the rustle of the street. It made the room seem larger than it was, like a cathedral – a cathedral of wands.
Or, from the way they lined the walls and shelves, maybe an ossuary.
About half an hour later, Ollivander, who had appeared, pale-eyed, as if out of nowhere, and patiently handed him one wand after the other, finally said "Yew, thirteen and a half inches, with a core of phoenix feather," and gave him another one.
It felt immediately warm to the touch. It was his.
"Well, well," Ollivander said. "A powerful wand. You will perform great magic with it, I have no doubt."