Hagrid squirmed uncomfortably on the tiny Tube seat, the passers-by grimacing slightly as they tried their best to ignore his massive physique. Samuel, who was sitting beside him (and feeling quite squashed) privately wondered if they could simply teleport and make the whole thing a lot easier, but as he shot a glance at the giants face (which resembled a tightly clenched fist), he thought wisely that if Hagrid knew one such spell, he'd probably have done it several ages ago.
Hagrid wandered through the streets of London, dragging Samuel along. Every now and then he'd point at something and grunt, prompting Samuel to explain to him what it was. All of a sudden, however, he stopped in front of a dingy pub, squashed between two shops that normal people didn't seem to be noticing. "Here's where we get yeh stuff, lad. The Leaky Cauldron."
Samuel suddenly had a moment of terrible inspiration- could this all be a ploy to get him into a pub? His mind quickly put the matter to rest, but at the same time, there was something inherently ludicrous about the way the large, bulky (presumed) alcoholic gestured to the pub with a hint of grandeur- as if innumerable secrets hid inside. His shock was further compounded by Hagrid going right through the pub instead of staying inside, only pausing to nod curtly to the barkeep. A thin, shaken man with a large turban twitched at one end, but didn't stir.
They were now in the yard behind the pub, facing a delightfully blank brick wall. "Hagrid... ?"
"Hold on a second, lad. I havn' got the bes' memory, but yeh lot are really givin' me a headache. Let's see, how did it go..."
He began tapping out a random sequence on the brick wall. Left-right-up-left... Samuel frowned as he tried to remember the sequence. This would presumably be performed with a wand, but then comes the issue of bacteria on your wand... if you were a muggle and knew the sequence then, would the wall allow you to tap it out? Naturally, there would be some kind of anti-muggle security, and he had already seen how muggle tourists swept their eyes from the shop on one side to the other, but if you forcefully dragged a muggle inside, certainly this would only be an optical illusion, unless there was some kind of magical barrier in which case... but enough theorising- a hole had appeared in the wall, leading to one of the most curious streets that he had ever seen.
"Welcome to Daigon Alley... er... whatsyername?"
"Samuel." Seriously, if he forgot anymore times, Samuel would begin doubt his ability to fix a lightbulb- but then again, he was a magician so... he need for lightbulbs probably wasn't that great either. For now, however, the street attracted him the most. The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons of all shapes and sizes. "Yeah, you'll be needin' one soon." Hagrid grunted, steering Sam past the glistening tower of pots. It was when he heard a woman's lambaste, "-Another twenty galleons! Ron, you're probably better off without it. C'mon, Ginny-" that he realised that he had a problem.
"Hagrid, where do I get my money?"
Hagrid fumbled around for a bit, retrieving a bulging purse. "Hogwarts' got a fund for people like yeh who don' have wizardin' money, but it ain' a lot, so yeh probably won' get any new books." He pressed a large gold coin into Sam's hand. "This is a galleon. Gives yeh seventeen sickles." He produced a silver coin, dropping the gold one. "Tha's a sickle. Gives... twenty nine knuts" Sam picked it up for him. "And this-" He rummaged around again for a bit, scattering coins onto the floor which Sam raced to pick up "-Is a knut. Twenty-nine Knuts to a sickle, seventeen sickles to a galleon, it's easy enough." "Twenty nine knuts to a sickle, seventeen sickles to a galleon." Sam repeated. "That's twenty nine times seventeen which is four hundred and ninety-three knuts to a galleon! Who uses knuts anyways? They're worse than pennies! Who made this system?"
"Aren't you a mouthful. Goblins make 'em, of course."
"I don't suppose this is some international standard, given that whoever made this up has less sense than a five year old... unless these are exchange rates?"
"Wha'?" Hagrid' was obviously bemused.
"Does Scotland have it's own magical currency? And Wales? Or maybe even Ireland?"
"Nah... they all use the system, lad."
"But then why... all of these are local currencies?"
"Yeah."
"But why would the goblins make some nonsensical money... do you ever buy anything in knuts?"
"Mostly the mail. Daily Prophet an' all that."
"I suppose it could be a service medium currency... a different standard. Huh. I'll have to look into that. Do the goblins have a bank near here?"
"Gringotts. Now don't talk ter me anymore, yeh givin' me a migraine. Here's yeh list o' school items- have fun, I've gotta go fer a pickme-up a' the Leaky Cauldron. Don' go down dark alleys, don' try to haggle, don' buy anythin' that looks like a Malfoy, an' yeh should be fine." With that, he lumbered down the street, humming to himself.
As far as storybook giant lummoxes went, Sam thought, he wasn't half bad. But now, onto business. He unfolded the list of required items, weighing his purse even as it clinked noisily. "robes, hats (classic), gloves, cloaks (typical magicians), books(ooh, should check those out), wand, cauldron(ah), glass or crystal phials, telescope (collapsible?), brass scales (interesting)." In normal situations he'd head for the bookstore first, but his interest was drawn towards a wand. Finally, an instrument of magic! (He briefly wondered whether it came with an umbrella for safekeeping.)
Sam pushed his head into the dark, narrow, and shabby shop as a bell tinkled- Ollivander's: Maker of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. Sam sincerely hoped it was a legacy business- He had no interest in meeting a several-thousand year old man, much less buy his wands. That would be... scary. He shot a glance a the faded pillow next to the window, with a single wand sitting on it. When he'd asked around for a "wand shop", everyone had pointed here, so perhaps there was something to be seen, eh? The shop was empty but for one single, faded chair which (he assumed) customers sat on to wait, there didn't seem to be anything else of interest for him, except for piling towers of... wand cases? The whole place had a strange quality to it, like one of those libraries where they never said don't talk but you didn't talk all the same. Failing to contain his curiosity, Sam reached out and touched a case, opening it quietly. It contained a-
"Hello, young man." Sam jumped. Loudly. Dust scattered across the room, giving him a coughing fit. A little man was standing in front of him, looking very, very old indeed. His eyes shined, a pale shine, as if it were a flickering oil lamp. His arms seemed to chronically twitch every now and then, but his gaze was as steady as ever. "I hope you weren't trying to steal that." Sam frantically placed to box back into the pile, praying that it didn't break. "Uh... Hello." Sam was stammering by now.
"I would say I was expecting you, but I don't know your name yet."
"I... I'm Sam."
"Hello, Samuel Wright. My name is Mr. Ollivander."
"How... how do you know my full name?"
"I can't tell you that."
"Come on, this is some text RPG denial dialogue here."
"Mr. Wright, if we are to conduct business, I hope to treat you seriously, and you the same to me." There was a hint of a twinkle in his eye, and Sam had a sinking feeling that the man, though frail, wasn't to be trifled with. His feet began to squirm, and he looked for something to say.
"Alright, then. I suppose I'm looking for a wand?"
"Good." Mr. Ollivander pointed at a chair. "Sit down." He pointed stiffly to the only chair in the room, pulling a a long tape measure. "Tell me, which is your wand arm?"
"Well, I'm two handed, really, so I don't know whether you mean what I prefer or-"
"Your preference, please."
"I'm... right-handed, then."
Mr. Ollivander stepped close to Sam, so close that their noses almost touched. He could see his dim reflection in Mr. Ollivander's pupils, and he could see that it didn't look pretty. Out of reflex, he tried to ruffle his hair, but a severe glance from Mr. Ollivander stopped him- "Be still, boy." It seemed to say. After a few measurements, however, Sam quickly realised that the tape measure was doing all the work, and Mr. Ollivander himself was nowhere to be found. A voice trailed out from somewhere inside the shop. "Every Ollivander wand has the core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Wright. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. (Sam reminded himself to never underestimate Mr. I-use-the-heartstrings-of-dragons Ollivander again) No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."
As if he had been planning this all along (which he could have been), Ollivander walked out behind a nearby stack of wands, his hands brandishing a wand case. In one smooth motion he slid off the wand case, handing him a wand. "Blackthorn and Unicorn Hair. Quite whippy," he said. "Try it. Just take it and give it a wave, don't be shy."
Nothing. Sam felt quite foolish after waving it around for what felt like ten seconds, but Mr. Ollivander had snatched it out of his hand almost at once.
Ollivander didn't seem to be discouraged in the slightest. "Try this one! Cherry wood and dragon heartstring. Nice and supple"
Still nothing.
An odd fire seemed to have come into Mr. Ollivander's eyes, even as he rushed out wand after wand.
After around thirty wands, he declared Sam "Tricky".
After fourty he started moving out the rarer stock.
"Holly and Phoenix feather," he murmured. "Try this."
Nothing. He groaned lightly.
It wasn't until the seventy-sixth (or seventy-seventh?) wand that he finally got a reaction. Ollivander seemed to find it extremely amusing, however, that the dogwood wand had deigned to stick him to the ceiling while he flung it around- apparently this was normal for a "fun-loving" wand. He assured Sam that great things lay in store for him, and that wands like these liked to choose owners with... flair. Sam himself, however, wasn't quite so sure. When he held the wand in his hand, it felt... wrong, somehow, as if the wand itself wasn't sure of what to make of him. He gently set it down and asked Ollivander, "May I try another wand, please?"
Ollivander, who looked as though he had already been about to get up, looked back.
"What?"
"I want to try another one. Or two. Don't wizards do that? I mean, you wouldn't just drive the first car that worked for you, right? Can't I choose-"
"No! You are ignorant, Mr. Wright. The wand chooses the wizard, not the other way around. Wands are delicate things. If you abandon this in search for another, why, you may not find a pair, and risk losing this wand's allegiance altogether."
"I... I just got a feeling- like it didn't really know what to do with me. I... I'm sure it won't mind." Sam himself felt slightly absurd referring to the wand as "it", but that was probably the right thing to do.
"Hmm... I suppose we can try that."
Thirty wands later, Sam was going to try his luck with the dogwood wand when Ollivander produced another wand.
"Nice tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find you another match somewhere... I wonder- I wouldn't think- Why not, eh? Here-Walnut and Phoenix feather. Hard and unyielding. Go on, try it out."*
When Sam held it for the first time, he felt something he had never felt from a wand before... scepticism. The wand seemed to say, "I'm not impressed." He felt rather taken aback for a second, and then quietly pointed his wand at the floor. Sparkle, he thought quietly. Please give me some sparkle. Something... Please... Tell me I'm not wrong... The wand was silent for a while.
Then, with a resounding bang, a stream of blue and silver sparks shot at the floor with such ferocity that Samuel was forced down onto the chair, his mouth open in shock.
"Bravo! Yes, yes, very good. Walnut... I should have known..." said Mr. Ollivander wisely, standing up from his stool (from which he had seem summoning wand-cases).
"Sorry to intrude," said Sam, "But you should have known what?"
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Wright. In all of my years, not one wizard has ever tried another wand to see if it yields better effects. Walnut wands are suited to the highly intelligent, Mr. Wright. Once they are chosen, however, they act unflinchingly on their master's orders, as you have no doubt seen. They are, therefore, extremely powerful in those whose conscience is... stunted."
"You don't mean... I'm not a dark wizard!"
"No, I meant merely that perhaps I should expect great things from you, Mr. Wright. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... It is, indeed, curious how these things happen. Well, Mr. Wright, I think we've found a match, haven't we? No second feelings?" His face seemed rather worn.
"Yeah, I think I'll take this one."