The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair. An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.
"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.
"Ah yes," said the man. "It seemed to me I might be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." This wasn't a question. "I remember those eyes. You have them from your mother. I well remember the day she first came in here, only eleven years old, all those years ago, to buy her own wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow, with a unicorn hair for the core. A nice wand for charmwork."
Mr Ollivander moved closer, and Harry wished he would blink.
"You have the look of your father. I remember the day he showed up as well, the same age and in the same year, for his own wand. It was a mahogany wand he took. Eleven inches, with a dragon heart-string as the core. Pliable. A little more power, and excellent for Transfiguration." Mr Ollivander was now very close, so close he and Harry were almost nose to nose.
"Willow or mahogany, or any other wood; unicorn hair or dragon heart-string, or any other core; what will favor you?"
Harry had no answer. But Mr Ollivander did not seem to expect him to, for he was now addressing Hagrid. He heard the voices of the two men but barely registered the words; he suddenly found he was not sure he wanted to be here at all.
Mr Ollivander puled a silver tape measure and began to measure Harry while speaking about wand woods and wand cores; then he walked away and let the tape measure finish on its own. It fell to the floor when it was done taking the last measure.
Mr Ollivander walked back to Harry and Hagrid, carrying many boxes he had taken down from the shelves.
The first wand, nine inches of beech with a dragon heart-string, did not work. Nor did the second, seven inches of maple with a phoenix feather. Nor did the third, eight and a half inches of ebony with a unicorn hair. Nor did the fourth. Nor the fifth, sixth, or seventh. Nor did the tenth, twelfth, or seventeenth.
Harry tried. And tried. And tried. He was becoming anxious, yet Mr Ollivander seemed to be happier and happier as the pile of unsuccessful attempts grew on the chair. He was not sure what Mr Ollivander was looking for, but clearly these wands were not it.
Mr Ollivander was smiling widely. "A tricky customer, the trickiest I've had in some time … but not to worry … we'll find a wand yet."
The thirty-third wand was a failure. Harry decided to stop counting.
Perhaps even Mr Ollivander was puzzled, for after at least a few dozen more they stopped. The old man's misty eyes were shining with a light Harry could not at all understand.
"That was every combination of wood and core made in this shop," he said, and Harry's heart seemed to sink. He knew, he had just known, all of this was too good to be true and that it had to be an elaborate trick. This was the moment where everything would crash away and he would be left with naught.
Mr Ollivander was still speaking. "I have other wands" – Harry's heart rose a little. "Other wands from other families of wandmakers. Other wands from other lands." He sounded a bit perturbed; Harry was almost tempted to be curious. "I rarely need … or want … to bring some of them out, but … I think I may have to for you, Harry Potter."
Mr Ollivander walked to the back of the shop. He returned after a few minutes with yet more slender wand boxes, and sat them next to the chair.
One after another, Harry tried, but none of these seemed to be successful either, until …
"This wand was acquired by my family more than a thousand years ago," said Mr Ollivander as he picked up what looked to be an especially ancient box. "My ancestor was traveling through what is now the Norwegian city of Oslo when he met a wandmaker, who had acquired this wand only recently himself. Perhaps it will finally have …"
He handed the box to Harry. Harry opened it, and stared at the wand.
It looked very old indeed. It was a foot long, he guessed, give or take a tiny fraction. The shaft was ringed with odd metal, which was unlike any of the other wands; none of them had such adornment. Without even touching it, Harry could feel some kind of tingle or spark.
He removed it from the box, and knew it was instantly right. Warmth spread through him far more than any of the other wands had caused; he closed his eyes and luxuriated.
He heard a voice in his mind, speaking to him as though from far away …
"He who thrives in battle,
He who is bold and just
He who speaks with action …
If thine heart be pure,
If thine spirit soars …
Then, may this wand be yours!"
Power thrummed with the waves of heat; he could feel it reaching outward, reaching for the wand which would allow it to touch the world.
From far away, above his head, he heard a high cold voice scream as though damned. The scream weakened and weakened until, at last, it died.
He did not see the bolts of power that sparked from the tip of the wand. He did not feel the wind that blew now in the shop. He did not see the dust from the floor get swept away on that wind.
It may have lasted for eternity. It may have lasted for three minutes.
He opened his eyes and looked at the wand in his hand. It was definitely still a wand. He could have sworn it should have been something else.
He looked at Mr Ollivander, and then over at Hagrid. Mr Ollivander wore a very curious expression; Hagrid, though, was beaming. Harry tried to grin, and only just managed.
"That wand," Mr Ollivander began to speak, "is made of oak, Harry Potter. It has a serpent's fang as its core. Oak and serpent's fang, twelve inches. Adamant. That wand was used by a sorcerer whose origins are disputed, if they have not been simply lost. He has various names in legend, but as for his true identity …"
Mr Ollivander shook his head. "That is something none know. But that wand was his. It seems it now wishes to be yours."
Harry nodded. He returned the wand to its box. He paid fourteen golden Galleons for it, and Mr Ollivander bowed him and Hagrid from the shop.
Harry did not speak as he and Hagrid made their way out of Diagon Alley, out through the emptied Leaky Cauldron, out onto the regular streets of London, and back all the way to the train station. He was looking around at the world, which was somehow the same as it had been even though he felt everything was different now.
He found he didn't have any words, even when Hagrid asked him why he was being quiet. He was only able to shrug, and lift his head towards the sky as if deep in thought. Hagrid seemed to accept this sort of answer anyway.
At the last, after having a bit of a meal before boarding the train, Hagrid handed him an envelope with his ticket for Hogwarts.
"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts," Hagrid said, with a smile on his face. "All yeh need to know, it's right on there. Any problems with them Dursleys, just send yer owl to me; she'll know how to find me. See yeh soon, Harry."
Harry nodded. He boarded the train just before the last whistle blew. He wanted to watch Hagrid as the train pulled out of the station, but he blinked, and Hagrid had gone.
(DF)
POST-SNIPPET NOTES: Obviously, this owes way too much to the novel. The beginning text in bold is a direct lift, and there are other sentences lifted with at best only minor alterations. I think the way this snippet is written makes everything clear and that there is nothing to interpret or misinterpret.