Chapter 6: The Incomplete Wand**

The voice was familiar. The wild laughter had just subsided when a tall, lean figure burst through the door of Ollivander's shop. A handsome boy stepped out, his eyes glowing red, his body trembling slightly, and his expression filled with excitement as he admired the yew wand in his hand. He completely ignored Hofa and Indor standing at the entrance.

The air was filled with a surge of violent magical energy, and Hofa's hair was blown into disarray. Watching the boy's retreating figure with a lingering sense of unease, Indor whispered, "Who was that? How does someone so young possess such formidable magical power?"

Hofa, of course, knew exactly who that was.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The future Dark Lord, Voldemort, had just obtained his first companion—a powerful yew wand. No wonder he was so ecstatic. Unfortunately, after fifty years of companionship, that wand would eventually be ruthlessly discarded by him.

Shaking his head, Hofa said to Indor, "Shall we go in together?"

Indor shook his head. "You go in alone. Goblins don't need wands, and we don't enter such shops. That old man uses goblin bones in his wand-making. I'm afraid I might kill him if I see him."

Hofa was speechless and had no choice but to push open the door to Ollivander's shop alone.

The moment he stepped inside, a notification chimed in his mind.

**Ding!**

**Current Hidden Realm—[London Wizard Market] exploration progress has reached 50%. You have obtained [Spell Fragment (1/3)].**

In his mental space, a hazy fragment appeared. Hofa tried to probe it but found it inaccessible. He had no choice but to abandon the thought and focus on the present.

Before him, thousands of boxes were stacked from the floor to the ceiling. The air was filled with a sense of silence and solemnity.

Ollivander's Wand Shop was a family business. The history of this family's wand-making could be traced back to 382 BC. The name "Ollivander" itself meant "one who possesses an olive wood wand." Some, including the current Ollivander, believed that their ancestors had followed the Romans to Britain.

The current owner of Ollivander's shop was Garrick Ollivander. He didn't look as old as he would be described fifty years later in the books. Instead, he was a spirited middle-aged man. However, this middle-aged man now looked somewhat dazed.

Ollivander hadn't noticed Hofa's arrival. He stood amidst scattered wand boxes, his mouth agape, still immersed in the shock of what had just transpired.

It wasn't until Hofa waved his hand in front of Ollivander's eyes that he snapped out of it.

"Hey, hello."

Garrick Ollivander jerked back to reality and, seeing a new customer, quickly rubbed his face. "Sorry, I was lost in thought. You wouldn't believe what just happened."

Hofa calmly said, "I know. I'm here to buy a wand."

Ollivander muttered, "Of course, everyone who comes here is here to buy a wand. Left or right hand?"

"Right."

"Lift your arm."

He measured Hofa, first from shoulder to fingertip, then from wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and finally the circumference of his head.

As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand contains powerful magical substances, which are the essence of its power. We use unicorn hair, phoenix feathers, and dragon heartstrings..."

Hofa chuckled, "Do you say the same thing to everyone?"

Interrupted, Ollivander looked slightly annoyed. "Rude child, I'm a businessman, understand? A businessman!"

With that, he briskly picked up the boxes from the floor and began handing wands to Hofa one by one.

"Holly, phoenix feather, eleven inches... No, no!"

"Unicorn hair, rosewood, thirteen inches... No, no!"

"Dragon heartstring, walnut, nine inches... No, still no!"

"Beech, veela hair, ten inches... No, of course not, what was I thinking?"

Ollivander muttered to himself as he quickly moved boxes around.

Wand after wand passed through Hofa's hands, but he felt nothing—it was as if he were holding ordinary sticks.

"Applewood, seventeen inches, no."

"Acacia, fourteen inches, no."

"Cypress, nine inches, no."

"Ash, no."

"Rowan, no."

"Fir... no!"

"Cedar... no!"

"Cherry... no!"

"Blackthorn... oh, still no!"

Time passed, and the pile of empty boxes beneath them grew taller. Hofa was almost yawning. If it weren't for the Hogwarts acceptance letter, he might have doubted whether he had any magical talent at all.

He glanced outside the shop. Indor was pacing impatiently.

Finally, when both Ollivander and Hofa were standing waist-deep in boxes, Ollivander could no longer keep up. Panting, he asked, "Are you really a wizard? Or are you just a Squib?"

Buried under the boxes, Hofa sighed, "Do you want to see my Hogwarts letter?"

"Ugh!" Ollivander groaned in frustration. "How could this happen? It shouldn't be like this!"

This outcome was also unexpected for Hofa. He hadn't anticipated that so many wands would reject him. But he needed a wand to attend school.

Hofa scratched his head and hesitantly asked, "Are there other wandmakers in Diagon Alley?"

This question struck a nerve with Ollivander. His pale gray eyes widened. "What? Are you doubting my skills? Let me tell you, from 100 BC to the present day, there has never been a wizard whose wand Ollivander couldn't make. Even Merlin used a wand from our family!"

Hofa said nothing, and the two stood amidst the boxes, staring at each other.

The air was thick with awkward silence.

After a moment, Ollivander suddenly asked softly, "You're not British, are you?"

"Half and half. I'm not entirely sure, but my father was Chinese," Hofa replied.

"From the East?" Ollivander clicked his tongue. "That explains it. Their customs are quite different from ours."

With that, he waved his wand, and all the boxes returned to their original positions.

"Follow me."

Hofa followed Ollivander to the back room of the shop.

Here, there were piles of various materials—feathers, hairs, nerves, hearts, spider legs, wood from different trees, and even a goblin skeleton.

Hofa thought to himself that it was no wonder Indor didn't want to come in. Wand-making seemed like a rather brutal business.

From beneath the pile of materials, Ollivander bent down and rummaged for a while before finally pulling out a crumpled gray box. He blew on it, and a cloud of dust flew into the air, turning the gray box black.

Ollivander stood solemnly before Hofa and opened the box.

Inside lay a wand.

Or rather, something resembling a wand. It still had some of the rough texture of a branch, with knots and bumps, looking far less refined than the wands outside. It seemed as if it had been directly cut from a tree.

A strange feeling washed over Hofa.

It was looking at him.

Hofa realized this.

It seemed excited.

Without hesitation, Hofa reached out and grasped the ancient branch.

In that moment, a sense of connection, like a shared bloodline, flowed through him. A warm, ancient feeling spread throughout his body, and the millennia of loneliness it had endured almost brought tears to his eyes.

Nothing happened, but Hofa knew—this was his destined companion.

He let go of the wand, and something strange occurred. The wand didn't fall. It floated above his palm.

As it hovered, Hofa noticed the only man-made feature on the wand.

At its base was a deep engraving, painted with slightly faded red lacquer.

It was a square, block-like character.

**[封]**

After admiring the wand, it gently settled back into Hofa's hand.

Hofa smiled, full of joy, and looked at Ollivander, hoping for an explanation.

But Ollivander's eyes were filled with doubt.

He paced back and forth, muttering to himself, "How could this be... how could this be?"

"What's wrong?" Hofa asked. "How much for this wand? I'll take it."

"Money..." Ollivander coughed. "Never mind. The wand chooses the wizard, so it's yours. But I must warn you, this wand is incomplete. If anything happens, I'm not responsible."

"What?" Hofa exclaimed. "Incomplete? What do you mean?"

Ollivander began to explain.

"Over a hundred years ago, my grandfather, Gerbold Ollivander, once traveled to India on a ship with the British Queen. Near the border between the Qing Dynasty and India, there was a very high snowy mountain. At its base grew a tree that the locals called the Bodhi tree. My grandfather stayed there for a while, and when he left, an old monk gave him this branch, saying it contained magical power. My grandfather didn't sense any power in it, so he kept it as a memento. My father didn't find anything special about it either, and neither did I. A few years ago, I tried to turn it into a wand but found it wouldn't pair with any core—dragon heartstring, phoenix feather, unicorn hair, nothing worked. So it's been stored here ever since."

Ollivander sighed, "I always thought my grandfather had brought back just a piece of non-magical wood... But now it seems there's something special about it. A piece of wood that can perform magic without a magical core..."

Hofa asked in surprise, "So this thing is just a branch?"

"Exactly," Ollivander shrugged. "But it's a precious memento of mine. If you want to buy it, you'll have to pay double."

Hofa: "..."

When Hofa stepped out of Ollivander's shop, it was almost dark. In the distance, the sky was painted with fiery red clouds, and the streets were filled with wizards hurrying along, many of whom had just finished work at the Ministry of Magic and were now shopping in Diagon Alley.

Hofa stood outside Ollivander's shop, admiring the Bodhi branch engraved with the character **[封]**. He was thrilled to finally have a wand of his own.

After spending 20 Galleons, Hofa had his wand. Ollivander had even "generously" thrown in a small leather holster that could be strapped to his arm for daily wear and maintenance.

Indor, who had been waiting outside and was almost asleep, cursed at Hofa as he emerged, "Did you fall in love with that old man? What took you so long?"

In a good mood, Hofa didn't bother arguing. He stowed his wand and patted the goblin on the shoulder.

"Alright, young goblin, don't be so impatient. How about we grab a drink?"

"Drink my foot!" Indor snapped. "I waited for you to come out just to tell you this: I promised to get you books and a wand before sunset, and now I've done it. So our contract is over."

"Eh?" Hofa was taken aback. "Where are you going?"

"Where am I going? I told you I'm a goblin from Heligoland, Germany. Now I'm going home," Indor said.

Germany...

In his good mood, Hofa couldn't help but add, "Well, don't get caught up in the war."

"What, you think there'll be a war?" Indor gave Hofa a curious look. "The folks here in Britain don't think so. There's a term among Muggles... what was it... appease something..."

Indor tilted his head, thinking.

"Appeasement," Hofa sighed. Everyone hoped for peace, even if it was just an illusion.

"Right, appeasement. You're quite knowledgeable," Indor muttered. "Don't worry, I don't like war either."

With that, he raised his fingers.

Hofa took a step back. Was he about to teleport away?

But nothing happened. Indor looked at Hofa, his expression hesitant.

"Hey, do you know how to get to King's Cross Station?"

Hofa nodded, "I do."

"The platform is between platforms nine and ten. You'll have to run straight through the barrier."

Hofa smiled. Of course, he knew all this, but hearing it from the goblin felt oddly out of place.

Maybe this guy wasn't as much of a scoundrel as he seemed.

"I know. Thanks for the tip. It's a big help."

"Hmph!" Indor said smugly, "You're a bit clever, but you're still only eleven."

"Alright, alright, go back to your Heligoland or whatever," Hofa said, exasperated.

Indor raised his fingers but then lowered them again.

Hofa was speechless. "What now?"

The goblin did something unexpected. He took off one of his silver earrings and, with a *click*, clamped it onto Hofa's ear. The pain brought tears to Hofa's eyes.

Hofa glared at Indor. "What the hell?!"

Indor laughed heartily, "I admire a man who dares to look for work at such a young age. If you ever need a job, come find me. Don't look in Diagon Alley—there's no money to be made here."

With that, he snapped his fingers.

The goblin's figure vanished into thin air.

Left alone, Hofa rubbed his bleeding ear and cursed, "Bastard!"