Chapter 14: The Pureblood Heir!

Silver light flickered and intertwined for a moment before slowly retreating back into the wand. Only faint traces of silver radiance continued to shimmer, gradually dissipating into the air.

"I never thought it would truly wait for its rightful master… By Merlin, I am undoubtedly witnessing the beginning of history in the making. You, young man, are destined for a future that will be recorded in the annals of wizarding greatness."

Ollivander's murky eyes fixated on Ian, and his already hunched frame seemed to bend even further, as if in reverence.

"Is this… the Elder Wand?"

Ian lowered his gaze to the wand in his hand, which seemed to resonate with him as if they shared a deep, unspoken understanding. He wasn't sure if this was a trait of the Elder Wand, but he could feel his magic surging, more alive and potent than ever before.

"The Elder is the rarest of wand woods, more difficult to master than any other. Few choose to craft wands from it because it only serves those with extraordinary fates."

"Every wizard who has ever wielded an Elder Wand has left an indelible mark upon history… which means, young man, you are bound for a future unlike any other."

Ollivander's expression radiated pure joy.

Perhaps it was the fact that Ian had bonded so seamlessly with the wand, proving that Ollivander's bold experiment had not been in vain. This was a wand that could be wielded as intended, fully attuned to its chosen wizard.

"Thank you for your blessing. I, too, hope to accomplish something great when I grow up," Ian responded with satisfaction, gripping the wand firmly.

He was utterly enamored with it.

"This is no mere blessing, Mr. Prince. This is fate, revealed through the wand itself. You see, in an attempt to prove my own theories, I once took the unprecedented step of pairing this Elder Wand with a unicorn hair core."

"A combination that defied all conventions—utterly contradictory to the fundamental principles of wand-making," Ollivander continued, his voice thick with emotion. Despite his age, there was a fervor in his eyes, a passion more suited to a young, ambitious wizard than an elderly wandmaker.

Ian tilted his head in mild confusion.

Ollivander simply chuckled, his delight undiminished.

"You may not yet grasp its full significance, but the nature of this wand will guide you towards the future it signifies…" He spoke with an enigmatic air, rivaling even Dumbledore in cryptic wisdom.

"I do not claim to foresee the ever-shifting paths of fate, but you will undoubtedly challenge and reshape many things." His gaze lingered on the wand in Ian's hand, brimming with certainty.

Ian raised a brow. "Well, the first thing I'd like to challenge is the ridiculously high price of wands. Considering how long this one has been collecting dust, sir, how about giving me a discount?"

He blinked innocently, employing every bit of childhood charm to bargain.

He had assumed that, after all the praise and awe, plus his own seasoned haggling skills, he could at least secure a better deal.

However—

"Seven Galleons. That's the standard rate."

The moment money entered the conversation, Ollivander's previously reverent attitude vanished entirely, replaced by the cold pragmatism of a seasoned businessman.

"Can't you at least knock off one Galleon?"

"If I truly become a great wizard in the future, I promise to appoint you as the chairman of the Hogwarts Wand Protection Society. You'd get to charge all Hogwarts students an annual wand usage tax!"

Ian's face remained angelic as he spun an audacious web of promises.

"…"

For once, even the well-traveled Ollivander seemed momentarily at a loss.

"Seven Galleons," he repeated with an exasperated sigh. "That is the Ministry's regulated price."

Ian narrowed his eyes. "The Ministry actually has a regulation like that?"

He was fairly certain Ollivander was just making things up—just like his dramatic speeches about fate.

"A regulated discount, yes. This is already the lowest price for young witches and wizards. Should you wish to purchase a second wand, even Dumbledore himself would have to pay twenty Galleons."

Ollivander's matter-of-fact tone left no room for negotiation.

Ian, ever the strategist, pondered for a moment before asking, "And what if Dumbledore offered to let you collect an annual wand tax?"

To his surprise, Ollivander actually paused, rubbing his chin in genuine consideration.

Ian scoffed internally.

Ah, so that's how it is.

So much for destiny. Turns out, money still talks.

Grumbling, he reluctantly handed over the seven Galleons. Snape had only given him exactly that amount, leaving him with not even a single Knut to spare.

"May you have a wonderful education at Hogwarts," Ollivander said with a warm smile as he pocketed the money, bowing slightly in farewell.

Ding-a-ling!

Just as Ian was about to leave, the shop door swung open, revealing an elderly woman in a slightly tilted hat, her face partially veiled by a thin layer of lace. She exuded an air of aristocracy and carried herself with unmistakable superiority.

Beside her stood a young girl with platinum-blonde hair.

"Move aside, boy," the old woman ordered in a lofty tone, barely sparing Ian a glance.

Not wanting unnecessary trouble, Ian obediently stepped back.

However—

He made sure to release his grip on the door handle, forcing the woman to push it open again herself.

She didn't react, continuing into the shop with the girl in tow. The girl, on the other hand, held Ian's gaze for a moment, her expression unreadable.

Ian took a brief look at her as well.

High-bridged nose. Defined cheekbones. Thin yet symmetrical lips.

Even among the strikingly handsome and beautiful Germanic bloodlines, she stood out as exceptionally stunning.

But what truly caught Ian's attention weren't her delicate features—it was her eyes.

One was blue. The other, a ghostly silver-white.

Heterochromia.

A rare trait, even among pureblood aristocrats.

"Another pureblood noble, huh…"

Ian didn't dwell on it.

After a quick glance, he pushed the door open and stepped out.

Just as the door swung shut behind him, he could still hear the conversation inside.

"Madam Rosier! It has been far too long—I never expected to see you in London!"

"And you've brought a young witch… Let me see—By Merlin's beard—she is… Yes, yes, of course. I mustn't draw too much attention to this."

"I never imagined… that family still had an heir. And with such an exceptional, unparalleled gift… I have no doubt—she is destined for greatness!"

Ian rolled his eyes.

Oh, come on!

So it's 'destined for greatness' no matter who walks through the door?

The man was a one-man prophecy generator!

If the wizarding world had a version of an overenthusiastic salesperson, Ollivander had just proven himself the reigning champion.