The Black Bloodline of Hogwarts

Pushing open the wand shop door, the air is filled with the smell of aged wood, parchment, and some indescribable "magical musty" smell—like an old broom forgotten in the attic for a hundred years mixed with a snoring spellbook.

Thousands upon thousands of wand boxes filled the walls, stretching all the way to the unseen ceiling, layer upon layer, densely packed, like a honeycomb constructed of magic.

As Julien stepped into the store, he heard a clear, slightly arrogant voice coming from behind the shelves:

"...That's why I said it wasn't this one! It even misspelled my name!"

He walked around a row of towering boxes and saw a small, thin girl standing with her hands on her hips in front of Ollivander. She had long, smooth, black hair, skin that was almost translucent white, and eyes that were a rare light gray, like the mist of a winter morning.

The girl wore a finely tailored dark green jacket with a silver snake brooch pinned to her chest—although she hadn't started school yet, she already exuded the air of a Slytherin.

"I'm sorry, miss," Ollivander said helplessly, "a wand doesn't spell names; it only responds to magic."

"Then it's just trying to fool me!" The girl turned around angrily, almost bumping into Julien. She looked up at him and glared: "You're in my way."

"Excuse me, I'm here to buy a wand too," Julien replied calmly, "just like you."

"Hmph." The girl looked him up and down, her gaze lingering on his Muggle suit for a second. Although she could tell the fabric and tailoring were excellent, she still curled her lip slightly. "I hope your magic is a little better than your fashion sense. You go first."

Julien wasn't angry; instead, he smiled and said, "Thank you, but I hope your patience is better than your temper."

The girl was taken aback, seemingly not expecting anyone to dare talk back like that. She snorted coldly, crossed her arms, and stood aside, but couldn't help sneaking glances at him.

Ollivander cleared his throat, his silvery-white eyes scanning back and forth between the two as if he could see through something. "Ha... interesting."

He turned to Julien. "Well then, sir, let's begin. What is your surname?"

"Oh, my name is Schiller Julien Black."

"Blake?" Ollivander and the girl next to him, who had her arms crossed, both raised an eyebrow.

"I don't recall any child wizards in this generation of the Black family."

Julien thought to himself, no wonder his old grandfather refused to come; Ollivander's ability to remember people was truly a gift.

"I come from a Muggle family," Julien shrugged, offering no further explanation.

"Oh, no problem." Ollivander muttered, staring into Julien's eyes, "But why do your eyes remind me of Harry Potter's, whom I just saw a couple of days ago?"

Seeing that Julien didn't seem inclined to speak, Ollivander shrugged. "Well, which hand do you usually use?"

"Right hand, sir."

"Okay." The scene that happened at Madam Malkin's place was repeated. A ruler was once again flying up and down, measuring Julien's various data, even more complicated than at Madam Malkin's place. At least making clothes did not require measuring pupillary distance.

The trials that followed were nothing short of disastrous.

"It's the wand that chooses the wizard, not the other way around," Ollivander muttered as he handed over the first wand. "Hawthorn wood handle, unicorn hair core, nine inches. Try this one."

Just as he was about to wave the wand, it suddenly spewed out a thick cloud of black smoke, smelling like burnt socks mixed with rotten eggs. He quickly dropped it, coughing violently from the fumes.

"Hmm... apparently it thinks you're not pure enough," Ollivander said expressionlessly, casually stuffing the wand back into the box. "Or maybe it was in a bad mood last night."

"Ha, I think the wand feels right," the girl said with a sneer, arms crossed.

Julien ignored him.

The second piece Ollivander took out was oak, with a dragon heartstring, and was eleven inches long.

This time it was even worse. The tip of the wand snapped and spewed out a ball of flame, almost setting Julian's eyebrows on fire. He hurriedly patted his eyes, but the smoke still stung them, and he spent a long time wiping away tears.

"Uh oh, Long Xinxian has a fiery temper," Ollivander commented. "Could it be that it thinks you're too calm and wants to add some 'passion' to you?"

The third one is grapewood, phoenix tail feather, twelve inches.

"Try this one. It will most likely choose a calm and quick-witted little wizard, and it will be of unique help in Transfiguration."

It turns out this magic wand was quite the drama queen.

As soon as Julien grasped it, it began to vibrate violently, seemingly emitting a "buzzing" protest. The next second, it suddenly broke free from his hand and danced wildly in the air, like a drunken hummingbird, knocking the wand boxes on the surrounding shelves to pieces.

Every time Julien failed (or, in Ollivander's words, every time he was rejected), the girl would let out a meaningful "tsk tsk," as if she were watching a farce.

"It seems some people," she said slowly, "are destined not to be favored by the wand. Oh well, hahaha."

Ollivander, far from being angry, had eyes that shone with an alarming light. "Interesting...very interesting!"

After several more attempts, Ollivander grew increasingly excited. "Contradiction...fusion...child of the boundary..." he murmured to himself, perhaps not even knowing what he was saying.

Suddenly his eyes lit up, and he stared intently at Julien.

"Bloodline, ancient and heavy, carrying an aristocratic arrogance; yet you possess a fresh and natural power, like the first breeze of spring, or the scent of earth after rain... Contradictory, yet harmonious. This is not mixed blood, this is... fusion."

Upon hearing this, the girl next to him stared at Julien with surprise, her eyes now serious and devoid of any mockery.

Ollivander suddenly opened his eyes, as if struck by lightning. "Aha! I remember now!" He suddenly ran to the back of the room and took down a dusty box from the top of a shelf.

With a flick of his right hand, he silently cast a dust-removing spell, sweeping away the dust from the box. (Of course, he might have used his sleeve; Julien couldn't quite see it.)

"Silver linden wood, exactly thirteen inches. The core—a Thunderbird's tail feather intertwined with moonstone crystal powder. What are you waiting for? Open it and see!"

Julien opened the box and saw a magic wand lying inside. The wand was long and slender, the wood was warm and smooth like jade, and it had a faint silver-gray luster, as if the moonlight had solidified into a physical form.

When Julien picked up the wand, he immediately felt its warmth, as if he were holding his own flowing blood. He could even feel a double heartbeat beneath the wood.

On one side, a thunderous, surging pulse yearned to tear through the clouds, a deafening roar; on the other, a cool, moonlit flow whispered secrets, nocturnal schemes, and unspoken pride. The two sensations intertwined and swirled in Yu Lian's palm.

The black mist or flames that spewed from the tip of the wand were no longer condensing into a concrete phantom—like a leaping blue-white lightning bolt or the soft moonlight spilling onto the ground like mercury, creating a dynamic, tension-filled, and beautiful scene.

All the wand boxes in the store vibrated in unison, emitting a deep resonance that left Isabella dumbfounded, forgetting even to maintain the arrogance expected of a noblewoman.

"That's right, that's right. I knew it."

Ollivander's voice trembled slightly. "Silver linden wood, rare, from the Far East. As its name suggests, the wood is smooth and tough, warm to the touch. It is extremely loyal; once it recognizes a master, it wraps its will like the most magnificent brocade. Beneath its elegance lies an unyielding tenacity."

“This is an experimental work from my youth. I haven’t had this kind of imagination in a long time.” Ollivander sighed and continued, “The Thunderbird, the embodiment of storms and freedom, its tail feathers pursue grandeur, intensity, and the power to change destiny. But the Moonstone… it is the guardian of dreams, intuition, and the hidden self.”