I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 14 Grindelwald, the Ubiquitous Influence. (Please continue reading!)

"You're next." Hagrid's gentleness vanished completely when facing Owen.

He coldly locked Ya Ya inside the house.

Then he led him toward Hogsmeade Village at the foot of the mountain.

As the only pure wizarding village in Britain, it naturally has a network of Flooways leading to Diagon Alley.

Haig didn't say a single word to him the whole way.

Even after the rapidly spinning green flames engulfed them, and he opened his eyes again to find himself in Diagon Alley, he remained silent.

Okay~

After all, he was wrongly imprisoned in Azkaban for a week.

It's understandable that Hagrid treated the dark wizard so badly.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Diagon Alley —

"Ding-dong~"

Welcome!

The bell on the door frame rang at the same time as the sounds inside the house.

"I want to buy a magic wand."

"Of course, what else would I come here for?" An elderly man with gray hair and a frail figure walked out from the cluttered cubicle.

Mr. Ollivander was a renowned rod maker in Britain and even Europe.

The wands he made are found throughout the wizarding world.

"Oh! It seems this is your first time here." Mr. Ollivander remembered every wizard who bought a wand, but he didn't recognize this little wizard in his Hogwarts uniform.

"Owen Sanchez, Professor Dumbledore asked you to give him a suitable one," Hagrid interjected, clearing up the puzzle of the rod-maker.

"Dumbledore?" The master's eyelids twitched. "He would worry about something like this?"

Muttering to himself, Ollivander turned and plunged into the wands that filled the entire room.

Which hand do you prefer?

"Right hand, sir."

"Hmm," Mr. Ollivander responded, then disappeared into the elevated walkways.

Moyue waited for a while.

He came out, holding a dusty box in his hand.

"Every wand has its own unique character; it is alive and breathes with the wizard."

"My child, remember this: a wand chooses its master."

As he spoke, he opened the box in his hand. "Willow wood, unicorn tail hair, eleven inches."

"Give it a try."

Owen took it, and the wand emitted a strong sense of repulsion the moment his fingers touched it.

"That's not quite appropriate." Mr. Ollivander's expression remained unchanged.

"That's normal."

"No wizard ever gets the right wand on their first try." He put the wand away.

A calm turn.

If it succeeds on the first try, how can the author still write filler articles? (crossed out)

"Most young wizards will choose two or three times, and some picky customers will even choose four or five times."

After saying that, Ollivander pulled another box from the shelf: "Try this one, sycamore, unicorn tail feather, twelve inches. Quite a clever combination."

Owen took it; the wand exuded a light and airy quality, unlike typical unicorn wands.

He waved his hand lightly, and a burst of surging flames flew out, nearly burning Hagrid's beard.

"Hmm, it seems it's not suitable for you." Ollivander snatched the wand from Owen's hand and then shoved it back into the box with all his might.

"I know every little wizard here very well."

"They have all inherited some traits from their parents to varying degrees, so choosing a wand is relatively easy." Ollivander's deep and clear voice came as they continued walking toward the shelf that reached the ceiling.

"But today's customer is different, Irving, right? Could you tell me your parents' names if possible?"

"I don't know, sir. If the director of that Muggle orphanage in Paris hasn't been blessed by the Old Gods and his mind is still functioning properly, then he might have met my father."

"What about the surname? Sanchez doesn't sound like a wizard's surname." Ollivander, who had already expected this, wasn't surprised.

"How about you try the surname Grindelwald?" Owen tentatively suggested.

"."

Suddenly, the entire shop fell silent.

Ollivander, who was searching for a wand, stopped in his tracks.

He then turned to look at Irving in disbelief.

He said stiffly, "Child, I think I misheard you. You said 'Grindelwald'?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you his descendant? Grandson? Great-grandson?" Ollivander stepped forward and asked seriously.

"Uh—grandson?"

Upon hearing this, Ollivander's eyes widened, followed by a surge of anger, a dazzling anger.

"Sorry, I'm not doing business with you. Please leave."

"Huh?" Owen was taken aback. Before he could speak, Hagrid hurriedly interjected, "It's Dumbledore—"

"Don't try to intimidate me with Dumbledore!" Ollivander yelled. "Many people know that Grindelwald stole something from Gregorovich."

The Master of the Staffs' expression twisted in rage. "He thought it was some kind of secret. But I know, Dumbledore knows it too."

"But what nobody cares about is that he contacted my father before stealing that item!"

"As the most famous rod maker, he approached my father first! Gervis Ollivander!"

"Do you know how that evil guy tortured him?"

"And you!" Ollivander pointed at Owen, his eyes fixed on him. "You dared to buy a wand from me!"

"I--"

Before Ollivander could finish speaking, Owen interrupted him.

Grandpa's influence is truly ubiquitous! Especially in England, which he never invaded, such deeds still exist.

Compared to Voldemort, he was truly on a completely different level.

Irving cares about this matter, and upon closer reflection, it is indeed possible.

The Ollivander family is a famous wand-making family with a history of over two thousand years. It's quite normal for Grandpa to guess that they might know the whereabouts of the Elder Wand.

It would be abnormal not to think that way.

but--

Blah blah blah, it's such a hassle.

I really want to eat a big melon, what should I do?!

"Ahem, Mr. Ollivander." He slowly drew his grandfather's wand from his waist, waved it twice in front of the poor-looking staff, and then said mysteriously, "Do you think it's possible that the person you fear most is nearby?"

"What?"

Ollivander, whose gaze was drawn to the familiar wand, was startled, and a fine bead of sweat instantly covered his temples.

He finally realized what was happening.

If this child in front of me is truly a descendant of Grindelwald, then doesn't that mean that the evil dark wizard was never imprisoned in Nurmengard at all?

Even if he were to appear in England, it's entirely possible he'd be in Diagon Alley.

And—Dumbledore.

The wizard who defeated him at his peak was in England.

At Hogwarts.

It is entirely possible that Grindelwald has already infiltrated Britain to seek revenge.

"I think it was that whole wand that tormented your father back then."

Irving looked at him with a smile.

"So—would you like to try it yourself?"

Sorry this chapter is a bit late. A big boss came to the company today to discuss cooperation, and I didn't get anything done this morning. All my work piled up until the afternoon, so I had to work overtime for a while. *sobs* Please give this kid some support, everyone.

(End of this chapter)