"Let's go. We will visit Gringotts to exchange your currency first; I imagine you are eager to see it," Professor McGonagall said, noting Alan's significant savings.
"Gringotts is the only wizarding bank in Britain, operated by Goblins. It is reputed to be the second safest place in our world, surpassed only by Hogwarts itself," she explained as they walked.
Led by the Professor, Alan reached a fork in the road. One signpost pointed toward the shadows of Knockturn Alley, while the other led to the main thoroughfare of Diagon Alley. At the intersection stood a towering white building, guarded by Goblins clad in scarlet and gold uniforms.
Upon entering, they passed through gleaming bronze doors, the Goblin guards bowing stiffly as they went by. After crossing a second set of silver gates, they entered a vast marble hall. About a hundred Goblins sat behind long counters, scribbling frantically in large ledgers. Some weighed piles of coins on brass scales, while others squinted at gemstones through thick monocles.
It seemed the external turmoil of the wizarding world had not yet reached the ledger books of the Goblins.
Under McGonagall's guidance, Alan approached a counter and presented his acceptance letter. He received twelve Galleons from the school's student aid fund. Although he had his own money to exchange, he saw no reason to refuse the subsidy. Afterward, he exchanged his pounds for one hundred Galleons. For an eleven-year-old boy, it was a staggering sum of money.
Alan walked out of the bank clutching a heavy deerskin bag. He pulled out a single coin to examine it. "It looks like pure gold, but the weight feels different."
"They are cast by Goblins using their unique craftsmanship. It is said that specific Goblin magic is applied to the minting process to ensure they cannot be counterfeited by outsiders," McGonagall explained.
"Now, I imagine you are anxious to find a wand of your own. In our world, a wizard can hardly move an inch without one," she said with a small, amused smile at the sight of Alan hauling his new fortune.
She led him to Ollivanders, an ancient, narrow building. A single wand sat on a faded purple cushion in the window. Inside, the shop felt cramped and old, with shelves reaching toward the ceiling, packed with thousands of narrow boxes. Behind the counter, a slender old man was silently polishing a length of wood.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Ollivander. We are here to purchase a wand."
"Ah, Minerva. Eleven and a half inches, fir. It has been quite a while. Time flies; another year of new students already!" Ollivander looked up at McGonagall before turning his pale, silvery gaze to Alan. "The last few days haven't been easy. Did you hear about what happened yesterday—"
"The unrest of yesterday will not last. You must have faith in the Ministry and Professor Dumbledore!" McGonagall interrupted sharply, glancing at Alan. She clearly feared that such talk would rattle the boy's confidence in his new world.
"Yes, Dumbledore. If he weren't still holding the pieces together, I expect I would have shuttered the windows and left long ago. But enough of that. Let us see what suits this young gentleman." Ollivander turned his full attention to Alan.
"Hello, sir. I'm Alan Wilson."
"Hello, Mr. Wilson. Polite young men are a rare find these days," Ollivander said, pulling a long tape measure with silver markings from his pocket. "Which is your wand hand?"
"My right, sir."
Ollivander began to take measurements—shoulder to fingertip, wrist to elbow. "So much strength for one so young. Impressive," he murmured, his fingers lingering on the firm muscles of Alan's arm.
Alan felt a prickle of unease. Was this part of the service? Measuring was one thing, but the old man was poking and prodding as if he were inspecting a prize stallion.
Ollivander moved quickly, however. Before Alan could dwell on the discomfort, a box was pulled from a shelf.
"Try this. Ash and phoenix feather, eleven and a half inches. Stubborn and brave."
Alan took the wand and gave it a tentative wave. A sudden ball of fire erupted from the tip.
"No, no, definitely not that one," Ollivander said, snatching it back and replacing it with another.
"How about this? Elm and dragon heartstring, nine and three-quarter inches. A wand of wisdom and elegance."
Alan had barely touched the wood before Ollivander pulled it away again. "Not that one either."
"Try this. Red oak and unicorn hair, ten and a half inches. For exceptional agility."
Alan gave a gentle flick, and a vase on the counter instantly shattered into a hundred pieces.
"Well, it seems you are already sharp enough. This one is a bit too sensitive," Ollivander noted, reclaiming the wand. "Don't worry, we will find the match. A picky customer simply requires a picky wand."
Alan tried several more, but none seemed to click. Finally, Ollivander returned from the back of the shop with a box that looked older than the rest.
"Try this. Thunder-struck wood from a sturdy ebony tree, with a Thunderbird feather core. Twelve and a quarter inches. It represents a firm, unwavering resolve and great resilience. The materials were a gift from Newt Scamander himself; it is an incredibly valuable piece. It occasionally produces small electrical arcs and is notoriously difficult to please."
He handed over a wand that looked as if it were carved from polished black jade.
The moment Alan's fingers closed around the ebony, he felt a deep, resonant connection, as if the wood were an extension of his own nervous system. He gave a light wave, and a faint, steady electric glow flickered at the tip.
"This is the one. It is a joy to see a wand find its true owner. It is clear it has chosen you," Ollivander said, his face lighting up with the genuine pleasure of a master craftsman.
"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander. I like it very much," Alan said, turning the dark wand over in his hand, feeling an immense sense of satisfaction.
"Ebony is excellently suited for combat and Transfiguration. I believe it will serve you well. A student's first wand is a uniform seven Galleons; the rest is subsidized by the school. Just see that you don't lose it!"
"I'll be careful, sir," Alan promised, paying the fee and thanking the old man once more before stepping back out into the street with Professor McGonagall.