"Right hand."
Hermione held it out without hesitation. Ollivander looked a little odd, but she wasn't the type to be unsettled by odd.
"Oh, good."
He snapped his fingers. A measuring tape shot out from the corner and began working its way across Hermione's body with brisk efficiency, not overlooking anything, including the distance between her nostrils. A quill and notebook hovered nearby, scratching down figures as fast as they came.
Ollivander had already disappeared into the shelves.
Altair glanced at Professor McGonagall and kept his voice low. "Why do they need all these measurements when buying a wand?"
"It is said that every wand must fit its young witch or wizard perfectly..." She paused, not quite satisfied with her own answer. "But a young wizard's body is still growing. These measurements could be out of date in three months. And the wands were all made long ago, so measuring now feels a little late."
"A very clever young man."
Ollivander had reappeared without anyone noticing, a wand box in hand.
"But that sense of ceremony is our way of showing respect to wands."
He opened the box in front of Hermione and lifted out the wand inside.
"Vine wood, dragon heartstring, ten and three-quarter inches. Try this, child."
Hermione took it. Ollivander demonstrated a short wave. She copied the movement.
A breeze came from nowhere and curled around her, and a burst of brilliant light flared from the tip.
"A splendid combination. This wand has chosen you. Vine wood suits witches and wizards with lofty aspirations and uncommon vision. I hope you will use it well."
Ollivander turned to Altair. Hermione came back to herself slowly, running her fingers along the wand with an expression that had forgotten it was in public.
The tape measure rose again and began circling Altair, taking its measurements. The quill scratched away. Altair found himself wondering how many children's measurements that little notebook held.
After a while Ollivander emerged from the shelves and placed a wand in his hand.
"Holly, unicorn tail hair, eleven inches..."
The wand crackled. Not a gentle reaction. A violent one, loud and immediate, and Altair dropped it fast.
It was already damaged. Cracks ran through the holly wood, and the unicorn tail hair inside had burned out completely.
"A dreadful talent. Even unicorn tail hair cannot endure it..."
Ollivander studied Altair for a long moment, then turned and went back into the shelves.
Professor McGonagall's frown had settled in. She said nothing.
Altair turned his head and found her looking at him. Hermione was too. He shrugged.
It was the One Ring. Soul-bound to him, it had saturated him with a kind of dark power that had no ordinary equivalent. With the Necromancer ability now unlocked as well, his natural affinity for dark magic had sharpened considerably. The result wasn't surprising, even if it was inconvenient.
Ollivander returned after some time, this time carrying his recommendation with more deliberation.
"Yew. A wood associated with death, exceptionally suited for stronger magic. The core is marsh werewolf hair, which is likewise extraordinarily compatible with a wizard of your particular talent. Twelve and three-quarter inches."
He placed it in Altair's hand with quiet confidence.
Altair gave it a wave. Everyone in the room seemed to hear something, faint and distant, like a sound that didn't quite belong to the air.
"Oh. It seems this one is not suitable either."
Ollivander took the wand back and turned it over carefully. "The yew wood itself is undamaged, but the core is gone. So even marsh werewolf hair will not do." He was already muttering to himself. "Let me think, let me think..."
He disappeared again.
Altair could tell the man was pained. Marsh werewolf hair wasn't a standard material, and the supply was limited.
"I'm sorry. I didn't think this would be so troublesome."
"It's all right, Altair." McGonagall's voice was composed, though the frown hadn't entirely left. "Your power is very unusual. A wand is a wizard's best friend, so we must be patient." She paused. "And you should remember this. It is not what our power is that matters, but the choices we make."
Altair nodded.
He understood what she wasn't saying. A boy from a gangster family, naturally gifted for dark magic. If Slytherin took him too, McGonagall would probably lose sleep over it.
"I have it. This one, it must be this one. I have a marvelous feeling about it!"
Ollivander came back through the shelves carrying a box that looked older than the rest. Considerably older.