After leaving the extraordinary clothing store, Les couldn't help but vent to Lupert about his recent encounter. In his opinion, that Macmillan was just like a giant baby—completely immature—and he really didn’t understand how he had grown up without being beaten to death.

"What’s wrong with wizards these days? Not only are they weak, but they also lack any sense of honor, always bragging about their families as if that’s all they have to offer. They’re just like Muggle nobility."

"There’s nothing to be done; pure-blood wizards are like that. They fanatically support pure-blood ideology, and many of them aren't exactly clear-headed. The problem goes back to the roots—blame Slytherin."

Les: ?

Huh? How is this even related to me? Faced with this sudden accusation, Les looked bewildered.

"What does this have to do with Slytherin?"

"Slytherin is the founder of pure-blood ideology! If he hadn’t promoted pure-blood supremacy at Hogwarts, how could those pure-blood wizards be so rampant?"

Les: Ah?

Lupert's words shocked him. When selecting students for his house, he, like Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, preferred students with distinct characteristics. Slytherin valued those who were clever, strong-willed, disdainful of societal laws, shrewd, ambitious, and of pure blood—speaking Parseltongue was a bonus.

He did have a preference for students from wizarding families, but in his admissions criteria, that was just one condition. How had he become the ancestor of pure-blood supremacy? It seemed like later generations misunderstood him.

Taking a step back, what kind of pure-blood family was the Macmillan household anyway? He remembered quite clearly that his old friend Hufflepuff had once accepted a student of Muggle descent with the last name Macmillan...

"Your understanding of Slytherin is too superficial," Les muttered before shutting his mouth and silently walking toward the wand shop.

After his conversation with Lupert, Les was determined to visit Hogwarts. He was eager to find out what kind of image he held in the minds of future generations and wanted to know the current state of Slytherin House.

If the room was filled with garbage, Les squinted and thought, then let’s sweep them out!

...

The wand shop was tucked away in an inconspicuous corner of Diagon Alley.

"Ollivander: Crafting fine wands since 382 BC." Les read the slogan written on the sign and then closed his mouth again.

He was trying to recall if he had ever met a wand maker by the name of Ollivander, and gradually, the figure of a small old man wrapped in a burlap robe emerged from the depths of his mind—these memories usually lay dormant, hidden deep within his brain, only waking up when stimulated by something from the outside world, like the morning sun shining on them.

In the heyday of Slytherin, very few wizards purchased finished wands from others; everyone preferred to choose materials that suited them for their livelihood. Wand makers mostly took on the task of making wands on commission.

Hufflepuff had once ordered a wand from a wand maker named Ollivander.

...

"Don’t you already have a wand? Why do you want to custom-make another one? If you have money to burn, why not lend it to me? I could buy that alchemist's notebook," Rowena said after hearing Helga's idea, unable to restrain her frown.

In her view, spending money to custom-make a wand was simply a waste. Each of their group of four, except for Godric, had the ability to make their own wands.

"You always need a spare," Helga blinked, forcibly coming up with an excuse.

"Just let her go," Salazar said, coldly observing for a moment before surprisingly siding with Hufflepuff.

Seeing that even Slytherin, who usually loved to voice objections, supported her, Helga was extremely happy. The girl quickly ran toward a street stall—there stood a sign in gold letters that read: [Ollivander: Crafting fine wands since 382 BC].

The stall was small, with a few tools neatly arranged on the counter, and a small old man, dressed in a washed-out robe, was huddled behind the stall, waiting for customers.

This little stall was the reason Salazar supported Helga; he wanted to witness the wand-making skills from 382 BC. However, his rationality told him that the chances of this guy being a fraud were quite high, so he decided to encourage Hufflepuff, the simpleton, to go.

"The bounty from the Duke's task is wasted on these unnecessary expenses. She can't really believe that fraud's words, can she? The wands used by ancient wizards are not the same as ours—I swear that sign looks brand new, as if it was made yesterday," Rowena sighed.

"Can't people reform their techniques? As for the money, if it’s not enough, we can always hunt a fire dragon," Godric suddenly appeared from who knows where, holding a leather pouch full of wine.

The share of bounty Gryffindor received had all turned into sweet wine and sizzling grilled meat.

Salazar's friends' conversations went in one ear and out the other; his thoughts were entirely focused on Helga. He watched as the girl stopped in front of the street stall, conversed with the stall owner, and handed him a piece of wood and a light yellow thread.

The wood came from an apple tree, which bore large and sweet fruits, and the "thread" was the dragon nerve they had obtained from hunting a fire dragon a few days ago.

The stall owner accepted the deposit and told Helga to come back in three days to pick up her wand.

Helga had high hopes for her apple wood wand; she believed that with it, her culinary magic skills would reach new heights.

"I just saw a wand shop when I bought the wine. They say the craft comes from Egypt. Why don’t you go there to custom-make your wand?" Gryffindor pointed to a bustling big shop not far away.

Helga blinked: "But that shop doesn't lack customers!"

After hearing her words, Rowena Ravenclaw couldn’t help but sigh: this girl is good at everything, but her heart is too soft.

In the end, Hufflepuff did not get her longed-for apple wood wand.

The day after she paid the deposit, the four received news: a frenzied dragon had attacked South Port, turning it into a sea of fire. They hurriedly left the little town where they had stayed for two days and rushed toward South Port.

Who would have thought that this trip would lead to so many disturbances? The four of them arrived but never returned to that little town to pick up Helga's custom wand.

...

"Ollivander is the best wand maker in all of Britain and even the world. My wand, along with all the little wizards' wands studying at Hogwarts, was bought from him."

Lupert's words pulled Les back to reality.

His gaze drifted to the dusty window, where a wand lay alone on a faded purple cushion.