Unlike Anthony's expectations, the process of selecting a wand was rather unremarkable. Ollivander chatted with Professor Burbage about her wand, then stared at Anthony with his silvery eyes, measuring his dimensions in silence, which led him to begin what felt like an endless cycle of trial and error.

Standing in the shop, Anthony waved each wand one by one as instructed by the wand maker. Sometimes, the tip of the wand would emit crackling sparks, like a light bulb about to short-circuit. Ollivander would snatch the wand away before he could draw a figure eight with the sparks and replace it with another: “No, maybe this one!”

At other times, the wand in the box would tremble even before he reached for it. “Of course not! How could I have missed that?” Ollivander exclaimed as he quickly closed the lid.

Some of the wands felt just like polished sticks in his hand. According to the wand maker, “They felt dead.”

Just as Anthony pondered whether he truly needed a wand—truthfully, he wouldn’t blow himself up without one—Ollivander pulled the next wand from the shelf and placed it in his hand: “Try this one. Silver lime, unicorn hair. Ten and three-quarters inches, fairly flexible.”

Anthony grasped it. He held his breath. “This is it,” he said softly.

Ollivander widened his pale eyes at him: “Give it a wave, Mr. Anthony, do something.”

Anthony gently shook the wand. Dappled light and shadows danced across the shop walls, forming a winged pegasus, with a horn that grew to an intimidating length atop its head.

“Wow,” Professor Burbage said.

“Wow,” Anthony echoed. This feeling was truly wondrous; he no longer felt like he was holding a stick or a sparkler—he felt complete.

It was as if this had always been a part of him, his wand resting steadily in his hand, every curve fitting perfectly against his palm. A kind of magic he had never experienced before flowed within him, a magic different from that of the skeleton cat or the wailing chicken.

“Absolutely magnificent. Every time a wand chooses its master, I have to say this: it’s incredible,” Ollivander remarked. “Your wand really likes you, Mr. Anthony. Don't let it down. Don't hurt it.”

Anthony squeezed the silver shaft: “I like it very much as well, thank you, Mr. Ollivander.”

“Wonderful,” Ollivander said as he took the galleons and escorted them to the door. “By the way, if you don’t mind me asking, what were you thinking when you waved your wand? We don’t often see such a tangible connection.”

“I was thinking…” Anthony recalled blankly, “unicorn. You said it’s made of unicorn hair, so I thought of unicorns.” He smiled apologetically at Ollivander, “I guess that’s not much help.”

“No, it’s very helpful. Unicorns don’t look like that, sir,” Ollivander said gently.

Anthony: “…”

Professor Burbage suppressed a laugh: “Let’s go, Professor Anthony. We really need to buy some books.”

…

Following the book list kindly provided by Professor Burbage, he found the required textbooks for first to fifth years at Hogwarts (and of course, he didn’t forget the Muggle Studies book "Life and Social Habits of British Muggle Families").

When he picked up the History of Magic textbook, he took a deep breath at its thickness and weight. He really needed this, but this hardcover tome cost two galleons, and with the textbooks he had currently found, it would nearly wipe out the remainder of his money, leaving him with just three knuts.

“That gentleman, the second-hand section is inside; most of the textbooks are there!” a clerk at Flourish and Blotts shouted from behind the towering shelves. “If you don’t mind, you can go in and take a look!”

Professor Burbage also asked him, “Are you planning to buy all new books?”

“Of course not,” Anthony said. “I just didn’t know they sold second-hand books here.”

He carefully navigated around the densely packed shelves, squeezing through the narrow gaps. The shelves emitted a mixed smell of wood, ink, bread, and dust that made his nose itch with the urge to sneeze. Some books suddenly opened their spines' eyes as he passed by, startling him.

The second-hand bookshelf was placed at the very back, overflowing to the point of almost spilling over. If it weren’t magically restrained, this shelf would have burst open long ago.

Anthony struggled to pull out the corresponding textbooks, choosing a few whose covers hadn’t fallen off—some of the second-hand textbooks looked as if the clerk had snatched them from the jaws of a fire dragon.

Aside from textbooks, the second-hand shelf also had many books that caught his interest, forcing him to return to Gringotts to exchange for more currency.

After acquiring his own wand, he was eager to learn more about it, so he bought many additional books related to wand lore ("The Wand Care Guide," "Understanding Your Wand," "The History of Wands"), and unexpectedly found some dusty historical references mixed with folklore on the bottom shelf.

Professor Burbage watched as he piled the books onto the counter, sighing indulgently, “Look at you, you’re just like a little boy who just bought a broom.”

She used magic to shrink and lighten the books so he could easily carry them back to the Leaky Cauldron.

“I guess you’re not in the mood to continue browsing. But now that you have your own wand, you can come by anytime,” she said with a smile. “That’ll be all for today. I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts, Professor Anthony—oh, by the way, this year you’ll be responsible for the third and fourth years. You can freely choose your textbooks as long as you write to Minerva, but I highly recommend that book, 'Life and Social Habits of British Muggle Families.'”

It was then that Anthony suddenly realized an issue: there were only two months until the start of school; he needed to prepare lessons! And he didn’t know anything!

After bidding farewell to Professor Burbage, he hurried back to the Leaky Cauldron and dove into his books. His cat attempted to cause mischief, but he held it in his arms and earnestly explained the principles of the water charm, only for it to quickly lose interest and curl up to sleep under the bed.

If it weren’t for Tom bringing champagne to find him, he might have completely lost track of time. As he got up to open the door, he suddenly felt a wave of darkness before his eyes, his legs weakened, and he realized he had missed both lunch and dinner.

“Congratulations!” the owner of the Leaky Cauldron said. “A new professor at Hogwarts, worth celebrating! This is a new product, just as new as you, the new professor.” He chuckled at his own joke.

Anthony took the cup and drank it down in one go: “Thank you, are there any sandwiches left?”

“Champagne and a biscuit, thank you for your patronage,” Tom said. “Only beef sandwiches left, five silver sickles, would you like one?”

“Sure, you opportunistic merchant,” Anthony replied without courtesy, counting out six silver coins.

After eating the sandwich, he opened "The Standard Book of Spells" again.

Thanks to his past student life, Anthony was quite skilled at reading literature. The textbook for eleven-year-old wizards used simple, easy-to-understand language and clear formatting; the second-hand book he bought even retained the notes from its previous student. In just half a day, he dared say he could keep up with an ordinary first-year student… as long as it didn’t involve necromancy.

Out of curiosity about necromancers, he also read the historical material on magic.

Due to their overwhelming preference for gathering near graveyards, necromancers nearly vanished during the witch hunts of the medieval period—thanks in no small part to the secret denunciations by rival wizards—before being collectively eradicated by the international magical community, finally declared extinct in the late 19th century, becoming a profession that lingered only in poetry.

An excerpt from "A Brief History of Magic" included a long-ago poem. In the story, a necromancer summoned an army of the dead, forcing people to battle the corpses of their loved ones. A witch saw her deceased daughter appear before her, and when she was forced to destroy her child’s body, in a rage, she cursed the necromancer with her daughter’s bones and her own flesh.

“I curse you with pure bones, I curse you with angry flesh,” she shouted. “I will make death torment you in the same way! I will drink your blood with death! I crave it so much!”

In the poem, this mother succeeded in her curse. When her enemy died, blood gushed out like a fountain. She drank: “Bitter blood! Sweet blood!”

The book pointed out that this segment could correspond with vampire legends from parts of southern England. Meanwhile, another poem circulating in northern Finland had a similar plot, albeit one seeking revenge for a son. In the end, the mother also became a necromancer, turning her enemy’s corpse into her most wretched slave.

“We have reason to believe that these similarities are not mere coincidences, but glimpses of historical fact. Death and revenge, as primal forces of frenzy, are embodied in dark magic, continually appearing in the process of magic's civilization. The depictions of necromancers in literature vary, yet their deaths are astonishingly unified: ancient dark magic travels the chain of hatred, from the perpetrator to the avenger, ultimately leading all stories to death itself. Regardless, this magic, most entwined with death, has vanished into the river of time.”

Anthony closed the book.

The author seemed to hold a peculiar perspective on the history of magic, positing that magic originated from humanity’s confrontation with death, while dark magic was a weapon of death. The author repeatedly emphasized that when one indulges in dark magic, death has already caught up with that person. Interestingly, when mentioning death, the language in the book was quite neutral.

He glanced at the author’s name on the cover: Pandora Lovegood.

“The answer is written on the riddle,” Anthony murmured.

To dispel the history of necromancers from his mind, he decided to practice some spells before bed.

He filled an empty plate that had held the sandwich with water using the water charm, then made it float (“Wingardium Leviosa,” he recited aloud) and released the spell, letting it fall to the ground. He successfully repaired the plate, but no matter how much he pointed at the floor and recited the cleaning charm, the puddle remained undeterred, swaying its warm yellow reflection under the candlelight.

Anthony sighed, stood up, and grabbed a towel.

“The simpler the method, the less likely it is to go wrong,” Anthony murmured. “Learn from Muggle wisdom, wizards.”

He decided to flip through the Muggle Studies textbook tomorrow to see how wizards perceive ordinary people who cannot do magic.