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Why do I feel like if I ever walked into Ollivanders, looking for my wand, it would take hours - maybe even days? It wouldn't be a quick "Ah yes, the wand chooses the wizard!" moment. No, it would be a full-blown disaster.
We'd start out optimistic, with Ollivander pulling down a few options, waving them around dramatically, and handing me a couple to try. But the first one? Nothing. The second? A weak spark, maybe, but still not right. Fast forward four hours later, and the shop looks like a post-battle Hogwarts. Wand boxes are everywhere, the floor is buried under piles of discarded failures, and the shop itself looks like a wizard-themed escape room gone terribly wrong.
Ollivander, once the picture of patience and wisdom, is now slumped in the corner, his head in his hands, whispering to himself. His assistant left hours ago. Customers are waiting outside, but no one is getting in until this ordeal is over. Finally, at the absolute last option, after we've tried every single wand in existence, we find it. My wand. I hold it, and a glorious golden light fills the room.
Ollivander sighs in relief, I shout "Avada Kedavra!"