“How much do you want to exchange? Let me state in advance, Muggle wizards can exchange a maximum of one hundred Galleons per year, at an exchange rate of one to five,” he lazily flipped open a notebook, twirling the quill in his hand.
“So little? Forget it, it’s barely enough,” Russell counted out five hundred pounds and handed them to the pendant.
When the pendant handed the heavy Galleons to Russell, Russell suddenly had an idea.
“What if I exchange gold for Galleons?”
“You have gold? The more the better, of course,” the pendant immediately changed its expression, looking at Russell expectantly.
“I was just asking,” Russell smiled, turned, and walked out of Gringotts. He did have a lot of gold at home, but he hadn’t brought it with him.
After they left, the pendant spat to the side and mumbled curses in Goblin language.
“Professor, is it really alright for the goblins to control the economy?” Russell held it in for a long time but still couldn’t resist asking.
“There’s no other way,” Flitwick said softly. “Only they possess the craft of making Galleons, sickles, and Knuts. That’s why even though they’ve rebelled many times, wizards can still tolerate them.”
Upon hearing this, Russell’s expression became strange. He wasn't a racist, but he understood the principle that those not of one’s kind are sure to have different intentions. If it was true even among humans of the same race but different countries, how much more so among different species?
Moreover, from Flitwick’s words, he learned that they had rebelled many times. To let such a race control the economic lifeline, he wondered what the wizards were thinking.
“However, despite that, the hatred between goblins and wizards has not disappeared,” Flitwick sighed. “You saw it just now, didn't you? The pendant’s attitude towards me, simply because I have goblin blood, the goblins believe I betrayed them.”
“Professor, don’t mind them,” Russell comforted, “that’s just the impotent rage of the losers.”
“Thank you for your comfort, Russell,” Flitwick smiled, “but I’ve long stopped taking such things to heart.”
With money in hand, Russell felt more confident. Besides the three plain work robes required, he also bought two slightly more advanced work robes at Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. These had temperature-regulating magic applied, making them warm in winter and cool in summer. This cost him thirty Galleons, making Russell feel a slight pang of heartache.
Although converted to pounds it was only one hundred and fifty, seeing the golden Galleons disappear from his pocket always felt more painful than paper money.
Even so, he only had five sets of everyday clothes for all seasons.
Next, Russell planned to go to Ollivander’s wand shop to buy his first wand.
Ollivander’s wand shop was located in a corner of Diagon Alley. The golden sign on the door was peeling, and it read: “Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C.” To put it politely, it was full of traces left by time, seemingly a bit unworthy of the largest armaments dealer in the British wizarding world.
In the shop window, a single wand lay forlornly on a faded purple cushion. The shop interior was small, with nothing but a long bench in the corner. Thousands of narrow boxes containing wands were stacked from the floor to the ceiling, covered in a thin layer of dust.
Behind the counter, a white-haired old man was concentrating on writing something. Upon hearing the chime of the opening door, he finally looked up.
“Welcome,” his voice was soft, and behind his spectacles were a pair of silvery-white eyes that looked somewhat peculiar.
Ollivander walked out from behind the counter and then noticed Flitwick beside Russell.
“Filius, long time no see. Aspen wood, fairy wing, seven inches long, a very strange combination, I remember it very clearly,” he said, rattling off the details.
“Is it still easy to use?”
“Of course, this old fellow has accompanied me in winning three Wizard Duelling Championships,” Flitwick immediately became excited when wizard duelling was mentioned.
“That’s good,” Ollivander smiled contentedly, turning his gaze to Russell, sizing him up and down.
“This gentleman, may I ask your name?”
“My name is Russell Fissone, sir.”
“Feisuoen, a very rare surname. Is your father’s name Mels Feisuoen?”
Russell was startled, then nodded. Wasn’t his father a Muggle? From the looks of it, it seemed he knew Ollivander.
“I still remember his wand, blackthorn, unicorn hair, nine inches long. Is he doing well now?”
“He and my mother have both passed away, sir. My father was a wizard? Are you mistaken?” he asked incredulously.
“Of course, he was an excellent wizard,” Ollivander nodded affirmatively.
“But I never heard him speak of anything about wizards,” Russell frowned.
In Russell’s memory, his parents died in a car accident. Since he was a wizard, a mere car accident shouldn’t have been able to kill them.
“While this situation is rare, it’s not impossible,” Ollivander mused. “Some wizards, after falling in love with Muggles, hide their identity and live in Muggle society. Perhaps Mels was like that too.”
“Is that so?” Russell nodded, reluctantly accepting this explanation.
“Mr. Feisuoen, do you usually use your left hand or your right hand?”
“Right hand.”
“Alright, please extend your right hand, don’t move,” Ollivander pulled out a roll of silver measuring tape from his pocket. With a flick, the tape snaked flexibly onto his arm, making him feel a little ticklish, but he remembered Ollivander’s instruction and didn’t reach out to scratch.
After measuring his arm, the tape began to measure his height. Russell couldn’t help but ask, “Sir, is there any necessary connection between a wand and height?”
“Of course there is,” Ollivander replied to Russell’s question while controlling the tape. “Based on different arm lengths and height, one can roughly estimate the most suitable wand length. Of course, a young wizard’s height is constantly changing each year, and I’ve taken that into account.”
“What about after adulthood then? Will the wand no longer be suitable?” Faced with Russell’s continuous questions, Ollivander did not show any displeasure but continued to answer patiently.
“Generally speaking, such a problem will not occur. Only when the mind changes will the wand resist its owner,” thinking of this, he suddenly fell silent.
“Just like a wizard who uses a wand made of unicorn tail hair, once he uses dark magic, his wand will no longer respond to him.”
“Remember, child, the wand chooses the wizard.”