"What's this? Looks like… a coin?"
Maca turned the item over in his hand, his eyes gleaming with curiosity as he recalled the strange, blue glow he'd just witnessed. He set aside his earlier plan to leave and reached into another nearby crate, pulling out a broken piece of wood.
Feigning interest, he asked about it. The short, scruffy wizard gave a vague explanation, full of theatrical flair. Maca listened, then casually inquired about the price.
"Ten Galleons! Definitely ten Galleons! It's extremely rare—just look at it…"
Before the man could ramble on further, Maca waved a hand to stop him. "Three Galleons. From what I know, it's only worth that much."
His tone was firm, as if he knew the exact value of this so-called "Coffin Wood of Herpo the Foul."
"No! That's impossible! At least eight Galleons! You must understand, the infamous dark wizard—Herpo the Foul—was once buried in…"
Maca cut him off again. "Four Galleons. That's final."
Just as the squat wizard seemed about to protest, Maca suddenly scowled and reached between the shelves, pulling out another item with exaggerated nonchalance. "Alright, then. Eight Galleons for both—this one and that piece of wood. Otherwise, I'm walking."
He slapped eight Galleons onto the counter, staring straight at the little man with sharp eyes.
The vendor hesitated, glancing at the coin Maca held and then at the money on the counter. His expression turned wounded. The coin in Maca's hand looked old and heavy, but aside from being grimy, it didn't seem special at all.
"Fine, fine… take it. Consider that one a gift. Eight Galleons total," the man muttered, shoving the money into a locked drawer with a clink of coins.
Out in the street, Maca was in high spirits. He twirled the aged coin between his fingers, feeling rather proud of himself. Even the narrow, gloomy alley seemed brighter now.
Of course, he didn't see the same smug grin spread across the short wizard's face back in the shop.
"Arrogance is humanity's most precious treasure—it keeps the profits flowing," the little man murmured, patting the cash drawer fondly. The coin Maca took was nothing more than a rusted iron slug, enchanted just enough to seem mysterious.
But leaving aside the conman's petty tricks, Maca, pleased with his purchase, figured it was time to head back the way he came.
"Huh?"
At the fork in the road, he spotted a towering figure emerging from the entrance to Gringotts.
"A half-giant? Hagrid?" Maca muttered, weaving through the crowd toward him.
Once he got closer, he noticed the small figure walking beside Hagrid.
"Oh! Are you… are you really the famous Harry Potter?" Maca asked, deliberately eyeing the boy up and down.
Harry hadn't even answered when the nearby crowd caught wind of the name and started to swarm.
"Oh my! It's Harry Potter!"
"Really? Oh—!"
"Merlin's beard! I must be dreaming!"
People began to gather excitedly, as if Harry were some rare magical creature on display.
Maca glanced around and immediately grabbed Harry's sleeve, tugging him into a run. "Hurry!" he called to Hagrid as they dashed into a junk shop.
Once inside, both boys let out a breath of relief.
"Sorry about that," Maca said sheepishly. "Didn't think it'd cause such a scene."
"Oh, it's alright," Harry replied, shaking his head. "But… why does that keep happening? This is the second time. I feel like… everyone knows me?"
Maca shot a glance at Hagrid and nodded slightly in understanding.
"Hmm… I'm sorry, but I don't think it's really my place to explain," Maca said, scratching his head, although in truth, he just didn't feel like getting into it.
Before Harry could press further, Hagrid stepped over.
"Right then! Since we're here, let's get your wand, eh?" he said, clapping Maca on the shoulder. "You too, er…"
"Maca. Maca McLean," Maca offered with a nod.
"Ah, right—Mr. McLean."
"No, no. Just Maca is fine."
As he said that, Maca absentmindedly rested his hand on Hagrid's rear. Realizing it a beat too late, he felt a wave of awkwardness.
"Wow, you're really tall!" he said in a high-pitched voice, trying to cover his blunder.
Hagrid gave a slightly embarrassed chuckle but didn't comment.
Maca quickly caught on—Hagrid likely didn't mind his heritage as a half-giant so much as how kids reacted to it. Maca promptly moved his hand, patting Hagrid's back instead, and laughed lightly.
"Funny thing—one of the goblins at Gringotts said the same to me just now."
"Hahaha! You're barely taller than a goblin yourself, kid," Hagrid replied with a grin. He wasn't stupid—he knew Maca was trying to lighten the mood.
Harry stood off to the side, watching the two of them with a puzzled expression. He couldn't quite make sense of their conversation, though he sensed something strange in the air.
"Alright then, let's go!" Hagrid said. "We're heading across the street to Ollivanders—you'll both get the finest wands there."
Yes, wands—exactly what both Maca and Harry had been dreaming of.
The shop looked old and run-down, with a weathered sign above the door that read, in faded gold letters:
"Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C."
Behind the dusty display window, a single wand lay on a faded purple cushion, looking rather lonely.
As they stepped inside, a soft jingling sounded from somewhere in the back of the shop. The interior was small and bare, with only a single long bench for seating.
Hagrid sat down to wait, while Harry stood nearby, feeling oddly as though he were in a very strict library. He forced down the flood of questions forming in his mind and instead looked up at the countless narrow boxes stacked all the way to the ceiling. For some reason, a shiver crept over him. The dust and silence in the shop seemed to conceal a mysterious kind of magic.
"Good morning," said a soft voice, startling Harry.
Even Hagrid seemed a bit surprised, for the bench creaked loudly as he suddenly stood up.
An old man stood before them, his pale eyes shining like twin moons in the dim light of the shop.
"Good day, Mr. Ollivander," Maca said politely.
Harry looked a little uneasy, but followed Maca's lead with a quiet "Hello."
"Ah, yes," the old man said softly. "Yes, yes. I knew I'd be seeing you soon, Harry Potter. It was only a matter of time. You have your mother's eyes, exactly. She came here to buy her first wand, you know—ten and a quarter inches, willow, swishy… excellent for charm work."
Ollivander stepped closer to Harry, who rather wished the old man would blink more often. Those silver eyes made his skin crawl.
"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches, pliable… powerful, very well suited for Transfiguration. I say he liked it—but of course, the wand chooses the wizard."
It seemed Ollivander hadn't yet noticed Maca. He leaned in so close to Harry that his nose was nearly touching his face. Harry could see his own reflection in the cloudy depths of the old man's eyes.
"Ah, this is it…" Ollivander whispered, tracing a finger gently over Harry's lightning-shaped scar.
"I'm terribly sorry. That… was one of mine. Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Very powerful. A terrible thing, to fall into the wrong hands… If only I'd known what that wand would go on to do…"
He sighed quietly, then looked up past Harry, finally seeming to notice Hagrid—which brought a wave of relief to Harry.
"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! So good to see you again… Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"
"That's right, sir," said Hagrid.
"A fine wand, that was. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you were expelled, didn't they?" Ollivander said, his tone suddenly serious.
"Yes, they did," Hagrid said slowly, shifting on his feet. "Snapped it clean in two. But… I kept the pieces."
"You're not still using it, are you?" Ollivander asked quickly.
"Oh, no, sir," Hagrid replied hastily, his grip tightening on the pink umbrella in his hand.
Maca, meanwhile, wasn't paying attention to Hagrid's suspicious umbrella. He had more pressing concerns—because Ollivander had finally turned his eyes on him.
"Ah, a new face," the old man said. "Hello there, young man."
Ollivander didn't seem nearly as interested in Maca as he had been in Harry, which made perfect sense. Maca had no legendary past, no dramatic backstory.
"What's your name?"
"Maca McLean," he replied.
"Very good, Mr. McLean," said Ollivander, giving the two boys a sharp glance. "Well then, gentlemen… who's first?"
He pulled out a long silver-measured tape from his pocket, his face suddenly solemn. Maca gave Harry an encouraging pat on the back, motioning for him to go ahead.
--