She's grinning at the books.

"Okay!"

Hagrid leads her down Diagon Alley to a narrow, shabby, dusty shop, with no gaudy dancing advertisements out front - just a sign in gold lettering saying "Ollivander's."

"Garrick Ollivander," Hagrid says, nodding toward the shop.  "One of the best in Britain."  He glances at her conspiratorially.  "Fair warning, though, he can be a bit, er..."

He trails off.

"A bit what?"

"Odd, I suppose."

"That's okay." Everything here's odd.

In they go.

It's shady and silent inside.  Thin shelves stacked high with narrow boxes.  A wooden counter with several wands on stands, all different lengths and colors.  Dust swirls in the shafts of daylight through the windows.  Quiet enough to hear their own breathing.

An old man emerges from around a corner that hadn't looked like it led anywhere.  He catches Harriet's eye, fixes her with a penetrating gaze.  Silent, for a moment.

"Verditer," he says, "or incarnadine?"

" - What?"

His hand whips up to beside his face, and he's holding a swatch of color - a light, sort of minty green.  "Verditer?"

His fingers sort of snap around the piece of paper, and it flips almost too fast to see.  The other side is a deep, almost bloody red.  "Or incarnadine?"

"...Verditer?"

"That's your answer?"

"Ah, yes sir."

The swatch of color disappears in a flutter of fingers, and he moves his hand as though to pocket it.  "Garrick Ollivander."

"I'm Harriet Evans. It's nice to meet you, Mister Ollivander."

"Evans," he muses, distantly.

He walks - stalks - toward his counter, leans forward across it and steeples his fingers.  "Miss Evans, suppose you have been cursed to transform irrevocably into an animal, and suppose furthermore that you may choose which animal before the curse takes effect.  What animal do you choose, and why?"

"Uh. A dog? They're nice... Like. A golden retriever, maybe?"

"Would you rather own a perfect broomstick, or a perfect invisibility cloak?"

"What do those do?"

"One flies on a broomstick," Ollivander says, "and one wears an invisibility cloak to become invisible, naturally."

"An invisibility cloak, then."

This goes on for some minutes.  Would you rather be an animagus or a metamorphmagus?  Suppose you have invented a spell; what does that spell do?  If you could give one wish to anyone in the world, but could not suggest what they wish for, how would you decide who to give it to?  And so on.

Her answers mostly reveal a hesitancy to leap to conclusions about what this or that magical term means. She's mostly shy, but she thinks deeply about the more complicated questions, stuttering through the bigger ones like who she would give a wish to. Still, she answers all of his questions without showing any signs of impatience or annoyance.

"Right then, Miss Evans," he says, and leans back.  "These wands," gesturing to the five on display stands on his counter, "are not for sale, but I would like you to try them."

She does so; the laurel wand with a unicorn hair core reacts the best to her, of them, though none fit her exceptionally well.