The standard kind of telescope for Hogwarts first years, it transpires, looks almost exactly like the sort of collapsible handheld spyglass one commonly sees people use on boats in movies, except that when unfolded it has spidery little legs which serve as a self-balancing tripod. (It is possible that Hogwarts first years may have, historically, struggled with a tendency for knocking their telescopes off of towers.) 

Also that way you don't need to have steady hands to aim it! And now he has a TELESCOPE!

Once he's paid up and on his way out he asks Hagrid, "What's a Ravenclaw? Is it one of the houses like Hufflepuff and Slytherin?"

"What? How have yeh managed to hear those three and not - ah, well, yes, and the fourth one is Gryffindor. Which is where all the best - erm, sorry, m'not s'posed to play favorites o'course, bein' a representative of the school. Yer parents were Gryffindors though."

"The kid in the robe shop made it sound like people are usually in the same house as their parents but I think he--wasn't trying very hard to only say correct things."

Hagrid chuckles. "Lotta people don't try very hard at that, I reckon. Not wrong, though -  plenty of people end up something different, too, mind, yeh never know till you get there, but families'll lean to one House or another."

"What determines which one you get, if it's not random?"

"Oh, no, it's not random, there's a Sorting! Which is, erm," he scratches apologetically at his beard. "It's a surprise? You're s'posed to get told somethin' silly so everybody has fun guessing beforehand, see. I'm no good at makin' stuff up though. When I was a wee lad - oh, goodness, it's been ages - if I remember right my da told me they'd throw us in the lake and see what color our hair turned, hah."

Surprise: noun. A problem it is especially hard to hide or run away from. 

"Okay." 

On a happier note, is their next stop the wand store?

It sure is!

Hagrid considers the tiny, tiny building that is Ollivander's, Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C., slightly nervously pats his umbrella, and suggests, "How about I nip back over to Madam Malkin's and get yer robes, and I'll meet you back here when you're done, eh?"

"Thanks! See you soon."

382 BC? He doesn't know if he hopes that's real or hopes it's made up. Magic existing makes it really hard to know what's made up and he's very much looking forward to learning enough about magic that that stops happening.

Anyway, he wants a ~*~magic wand~*~ as much as he's ever wanted anything that wasn't a book and this is where to get one! 

He is greeted upon entering the shop by a voice nearly as dusty as the shelves, floating out from underneath a pile of boxes. "Mr. Potter, I thought I'd be seeing you soon," it says, and is followed shortly by its owner, a fellow with unsettlingly unblinking silver eyes. "Ah, you have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Bruce is not unsettled by the man's eyes because he doesn't make eye contact by default. "Wands come in kinds? What kinds are there?"

"Indeed they do. Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and the heartstrings of dragons. No two wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are quite the same." He contemplates his pile of boxes, and hands Bruce a wand. "And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Wow, unicorns and phoenixes are real too? He picks up the wand, very gently in case it's fragile, and attempts to make a vaguely graceful gesture with it.

Nothing happens. Ollivander snatches it back out of his hand at once and hands him another. "Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try."

Swish?

Still nothing.

"No, no – here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

He tries it, wondering how many more attempts he gets before Ollivander decides he's too incompetent to use a wand and shouldn't be allowed to go to Hogwarts after all. 

Apparently at least four dozen, which is how many pile up on a rickety chair before Ollivander, with increasing delight and animation, starts rifling around under his desk again. "Tricky customer, eh?" he says, like this is a rare compliment. "Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere – I wonder now – yes, why not – unusual combination – " He surfaces from under the pile with a bright and curious light in his eyes. "Holly and phoenix feather, twelve inches, just a bit springy. Try."

He's happy to keep trying as long as he's allowed. Swoosh!

The wood of this wand, unlike the others, feels warm to the touch - as though it's been sitting out on a windowsill in the sunshine, despite the fact that Bruce definitely just watched Ollivander pull it out of a dusty box in the bottom of a desk drawer.

When he swooshes it, the warmth spreads gently up his forearm. Bruce can see his own skin glowing very faintly emerald-green, the exact shade he very occasionally catches a glimpse of in a mirror, as the wand emits a spray of golden sparks.

"Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good."

Ohhhhhh wow he did magic he did magic he's a real wizard with magic powers! He grins so big his face hurts and gently pets his wonderful new magic wand. 

"Thank you! Are there things I need to do to, to make sure it keeps working right?" His experience with appliance repair is mostly Uncle Vernon swearing at the television and also the one time the stove exploded, which now that he knows magic exists might have really been his fault for all he denied it at the time, but anyway he's aware that fancy expensive things need taking care of.

Ollivander was clearly prepared to pack the wand back into its box but he's not going to snatch Bruce's very own wand back out of his hand if he doesn't care to hand it back, especially not when he looks so earnestly fond of it already. "Curious," he murmurs, as he puts the box away. "How very curious. Ah - well! That's quite a question, isn't it. Holly is loyal, it shan't turn its back on you unless you are very unkind to it indeed, but a little wand polish now and again will not go amiss, yes? Oh, how curious, very curious..." the wandmaker repeats again, almost under his breath, as he begins to pack away the other incorrect wands.