"What's curious about it?" The wand is staying in his hand and only partially because his pockets are too small.

"I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother – why, its brother gave you that scar."

"Woah. Is that--the kind of thing that isn't a coincidence, with wands?" Does it mean he's going to turn evil.

"Very few things in our world are coincidences, Mr. Potter, whether they have to do with wands or no. I speak only on my area of expertise, however, when I say that this certainly is not. The wand chooses the wizard, remember, though it is not always clear why, and this one has waited fifty-three years for you, rejecting all others. I think we must expect great things from you." He smiles thinly, here, something on the razor's edge between pride and regret. "After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things also. Terrible, yes, but great."

He would really rather that neither great nor terrible things be expected of him actually! 

"I'll--try not to do anything bad?" he says, trying to sound like this has ever worked.

"Don't we all," nods Ollivander, quite as though he has ever in his life taken an action whose terminal goal isn't 'wands.' "Good day, Mr. Potter."

He pays for his wand and gets out and . . . doesn't tell Hagrid that he might be secretly evil. And now it's probably time to go back to his aunt and uncle, isn't it.

"Are there spells I'm supposed to know before I get to Hogwarts?"

Hagrid has one of his hands behind his back when he returns, and looks very pleased with himself. "Eh? Oh, no, some people do I s'pose but the professors all start figuring yeh don't know yer wand from a spoon."

He chuckles at the metaphor. "Okay." That's convenient; he doesn't want Dudley finding out he has a valuable breakable object. "Um, how do I get to Hogwarts?"

"Oh, it's all on yer ticket," says Hagrid, "First o’ September, King's Cross, I've got it here somewhere. Just a mo', though, got summat else for you first - happy birthday!"

It transpires that what he's been hiding behind his back is an entire, quite large, snowy owl.

"Oh wow! It's beautiful!" 

The owl flutters smugly in her cage and utters a soft, pleased hoot. why yes, I am the prettiest, it seems to say, thank you for noticing.

Hagrid beams. "Isn' she? Dead smart, too, owls, they'll hunt fer themselves and deliver yer mail and whatnot. She'll be able to find me, so write straightaway if yeh have any trouble with those Dursleys, yeah?"

Oh thank goodness, if she didn't hunt for herself he has no idea how he'd get her fed.

"That's really great, thank you! Do owls like delivering mail? Can I try to pet her?"

Hagrid will set the cage carefully down on a bench so that Bruce can if he so desires stick his hand into it.

"Go ahead, just go slow-like so she can see what you're doing," he advises. "Some owls like to go live in the forest instead, I've met some of those, but if you meet a post owl it's being a post owl on purpose, I'd say. They're a bit like cats, see, can't really get 'em to do the finding magic if they don't care to."

He nods, and gently holds out a hand for the owl to examine, and if she seems okay with that he'll stick a tiny finger between the bars and stroke her beautiful fluffy white feathers. "You're even more beautiful than the picture in the encyclopedia," he says solemnly.

If she understood any of those words, encyclopedia was probably not one of them, but the owl seems very pleased by this compliment regardless; she boops his fingertip carefully with her beak, in a politely investigatory manner, and then leans contentedly into the subsequent pets. 

(Hmm yes. No wonder everybody trusts the big fuzzy fellow: he has clearly given her the best child, who is hers now.) 

What a good and friendly and SOFT owl she is. Hmmm, who has a girl's name and is cool enough to have an owl named after them. "I'm gonna name her Curie. For Marie Curie. Unless she has a name already."

"Nah, yer her first wizard so yeh get to name her. Aww, lookit you two, friends already!" Hagrid does not attempt to pet the owl, whose entire head is not substantially larger than his thumbnail, but he beams proudly down at her like a very shaggy mother hen, sniffling a little with delight.

"Who's this Mary Curie then?"

"She's one of those Muggle scientists I mentioned. She discovered that atoms--really tiny particles people thought couldn't come apart at all--fall apart into different smaller atoms sometimes."

Beardy squint.

Really tiny... particles.

Which... fall apart. Sometimes. Do they ... get tired, or...

"...Huh," Hagrid settles on, bemused. "The clever things Muggles come up with, goodness me."

"I can try to explain it better if you want?" In his experience nobody wants him to explain anything in longer than one sentence but Hagrid is full of surprises. "It's not super important though."

"We've probably gotta get yeh home sooner'n later," says Hagrid apologetically, glancing at the setting sun. "But tell yeh what, I'd love to hear all about it over tea first week of term, eh?"

"Okay!" Maybe he even means it. Also that assumes he'll be able to talk about anything other than MAGIC after he starts taking classes in it but they'll see.