Magic magic magic magic mAGIC -

It's not that she didn't believe her best friend about it, obviously. It's just that kinda-sorta knowing is not quite the same experience as having a whole grownup Witch (TM) show up on your doorstep and explain to your parents that magic is real and whisk you off (best friend, who didn't get assigned her own Muggleborn Tour Guide but is currently Not Speaking to her one magical relative, in tow) to a magic tavern and then through the magic wall to the MAGIC SHOPS. 

Now that they've got their pounds changed for WIZARD MONEY they're going to get WANDS and BOOKS ABOUT MAGIC and MAGIC POTION INGREDIENTS and and and -

"Where to first, Miss Evans? I'm glad to see you're excited but we can't stand about staring all day."

It is a mark, perhaps, of how much she does love her best friend that, despite desperately wanting to see the bookstore, Lily glances at Ophelia's outfit and confidently answers, "Uniforms, please!"

"...Lily, I know you aren't that excited about uniforms.  And - I can wait.  You will also have an easier time wearing me down to accept the charity you no doubt intend if it's not literally the first place we shop.  May I instead suggest wands?"

She's not exactly eager for a fitting, either.  The delicate shudder she represses is only evident to a discerning eye.  Or her close friend, who Knows Things.

"Oh, all right, twist my arm why don't you," she giggles, with a supportive elbow nudge. "Wands! Let's get wands! Why wands and not a magic staff or a magic sword or magic spellbooks or, or a magic crystal ball."

Ophelia gives her a small, fond smile.

"I believe crystal balls are used in Divination, actually.  But - wands have finesse, is what I'm given to understand?"  She looks to Professor McGonagall, inquiringly.  "Such that - maybe Ollivander could make a staff, but that would only be useful for a few spells.  ...I think that's part of how broomsticks work, actually, if I remember that mention in one of Eileen's textbooks right..."

"There are many wizarding tools, but only one best suits the style of magic that has been taught at Hogwarts since its founding, yes," explains McGonagall, as she strides purposefully through the crowd. It parts before her as though she casts a shadow about ten times the size of her actual body. She gives Ophelia a considering, appraising look. "You're quite right that there are some similarities; Professor Flitwick, the Charms professor, can likely tell you more, if you're interested in the topic."

"I have a keen interest in everything, ma'am, though I believe that I will be investigating Transfiguration and Potions most strongly in the coming years.  Personal reasons, I'm sure you understand."  She dips her head slightly, as if in acknowledgement of something that actually remains unstated, and follows after McGonagall.  "...I do find myself wondering, actually, if these new Muggle micro-computers mean that there might someday be metal wands, speaking of magic swords.  ...They'd really be more of a magic dagger, given average wand length, but I can't imagine that it's not been considered.  ...If anyone's paying attention to the outside world, at least."

A particularly egregious clothing disaster passes by.

"...Given the abysmal fashion sense around here, though, I think I have some doubts."

Having been up til today under the impression that Eileen Prince had had a son, the Transfiguration professor has perhaps an inkling of the personal reasons.

McGonagall raises an eyebrow. "Metal wands, gracious. Miss Prince, while that is a fascinating thought and I begin to get an inkling that I will be very much looking forward to seeing you in my office hours, I must say I recommend that you say nothing of the sort to Garrick Ollivander. If he has considered the idea at all, I suspect it is with immense distaste."

Had had, indeed.

"...He is an artisan, isn't he.  I suppose I can, and should, refrain.  I'm really quite dreadfully curious how he does it, actually; there wasn't much on the how of wands, even though there was a little on the what.  A core, a wood, a length and flexibility...mmm, flexibility might - dare I say would - be the core problem with metallic wands, wouldn't it.  Too precise for human hands, and probably easily-shattered even if it's possible, if - well, if I have any idea what I'm talking about, which is unlikely.  Still, perhaps micro-scale magic circles, if wands with computer cores just aren't viable."

...Annnnd they have arrived at the shop while she was thinking and talking.

"...Hm."  Uh-oh.  Hopefully he wasn't lurking.

Ollivander was definitely lurking. He does that. But if he heard the phrase wands with computer cores, he doesn't comment on it.

He does, however, loom out from behind a pile of boxes, frowning very deeply at her. "Is that - hm - no, that can't be right," he murmurs. "Young Miss Prince, and - no, I certainly cannot have met you before, Miss - ?"

"Evans. Lily Evans. No, I've never been here before?"

Even more concerned squint. "No, of course you haven't. ... Well. Who's first, then?"

"Lily, would you like to?"

She wants her friend to have the maximally magical experience.  Waiting around isn't part of that!

Probably she should politely defer but actually she cannot bring herself to. "Yeah!"

When she waves (as instructed) the first wand she has been handed, an entirely different wand shoots out from under a shelf and burrows itself into her shirt sleeve.

"...um?"

"Well," repeats Ollivander, in a bemused tone, taking back the first one. "The wand certainly does choose the wizard, doesn't it, though I've not seen one do so quite that emphatically in many years. Ten and a quarter inches, willow and unicorn hair, swishy. Good for charm work, that one."

"...That is certainly not vaguely concerning whatsoever.  Ah...  I suppose it's my turn, then?"

That's another question for the big pile thereof she already has about this whole encounter, really.

Ollivander has his pride as an elderly wizard and he is absolutely not going to outright admit confusion to an eleven-year-old. He smiles mysteriously, does not comment on what degree of concern, vague or otherwise, Ophelia ought to have at this time, and agrees, "Indeed it is. Hm. Let us first try - ebony and dragon heartstring, fourteen inches, like your mother's, but perhaps a bit less... flexible, yes?"

"Mmh."  She feels as though Ollivander is throwing a bit of subtle shade at her mother with that comment, and avoids herself commenting upon how that very wand may or may not presently be in her possession.  "Perhaps."

"I'm curious how you determine these things, if you'd care to explain."  And if Ollivander has handed her the wand, she will give it a swish - she's definitely practiced enough with her mother's to have some idea of what it should feel like.

"I'm afraid there's very little to explain. After a few decades one simply begins to have an intuition for it." 

(The Ollivanders are, of course, seers, in a manner of speaking, but they don't actually know that.)

Ophelia can tell, by comparison, that this wand is absolutely incorrect. Her mother's wand likes her, in rather the way of a fondly indulgent elderly cat; this one does not, and for that matter is not interested in stepping on any ancient and experienced clawed toes, and expresses this by doing Absolutely Nothing, No Thank You.

"Interesting."

She figured he'd have no idea, honestly.  Artisans.  What happens when he dies will probably be a tragedy; where's his apprentice?

Regardless.  "...Not sitting right in my magic, like it's gone and closed off somehow...I - hm.  Maybe something a little more subtle?  I can't imagine something as hefty as this being proper for potion-work."

If she keeps talking like that she might end up invited to be his apprentice, judging from the appraising eyebrows and piercing silver stare. But his father Gervaise lived to be 256, and Garrick is only 97, so, you know, no rush.

He takes the mismatched wand back with creditable cheer. "Ah, so it doesn't. Worry not, it's quite normal to need to try several. Potions-work, you say? Hmm... I may have just the thing... I shan't have you thinking I've been combining woods, mind, makes for very unstable wands and I wouldn't stand for it, but a few years ago I came across the most curious hybrid plant, grew itself up right out of a patch of star-moss with the vines embedded in the branches... here we are! Vine-acacia and unicorn tail hair, nine and three-quarters inches, quite solid. Now don't feel concerned if that's not right either, they're picky little beasts, acacias, but - "

She swishes the wand through the air, does a couple brief flicks, some stirring motions.

It doesn't do anything so dramatic as sparkle, but it thrums in her hand like a missing limb, like a living thing, a softly-humming mirage evident especially in the latter tests, in case the wand needs to be particularly clear that this is its human now.  Not that it thinks it needs to; its human knows what she's doing.

This feels right.

...She files this away in the "concerning coincidence" pile for later, but she has to admit, whatever twist of fate is in play...

She likes her wand.

She smiles, and slips it into the pen-pocket of a scavenged purse.  "I believe I owe you seven Galleons, Mr. Ollivander?"

It's certain not the first time he's had A Feeling (TM) and pulled exactly the right wand out of the pile on the strength of that and only that.

Not even the hundredth.

And yet.

"Quite so, Miss Prince," he says, and takes his money, and shooes them both out the door before they can ask him any more questions he doesn't know the answers to.

Another Concerning Thing (tm)!  Will wonders never cease!

"That was...I know there's no concrete reason, but I can't help but have a bad feeling about the amount of 'coincidence'," she delicately air-quotes, "that piled up just then."

"Regardless; now that I have paid for my wand with the work of my own two hands, Lils, you are graciously permitted to offer me charity that I won't turn down out of stubbornness - though I insist on thrift.  To Madam Malkin's?"