We reached 100 Power Stones, thanks for the support, everyone!
As promised, here comes the chapter.
Chapter 13 Just a month after the goodbye party I had my seventh birthday.
This was significant, much more than any previous birthday.
Today, my wandless magic channels finished developing.
The moment I woke up I pulled up the trait for confirmation: Trait: Wandlessly gifted 100% My progress with wandless magic over the last few years had not halted at all.
My magic ran so smoothly now that everything that used to be hard a few years ago felt effortless.
I pushed the thoughts about testing the trait’s full power until later, today was special for more than one reason after all.
My mum was at the breakfast table drinking tea when I came down the stairs.
She smiled toward me as I moved to take a seat at the table.
“Congratulations on your seventh birthday, my not so little Will.
Are you excited about today?” “How could I not be?” I thought.
“Ever since I was a child in my old world I dreamt about what would happen today”.
“Beyond excited, Mum!
I can’t believe it will happen today.
For the first few years of my life, I honestly thought owning a wand before eleven was illegal.
Even after you corrected that assumption we still both agreed that getting a wand too early might make my wandless magic suffer.
No matter how much we both thought so I hated having to wait for so long.
But not anymore, Mum.
Today I get my own!!!” We left for Diagon Alley first thing after breakfast.
I did not have the patience to wait any longer.
“I’VE DONE MY WAITING!
TWELVE YEARS OF IT!
IN AZKABAN!” I had yelled in my head when my mum asked if I wanted to wait until after cake and presents.
My face appeared to have communicated the same things as my thoughts so we were off after that.
We usually traveled through apparition even though we had set up a floo connection a few months after the war ended.
Apparition these days felt only slightly uncomfortable.
I had wanted to push past the feeling, and start trying to get a feel for it the last few years, so we had started doing it a bit more often.
First I could not focus beyond the sickening feeling, but recently I had started to be able to feel more about how the magic felt.
We showed up at the Leaky Cauldron not directly in Diagon Alley.
Last time I had thought this was due to tradition, but apparently the alley itself is warded to stop incoming Apparition since the war fully started.
The place only had a few customers at this time of the day.
Mostly some eating breakfast, probably those staying in the rooms Tom rented out.
As we entered the alley, my excitement grew further.
“A wand, my own wand.
What every magical child, and every Harry Potter fan from my old world, wanted more than nearly anything.” We walked past the shops, our goal making it a quick trip.
And there it was again.
Ollivanders.
The shop I had passed many times by now over the years, always longing to enter, always a struggle to turn away from.
It was a beautiful structure in that very strange way that only a wizard would build.
I took a breath, and pushed the door open.
Inside all walls were filled with shelves and each stacked with slightly different boxes.
I felt a vibration almost immediately after I prepared for Mr Ollivander’s sudden entrance.
It was coming from behind me on my left much higher than I expected.
I turned my eyes toward him and locked onto his nose, you can never be too careful.
He looked shocked where he stood high up on a ladder clearly hiding in the darkest part of the room.
I lifted a single eyebrow.
“So happy I learned that”.
He gathered himself and harrumphed before climbing down with as much dignity he could and came to a stop in front of me.
“Well aren’t you a strange one?
You don’t really look eleven though, more like nine or so.” The ritual I performed had pushed my body’s physical appearance ahead slightly.
I could still pull off being a seven year old though, at least physically, just a slight outlier.
“Actually, I’m seven, sir.” Now it was his time to raise an eyebrow and he turned toward my mother.
“I don’t usually sell wands to children below eleven.
The ministry might not forbid it, but no one wants a child running around causing havoc.” My mother smiled toward Ollivander.
“I understand that Mr Ollivander, but you will find that my boy is a very special little man, and I don’t say that in the way all parents think their children are special.” Ollivander opened his mouth to respond but my mum smoothly continued: “We also both know most pureblood families give their children a legacy wand long before eleven to start practicing long before Hogwarts starts.” At that Ollivander seemed to fold a bit.
“You are right of course, but I don’t sell those children wands.
I can’t control other people’s actions.
Only my own.” I decided to jump back in.
“I understand your worry sir.
You don’t want to be the cause of someone getting hurt by selling a wand to someone who will not respect the power that comes with owning a wand.
But I assure you, I am far more responsible than many of the eleven-year-olds that come to you before Hogwarts.” The way I spoke seemed to have an impact, and by the end he looked slightly shocked by the way I spoke.
He looked at me for a long time before simply answering.
“Strange indeed.” He then looked toward my mother.
“Are you sure about this?
The ultimate responsibility here is yours, are you absolutely sure your son is ready for this?” She simply nodded, her calm absolute.
“Well then.
I see you still have the wand I sold you 10.5 inches, Kaya mahogany wood, with a dragon’s heartstring core, quite flexible.
We shall see what wand chooses your son.” Toward the end of his statement he turned toward me, looking at me curiously like I was a problem to be solved.
“Well let us begin!” Ollivander turned promptly toward a shelf pulling out a brown-red box from among the others.
He carefully took out the wand as he walked up to me and said: “11 3⁄4 inches, hawthorn wood, dragon heartstring core, reasonably supple.
Best suited to a witch or wizard with a complex nature and considerable talent for healing or curses.” I decided not to overthink the process too much, holding more wands meant learning how different they could feel for me.
I took the wand, and immediately knew it was not for me.
I tried to feel the connection, even if weak, but unlike my mother’s wand this one felt like dead wood in my hands.
Ollivander simply took the wand back at the same time as I shook my head.
“Not for you.” He turned away and this time went further back into the room to get the next wand, this one in a black box.
He held the wand out to me.
“11 ½ inches, poplar wood, unicorn hair core, firm.
Usually chooses a dependable witch or wizard with strong principles and consistent judgment.” I took it, this one I felt the connection to immediately, it felt better than my mother’s in fact, by far.
Still it was not the one and Ollivander must have known that too, because he was already reaching for it.
“Closer this time, much closer.
The length and the firmness perhaps,” he mumbled under his breath.
Before turning back for another wand.
I tried nearly a dozen more each time getting a little closer from there.
After every wand he presented Ollivander mumbled words under his breath: “No…” “Interesting…” “This wood perhaps, but with a different core.” Ollivander’s excitement grew with every wand he presented, not at all unhappy with the time it took.
For me it was good practice, but more importantly, genuinely exciting.
I could feel the differences between the wands, the process was anything but random.
Ollivander was “fine-tuning” the process not settling for merely good or even great; nothing but perfect was enough for him.
As he returned with the next wand he was almost running toward me, just as excited as I was.
“11 ½ inches, walnut wood, phoenix feather core, firm.” He said solemnly, his glee now gone, replaced with a serious face.
The wand was walnut brown, polished to perfection, the smooth surface only broken by darker grain that made it look both elegant and natural.
“A remarkably intelligent wand with an exceptional capacity for complex and innovative magic.” His eyes now locked on mine, he continued in a lower voice: “Best served by a wizard possessing keen intellect, self-awareness, and an unending desire to deepen their understanding of magic.” “It was far more than he’d said about any previous wand.
He must already suspect this one had found its owner.” I reached out carefully, honoring the dramatic moment by slowly letting my fingers close around the wand.
The handle settled naturally into my grip, like it belonged there.
The connection snapped into place instantly, like it had always been there.
It felt like part of me had been missing my entire life, and now I was whole.
A new warmth settled in my chest.
The warmth spread down my arm before erupting from the tip of the wand as a brilliant stream of fire, forcing Ollivander to take an involuntary step back.
The fire then turned into the shape of a life-sized phoenix that flew around the room lighting up every corner before settling on my shoulder without causing the slightest burn.
“Extraordinary,” I heard Ollivander gasp, but like it was coming from far away as my complete focus was on the beautiful bird sitting on my shoulder.
The phoenix simply sat there, its burning eyes locked with mine for a long moment before the fire simply “bled out” into the air, gone.
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