Ilvermorny, 1896.
- Garrick, Jonah!
The boy with a pale face approached to the center of the Gordian knot. He shivered all over his body, staring at the emblems of the houses. Frightened, he looked around at the four statues staring at him with eyes sculpted in wood. Finally, to his astonishment, the crystal on the head of the Horned Serpent brightened with light.
- Horned Serpent!
Quiet applause went from the upper balcony. The boy, stumbling over a long, navy blue coat, left the circle and stood in the group of other students.
- Graves, Percival!
A tall, for the age of 11, boy in the short-cut, jet-black hair, went to the center of the room. He held his head high. The students whispered among themselves, seeing his calm face. It was like a miniature of an adult. In his mind he could hear his father's words: "You are my firstborn, Percival. No matter which house you choose, only the hard work and the goal you aspire to count". Still, he hoped Pukwudgie wouldn't raise his arrow. He was hoping to be chosen by Thunderbird, but he realized that his father's drill had rationalized his approach to life.
He saw the luminescent crystal on Horned Serpent's head but there was also a loud roar and a beating of wings behind him. For the first time he was torn between dreams and the expectations of the family. He felt a tingling on his back. The surprised voice of the Master broke into his thoughts.
- Horned Serpente, Wampus, Thunderbird. Which house will you choose?
- I-I ... - he swallowed. He thought back to the night before coming here. Cornelius came to him, climbing onto his bed. They talked until late at night, quietly. Con was the only person he told about his dream.
- I choose W-Wampus.
At his answer, the sculpture roared again, louder. The boy sighed, guiding his legs toward the group below the balcony, from which he heard a roar of enthusiasm, silenced by one of the teachers. Percival stood beside the man who leaned in to him.
- Your kin is the pride of this school. I hope that you will sustain this tradition.
The ceremony has come to an end. The new disciples were led into the room in which the Wand Maker put up the stand. As a payment, school withdraw from deposit payed in advance for each new student. Two of the manufacturer's assistants stood on two sides of the room, with tables full of all sorts of measuring tapes and products. The Master of Ceremonies was reading their names, already sorted by houses. Hearing his name, Percival approached the lean, tall wizard. The man in a dry voice told him to pull out the arm he was using. He measured the distance from the middle finger to the wrist, then to the elbow and arm. Then he applied three resin stones to his forehead. They all warmed up, but only one almost burned him. Muttering under his breath, man glanced at his employer, who approached them quickly and exchanging a few words to the assistant, tugged the boy at his table.
- You're a very interesting case, Mr. Graves. I heard from my great-grandfather that your ancestor also possessed amazing power. I won't tell you, your father, your uncles and grandparents were quite powerful, but none of tchem were chosen by each of the cores we use. I wonder if with such potential we should try something different?
The Wand Maker pulled a box from the trunk, other than for sale.
- This is one of the prototypes designed by my friend Thiago Quintana. Ebony and pure silver, 15 inches, a spike of the White River Monster. Please, try.
Percival hesitated, but only for a moment. He could hear wand was whispering to him. He took it in his hand, feeling a wonderful tingle, spilling to the shoulder, to the chest. Soon it filled him up to the tips of his fingers. It felt like sparks leaping over his skin. He remembered the spell his father had taught him lately. He waved his wand, silent. A stone statue standing in the corner of the room rose and fluttered beneath a tall, stone ceiling. There was silence in the hall. The boy waved his hand quickly, but before the statue crashed to the floor, he gently turned the wrist, keeping it an inch above. He withdrew the spell, and the stone grated loudly. All eyes were fixed on Percival. Including seller's.
- Well, boy. I don't think any other wand fits you better. I know this. I have the impression that it will be loud about you and not because of it.
- Thank you.
Percival walked away, setting himself against the wall, next to those students who also had their wands. Everyone was looking at him frightened. He smiled encouragingly at them, but none of them answered him. There was a noise at one of the stands. It was a boy from the Horned Serpent, Garrick. His face was red and snots hung from his nose. Someone pushed him against the wall and someone else took his place. Percival came to him, after a short hesitation.
- Hello. I'm Percival.
The boy wiped his face in the dirty sleeve of his jacket. It had long sleeves and was eaten by moths in some places. Same as his cloak. The gold from the brooch was wiped off.
- Jonah.
- What happened?
- We couldn't afford a deposit. This man said I would get a wand for free but used.
- Used wands are capricious or don't work at all. It depends on the core, but also on the wood. And the reason why someone else does not use it anymore.
- How do you know that?
- I read about it somewhere.
- You know a lot. Why did you choose Wampus?
- I'm going to be an Auror. Of all the houses, this one will prepare me well.
- Why should you be one?
- Because every male member of my family, from my line was an Auror. My father too. Though now he doesn't work in a field. You know what, I have an idea.
Percival took a new colleague by the elbow and led him to the Seller.
- Excuse me. I would like to buy a wand for a friend from my deposit.
The man raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he glanced at the list from the Treasury and nodded afterwards, personally dealing with Garrick. The boy couldn't believe it when he was holding in his hands a 10 inch walnut wand with a core from horn shavings of the Horned Serpent.
- If you would speak Parseltounge, you would be a walking Horned Serpent.
Jonah only smiled at this remark. He didn't know the words he could thank, so in a fit of overwhelming gratitude, he hugged his new friend tightly, weeping on his shoulder. Percival smiled to himself and patted the boy awkwardly on the back. A shadow crossed his face. He knew that his father won't be happy. But the wide, snotty smile of a eleven years old boy in old robes was worth it.