Chapter Fourteen: The Realisation.
Life, Harry reflected, gives difficult choices to make.
This was what led to him staring at his right hand that was clutching his wand.
When he first could see the colours of magic, of life, he had seen many things. His furniture, depending on how much magic was incorporated, was varying shades of grainy light brown. The Earth itself was surprisingly, not green or dark brown, but white. White energy was within every blade of grass. His magical tendrils were shifting flame colours and moved like so, either gently crackling through the red spectrum or, in cases where quick reflexes were needed, positively blazed into action.
It was fascinating.
He had returned to The Alley via 'Knight Bus' with the last of his wizarding money not too long ago to pick up his coat, but while there Harry browsed for some of the other things he had not been able to get the first time round due to limited funds. Thankfully, with the amazing coat pockets this was no longer an issue. They were cleverly done, replacing the drawstring method with a more modern rivet, partly because in Wiseacre's opinion, drawstring pockets would 'look bloody tacky', so he went with rivets for easy use. He had stopped by Gringotts to pay for it and collect money for his other purchases to make, a process that was streamlined much better this time around due to getting a grem- er, that is, goblin, who simply grunted when shown the key and bellowed rather like a frog croak for another runner who Harry honestly could not remember the name of. This time however, he was quick to demand the money pouches the bank offered. Thankfully, the goblin was content to simply order the runner to collect the fees when Harry visited his vault. He paid out five knuts for every pouch, which was rather cheap even when he got twenty of each of the three types.
After leaving the store he had stared with the aid of a tendril at the magic the coat was made with. It was a beautiful sight. So many shades of magic that moved so differently worked in cohesion. It was a startling fact to find out that people do not have unique colours of magic. He had never viewed others under the Sight as Harry took to calling it, and the times he had used it back in Surrey he never saw anyone with a hint of magic. There was the strange little man who bowed to him in a store once but he had left before Harry could even string together a reply to his excited babbling.
Anyway, it turned out everyone magical as far as he could see were coloured with the same flame shades as his own. However, an even more startling discovery happened: all of their magic was inside them. mostly centred around their chests, with thin strands flowing like veins through their bodies. Harry's own magic sat just under the skin as far as he could see, but mostly roamed outside his body. Similarly, their use of magic through a wand was different.
A witch he saw cast what was probably a cleaning charm on herself as she exited what he learned was the 'Floo', a startling method of transportation via fireplaces. When she cast, it wasn't a spear of magic, it was more akin to a burst of the magic within her being pulled from the wand. It erupted like a harmless flame that burned away the dirt. Though when he checked without the Sight, there were no visible burns to the clothes.
Her wand, though... He verified this by checking other wands, and they all shared the same characteristics. Shades of brown due to the wood that was encompassed by the natural white magic of the land, another varied thin strip of colour within. This only changed when they used magic, wherein it was like watching the flames of magic within the person flow through the wand.
His wand was nothing like that.
It had the characteristic brown flecks that were encompassed by both white and a light red. Where this red was coming from, he did not know. The thin core of the wand was a contrasting deep red. Encompassing that however, was the dark purple, the brightest glow of the wand.
His 'Magical Theory' book said that there were four parts of a wand that were general knowledge. Length, wood, core and... Flexibility? The last one confused Harry.
What these actually meant in relation to magic use was not explained, apparently they're secrets known to Wandmakers.
He then went to Ollivanders, as he was worried. Perhaps this explained why many of his spells failed? Had he made a non-functioning wand? He dreaded the thought. Sure, he was eight when he made it, but still... It was his most valued possession, he was so proud of it.
Harry decided to either ask Ollivander to fix it or show Harry how to: he would not replace his pride and joy.
It was one of his strangest conversations he ever had.
A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as he stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair. Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped.
An old man was standing before him, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.
"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.
"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon, Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "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."
Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.
"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it -it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."
Had his wand not chosen him? Was that the issue?
Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.
"And that's where..."
Mr. Ollivander touched the faded lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger.
"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly.
"Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."
He shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, moved on.
"Well, now Mr. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"
"Erm, I'm not actually here for a wand." Harry said.
Ollivander blinked.
"I'm actually having some problems with my current one."
"I see. May I have a look?"
Harry carefully took it out of his pocket, handing it over.
Ollivander took it equally carefully, holding it gently from tip to handle.
"Hm... Ten and a half inches, pine, unyielding..."
Ten and a half? Oh, he forgot the little metal part at the end of the measuring tape...
"However... Is this your wand?" Ollivander questioned, eyeing it closely.
"Yes, it is. I made it."
"You made it?" The man repeated, surprised.
"I did." Harry answered firmly, now annoyed.
"Interesting. It is rather primitive in design, and the core seems quite weak."
Ignoring or not noticing Harry stiffening, Ollivander tilted the wand as if to listen closely.
"The core, yes- or rather, no... Unicorn? Pure, but no, weaker... Oh my. Is this your own hair?"
Harry nodded, still irritated over the Wandmaker's comments.
"I usually refrain from humanoid hair myself. Veela hair is quite temperamental I found out, but..." He examined the wand closer.
"You're having problems with spells, I assume, Mr Potter?"
"Yes, do you know why?" He asked eagerly.
"Quite simple, really. Primitive wand, primitive magic. Modern magic has evolved with incantations, words of power that is, and other little nuances from the old styles. Indeed, it should as far as I see function with magic, though this is moreso due to the rather personal use of your own... Blood soaked hair, rather than the quality of the wand itself. At least, I think it's the hair."
Ollivander frowned heavily, laying the wand gently down on the countertop before disappearing down the isles.
"What difference do words have?" Harry shouted after the man who rushed away with surprising speed for his age.
He'd never really used words before. He applied concepts, memories to his way of casting, rather than incantations. The books had detailed them, but the magic ended up almost half heartedly going through the motions, most times not succeeding at all. Plus, they sounded silly and reassembled a person who had an idea of what Latin was, but kept slipping into nonsense.
The few times he did use it, there was no notable difference. Aside, embarrassment.
Ollivander returned with some very... Disturbing instruments that looked fresh out the hell that was a dentists.
Thankfully, he did not begin drilling into Harry's wand, else he might have set the tendrils on the old man.
Instead, they glowed, buzzed and made a general racket of themselves.
"I... I don't know what that is." Ollivander sounded surprised. "There is something else in there, but what? As far as I can see it's not another core, since it seems to be acting like a cell wall or membrane around the hair. It is magical in nature though."
The man turned to look at Harry suspiciously.
"Did you soak a unicorn hair in your blood?"
"What? No! I accidentally hurt myself and got blood on the hair, which is definitely my own!" Harry said, aghast.
"Then I'm simply lost for words what this material is. May I keep some of the information from the scans? I may be able to deduce later if it is indeed another problem."
Harry agreed cautiously, though hearing this made him think back to the first problem Ollivander listed.
"What do words have to do with magic?"
"Nearly everything, really." The Wandmaker answered. Seeing Harry's look, he elaborated. "The interesting thing about magic is that it can actually be used by some muggles. Words are a belief system in magic, much like Runes. Yes, both do have a way of focusing what you are picturing via association with words or guidance of flow with Runes and lots of other advanced titbits, but it comes down to belief.
If you do not believe it is going to work, it most likely won't. It is why accidental magic functions as it does: with desperation, logic and reasoning tend to go out the window then and children in their mindset resort to wishing the problem away, or solved.
When words are spoken, they are power. A well known incantation can be easy to use, such as 'Lumos'. Magic already recognises the word, it has been used all over the world in varying fashions, but the intent remains the same.
It is why non-verbal magic is so much more difficult. You're not speaking the magic, hence it becomes difficult to not let one's mind wander, or worry that they did not pronounce it properly."
He paused to hand back Harry's wand.
"Muggles have their religious systems, belief systems, even little rituals and superstitions of their own. Belief gives power. Churches and other Holy grounds have a weak Grace to them. Grace is related to Celestial Magic as it is known in Britain, in fact there was an instance where during the War when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named used Inferi on a muggle town, they burned due to the Grace warding the church."
"But what does this have to do with my wand?"
"It's primitive." Ollivander said simply. "The magic it was made with is similarly old, it's design is old, the wand is just not fit for modern styles of schooling such as Hogwarts or Beauxbatons, even Durmstrang.
Modern wands are delicately made, with spells cast during collection of materials, magical Runes used during creation, and more new techniques. All designed to be receptive to verbal commands and to make casting an easier process. The wand would also learn from its partner, they have a symbiotic relationship. Non-verbal or Wandless magic isn't something needing to be learned later in life so to speak, it's just mostly outdated. In a duel for example, it is not easy maintaining focus to non-verbally cast in the heat of the moment, and if your opponent uses spells designed to throw off your concentration or the like, then you can't cast. Good luck remembering to think clearly 'Locomotor Mortis' with the appropriate image in your mind when you've just been flashed by a blinding bellowed 'Lumo's'." Ollivander chortled.
Harry was confused, but Ollivander waved him off, saying to ask a 'Flitwick' or something.
"So there is nothing you can do for my wand?" Harry said, upset.
"Aside from selling you a new one? I'm afraid not. We are not in the Druidic Era anymore, Mr Potter."
And so Harry was faced with two choices. Remain with his wand, or buy one like the rest of the modern world.
Magic at its core, required a suspension of disbelief that Harry would be limited at, permanently. For as he discovered, there was a down side to being an Alchemist: he was a creature of logic, of rules and of laws. His faith was in the truth as he could visibly see it.
But while it would be difficult to go through schooling with what could be termed a relic, it would not be impossible.
Harry then decided what he would do.
He would remain with his own wand. He had worked hard all his life, he had built what he had from scratch, he persevered. Magical education, no matter how difficult, would be no different. Besides, not all subjects from what he read required skilled wand work.
It was also due to a more personal reason.
His Magic had taken to carving with enthusiasm and elegance, while he was less skilled. Soon enough he had begun to work with it while carving, it gently tutoring him and helping smooth over some of his stumbles. They went from horse heads as it seemed was their traditional practice to other more complicated animals.
They had started on the chess board he had wanted to make only a few days ago, and their first attempt had been rather... Amusing to them.
It was the black king, and it ended up being rather lopsided and silly looking. Still, when his Magic made to put it in the bin, he stopped it.
It was their first true piece together, a project he had wanted to start for quite some time. Sure it hadn't gone right, but it was the principle that mattered. He kept it. It would be on the board. He did not care that it was a failure, or did not look right. It was the meaning that counted.
Similarly, this was his wand. He was not going to choose something akin to a mass produced object over something he had laboured for and bled for (though that was perhaps romanticizing it but still) and he refused to replace it. His pride and joy was not replaceable.
He had his work ethic. He would prefer to work and develop on his own hard work rather than taking the easy route.
He didn't want to be great. Greatness was too vague. His first thoughts of establishing his greatness and simmering in his resentment over his relatives was met shortly after with the Truth. Though it was only now he was realising it.
He may never be a great magician. He didn't need to be. All he had to do was be a good person, because in the end, that's all that we can be.
We're only human, Harry realised, and that's what matters. Doing what feels right over what seems easy. It may be a mistake, but you don't learn without them.
Disclaimer: Some of the flashback has been lifted directly from Philosopher's Stone.