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Here's the thing. Danny knew this was a dumb decision. At least as dumb as stepping into the ghost portal (but at least he'd gotten some nifty powers out of that, hey?). Whatever reason his bio-dad had for chucking him out the door within days of his birth couldn't be good. Putting himself within reach of the man… Yeah. Not his brightest thought.
(Not to mention the wizards. And witches. That was so weird, how they had two different names for essentially the same thing. Then again… actor, actress… Why were people so weird?)
On the other hand, twin brother. Twin brother who had to live with aforementioned baby-abandoning bio-dad. Twin brother who wasn't allowed to visit America. Or, Danny suspected, a family of squibs.
Yeah.
Yeah.
So, here he was. Getting everything in order for a wizard passport and wizard international travel, because bio-family refused to even look at an airport.
Danny had a suspicion that, based on how they spelled the word and a few other comments in that particular letter, that they weren't entirely clear on what an airport was.
Fun.
On the other hand, in comparison to the actual, normal, legal passport he'd gotten, just in case bio-family left him somewhere, wizard passports were much, much easier to get. The wait times were practically nonexistent. He could, in theory, get the passport on the same day he traveled. All that was needed was proof he was a wizard and his adoption papers.
Of course, 'proof he was a wizard' actually meant 'wand.' Wands being something they used as personal ID, despite the fact that they were a) sticks, and b) didn't actually carry any personally identifiable information. Sure, Jack said that they were somehow connected to their owners, but unless there were, like, giant books of details about everyone's wands at every place that would, conceivably, need ID, and had people trained to identify all those tiny little characteristics… Danny just couldn't see how it would work.
Danny's current theory was that all wizards were just insane, which meant that his twin would most likely fit right in with the rest of Danny's family, right as soon as Danny figured out how to legally kidnap him.
(No, Danny didn't have a ghostly Obsession, and it definitely wasn't family related. He was only half-ghost, after all. Why do you ask?)
Anyway. Wizard passport. Wizard ID. Wizard sticks.
Wands.
Wands meant a nerve-wracking trip to the nearest wizarding town with Jack. Evidently, he'd lived there a couple of years after his parents sent him away from Britain when he was around fourteen because of 'the war.'
Abruptly, many of Jack's stories about his childhood made more sense.
(It had always been something of a joke between Jazz and Danny to try and figure out what 'the war' was supposed to be, and if Jack's parents had just… Conned him into thinking he'd eaten horse meat. For some reason. Even if the Fentons hadn't seemed like that kind of people, no matter how eccentric.)
(Also, evidently Jazz and Danny had never met Jack's biological parents, who were not named Fenton, although his adopted mother was also a witch.)
(Why was everything so complicated?)
The "wizarding community" was a small town accessible only by a train line invisible to 'no-majs.' And also flying brooms. Which wizards used. Danny had seen the train before, not realizing that he wasn't supposed to. Several times. Usually while flying to Wisconsin to deal with whatever Vlad had done that week.
If Danny was a wizard, was Vlad? Was being half-ghost somehow tied up in being magical? What did that mean for Dani?
(Hey, maybe this whole affair could be used to bring Dani into the family safely. Who was to say that he didn't have a secret twin sister?)
Danny could admit that the town itself, which had almost a Ghost Zone vibe with how all the architecture seemed to be from fifty plus to a hundred years ago and also the physics breaking magic, was sort of cool. It was… cute, he guessed. He didn't really like how everyone was staring at Jack, their clothes were just as weird, but it wasn't a new thing. People always stared at Jack.
That's what happened when you wore hazard-orange jumpsuits twenty-four seven.
The shops all had names out of a fantasy novel, and at one point they got turned around and wound up on a residential street where they had to ask for directions, but eventually they made it to 'Willoughby's Wand Emporium.'
The interior of Willoughby's Wand Emporium reminded Danny strongly of a shoe store. The shelves were all lined with boxes of approximately that size, and the employees all carried measuring tape. It also smelled like a shoe store: musty and dry, with a hint of polish. Or maybe it was wood varnish? Or some kind of paint.
A young woman bounced up. "Hi, how can we help you today? Replacement wand?"
"First time, actually," said Jack.
"Oh, I'm sorry," said the woman. "You're just so tall for your age."
"I'm fourteen," said Danny.
The woman began to turn red.
"He was missed," said Jack. "It happens." He smiled, but it looked far more strained than usual.
"Oh," said the woman. "Ahem. Well, if you'll come right this way, I can start taking measurements, and start trying out wands. The wand chooses the wizard, they say!"
"Okay," said Danny, shrugging. That was… interesting. Were the wands sentient? Did that somehow make them acceptable IDs?
Seemed really weird to keep sentient things stored in boxes.
… Said the kid who stored sentient beings in a soup thermos.
A really high-tech soup thermos.
Didn't make it better.
Except he didn't keep them in the thermos indefinitely. Except for Dan.
Danny didn't know if the wizards kept the wands in boxes indefinitely, either. Maybe he should stop assuming things. That had gotten him in trouble with ghosts more than once.
The woman took her measuring tape from where it hung around her shoulders, held it out in front of herself, and promptly dropped it. It did not fall.
As basic as levitation was for ghosts, it was really weird to see a human do it. (Especially when it always took so much concentration for him to levitate things other than himself—Hence why he never really used the ability in battle.)
The measuring tape flitted around Danny's head, shoulders, arms, and body, taking measurements. He had to sit on his reflexes hard to prevent himself from trying to catch it or knock it out of the air.
He was so nervous. Was it normal to be nervous?
The measuring tape snaked back through the air to the woman, who smiled. "Alright," she said, "we can start with that. Uh, to explain the process, we usually start out with wands in the appropriate size range and try and zero in on the ones that respond best to you from there." She flicked her own wand, and several thin boxes slid themselves off the shelves. "We use a wide variety of wand woods from a variety of wandmakers. Just about any tree that grows in North America is probably represented here." She paused. "Except for palm trees."
"That makes sense," said Danny. Palm trees were quite different from other trees.
"Alright. Let's start with pine. The core of this one is dragon heartstring—Harvested humanely, of course!"
"Core?" said Danny, latching on to the familiar word even as he regarded the wand itself dubiously.
"Yes. As with our woods, we also stock a wide range of wand cores. Each wand has a core made of a small part of a magical creature. Dragon heartstring, unicorn hair, and phoenix feather are the standard ones… But that standardization is rather British. We have a few others available. Thunderbird tail feather—Only taken during molt. Wampus cat hair. Dittany. Rougarou hair. Jackalope antler… Those are the more common ones, though we do have others. Even some kneazle whisker, although most people don't want those."
"Why not?"
"Ah, they tend not to be very strong. But sheer power isn't everything. Some prefer control, need lower power output… or are worried about accidents while they're learning. We do see some adult learners every now and then."
That actually sounded sort of appealing to Danny, but he supposed he'd better go about this normally. At least at first.
He picked up the pine wand and immediately dropped it.
"Ow," he said.
"Ow?" repeated the woman. "Oh," she said, catching sight of the burn on his hand. "That's… not supposed to happen."
"Y'know," said Danny, conversationally, "I've only held, like, two magical things in my life, and both of them have damaged my hands. Is this, like, a common thing, or am I just ridiculously unlucky."
"Second one, I think," said the woman. "Cynthia's good at minor healing charms. I'm going to go get her. Okay? Okay."
Shortly thereafter, phoenix feather wands were also eliminated as a possibility, not because they burned Danny, but because they seemed intent on burning everything else around him. Pine wands were also a definite no-go ("Don't worry about the lifespan thing," said the woman, "that's a myth."). As was everything but elder, apple, pear, hornbeam, thorn, and yew (this list got another mention of myths from the shop assistant).
At this point, the shop owner, Mrs. Willoughby, was drawn out from the back room to observe the mess Danny was making.
"My," she said, "I haven't seen anyone have this much trouble in a while. Heather, why don't you go get some of the specialty cores."
"I thought the unicorn was working well," protested the woman who'd been helping Danny so far. She winced as Danny picked up a new wand and exploded a light. "Comparatively."
"Yes, we could probably eventually find a unicorn hair wand that would work for him, but all things considered… I feel like we should explore other avenues." She sniffed. "Nothing associated with fire. Perhaps kelpie mane?"
"I'll check," said Heather.
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Kelpie mane, it turned out, did the same sort of thing as phoenix tail feather when it came to Danny. Only with a lot more water involved.
"I didn't think that would work, anyway," said Mrs. Willoughby.
"Then why," said Danny, wringing water out of his shirt, "did you have me try it?"
"Oh, cases like you greatly improve our understanding of wandlore," said Mrs. Willoughby. "You're not likely to have noticed this yet, but the population of wizards and witches is so small compared to the no-maj population that everyone who gets very far in a profession has to be a bit of an innovator. I'm recording this for future reference, and I'll be looking forward to seeing what you do in life. If anything. It would be very helpful to me if you became famous."
"Hard pass on that," said Danny.
"Or at least come back at some point."
"I'll consider it," said Danny. "But, like, we were really hoping to do other things today, so maybe…" He made a circular motion with his hand. "Or at least, ugh, I don't know. I feel like everything you give me is trying to kill me."
It was a very familiar feeling, and a very unwelcome one, nonetheless.
"We really aren't," said Mrs. Willoughby. "But perhaps… from now on, we'll limit to the woods to the Rosaceaes. The others tend to be called unlucky. Well, except for the hornbeam. Is there anything you're singularly passionate about?"
Singularly passionate? "Not really," said Danny, who did not think about ghosts or helping people or space. He shifted, uncomfortable, and squelched.
Screw it. He was supposedly a wizard, now, right?
He phased the water off himself.
"Oh my god!" shouted Heather. "Did you do that on purpose?"
"Uh," said Danny. "No?"
"Calm down, Heather. Don't act like you've never seen accidental magic before."
"Not with a teenager doing it!"
They were now attracting a crowd. Yay.
"He's not trained, yet," said Mrs. Willoughby, unconcerned. "Don't be rude."
"Yeah, can we get back on track, here?"
After a few more tries, Mrs. Willoughby had determined that the wood that reacted the least badly to Danny was hawthorn. Then she sent Heather into the storage room to fetch more.
"I don't know why we even have these," said Heather, under her breath, carrying several boxes marked with stamps that read 'THESTRAL.'
"Because some people have trauma, Heather."
"He's a teenager. I seriously doubt he has deep personal experiences with death."
"Wow, way to assume, Heather," said another shop assistant, who was passing by with a far-too-curious customer.
"Here," said Mrs. Willoughby, handing Danny a box. "Try this one. It's hawthorn."
With some suspicion, Danny slid the cover off the box and gingerly picked up the wand inside.
It didn't do anything like what the other wands had. Instead, the slender length of wood gave him a faint echo of the feeling he got when he was on an emotional high and engaging in either extreme mischief or obsession-adjacent activities (because he did not have a real, ghostly, capital-O Obsession).
Danny declined to hold it with all five fingers, lest he be overcome with mania.
Yes, he was paranoid. But when touching things can go as badly for you as they did for Danny, paranoia was justified.
"Oh, it looks like you've found your match," said Mrs. Willoughby, clapping.
With the ease of practice, Danny did not let any trace of horror or unease show on his face. He ignored the surge of glee from the wand, and carefully placed it back in the box.
Yeah. He needed a wand for passport purposes, but there was no way he was going to use that. He'd just fake magic with ghost powers. It had been working out okay so far.
What was the worst that could happen?
A rather relieved Jack paid for the wand, and they made their way, slowly, to the government building.
"So," said Jack. "You want to save getting those beginner magic manuals for another day?"
"Absolutely," said Danny. He wondered if his twin had gone through anything even remotely like this and if it was really worth all this trouble to meet a person he would have basically nothing in common with other than blood.
Blood that likely meant less than usual, considering that his was diluted with ectoplasm. A fact he would have to hide. With no allies or back up. In England.
(Again, this whole endeavor was not his greatest idea.)
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Draco supervised the house-elves as they cleaned out the room next to his own, feeling rather blank. He had campaigned vigorously for his twin to come, but now that he was…
The boy, for all that he was as much a Malfoy as Draco, was an American for all intents and purposes. What did Americans even like? What did they call their bastardized version of Quidditch? Would Deneb even know about wizard games? According to the woman from the agency, he'd been raised as a muggle by those squibs he'd been placed with.
Slowly but surely, Draco's heart sank. He had no idea what his twin would be like. Deneb, despite being his brother, would essentially be a stranger.
He was beginning to understand why his mother was so angry at his father.
